#is the title from a jonas brothers song? perhaps | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

primroseyunho · 3 years

Text

burnin' up

❀ yunho x reader, brother!seonghwa

❀ summer is heating up and your broken air conditioning unit lands you with a worried older brother and yet it’s someone else who seems to be the most concerned for you.

❀ warnings/tags: college au (not that it rlly matters though tbh), suggestive comments but nothing explicit, cursing, big brother seonghwa, fainting but it isn’t descriptive, i haven’t written anything like this for over a year so uhhhh it kinda sucks and also it's unedited bc it's almost 4am whoops

❀ a/n: it’s hot as hell in nyc and i have no air conditioning (so pls send ur thoughts and prayers to me) but i wanted to write and that’s how this happened so yeah lmao. also stfu this gif of yunho lives rent fucking free in my head why does he look like everyone's dream boyfriend please let me know what you think - i’d love to hear any feedback ( ⸝•ᴗ•⸝)♡

❀ word count: 2380

and one final shoutout to @luvanter who gave me the push i needed to post this and has also always been so lovely to me

“I am sorry, you what now?”

“Listen, it’s really not a big dea-”

“You’re telling me you got so hot in your apartment because your air conditioner broke that you passed out on the floor of your apartment for almost four hours - alone, I might add - and you really have the audacity to try to tell me that’s not a big deal?!”

So maybe telling your older brother about your morning adventure to the floor of your apartment wasn’t your brightest moment but in your defence, finals just ended and they stole your last surviving brain cell in their departure. It was as if Seonghwa’s mom radar had been pinging off the charts from the moment you stepped foot in the cafe with him taking one look at you before ordering you to sit down at an empty table while he ordered what seemed to be one of every baked good they had to offer and an iced tea for the both of you. You would’ve preferred a cold brew if you were being totally honest, but you knew better than to try to fight him once you saw the hard glare he was sending you from the counter. Taking a glance in one of the decorative antique mirrors the local joint had on the wall, you couldn’t really fault your brother for his reaction to you because, for lack of a better word, you looked like total shit. Settling into the worn armchair, you began fiddling with a loose strand on the cushion beside you as you awaited the inevitable scolding you were in for.

“Okay, okay - I get it,” you relented as Seonghwa stared you down looking bug-eyed at your previous deflection, “perhaps that wasn’t my greatest moment - but! At least I know now and I can just make sure to always keep my fans on and drink loads of water.” You offered what you hoped to be a convincing smile, but even you knew it was a weak resolution to your predicament.

“Yeah, no, that’s not happening. I’ve listened to enough of your nightmare landlord stories to know this isn’t getting fixed any time soon and I refuse to leave my baby sister to boil to death in her cooker of an apartment.”

You rolled your eyes at Seonghwa’s dramatic metaphor but couldn’t find it in you to fight him. The past few weeks had slowly been chipping away at you and you were more exhausted than you were willing to let on. This episode with your broken air conditioner was only the latest in a series of mishaps you had been trying to push through without asking for help and you were dangerously close to reaching the end of your rope.

“And what exactly would you propose I do instead?”

“Just stay with me and Yunho until it’s sorted out. You can sleep on the spare mattress in his room that’s left from before San moved out.”

Seonghwa’s look of worry was tainted ever so slightly with a smirk now as you promptly choked on your drink at the sound of his suggestion.

“Are you sure I’m the one we should be worrying about? Because you sound like you’ve lost your fucking mind.” You managed to rasp out, still recovering from spitting your drink out.

“What are you talking about? It’s a perfectly reasonable idea.” He replied, the smirk now the prominent expression on his face.

“Yeah sure, except for the part where I have a humiliating crush on your roommate that may or may not have developed into actual f- words,” you whisper-shouted at him, “and you’re my brother? Shouldn’t you, I don’t know, not be encouraging me to sleep in the same room as a boy?”

“Okay firstly, did you seriously censor the word feelings out loud? What kind of internet crap is that? Is that what kids do these days?” He looked at you with the faint look of dismay that he always has when hearing slang words he didn’t understand. “And secondly, it’s not the 1950s anymore, who am I to dictate your love life? If anything, Yunho is the ideal guy for me to put you with - he’s my best friend and the literal definition of boyfriend material, not to mention the part where he likes you back, idiot.” He took a bite of his cake as he gave you a pointed look.

“That’s wishful thinking and you know it, Seonghwa, don’t put ideas in my head that will lead to heartbreak. Maybe he has a soft spot for me, but he’s like that with all his dongsaengs, I’m no different from them.” You mumble out as you turn your attention to the floor, missing the exaggerated eye roll your brother was sending you.

It wasn’t exactly difficult for you to develop feelings for Yunho. Your brother wasn’t lying when he called Yunho boyfriend material. The first thing that entered your mind when you thought of Yunho was soft smiles. He perpetually looked so gentle and even when he got more boisterous when hanging out with you and the rest of the boys, he always approached you with such care. Somehow he managed to both look like a puppy personified and a greek sculpture come to life. One second he’d be looking at you with the biggest doe eyes you’d ever seen and the next he’d be throwing around salacious smirks as if he had any right to do so, when they made your mind go places less than holy. So it was inevitable, honestly, that somewhere between him memorising your coffee order and the sight of his biceps flexing when he offered to carry your bag for you, that you would start drowning into him a little. Whatever your brother saw, however, wasn’t close to reality. You weren’t so unaware to think that Yunho was indifferent to you - you knew that with a fluttering of your eyes you could get his help with almost anything. But you were certain that’s just how he is with younger friends, he’s just as soft for Jongho as he is for you.

To prove your point, seeing Jongho himself enter the cafe you waved him over to get his help convincing your brother he’s a fool for thinking Yunho thought anything romantic about you.

“Jonghooooo, my favourite! Tell my brother that he’s stupid please.” You peered up at Jongho’s stoic face, praying for the solidarity he usually shows you with the two of you being the youngest out of your friend group.

“I mean, Seonghwa being stupid is a given but what is this about specifically?”

“He said that Yunho likes me in a romantic way which is obviously not true - he treats all of us younger than him the same.” You continued, pointedly ignoring the squawking that Seonghwa had been emitting ever since you had started talking to Jongho.

“You’re the stupid one there Y/N.” Jongho deadpanned and this time it was you squawking indignantly. “I might be able to get free food every time we go out, but you’re the only one Yunho would drop anything for - which he has done, multiple times.”

“I- you know what, you’re all dumb.” You pouted out, crossing your arms.

“That’s fine, but I hope you know I’m not giving you a choice with this - you’re coming to stay with me and Yunho.” Seonghwa informed you, officially back in protective mode.

Jongho looked down at the two of you confused before you sighed and filled him in on your fainting episode. Stifling a laugh behind his fist, his gummy smile came to view after hearing about Seonghwa’s solution.

“Well, Yunho will have no issue with it I’m sure, but you have fun explaining this to him - because let me tell you, the protectiveness he has for you Y/N isn’t a dongsaeng privilege, that’s for you only.”

❀

As nervous as you were to face Yunho and be sharing a room with him, you couldn’t deny your gratitude to your brother for giving you an alternate sleeping arrangement. The day had only seemed to get hotter and hotter and you were sure that if you had stayed in your place, you’d be sweating buckets by now. Sitting on the kitchen stools your brother had found on the street with his boyfriend Hongjoong, you tilted backwards precariously relishing in the blasting cool air of the AC.

“Oh my God, I think you’re trying to give me a heart attack at this point. For the millionth time, will you please stop swinging on these chairs before you crack your skull open.” Seonghwa sounded exasperated as he pushed you upright, but all you did was smile innocently at him as you turned your attention back to your now melting popsicle, throwing a wave to Hongjoong, who had entered with your older brother.

“Hey there little one, you feeling alright? Hwa told me about what happened.” Hongjoong glanced at you with concern as he shuffled over to give you a side hug.

“I am much better now that I am surrounded by this sweet, sweet cool air.” You giggled out.

“We’re heading out now, so I’ll see you later tonight, okay?”

Seonghwa looked to you for confirmation that you heard and you just nodded your head absentmindedly, now more invested in your pinterest feed than watching your brother and his boyfriend get cuddly as they walked out to go on a date. Just as they reached the door you heard it open from the outside as they collided with Yunho returning from what you would guess had been another day spent at the dance studio.

“Hey, Seonghwa told me you’re staying with us for a while, what happened? Are you okay?” Yunho’s voice floated down to you as you felt his presence towering over beside you.

Looking up at him, though, proved to be a fatal mistake as you came face to face with his shirtless body and hair dripping with sweat in a way that somehow looked good which quite frankly should be a crime - who the hell even looks good with greasy hair? Your brain didn’t seem to catch up to any part of your body it seemed, as your frozen treat slipped out of your hand and for the second time that day you began to feel fuzzy in your head (though, a different kind of heat was the culprit this time). You only realised that you had spaced out entirely when you became aware of Yunho’s large hand waving in front of you, a look of unease finding its way onto his soft features.

“For real, did something happen? Did someone do something to you?” His voice held a sharp edge as he voiced the latter question, eyes hardening as he gingerly cupped your face.

Shaking your head vehemently, you swallowed audibly. “No, no nothing like that I just kind of fainted in my apartment because it’s, ya know, hot, no biggie.” You nervously tried to laugh it off but the words out loud seemed to sound worse each time you relayed the story to someone new.

“Y/N, what the hell, were you alone? Did you hit your head? How long were you unconscious for? We need to take you to a hospital.” Yunho spitfired questions at you as he started to frantically pat you down as if he was in search of some life-threatening injury that he had missed.

“Hey, hey, calm down it’s okay, I’m okay, why are you freaking out so much?” You grabbed his hands in an effort to still him.

“I, listen, that doesn’t matter, what matters is that you’re okay.” His eyes searched yours for any hint of discomfort but all he could find was confusion.

“I mean, it matters to me, Seonghwa didn’t even freak out this much.”

“Yeah, well Seonghwa isn’t in love with you like I am.” Yunho blurted out in response. With his ears tinted pink, he seemed to realise what he had just said and attempted to pull his hands out of yours. “Shit, sorry, I uh, I wasn’t supposed to tell you like that, well let’s be real I wasn’t supposed to tell you at all because you don’t feel the same way but little late for that now. Listen, I totally understand that it’s one-sided and I can give you spa-”

You promptly shoved your hand over his mouth to interrupt his blabbering, an endeared smile adorning your features along with a rush of blood to your cheeks.

“I certainly would hope Seonghwa doesn’t love me in the way you do because for starters, he’s my brother so ew and also I may be a little in love with you too.” You whisper, even though it’s just the two of you, feeling overwhelmed at the sudden change in events. “So, actually, I think I’d quite like it if you didn’t give me space and maybe, I don’t know, invaded it instead.”

Even as you said it yourself, you couldn’t help but cringe a little at how cheesy the line sounded but Yunho didn’t seem to mind as his face lit up and he stood in between your legs as you stayed perched on the stool. He moved his hands to grip your waist as he hauled you up onto the countertop instead, putting your face level with his own.

“You know, Seonghwa suggested that I, uh, that I sleep in your room on San’s old bed, but I don’t know maybe I should be kept under closer supervision, after all I did faint today.” Your voice somehow came out even quieter than before, but it didn’t waver as you left your proposition hanging in the air left between your faces.

“Hmm, I think you might be right about that, I mean it would only be right for me to share my space with you. I need to be able to check up on you and make sure that the heat hasn’t gotten to you again. We ought to be responsible, I think.” He feigned innocence but his eyes were trained on your lips as he spoke.

You brushed your lips against his, barely a ghost of a touch, as you smirked.

“Let’s go be responsible in your bed then.”

#is the title from a jonas brothers song? perhaps #ateez imagines #jeong yunho imagines #ateez reactions #ateez fics #ateez college au #jung yunho #ateez fluff #ateez #jeong yunho #jung yunho x reader #ateez scenarios #ateez fanfic #ateez smut #park seonghwa #kim hongjoong

409 notes · View notes

buriedbybooks · 3 years

Text

Sucker (Guardian 5+1)

Section 2!! Hope you’re enjoying it :) (Part 1)

Tags: Shěn Wēi/Zhào Yúnlán, 5+1 things, fluff and crack, pining, teasing, sexual innuendo, suggestive consumption of lollipops

Summary: Shěn Wēi’s growing understanding and appreciation of Zhào Yúnlán’s use of lollipops, and how he puts his learning into practice.

Notes: MORE FLUFF. Probably some feels in here, and also crack, but MAINLY FLUFF. (There’s a long, angsty fix-it fic in the works that has made me need a break from feels for a few minutes.)

I know that studies of Zhào Yúnlán, Shěn Wēi and lollipops have likely been done multiple times before, so I’m hoping that y’all will indulge yet another cake brought to this party. We can always use more Wēilán!

I do rely on English translations of the show; thank you to everyone who does that amazing work! I am still working on my Mandarin, but it is a slow, slow process. The title is from the song by the Jonas Brothers of the same name.

Shěn Wēi walks toward the office where Kūnlún--Zhào Yúnlán, Chief of SID, has set up to interview Lǐ Qiàn. Even though he did not seem to recognize Shěn Wēi a few short minutes ago, Shěn Wēi would never forget the man he has searched for for 10,000 years. He can’t be mistaken. Kūn--Zhào Yúnlán will give him some sign, he has to.

Shěn Wēi doesn’t want to think about what it means if Kūnlún doesn’t remember him. The general always had a sense of humor, perhaps this is some sort of test, though that seems unnecessarily cruel. Unless Kūnlún is angry that Shěn Wēi didn’t find him sooner? Perhaps it is merely that he’s unwilling to reveal himself in front of witnesses, similar to Shěn Wēi’s own hesitation to link his current life to that of Hēipáoshǐ.

Breathing deeply to steady himself before turning the corner, Shěn Wēi closes his eyes and remembers his promise of no regrets. He has mostly kept to that promise, though he does mourn all the years of their separation.

He comes into sight of the doorway, and remembers that Kūn--Zhào Yúnlán is not the only one who has returned to his life. There, guarding the doorway, is Dà Qìng with short hair and modern clothes, but the same bells around his neck that Kūnlún had placed there. Shěn Wēi had thought that the large black cat outside had been suspiciously familiar, and hearing Dà Qìng’s name had only confirmed it.

It seems, though, that Dà Qìng does not recognize him either. Shěn Wēi watches as Dà Qìng’s eyes narrow at him, puzzled, as if he’s reaching for a memory that is no longer there. It is saddening, but not as piercing as Kūnlún looking at him with none of the tenderness and heat that Shěn Wēi craved.

He leaves Dà Qìng continuing to scratch his head in the doorway and enters the office. Zhào Yúnlán is perched on the desk, with his legs crossed, the ripped and distressed jeans tight across his thighs showing off their shape in a way that robes never had. There is also a familiar thin white stick poking out from between his lips.

Shěn Wēi swallows, memories of watching Kūnlún fiddle with the sweet treats with an agile tongue surfacing abruptly. He remembers when he first saw modern lollipops upon his return to Haixing, and how seeing anyone with a sucker in their mouth would remind him of the man he sought. Now, watching those familiar lips wrapped around a white stick, manipulating the sweet treat with his tongue, Shěn Wēi is sure. This Zhào Yúnlán is his Kūnlún, whether he recognizes Shěn Wēi or not.

Chief Zhào Yúnlán looks up from where he has been watching Lǐ Qiàn and studies Shěn Wēi. He flicks the lollipop around in his mouth until the ball is tucked into his right cheek, bulging underneath the skin.

Shěn Wēi turns his attention to Lǐ Qiàn to give himself a moment to recover, and to remind himself that he is not alone in this room with Zhào Yúnlán. He smiles at her in reassurance, glad to see that she seems alright, though she is still pale. She has not been herself these past few weeks, and Shěn Wēi worries that this will make life harder for her.

“I assumed we would meet again, but this is so fast,” Zhào Yúnlán’s jovial voice draws Shěn Wēi’s attention. The Chief of SID sets down whatever his fingers had been fidgeting with and he leans forward as his eyes examine Shěn Wēi.

Shěn Wēi can’t look at him directly, can only glance at him quickly. He knows that given half a chance, he will stare, entranced, eyes drawn to familiar, beloved features. But it is Lǐ Qiàn he needs to take care of just now. “Lǐ Qiàn is my student. She has lessons later; I’m here to take her.”

Zhào Yúnlán looks to Lǐ Qiàn, who has stood and is waiting patiently to be dismissed, her bag held protectively in front of her. “Okay. We’ve asked all the questions, you can take her now.”

Taking advantage of the moment, Shěn Wēi drinks in the sight of Kūn--Zhào Yúnlán as he is turned partly away. He looks thin, the short hair still a surprise, but his eyes still shine, and his mouth is just as mobile as Shěn Wēi remembers, lips framed by that goatee.

When Zhào Yúnlán’s attention returns to him, Shěn Wēi dips his head, murmuring, “thank you.”

Lǐ Qiàn steps quickly to his side, putting Shěn Wēi between herself and the SID agents. Shěn Wēi checks in with her, relieved that she nods, that she’s fine. They turn to leave and are stopped by the voice behind them.

“The dead girl, Lú Ruòméi is your student as well, am I correct?”

Shěn Wēi freezes. Yes. She had been his student. He failed to keep her safe, had not known that she needed protecting. Keeping himself still, head up, hands loose at his sides, Shěn Wēi breathes. Zhào Yúnlán is not going to let him escape without digging. Lǐ Qiàn stays beside him, so there will be a definitive moment when he has to get her to class. A predetermined escape, and he is grateful for it.

“You must have seen the corpse,” Zhào Yúnlán’s voice continues. “I can’t believe that there’s no reaction from you.”

Shěn Wēi does not turn around, knows that he is not able to control his expression just yet. He huffs and ducks his head slightly at Zhào Yúnlán’s intentional provocation. This he recalls with exasperation and fondness from their discussions millennia ago. “Because I understand there are mysteries that cannot be explained. I am an ordinary person.” Shěn Wēi is glad that Zhào Yúnlán cannot see his face because he knows that he is smirking at the blatant lie. “I have no right to interfere with these things.”

“Is it? Unexplainable things?” There’s a rasp of fabric and a thunk of heels on wood as Zhào Yúnlán slides off the desk and walks over to come around Shěn Wēi’s side to study his face.

Bringing his expression to stillness, Shěn Wēi keeps his eyes downcast, not meeting Zhào Yúnlán’s searching stare. From the corner of his eye, Shěn Wēi notes that the lollipop is moving, and now rests against Zhào Yúnlán’s other cheek.

“What are the unexplainable things you do know, Shěn Jiàoshòu?”

Inclining his head, Shěn Wēi smiles wryly before turning to partly face Zhào Yúnlán. The lollipop has shifted again, shape clear against the inside of Zhào Yúnlán’s right cheek. Shěn Wēi knows that he is being examined, but won’t look up, unwilling to risk revealing any secrets. He does not have the longing that thrums in his veins under control yet.

So he distracts them both. “I study biology, more specifically I study genetic mutation,” Shěn Wēi says, tone even, lecturing. “Throughout history, from primitive society to the explosion of society 10,000 years ago and until today. Human beings have gone through tens of thousands of years of technological evolution. During this endless evolution, if you want to know how many new species that appeared by genetic mutation are discovered, I am afraid…” Shěn Wēi finally turns to face Zhào Yúnlán fully, with his innocent, harmless professor persona firmly in place. “Chief Zhào also cannot give me an exact number.” He keeps his gaze steady, meeting Zhào Yúnlán’s challenge with one of his own.

Zhào Yúnlán is examining him with none of the usual humor meant to disarm until he lets the tension break with a soft snort of laughter. His lips part and the stick of the lollipop shifts slightly as he speaks. “Shěn Jiàoshòu, you are the expert, and you are so knowledgeable. Next time you see this information, remember to call me, okay? I will come over as fast as I can.”

The compliment in Zhào Yúnlán’s voice, that teasing so reminiscent of their early conversations 10,000 years ago, has Shěn Wēi breaking the intense eye contact. Glancing to the side, he sees the boy--Guō?--watching. Shěn Wēi had almost forgotten that there were others in the room, he had been so engrossed in Zhào Yúnlán’s eyes.

Breathing deeply, Shěn Wēi answers the question that started them down this conversation. “Chief Zhào, you are correct. Lú Ruòméi is my student too, so please, hunt the killer.”

Inhaling at the change of subject, Zhào Yúnlán rocks back on his heels, giving Shěn Wēi just a bit more space. “You have my word. Protecting citizens is our duty.” Zhào Yúnlán reaches out and claps a hand on Shěn Wēi’s shoulder, patting with his fingers in a brief, awkward gesture.

The point of contact feels heated and Shěn Wēi holds his breath. He can’t respond, can’t react; it would be… too much. Turning to Lǐ Qiàn, Shěn Wēi murmurs, “let’s go.”

They walk swiftly from the room, and Shěn Wēi can feel the warmth of Zhào Yúnlán’s regard following him for the rest of the day.

#guardian #zhen hun #shen wei #zhao yunlan #weilan #lollipops #guardian fic #my fanfiction tag

28 notes · View notes

whatiwillsay · 3 years

Text

off topic - let’s talk about gaylena 👀

selena gomez is one of taylor’s oldest and bestest friends and given that she is in the 22 liner notes, a huge part of taylor’s life, and maybe fruity herself it seems like possibly we don’t talk about her here at the blog enough!

i don’t want to do a timeline of selena and taylor’s friendship - you can read more about that here, but they met back in the day when they were both dating jonas brothers and to me this idea of finding a real friendship in the midst of these contrived promances is pretty adorable.

ofc most of y’all think taylor is a fruit basket but i think there’s a good chance that selena is too! i’m not saying she is for sure but y’all know me. i’’m here to make a compelling case that everyone and their dog is gay so let’s gooooo!

Part I - At least one fake rs!

Selena “dated” Taylor Lautner in 2009 and he’s definitely gay. Of course, that doesn’t mean she is, it could just be PR, but y’all know I gotta note everything! We stan our fruity bffs dating the same gays 😍

Part II - Selena x cara delevingne

i feel like there’s a chance they met through taylor but everyone in that squad adjacent circle knows one another. cara dated michelle rodriguez for the first half of 2014 and then got with annie clark in March 2015 but it feels like it’s possible something has gone on between her and Selena from summer 2014 - early 2015? ...maybe something casual on and off a bit?

August 2014 - Steamy pics surface in Saint-Tropez, France

Selena and and a freshly single Cara vacation together in part to celebrate Selena’s 22nd birthday.

They party together and look cozy!

Pictures such as this surface and spark rumors around the two:

Selena apparently loves the rumors and gushes about being shipped with Cara.

Quote:

You say Selena drag queens were the true measure of success for you. But isn’t it true that you’re not truly famous until you’ve been the subject of a gay rumor? And last year, the tabloids had a field day with photos of you and Cara Delevingne. I’ve made it!

How did you react to those rumors? Honestly, I loved it. I didn’t mind it. Especially because they weren’t talking about other people in my life for once, which was wonderful. Honestly, though, she’s incredible and very open and she just makes me open. She’s so fun and she’s just extremely adventurous, and sometimes I just want that in my life, so I didn’t mind it. I loved it.

Notice she doesn’t deny them? Now of course she could just be being cool, if she freaked out about it that might be even weirder but hey, it’s still kind of interesting.

Then she admits to questioning her sexuality???

Have you ever questioned your sexuality? Oh, I think everybody does, no matter who they are. I do, yeah, of course. Absolutely. I think it’s healthy to gain a perspective on who you are deep down, question yourself and challenge yourself; it’s important to do that.

(Selena btw, this is cool and all, but not everybody questions their sexuality, maybe you’re just gay 👀)

November 1 - LACMA Art + Film Gala

they even left the event together 👀

and they hung out earlier that day as well:

They were seen the next day partying for Kendall Jenner’s bday singing to her:

a few weeks later Cara tweets Selena’s lyrics!

In December 2014 they are travelling together in texas:

in january 2015 they get cozy at the golden globes together!

and they leave together again:

January 19th/20th a bunch of gay nonsense happens

They post this gay shit with matching shoes and linked fingers:

then they say this to one another:

Enty says they were hooking up!

then we don’t get any more content that i can find for about six months! perhaps they had a fling from summer 2014-jan 2015 and then it ends, Cara gets with Annie in March? Then after half a year apart Selena and Cara resume a friendly relationship? Perhaps! Selena is seen with Justin a bit off and on during this time but this was in their Style/Heat Death Era imo (tbh i probably shouldn’t give a hetty pairing including Justin that designation 🤢but y’all get what I’m saying - it’s fully possible Selena was hooking up with both of them!

Now I’m not super familiar with Selena’s discography so y’all lmk if I’m missing anything major - lyric wise that point to her not being straight.

Selena’s album Revival that comes out after this relationship has a few songs with some vibes, even though I get the feeling a lot of it is probably about Justin, allow me to reach. The title track could be translated as someone coming to terms with their sexuality (among other things):

I feel like I've awakened lately The chains around me are finally breaking I've been under self-restoration I've become my own salvation Showing up, no more hiding, hiding The light inside me is bursting, shining It's my, my, my time to butterfly

Good for you, imo, is too sexy to be about a man even if it’s not super queer lyrically it’s a vibe ok?

Me & My Girls might be a bestie anthem a la 22 (oh wait, no 22 was gay too) but I mean...could be about a girl gang of lesbians too!

And if we want it, we take it If we need money, we make it Nobody knows if we fake it You like to watch while we shake it I know we're making you thirsty You want us all in the worst way But you don't understand I don't need a man

Quinn Fabray indeed!

Nobody feels probably like a retrospective on Justin 🙄but...there is a hint of sapphic craving in there! Saying this particular lover loves them differently than everyone is a bit 👀 plus this stanza:

No oxygen, can barely breathe My darkest sin, you've raised release And it's all because of you, all because of you And I don't know what it is, but you've pulled me in No one compares, could ever begin To love me like you do And I wouldn't want them to

Is Perfect about some bitch Justin started dating? Probably but bear with me here this song is actually pretty fucking gay. Gay enough that I’m gonna add it to one of my gay playlists. Could this song actually be about Cara moving on to Annie?

Ooh, and I bet she has it all Bet she's beautiful like you, like you And I bet she's got that touch Makes you fall in love, like you, like you

I can taste her lipstick and see her laying across your chest I can feel the distance every time you remember her fingertips Maybe I should be more like her Maybe I should be more like her I can taste her lipstick, it's like I'm kissing her, too And she's perfect And she's perfect

Part III - Selena x Julia Michaels

Julia Michaels is a singer/songwriter known for her song Issues. I don’t know her sexuality but she at the least has gay vibes! It seems they met around this time perhaps because Julia wrote on Revival.

They have a friendly enough friendship for a few years, liking one another’s posts on IG from time to time, posing for a photo a time or two and then they seem to get swept up into this very intense friendship in 2019. They write some music together and Julia goes whole hog in promoting the shoe brand Selena is hawking this time 😭

2019 - The Superior Sapphic Jelena Timeline:

It starts, for some reason with a lot of shoe promotion:

chill, chill

more shoes

but more gayness?

this homo shit

ok...

Then we go into the REALLY GAY NOVEMBER OF 2019:

Then they perform together:

And...actually kiss...on the mouth on stage???

Sure it’s just a peck but still...if that were a guy people would say they were dating.

Somehow kissing on the mouth isn’t the gayest thing these girls do over this period because these fucking dykes got matching tattoos. I’ve read enough Larry blogs to know this actually means they’re secretly married. All jokes aside this is fruity behavior.

From their IG stories:

Selena gets Julia a very nice christmas gift:

Covid sets in and content drops off but god damn! It’s possible they just had an intense friendship but if a man and a woman collabed on music together, kissed in public, and got matching tattoos everyone would say they were dating!

Selena, as far as I can find, didn’t have any public boyfriends around this time so who are some of these love songs about?

Rare comes out in January 2020 and perhaps has some gayish songs?

Don’t tell me why but boyfriend lowkey, has a gay vibe. Don’t ask me to explain it but it’s just the musicality of it.

Crowded Room could be a love song for Julia? (or by Julia for Selena, since they’re collaborators?)

Baby, it's just me and you Baby, it's just me and you Just us two Even in a crowded room Baby, it's just me and you, yeah

These are general gay vibes, our secret moments in a crowded room tease

It started polite, out on thin ice 'Til you came over to break it I threw you a line and you were mine

It would have started out polite between them, since they worked together for years before whatever 2019 was happened. And throwing someone a line first of all makes Selena sound like the aggressor but also “throwing someone a line” could be a reference to writing songs together.

Yeah, I was afraid, but you made it safe I guess that is our combination Said you feel lost, well, so do I So won't you call me in the morning? I think that you should call me in the morning If you feel the same, 'cause

Lots of people are afraid at the beginning of a gay rs. Treacherous tease 👀

In summation!

Selena does gay stuff like fantasizing ab kissing other women in her music, getting very touchy with famous dykes on vacay, hangs out with Taylor Swift, has chronic mental health issues, dated a jonas brother and a twilight gay, has admitted to questioning her sexuality, and loves being shipped with women. Is she gay? I don’t know! But all she’s missing from her celesbian bingo card is a suspiciously intense friendship with a Glee Cast member! What do you guys think? Selena fruity or just weird?

Edit to add: so apparently I missed an entire ship and Selena supposedly acted really gay all the time with her backup dancer Charity Baroni. Exposing SMG has posted a lot about all that.

Also Selena has been cast in a gay role! edit to add: @bisluthq went and found this for me - julia is indeed a fruit queen

#selena gomez #gaylena #taylena #gossip #cara delevingne #julia michaels #lesbian #sapphic #of interest #taylor's fruity friends

118 notes · View notes

prettyoddfever · 3 years

Video

youtube

Panic at the Disco in American Valley

here's a tag for pictures

Panic at the Disco was MTV’s Artist of the Week starting on Monday, April 7th in 2008 (the Honda Civic Tour started later that week). The Buzzworthy post announcing this said:

You’ll either be incensed or elated that Panic At the Disco is this week’s MTV Artist of the Week. Or you might not even recognize them — the band that used to sound like nervous teenagers trapped in a fun house with a few synthesizers, some Ringling Brothers costumes, and a severe anxiety disorder dropped the extraneous punctuation, stopped writing songs with titles that could double as character-count-maxing Twitter updates, and completely revamped their sound.

Three years and several personal triumphs and tragedies (the death of Ryan Ross’ father, the replacement of Brent Wilson with Jon Walker and the ensuing fallout, scores of sold-out shows, a Grammy nomination) after selling more than two million copies of their debut album, A Fever You Can’t Sweat Out, Panic is now all grown up. And, for a band that’s taken a lot of s— from knee-jerk anti-emo reactionaries, they appear more determined than ever to keep on the sunny side.

Of all of the blogs, comments, articles and talk of Panic’s transformative sophomore album, Pretty. Odd. (which impressively debuted at #2 its first week out) and its similarities to the Kinks, the Beach Boys, the Beatles and ELO, perhaps the most astute and succinct observation was that of Spin magazine writer Barry Walters, who summarized the new album’s tone thusly: ‘Pretty. Odd. lives up to its title because it dares to be optimistically beautiful at a time when sadness and ugliness might have won them easier credibility.’

Indeed, the album bounces and shines with harmony and hope (just enough zeal without too much eye-roll-inducing zest — vigor without the nauseating vim), indicating that Panic seems to have gotten over the paranoia and angst and dared to be confidently, even outwardly, happy. And seriously, who besides the Jonas Brothers (and maybe Sean Kingston) does that these days?

And speaking of happiness minus extreme cheesiness (cautious optimism, if you will), what could be happier — or more classic rock — than a good, old-fashioned American road trip in a VW van? Watch Panic embark on the most surreal journey of their lives (which is saying a lot considering they’re from Las Vegas) in their Artist of the Week video spots all this week on MTV.

Short video clips that were 15-40 seconds long aired during commercials that week (this fan still has them on their youtube). MTV also had a short clip of the acoustic Nine in the Afternoon performance online and then the full video was posted a bit later. (There were other Artist of the Week interviews + pictures too, but I’m just focusing on the American Valley content in this post). All of the promo pictures were taken by Bryan Hainer.

Oh, and Ryan’s whole cheese whiz line didn’t become a *thing* until after the split... I have no idea why people latched onto that but it’s interesting lol.

FILMING THE VIDEO

The band shot the American Valley video in March after they returned from their European tour. They shared some pictures from the shoot on FOE before the end of the month.

Brennan Stasiewicz wrote and directed the shorts within American Valley. Here are some of his comments about the shoot:

“Once the band, cast and crew were all inside the inflatable dragon, chaos ensued. It was nearly impossible to balance yourself while standing, mostly because the weight on the inside was too much for the air pump to bear. The word from outside the dragon is that it started going limp, slowly deflating away.”

“Brendon had no problem at all driving the fully restored 1962 VW bus. The only problem was that the speedometer was broken. Fortunately the green machine couldn’t go faster than about 50 mph.”

“The shakers used in the video were bought at the small town store in Nipton, CA where they were performing.”

“As the cast of Little Miss Sunshine can attest to, being inside a VW bus in the middle of the desert, with no windows open, makes for a long, hot day. Inside the van were the band and three crewmembers: a cameraman, audio man, and the director. Because of the tight space, the director had to lie down and hide in the back of the van, which unfortunately is right above the hot engine.”

MTV said the footage was shot in Baker & Nipton in California, as well as Jean in Nevada. Some fans later went on a road trip to take pictures at as many locations as possible and their pictures were pretty fun.

The full American Valley video at the top of this post was included on the dvd that came with the Live in Chicago cd, which was released in December 2008 at the end of the Pretty. Odd. era. Alt Press asked Spencer more about how the band made the video:

“We basically get together with [MTV], tell them the concept or theme of it, and that was our theme--that we were driving home from that tour in California to Vegas, and along the way, we stopped at different kind-of-famous spots that have been in movies and stuff. They wanted to get a couple things from Fear And Loathing In Las Vegas. It seemed like a cool concept, [and] we play some of the songs acoustic. But at that time, we had never done the songs acoustic; we had never learned them. So the two days leading up to us [were] just us trying to figure out [how] we're gonna do all these songs. So I think we were a little bit rough on those, but maybe it's a good thing for the bonus feature.”

Spencer was asked if the VW bus was theirs:

“Oh man, I wish that was ours. It [belonged to] some guy who restores [vehicles like that] in California and they found it. We showed up in Barstow, which is halfway between Vegas and L.A. and they had it there in the morning. We were like, ‘Fuck, man, this thing is awesome. Wish I could just drive it home.’ But there was no AC, so the whole time we were driving, we're just sweating our asses off and there were like three camera guys and the four of us in that little thing the whole time. So it was fun, but I don't know if I'd want to drive that thing everyday.”

THE MAIN POST

#american valley

28 notes · View notes

sinceileftyoublog · 3 years

Text

The Hella Mega Tour Review: 8/15, Wrigley Field, Chicago

BY JORDAN MAINZER

The lights went out, and Queen’s “Bohemian Rhapsody” played, followed by The Ramones’ “Blitzkrieg Bop”, as the trademark “person in a pink bunny suit” pretending to be drunk pumped up the crowd. Perhaps no two songs, nor the aforementioned image, encapsulate Green Day’s career any better. The East Bay punks eventually turned into rock opera scribes, all the while maintaining their sense of irreverence. But what separates Green Day’s live performance is a sense of togetherness, even in the face of songs about impending political revolution or the threat of debilitating apathy. As Billie Joe Armstrong and company launched into the title track of American Idiot, the first of a breakneck 21-song set, they had a sold out Wrigley Field chanting every word back to them. Each of their songs feel born from a specific time and place, but if they have anything, its generational staying power, and not just because songs about the evils of the Bush administration have proved still relevant given recent news.

At this point, Green Day can play a seamless, pitch-perfect set in their sleep. Armstrong’s voice is smooth when it needs to be on “Wake Me Up When September Ends”, delving into bratty screams for maximum impact on “Brain Stew”. Bassist Mike Dirnt’s playing is limber and heavy, introducing “Longview” with confidence and ease, while drummer Tré Cool breaks down and builds back up “Welcome to Paradise” the same way you remember when you first heard it. Their addition of touring musicians--guitarist and vocalist Jason White, long-time multi-instrumentalist Jason Freese, and newcomer Kevin Preston--gives their more rounded out songs a depth to add beneath their otherwise jagged edges. And of course, Armstrong’s a man of the people. He’s found a way to bring fans on stage in the era of COVID, making sure those who come on to help them cover Operation Ivy’s “Knowledge” stay far from their bubble and can keep the guitar afterwards. In a more subtle way, when he could have easily addressed the crowd as “Chicago,” he also included neighboring states and the entire Midwest, recognizing that this show was the tour’s only one in flyover country. (Don’t worry, Wrigley fans; he did “Take Me Out to the Ball Game” during “Minority”, correctly singing, “Root for the Cubbies.”)

Yeah, I could pick a couple bones with the set, like no “Jaded” immediately after “Brain Stew”, and the mere existence of buzzkill “21 Guns” in the setlist. For the most part, though, this is a band who knows exactly what it’s doing and is very good at it, giving the crowd only 2 songs written after 2010.

If nostalgia sells, then Weezer’s set was for you, from their Jazz cup color scheme to Rivers Cuomo’s mullet-and-mustache look. I mean, their second 2021 album is called Van Weezer, for goodness sakes. Their Halen tributes start with entering the stage to “Jump” and peak at Cuomo’s two-handed tapping riff on “The End of the Game”, but they’re referenced in performances of classics, like the riffing on the outro of “My Name is Jonas”. Like Green Day, Weezer have always balanced angst with tongue-in-cheek humor, but with little room for politics, they’re all fun and games. Recent tunes like “Hero”, “Fees Like Summer”, and “All My Favorite Songs” are catchy, appropriately thoughtless ear candy, as is their cover of Toto’s “Africa”. And Weezer, too, knows why their fans are there, to hear “El Scorcho” and “Say It Ain’t So” and be drowned in purple and turquoise confetti during “Buddy Holly”.

To me, Green Day and Weezer’s embrace of absurdity is why the inclusion of Fall Out Boy on this tour--especially sandwiched in between the other two--felt off. I’ll be the first to admit it: They’re not my cup of tea, so I might not be the best judge of their set, and a packed stadium faithfully holding up phone lights during all the slow songs probably proves me wrong. But aside from the genuine coolness of a Wilmette band getting to play once again at the ballpark they grew up going to, the whole concept of their set felt at once overcooked and over-earnest. A video intro and outro from, uh, Ron Livingston, and multiple set changes fit a narrative about as structured as something from the mind of latter-day Billy Corgan. Their blowtorch guitars and piano lasted multiple songs, dulling their effect, while Patrick Stump belted “Save Rock and Roll” and “The Least of the Real Ones”. They sounded best when their songs had little fanfare, on classics like “Sugar, We’re Going Down”, “Dance, Dance”, and the stomping “I Don’t Care”. And if they could spend on fireworks during “Centuries”, they could surely have gotten a horn section for “Irresistible” instead of relying on samples.

Speaking of horns, if you’re looking for a band that made the most of their allotted time and opportunity, that would probably be L.A. ska punk band The Interrupters, who blasted through a fun, raw 8-song set while much of the crowd was still walking in. They played pretty evenly from their three studio albums, plus a cover of Billie Eilish’s “Bad Guy”. The throaty delivery of singer Aimee Allen (aka Aimee Interrupter) was the perfect complement to the literal band of brothers, guitarist Kevin Bivona and bassist and drummer Justin and Jesse. It was a set both well-played and curated by the bookers, one that should generate some crossover fandom with the other established bands and that fit the celebratory, somewhat sardonic tone of Green Day and Weezer. I mean, if you’re gonna call it the Hella Mega Tour, you want bands that can take a joke.

3 notes · View notes

letterboxd · 3 years

Photo

Best of Sundance 2021.

From pandemic-era stories, via portraits of grief, to the serendipitous 1969 trilogy, the Letterboxd crew recaps our favorite films from the first major festival of the year.

Sundance heralds a new season of storytelling, with insights into what’s concerning filmmakers at present, and what artistic innovations may be on the horizon. As with every film festival, there were spooky coincidences and intersecting themes, whether it was a proliferation of pandemic-era stories, or extraordinary portraits of women working through grief (Land, Hive, The World to Come), or the incredible serendipity of the festival’s ‘1969 trilogy’, covering pivotal moments in Black American history: Summer of Soul (...Or When the Revolution Could Not Be Televised), Judas and the Black Messiah and the joyful Street Gang: How We Got to Sesame Street.

The hybrid model of this year’s Sundance meant more film lovers across the United States—a record number of you, in fact—‘attended’ the prestigious indie showcase. Our Festiville team (Gemma Gracewood, Aaron Yap, Ella Kemp, Selome Hailu, Jack Moulton and Dominic Corry) scanned your Letterboxd reviews and compared them with our notes to arrive at these seventeen feature-length documentary and narrative picks from Sundance 2021. There are plenty more we enjoyed, but these are the films we can’t stop thinking about.

Documentary features

Summer of Soul (...Or, When the Revolution Could Not Be Televised) Directed by Ahmir-Khalib Thompson (AKA Questlove)

One hot summer five decades ago, there was a free concert series at a park in Harlem. It was huge, and it was lovely, and then it was forgotten. The Harlem Cultural Festival of 1969 brought together some of the world’s most beloved Black artists to connect with Black audiences. The star power and the size of the crowds alone should have been enough to immortalize the event à la Woodstock—which happened the same summer, the film emphasizes. But no one cared to buy up the footage until Ahmir-Khalib Thompson, better known as Questlove, came along.

It would have been easy to oversimplify such a rich archive by stringing together the performances, seeking out some talking heads, and calling it a day. But Questlove was both careful and ebullient in his approach. “Summer of Soul is a monumental concert documentary and a fantastic piece of reclaimed archived footage. There is perhaps no one better suited to curate this essential footage than Questlove, whose expertise and passion for the music shines through,” writes Matthew on Letterboxd. The film is inventive with its use of present interviews, bringing in both artists and attendees not just to speak on their experiences, but to react to and relive the footage. The director reaches past the festival itself, providing thorough social context that takes in the moon landing, the assassinations of Black political figures, and more. By overlapping different styles of documentary filmmaking, Questlove’s directorial debut embraces the breadth and simultaneity of Black resilience and joy. A deserving winner of both the Grand Jury and Audience awards (and many of our unofficial Letterboxd awards). —SH

Flee Directed by Jonas Poher Rasmussen

Flee is the type of discovery Sundance is designed for. Danish documentarian Jonas Poher Rasmussen tells the poignant story of his close friend and former classmate (using the pseudonym ‘Amin Nawabi’) and his daring escape from persecution in 1990s Afghanistan. Rasmussen always approaches tender topics with sensitivity and takes further steps to protect his friend’s identity by illustrating the film almost entirely in immersive animation, following in the footsteps of Waltz With Bashir and Tower. It’s a film aware of its subjectivity, allowing the animated scenes to alternate between the playful joy of nostalgia and the mournful pain of an unforgettable memory. However, these are intercepted by dramatic archive footage that oppressively brings the reality home.

“Remarkably singular, yet that is what makes it so universal,” writes Paul. “So many ugly truths about the immigration experience—the impossible choices forced upon people, and the inability to really be able to explain all of it to people in your new life… You can hear the longing in his voice, the fear in his whisper. Some don’t get the easy path.” Winner of the World Cinema (Documentary) Grand Jury Prize and quickly acquired by Neon, Flee is guaranteed to be a film you’ll hear a lot about for the rest of 2021. —JM

Taming the Garden Directed by Salomé Jashi

There’s always a moment at a film festival when fatigue sets in, when the empathy machine overwhelms, and when I hit that moment in 2021, I took the advice of filmmaker and Sundance veteran Jim Cummings, who told us: “If you’re ever stressed or tired, watch a documentary to reset yourself.” Taming the Garden wasn’t initially on my hit-list, but it’s one of those moments when the ‘close your eyes and point at a random title’ trick paid off. Documentary director Salomé Jashi does the Lorax’s work, documenting the impact and grief caused by billionaire former Georgian PM Bidzina Ivanishvili’s obsession with collecting ancient trees for his private arboretum.

“A movie that is strangely both infuriating and relaxing” writes Todd, of the long, locked-off wide shots showing the intense process of removing large, old trees from their village homes. There’s no narration, instead Jashi eavesdrops on locals as they gossip about Ivanishvili, argue about whether the money is worth it, and a feisty, irritated 90-year-old warns of the impending environmental fallout. “What you get out of it is absolutely proportional to what you put into it,” writes David, who recommends this film get the IMAX treatment. It’s arboriculture as ASMR, the timeline cleanse my Sundance needed. The extraordinary images of treasured trees being barged across the sea will become iconic. —GG

The Most Beautiful Boy in the World Directed by Kristian Petri and Kristina Lindström

Where Taming the Garden succeeds through pure observation, The Most Beautiful Boy in the World relies on the complete participation of its title subject, actor Björn Andrésen, who was thrust into the spotlight as a teenager. Cast by Italian director Lucino Visconti in Death in Venice, a 1971 adaptation of Thomas Mann’s novella about obsession and fatal longing, Andrésen spent the 1970s as an object of lust, with a side-gig as a blonde pop star in Japan, inspiring many manga artists along the way.

As we know by now (Alex Winter’s Showbiz Kids is a handy companion to this film), young stardom comes at a price, one that Andrésen was not well-placed to pay even before his fateful audition for Visconti. But he’s still alive, still acting (he’s Dan in Midsommar), and ready to face the mysteries of his past. Like Benjamin Ree’s excellent The Painter and the Thief from last year, this documentary is a constantly unfolding detective story, notable for great archive footage, and a deep kindness towards its reticent yet wide-open subject. —GG

All Light, Everywhere Directed by Theo Anthony

Threading the blind spots between Étienne-Jules Marey’s 19th-century “photographic rifle”, camera-carrying war pigeons and Axon’s body-cam tech, Theo Anthony’s inquisitive, mind-expanding doc about the false promise of the all-seeing eye is absorbing, scary, urgent. It’s the greatest Minority Report origin story you didn’t know you needed.

Augmented by Dan Deacon’s electronic soundscapes and Keaver Brenai’s lullingly robotic narration, All Light, Everywhere proves to be a captivating, intricately balanced experience that Harris describes as “one part Adam Curtis-esque cine-essay”, “one part structural experiment in the vein of Koyaanisqatsi” and “one part accidental character study of two of the most familiar yet strikingly unique evil, conservative capitalists…”. Yes, there’s a tremendous amount to download, but Anthony’s expert weaving, as AC writes, “make its numerous subjects burst with clarity and profundity.” For curious cinephiles, the oldest movie on Letterboxd, Jules Jenssen’s Passage de Vénus (1874), makes a cameo. —AY

The Sparks Brothers Directed by Edgar Wright

Conceived at a Sparks gig in 2017 upon the encouragement of fellow writer-director Phil Lord, Edgar Wright broke his streak of riotous comedies with his first (of many, we hope) rockumentary. While somewhat overstuffed—this is, after all, his longest film by nearly fifteen minutes—The Sparks Brothers speaks only to Wright’s unrestrained passion for his art-pop Gods, exploring all the nooks and crannies of Sparks’ sprawling career, with unprecedented access to brothers and bandmates Ron and Russell Mael.

Nobody else can quite pin them down, so Wright dedicates his time to put every pin in them while he can, building a mythology and breaking it down, while coloring the film with irresistible dives into film history, whimsically animated anecdotes and cheeky captions. “Sparks rules. Edgar Wright rules. There’s no way this wasn’t going to rule”, proclaims Nick, “every Sparks song is its own world, with characters, rules, jokes and layers of narrative irony. What a lovely ode to a creative partnership that was founded on sticking to one’s artistic guns, no matter what may have been fashionable at the time.” —JM

Narrative features

The Pink Cloud Written and directed by Iuli Gerbase

The Pink Cloud is disorienting and full of déjà vu. Brazilian writer-director Iuli Gerbase constructs characters that are damned to have to settle when it comes to human connection. Giovana and Yago’s pleasant one-night stand lasts longer than expected when the titular pink cloud emerges from the sky, full of a mysterious and deadly gas that forces everyone to stay locked where they stand. Sound familiar? Reserve your groans—The Pink Cloud wasn’t churned out to figure out “what it all means” before the pandemic is even over. Gerbase wrote and shot the film prior to the discovery of Covid-19.

It’s “striking in its ability to prophesize a pandemic and a feeling unknown at the time of its conception. What was once science fiction hits so close now,” writes Sam. As uncanny as the quarantine narrative feels, what’s truly harrowing is how well the film predicts and understands interiorities that the pandemic later exacerbated. Above all, Giovana is a woman with unmet needs. She is a good partner, good mother and good person even when she doesn’t want to be. Even those who love her cannot see how their expectations strip her of her personhood, and the film dares to ask what escape there might be when love itself leaves you lonely. —SH

Together Together Written and directed by Nikole Beckwith

Every festival needs at least one indie relationship dramedy, and Together Together filled that role at Sundance 2021 with a healthy degree of subversion. It follows rom-com structure while ostensibly avoiding romance, instead focusing on how cultivating adult friendships can be just hard, if not harder.

Writer-director Nikole Beckwith warmly examines the limits of the platonic, and Patti Harrison and Ed Helms are brilliantly cast as the not-couple: a single soon-to-be father and the surrogate carrying his child. They poke at each other’s boundaries with a subtle desperation to know what makes a friendship appropriate or real. As Jacob writes: “It’s cute and serious, charming without being quirky. It’s a movie that deals with the struggle of being alone in this world, but offers a shimmer of hope that even if you don’t fall in fantastical, romantic, Hollywood love… there are people out there for you.” —SH

Hive Written and directed by Blerta Basholli

Hive, for some, may fall into the “nothing much happens” slice-of-life genre, but Blerta Basholli’s directorial debut holds an ocean of pain in its small tale, asking us to consider the heavy lifting that women must always do in the aftermath of war. As Liz writes, “Hive is not just a story about grief and trauma in a patriarchy-dominated culture, but of perseverance and the bonds created by the survivors who must begin to consider the future without their husbands.”

Yllka Gashi is an understated hero as Fahrjie, a mother-of-two who sets about organizing work for the women of her village, while awaiting news of her missing husband—one of thousands unaccounted for, years after the Kosovo War has ended. The townsmen have many opinions about how women should and shouldn’t mourn, work, socialize, parent, drive cars and, basically, get on with living, but Fahrjie persists, and Basholli sticks close with an unfussy, tender eye. “It felt like I was a fly on the wall, witnessing something that was actually happening,” writes Arthur. Just as in Robin Wright’s Land and Mona Fastvold’s The World to Come, Hive pays off in the rare, beaming smile of its protagonist. —GG

On the Count of Three Directed by Jerrod Carmichael, written by Ari Katcher and Ryan Welch

It starts with an image: two best friends pointing guns at each other’s heads. There’s no anger, there’s no hatred—this is an act of merciful brotherly love. How do you have a bleak, gun-totin’ buddy-comedy in 2021 and be critically embraced without contradicting your gun-control retweets or appearing as though your film is the dying embers of Tarantino-tinged student films?

Comedian Jerrod Carmichael’s acerbic directorial debut On the Count of Three achieves this by calling it out every step of the way. Guns are a tool to give insecure men the illusion of power. They are indeed a tool too terrifying to trust in the hands of untrained citizens. Carmichael also stars, alongside Christopher Abbott, who has never been more hilarious or more tragic, bringing pathos to a cathartic rendition of Papa Roach’s ‘Last Resort’. Above all, Carmichael and Abbott’s shared struggle and bond communicates the millennial malaise: how can you save others if you can’t save yourself? “Here’s what it boils down to: life is fucking hard”, Laura sums up, “and sometimes the most we can hope for is to have a best friend who loves you [and] to be a best friend who loves. It doesn’t make life any easier, but it sure helps.” Sundance 2021 is one for the books when it comes to documentaries, but On the Count of Three stands out in the fiction lineup this year. —JM

Censor Directed by Prano Bailey-Bond, written by Bailey-Bond and Anthony Fletcher

The first of several upcoming films inspired by the ‘video nasty’ moral panic over gory horror in mid-’80s Britain, Prano Bailey-Bond leans heavily into both the period and the genre in telling the story of a film censor (a phenomenal Niamh Algar—vulnerable and steely at the same time) who begins to suspect a banned movie may hold the key to her sister’s childhood disappearance. Often dreamlike, occasionally phantasmagorical and repeatedly traumatic, even if the worst gore presented (as seen in the impressively authentic fictional horrors being appraised) appears via a screen, providing a welcome degree of separation.

Nevertheless, Censor is definitely not for the faint of heart, but old-school horror aficionados will squeal with delight at the aesthetic commitment. “I’m so ecstatic that horror is in the hands of immensely talented women going absolutely batshit in front of and behind the camera.” writes Erik. (Same here!) “A great ode to the video-nasty era and paying tribute to the great horror auteurs of the ’80s such as Argento, De Palma and Cronenberg while also doing something new with the genre. Loved this!” writes John, effectively encapsulating Censor’s unfettered film-nerd appeal. —DC

CODA Written and directed by Siân Heder

A film so earnest it shouldn’t work, with a heart so big it should surely not fit the size of the screen, CODA broke records (the first US dramatic film in Sundance history to win all three top prizes; the 25-million-dollar sale to Apple Studios), and won the world over like no other film. “A unique take on something we’ve seen so much,” writes Amanda, nailing the special appeal of Siân Heder’s coming-of-ager and family portrait. Emilia Jones plays Ruby, the only hearing person in her deaf family, at war between the family business and her passion for singing. While Heder is technically remaking the French film La Famille Bélier, the decision to cast brilliant deaf actors—Troy Kotsur, Marlee Matlin and Daniel Durant—makes this feel brand new.

But it’s not just about representation for the sake of it. A sense of authenticity, in humor as much as affection, shines through. With a script that’s 40 per cent ASL, so many of the jokes are visual gags, poking fun at Tinder and rap music, but a lot of the film’s most poignant moments are silent as well. And in Ruby’s own world, too, choir kids will feel seen. “I approve of this very specific alto representation and the brilliant casting of the entire choir,” Laura confirms in her review. Come for the fearless, empathetic family portrait, stay for the High School Musical vibes that actually ring true. —EK

We’re All Going to the World’s Fair Written and directed by Jane Schoenbrun

Perhaps the most singular addition to the recent flurry of Extremely Online cinema—Searching, Spree, Host, et al—Jane Schoenbrun’s feature debut ushers the viewer into a haunted, hypno-drone miasma of delirium-inducing YouTube time-suck, tenebrous creepypasta lore and painfully intimate webcam confessionals. Featuring an extraordinarily unaffected, fearless performance by newcomer Anna Cobb, the film “unpacks the mythology of adolescence in a way that’s so harrowingly familiar and also so otherworldly”, writes Kristen. Not since Kiyoshi Kurosawa’s Pulse has there been such an eerily lonely, and at times strangely beautiful, evocation of the liminal spaces between virtual and real worlds.

For members of the trans community, it’s also a work that translates that experience to screen with uncommon authenticity. “What Schoenbrun has accomplished with the form of We’re All Going to the World’s Fair is akin to catching a wisp of smoke,” writes Willow, “because the images, mood and aesthetic that they have brought to life is one that is understood completely by trans people as one of familiarity, without also plunging into the obvious melodrama, or liberal back-patting that is usually associated with ‘good’ direct representation.” One of the most original, compelling new voices to emerge from Sundance this year. —AY

Judas and the Black Messiah Directed by Shaka King, written by King, Will Berson, Kenneth Lucas and Keith Lucas

It was always going to take a visionary, uncompromising filmmaker to bring the story of Fred Hampton, the deputy chairman of the national Black Panther Party, to life. Shaka King casts Daniel Kaluuya as Hampton, and LaKeith Stanfield as William “Wild Bill” O’Neal, the FBI informant whose betrayal leads to Hampton’s assassination. Both actors have never been better, particularly Kaluuya who Fran Hoepfner calls “entrancing, magnetic, fizzling, romantic, riveting, endlessly watchable.”

Judas and the Black Messiah is an electric, involving watch: not just replaying history by following a certain biopic template. Instead, it’s a film with something to say—on power, on fear, on war and on freedom. “Shaka King’s name better reverberate through the halls of every studio after this,” writes Demi. A talent like this, capable of framing such a revolution, doesn’t come around so often. We’d better listen up. —EK

Pleasure Directed by Ninja Thyberg, written by Thyberg and Peter Modestij

A24’s first purchase of 2021. Ironically titled on multiple levels, Pleasure is a brutal film that you endure more than enjoy. But one thing you can’t do is forget it. Ninja Thyberg’s debut feature follows a young Swedish woman (Sofia Kappel) who arrives in Los Angeles with dreams of porn stardom under the name ‘Bella Cherry’. Although Bella is clear-eyed about the business she’s getting into, Thyberg doesn’t shy away from any of the awfulness she faces in order to succeed in an industry rife with exploitation and abuse. Bella does make allies, and the film isn’t suggesting that porn is only stocked with villains, but the ultimate cost is clear, even if it ends on an ever-so-slightly ambiguous note.

Touching as it does on ambition, friendship and betrayal in the sex business, Pleasure is often oddly reminiscent of Paul Verhoeven’s Showgirls. Or rather, the gritty film Showgirls was claiming to be, as opposed to the camp classic it became. There’s nothing campy here. Kappel is raw and fearless in the lead, but never lets the viewer lose touch with her humanity. Emma puts it well: “Kappel gives the hardest, most provocative and transfixing performance I’ve seen all festival.” “My whole body was physically tense during this,” writes Gillian, while Keegan perhaps speaks for most when she says “Great film, never want to see it again.” —DC

Coming Home in the Dark Directed by James Ashcroft, written by Ashcroft and Eli Kent

A family camping trip amidst some typically stunnin—and casually foreboding— New Zealand scenery is upended by a shocking rug-pull of violence that gives way to sustained terror represented by Daniel Gillies’ disturbingly calm psychopath. The set-up of this thriller initially suggests a spin on the backwoods brutality thriller, but as Coming Home in the Dark progresses and hope dissipates, the motivations reveal themselves to be much more personal in nature, and informed on a thematic level by New Zealand’s colonial crimes against its Indigenous population. It’s a stark and haunting film that remains disorientating and unpredictable throughout, repeatedly daring the viewer to anticipate what will happen next, only to casually stomp on each glimmer of a positive outcome.

It’s so captivatingly bleak that a viewing of it, as Collins Ezeanyim’s eloquent reaction points out, does not lend itself to completing domestic tasks. The film marks an auspicious debut for director and co-writer James Ashcroft. Jacob writes that he “will probably follow James Ashcroft’s career to the gates of Hell after this one”. Justin hits the nail on the head with his description: “Lean and exceptionally brutal road/revenge film … that trades in genre tropes, especially those of Ozploitation and ’70s Italian exploitation, but contextualizes them in the dark history of its country of origin.” —DC

The World to Come Directed by Mona Fastvold, written by Ron Hansen and Jim Shepard

Mona Fastvold has not made the first, nor probably the last, period romance about forbidden lesbian love. But The World to Come focuses on a specific pocket in time, a world contained in Jim Shepard’s short story ‘Love & Hydrogen’ from within the collection giving the film its name. Katherine Waterston and Vanessa Kirby are Abigail and Tallie, farming neighbors, stifled by their husbands, who find brief moments of solace, of astonishment and joy, together. What shines here is the script, a verbose, delicate narration that emanates beauty more than pretence. “So beautifully restrained and yet I felt everything,” Iana writes.

And you can feel the fluidity and elegance in the way the film sounds, too: composer Daniel Blumberg’s clarinet theme converses with the dialogue and tells you when your heart can break, when you must pause, when the end is near. “So much heartache. So much hunger. So much longing. Waves of love and grief and love and grief,” writes Claira, capturing the ebb and flow of emotion that keeps The World to Come in your mind long after the screen has gone silent. —EK

Related content

The 2021 Sundance Film Festival lineup by Letterboxd rating

Letterboxd’s ‘Official’ Top 50 of 2021

Awards Season 2020-2021: our awards-tracker list

Letterboxd’s Festiville HQ: our home for up-to-the-minute festival coverage

#sundance #sundance film festival #sundance 2021 #sundance2021 #questlove #summer of soul #black woodstock #shaka king #judas and the black messiah #letterboxd top 50 #best of sundance 2021 #letterboxd

11 notes · View notes

schmergo · 5 years

Text

I'm less than cheered by the Jonas Brothers' assertion that my great-great-great grandaughter is "doing fine" in the Year 3000. Given that the average person becomes a parent around the age of 27-35, one would assume my great-great-great granddaughter would be born approximately 150 years from now. If she were to live to the Year 3000, that would make her about 830 years old. If healthcare has advanced to the point where humans are living to such ridiculously Methuselan ages, it would be an absolutely massive strain on the planet and its resources and contribute unbelievable carbon footprints unless they have massively changed the way they interact with the environment.

But alas, I doubt this is true, because the Jonas Brothers' prophecy states, "Not much has changed, but they lived underwater," implying sea levels have risen drastically. This shocking tale of utter complacence and stagnation in cultural progress in the face of climate disaster strikes fear into my heart.

And yet, the Jonas Brothers have tried to warn us of this impending disaster for years with songs with evocative titles such as "S.O.S, "Burning Up," and perhaps most ominous of all, "A Little Bit Longer," warning how little time we have to prevent their vision from becoming a reality.

#jonas brothers #year 3000 #prophecy #climate change

87 notes · View notes

the-marvel-imagines-blog · 5 years

Text

Madness | Chpt. 27

Chapter Title: “The Awakening”

Pairing: Loki x Original Female Character (Eva)

Word Count: 11,111

Warnings: All the angst, arguments, a little surprise

Name Pronunciations: Hjalmar: “He-all-mar” | Aaldir: “All-deer” | Ephinea: “Eh-fin-ee-uh”

Summary: Thor and Eva have conflicting views on how to handle the situation with Aurora, but Eva’s need to protect her daughter gets in the way of her happiness.

A/N: I’m sorry for the short hiatus I went on. I was in Boston for a bit for the Jonas Brothers concert on the 17th, and then life kind of spiraled out of control for me. I went through a fairly short depressive episode, which made it unbelievably difficult to write anything of acceptable quality. Once again, I’m sorry for suddenly disappearing, and I’m hoping to get back to posting once a week. Thank you all so, so, so much for reading <3

Tagged: @teddyboobear @alledeglyfunny @xletmetaste-yoursmilex @itsknife2meetu @mynameisyara @j-j-ehlby-writes @jillilama-blog (anyone who wants to be tagged can message me and ask. It’s not a problem at all)

He stood behind me in all his godly glory. I didn’t want to look at him. My arms were crossed over my chest as if I was an adolescent in a petty argument with her guardian, but this didn’t feel petty; I was hurt and felt betrayed. Thor knew how important it was that I stay away from Aurora. I made a promise to not even return to Earth unless the situation was dire or her life was in danger. Otherwise, I made an oath not to return for fear that I would see her. It was like a knife straight though my heart the moment our eyes met the previous week when I woke up. I was kept in the room and in the bed by Thor as Tony and Bruce continued to monitor me, making sure that I was in peak condition before they allowed me to leave. For over a week, I was forced to live in the same building as her, and every morning, I’d wake up with a dread unlike any other, terrified that she would come into the room, that she would look at me for a moment too long, and she would figure out the secret I kept from the universe.

Her.

While I was grateful for the gift Thor had given me-another chance at life-I was furious that this was the place he decided to bring me. Instead of forcibly taking me back to Asgard where Frigga would look after me, I was brought to the last place on Earth I wanted to be. I would’ve rather walked straight onto a battlefield alone with no armor and no weapons. It was a better fate than being forced to look upon the face that brought me so much joy and so much sorrow. Seeing her was like looking at the sun, but it only reminded me of how dark it truly was without her. She was the sip of fresh water in the desert that made you forget about the dry, unforgiving air. She was the cool breeze on a sweltering day that made you forget about the moisture on your upper lip whilst working in the garden. I resented the fact that she was a passing dream that would eventually give way to the nightmare. A life without her was darkness, and I wanted my eyes to adjust. However, each time I looked at her, my pupils would constrict to adjust to the light, and I’d forget about the darkness until I was thrown back into it, scrambling to see once more. Seeing her was like a breath of fresh air into lungs that were slowly filling with blood.

I wanted to see her, to hold her, to speak words of unconditional love to her, to tell her stories of her family, to fall asleep with her body curled up next to me, but I couldn’t. I couldn’t want those things. It was dangerous for her to be a part of me, and as the butterflies twisted in my stomach and that familiar stir occured, I frowned. I was a monster, an abomination, a freak of nature. If what I had been told was true, if I truly was the person Death and Ezra claimed I was, I was walking on a fault line, and I would either work to bring about peace, or I would bring about death and destruction. She could be no part of that. She was pure and innocent and far too good for me. I had her love for a time, and in my moments of darkness, I thought of the way her hair smelled after she ran through the forest, and my heart would lighten. I thought of the way she would throw her arms around my waist, crashing into me as every ounce of love poured from her very soul into my own. I thought of how she would kiss my cheek almost every night before she fell asleep.

Thor huffed, our argument clearly only beginning. He was clearly upset that I was so adamant against being here, and I was irritated that he made the call for me to be brought here. My mere presence was liable to damage Aurora’s psyche and cause her to be even more unhappy. At least when I was absent, she lived in a type of blissful ignorance, much like Tony did when he was younger. He didn’t remember me, but when I returned-before I gave him his memories of me back-he would begin to piece together the familiarity we had with one another. I worried that if Aurora found out, if she was able to see through the veil I placed over her memories of me, I wouldn’t be able to walk away again, and that would be dangerous for her, “this was the only way to keep you alive,” he insisted, his voice conveying just how spent he was by my insistence that we never should have come here in the first place.

I glared back at him, “she’s here!” I hissed, unable to bring myself to say her name. It was a dull ache in my heart, a place I so desperately tried to tend to all this time we’ve been apart, but just when I thought I’d be able to breathe without her in my life, I was thrust back into a life with her, which reminded me that breathing without her would never be possible. I was caught between accepting love and putting that love at risk or refusing that love and living in the void of unhappiness for the rest of my existence. I wanted to be happy, and I wanted her to be happy, but I couldn’t have both. I was destined to lose no matter what.

“You’re her mother! You needed to live! I made the right call!” he growled, raising his voice without fear of anyone hearing us. He was growing angrier and angrier by the second, but he underestimated me. I was ready to fight. I was outraged that I was brought to the one place on Earth that I didn’t want to be. I was weak when I was near her, and he brought me straight to her. He made a decision that could cost me more than just my life, it could put her life in jeopardy as well, “if I had been in a similar situation, would you have let me die?” he asked, trying to prove his point.

I shook my head, grimacing as I turned around to catch his burning blue eyes, “that’s not-”

He cut me off, his voice even louder than before, “don’t even tell me it’s any different!” he boomed, catching me off guard. I winced at his words, surprised that he was taking such a dominant tone with me. He never did that before. Thor and I didn’t argue with each other often, and even when we did, it never got this heated; however, when Aurora was involved, he voiced his opinions and didn’t change them. He was intense when he spoke of her, and that was only amplified after I made my decision to give her to Tony. He fought me every step of the way, telling me that he would secure the dungeons even more than they already were, telling me that Loki would have no way of escaping, but he didn’t understand my goal. My goal was never to leave Aurora on Earth forever. I wanted to send her away until I managed to help bring back the Loki I knew and loved, the man who could be a spectacular father. Then, she would be brought back home, and we would be happy together. Instead, my plan-my life-fell apart the longer she was away from me, and Thor spoke of her less and less. When he did utter words about her, they were always ones of love and dedication, though.

“You know how I feel about you, Eva,” he murmured, his voice suddenly becoming sweet and tender as he closed the space between us with a few long strides. His right hand passed over the emptiness between us, and he stroked my cheek with the tips of his fingers. I wanted so desperately to lean into his touch, to lean into any touch. With Aurora so close, I yearned for Loki’s gentle arms to cradle me against him as I told him all the words I failed to convey before. Instead, I remained still, turning my focus to the blade of grass that was still tied to my finger. It was a reminder that things were moving in the direction I always dreamed they would, but it was yet another reminder that I was perhaps the worst thing for him. Thor’s voice disturbed my silent conflict, “you’ve always known how deep my love runs for you-how I still love you after everything. In another life, you would’ve been my princess, my betrothed, my love, but I’ve loved you on my own for a thousand years. I’ve listened to your laughter like it was a song sent by the old Gods, and I have appreciated you as if you were a goddess even before I knew the truth.”

I furrowed my eyebrows, fear overcoming me. He couldn’t know the truth. How could he know the truth? Odin. Why would he tell Thor, though? Of all the people to entrust with information like that, he trusted the man who could never hide anything from me? Did the Allfather want me to know? Did he want this to be information that broke me? Did he want me to give into the darkness that he feared within me? I didn’t know how to respond to Thor’s words, but he didn’t even look fazed by his own words, “my father finally told me of you, and by the way you speak, it’s clear that you know, too...the daughter of Death,” he continued, his voice trailing off, rendering me speechless. I didn’t know how to respond. I had two options: lie to him or stay silent, hence confirming his words. I chose the latter. He nodded his head, “I worshipped the ground you walked upon before I even knew what you were, and you expected me to sit there and accept that you were dead? I’ve lost you before, and I wasn’t about to lose you again,” he choked out, tears forming in his eyes as he recalled the day Aurora was brought into the world, the day I willingly gave my life for hers.

With no desire to speak of my lineage, especially not so openly when no one else was aware, I skirted over his revelation that he was no longer blind to who I was...what I was. Instead, I listened to the way his heart broke just a little more each second our eyes remained connected. Within him, there was a desire to stay on Midgard. I shook my head, sensing the conflict within him, too. He knew that Earth wasn’t the place we belonged. We were meant to help the Asgardians, not live amongst them, for our presence would only bring about more conflict for them. We couldn’t risk our wars straying away from Asgard and relocating to Midgard, “we can’t stay. You know that, right?” I asked, knowing that he was becoming more and more tied to the idea of staying. When it was just Loki and I, before the world knew of our existence, we could’ve made a life on Midgard and flown under the radar. Even after New York, we could find our own little corner of the world to hide. Thor, however, was the prince of Asgard, the heir to the throne. He was well known amongst the Midgardians, too. He couldn’t stay without risking the lives of the humans he wished to protect.

He frowned, stepping away from me, disconnecting his hand from my cheek. His arms crossed over his chest, and I could still feel the heavy conflict. He was looking for any and every reason to stay, and I could tell-even though he wouldn’t tell me his true reasoning-that it was mainly because of Aurora. She played a role in him wanting to remain on Midgard, and I knew that because it was the same desire I struggled with, “it would do you good to continue resting. You know that the moment you return to Asgard, you’ll pick right back up where you left off,” he noted, the argument being a good one. It was true that I wouldn’t take the time to rest when I returned to Midgard, but there were also many reasons for that. I had too much to accomplish, and I also had Harley and Kaia to care for in the meantime. There was a deadline on how soon the situation with Cul needed to be resolved. He shook his head, “I can’t risk that, not so soon after I got you back.”

I crossed my arms over my chest, turning back around to stare out the window, “it’s my decision. We don’t belong here,” I hissed, burying my emotions as my own reflection stared back at me, her green eyes filled with unforgiving judgement.

“Neither does she!” he boomed, his voice becoming even deeper. I loathed the fact that he was questioning my decision when it was the only right one for me to make. I hurt myself enough over the fact that I separated myself from my daughter, I didn’t need him to do the same. He continued as I stared at his reflection in the mirror, “she belongs with you. She belongs with her family. She’s lost everything. She’s lost herself. I would expect this from anyone else, but you know what it’s like to be abandoned,” he hissed, almost as if he was trying to dig a knife into my back.

As soon as he said those words, I saw the reflection of my eyes in the glass that overlooked the darkening city. The green was tainted by the color of a bleeding rose. A deep, velvety red took over the irises of my eyes, pushing aside all the green until it was the only color left. With every second of silence that passed, I felt my blood begin to boil, and the color in my eyes became more and more rich until it was almost glowing. I whipped around to face him, not even trying to fight back the anger that his words brought on. Instead, I fell into it, basking in the heat that rose up in my chest. His eyes widened as I narrowed mine at him in fury, “I never abandoned my daughter. Rethink your words, and speak again!” I demanded-a hefty command given to the prince by a commoner. But...I wasn’t a commoner. I had a claim to a throne I didn’t want, but the power I felt with that knowledge made it even harder to bite my tongue, so I didn’t.

“You left her!” he argued back, his blue irises sparking to life like the lightning that followed him wherever he went. Lightning lived in those veins, and when he was angry, there was a hint of it in his eyes.

“I did what was best for her!” I yelled, not caring who heard me. Even if Aurora heard me, she wouldn’t know I was talking about her. At that point, I didn’t care about the dangers of speaking too loudly or giving way to the rage within me. It was festering, and Thor was pulling it out of me little by little. I closed the space between us, grabbing the collar of his white t-shirt and pulling us closer together. I watched as my veins glowed with the same red that lingered in my irises, but I paid no mind to it. The anger was tearing away my cautious nature, giving way to someone far more feral and fearless. My voice lowered, “do you have any idea how hard that was for me?” I hissed, before witnessing the fear in Thor’s eyes. I had never seen it so prominent before, and he was never afraid of me. I let go of his shirt, the red disappearing from my hands. All it took was that small look of terror, and I realized that I was turning into the monster I couldn’t bear to live with. She was meant to come around when faced Thanos someday, or when I faced Cul. She was destruction incarnate, but that wasn’t who I chose to be. I refused to be the monster Odin believed I would become.

When Thor took a deep breath, I surmised that the green hue in my irises must’ve returned, fighting back the red. It was life and mercy fighting away death and destruction. It pained me to even look at him after what transpired, but our eyes connected as the hot tears filled mine. My voice was low and soft as to maintain control over my emotions and to not lose that control again, “do you have any idea how many nights I sat at the end of that bridge, asking Heimdall to tell me about her? It tore me apart each time, and all I wanted was to bring her home, so I stopped asking about the details. Instead, I just inquired about her health and safety. Do you know how many times I curled up in bed with my pillows and tried to pretend it was her? Do you know why I’ve fought so hard on behalf of your brother? Did you ever even stop to ask me why I did it in the first place?” I asked, trying to urge him to think about how ignorant he was to the situation. He didn’t know all he thought he did.

He shook his head, “no, but I know it’s because you were afraid that Loki would escape and hurt you,” he answered, which was only part of the reasoning.

“Do you know what would’ve hurt me more than anything else?” I asked before falling into a tense silence as he looked for an answer. Sensing that he wouldn’t come up with the right one, I answered my own question for him, “losing my child. I couldn’t be certain that he wasn’t crazed enough to do that if he escaped. I couldn’t risk her life on the chance that he wouldn’t hurt her.”

“I would’ve protected you,” he insisted.

“I didn’t want anyone to get hurt, especially not him!” I snapped, feeling that familiar heat rising up again. It was as if he was trying to misunderstand me. The anger and frustration quickly bled into sorrow, and tears began stinging my eyes, “I didn’t want to give anyone a reason to hurt Loki, and I couldn’t risk her life, either. I thought that if I sent her away, I could focus all my time on reaching out to Loki and helping him return to the man he used to be. Then, once he fled the darkness and returned to the light, I could bring her home. However, there was your father, too. With Loki’s newest crimes, her life would have been in even more danger if he discovered her existence, and I would’ve been forced to commit treason because if he tried to take her from me, there would’ve been a slaughter. It was the only choice I had,” I explained, my voice cracking as my emotions threatened to betray me like they had so often in the past weeks that we had been on Midgard. My emotions were heightened again, “she doesn’t belong anywhere near me, and with Ezra’s presence in Asgard, I don’t want her anywhere near me. I want her to be safe.”

“We could keep her safe,” he yelled in exasperation.

I shook my head, knowing that nothing would sway me into bringing her back to Asgard under the current circumstances, “that’s not good enough for me, though,” I murmured as the door to the room cracked open. Thor took no notice of it, but I watched as Tony entered the room, eyes filled with concern. It was obvious that he heard our argument and was coming to check on us. Thor and I didn’t fight like this...ever, so it was clear in the worry written all over Tony’s face that he was concerned for each of us. In that moment, he looked like a child watching his parents argue, but he had seen far worse.

Thor’s anger boiled up even more, “well, it’s better than casting her away and leaving her here. You’re her mother, and-”

I cut him off in frustration, “and you’re not her father!” I bellowed, the building trembling under the pressure of my voice.

He took a moment to steady himself, clearing the pain from his eyes, and I saw the words flit across the blue surface of the ocean before he even said them. Thor thought about them before he spoke them, which made their impact that much more painful. He narrowed those anger-filled, crystal blue eyes at me, “well, even if I was, it wouldn’t worry me anyway because I wouldn’t know of her,” he remarked, causing Tony to flinch on the other side of the room.

I remained composed, staring him down as the realization of his own words hit him. It was the lowest blow he could deal, and he dealt it. Part of me wished for more of his hurtful words, for I deserved them more than anyone else. Part of me wanted him to hurt me the way I know my lack of romantic affection hurt him. No one else deserved pain and suffering the way I did...not even Thanos himself. I failed the love of my life. If I fought harder, Loki wouldn’t have fallen from the Bifrost in the first place. If I fought harder, he would’ve seen the birth of our daughter, and we could’ve lived a happy life together. instead, everything spiraled out of control, and-like dominoes-each painful, sorrow-filled event followed the last. They were all connected to that one instance when I let Loki walk away from me in the garden before telling him that I was with child. Every moment of pain and suffering my love and our daughter experiences...it was all on me, so I silently wished for that pain to be thrust upon me. I yearned for mercy, but I knew what I deserved.

As Thor’s eyes filled with regret, I turned around to face the window once more, “leave,” I demanded, crossing my arms over my chest as if I could physically fight back the tears that were so close to rising up and spilling down my cheeks.

“Eva, I’m so-”

I cut him off, “I don’t want to talk to you right now, and I’m done listening,” I growled, glaring at his reflection, “and if you ever insinuate that I don’t love my daughter again, you’ll be hard-pressed to make it through your next breath before you feel my wrath,” I threatened him, knowing that I couldn’t truly live up to that threat. I still loved Thor, but sometimes, that was where the most excruciating, intimate pain came from-from the ones we loved most. They were the ones we let close enough, the ones we trusted with daggers deep enough to tear through our hearts, but we trusted that they wouldn’t use them against us. Thor just did, “you’ll never understand what it’s like to willingly give up something you love so deeply for their own benefit.”

“I do...” he sighed, his voice thick with tears, “...because I did that with you.”

Then, there was an empty silence that filled the room. Thor’s footsteps over to the door cut through the deafening nothingness, sounding louder than usual. I continued to stare out the window, though, the clouds merging together to cover the sky in a thick blanket of darkness. The moment I heard the door close behind one of my closest friends, I allowed the tears to cascade down my cheeks. I never meant to hurt him, but my inability to choose him over Loki caused him more pain than anything else. The countless sacrifices he made for me never went unnoticed. My hand flew up to cover my mouth as I physically held in a sob. This wasn’t how it was meant to be. It felt like I was losing him, and it was my fault.

As soon as I began crying, I felt Tony’s presence behind me. My eyes locked with those in his reflection on the glass. I spun around, throwing my arms around his neck. I didn’t wish to speak ill of Thor, but I knew that even if I did, Tony would listen in silence until I cried myself to sleep. I didn’t wish to weep the way I was, but I knew that Tony would hold me through it. His arms wrapped around my waist, and he held me against his chest. I breathed him in, burying my face in his neck as I let my emotions run wild. I knew that Thor was cold because he loved Aurora so deeply. She was the last piece of his brother he had left, and he dumped every ounce of love he had into her. She was a shining star on his darkest night, and I knew that his intentions were good. I knew that all he wanted was to see a happy ending for the people he loved.

Before he could speak a single word, the fluttering in my abdomen returned, but that time around, it was a thousand times stronger than the last. My body jolted, and I tore myself away from Tony’s arms, feeling the sickness rise up within me. It was beginning. It was the awakening. I scrambled into the washroom, taking the time to hurriedly shut the door behind me. My knees connected with the solid marble floor right before I emptied the contents of my stomach into the bowl. I groaned, remembering how much I didn’t miss this part of it. Humans and Asgardians were similar in many aspects, but I always wished that this wasn’t one of them. Still, it was a reminder of what I was fighting for. It was an awakening, and it would be our new beginning.

Between the muffled heaves of my body trying to empty itself of all that I had eaten in the past few hours since I last got sick, I heard the door open, but I didn’t dare pull my head from the toilet bowl for fear that my stomach would betray me yet again. Instead, I left my head buried in the bowl, knowing exactly who entered the bathroom after me. Though I didn’t desire Tony’s company when I was in such a state, the supportive, loving energy that radiated from him made me feel much less alone in what was happening. After another wave of sickness, I pulled my head from the bowl to gasp for air, and Tony was ready with a towel. In an attempt to be close to me-even when the best place to be would’ve been as far away as possible-I watched as he lowered himself onto the floor beside me. I took the grey towel from him with a groan, “I’m sorry,” I apologized, reaching up to flush away the proof of my sickness.

He smirked, clearly slightly amused by the situation. It was in typical Tony fashion to make light of a serious situation. Even as a young boy, he would do the same thing. He once jumped off a swing as a child, and got a nasty cut on his upper arm. Instead of crying, he joked that he’d be able to tell people that he’d gone off to war, and this was one of many battle scars. He specifically asked for me to leave him with it when I insisted I heal him. By that point, though, he knew that it wasn’t so much a healing process as it was a transferral process, and I was aware of why he wanted to keep it. Instead of telling me that he didn’t want me to hurt myself by helping him, he covered up his pain with a joke and moved on. Our eyes connected, and his smile forced one of my own, “you know, it’s actually kind of refreshing to know that even gods and goddesses do this kind of thing, and it’s not just me after a night of bad decisions.”

“Well, I’m not a goddess, and we’re not as different from humans as you think,” I remarked, my stomach continuing to churn. From the look in his eyes, I knew that he was piecing it together, “you don’t have to sit here.”

“You’re right, I don’t,” he nodded, “but you did,” he added, his eyes becoming wet with tears. We tried to move on quickly from what happened with Killian and the Extremis serum. He had been working diligently to find a cure for the serum, so there wasn’t much time to share many words about what transpired or what happened to the two of us. I didn’t want to force the conversation for fear that it would stir up some unpleasant emotions, so all he did after I woke up was sit with me in silence for the entire day. He held my hand and gazed at me like I was the only living thing in the universe. In that moment on the floor of the washroom, though, I saw some of those emotions rising up to greet him, “you were there for me during every dirty, disgusting, painful, and horrifying moment, and you were there for every grand, beautiful, exciting, and joyful one, too. You did it all because you loved me, and the fact that you...died for me tells me that the love never left even for a moment. I love you, too, Eva, and that’s why I’m gonna sit here.”

Tears filled my eyes as he spoke. For a fleeting moment, I wondered if my younger self would’ve believed me if I told her what her future had in store for her. If I had the ability to go back and tell her all that she would experience, all the love she would receive, would she believe me? Would she trust that all the pain would be worth it? Would she still make those painstaking decisions to get to where I was in that very moment? Would she have made different choices that lead her down a less painful path? All I knew was that in that very moment on the floor, I was lucky. The people that I loved were safe for the time being, and I was in the presence of one of the most extraordinary people I’d ever met. As fate would have it, though, another wave of sickness kept me from speaking similar words of love into Tony’s soul as he did mine. I buried my head in the bowl once more and heaved, groaning once the wave passed over me. Pulling my head from the toilet bowl once more, I flushed the contents and moved my hair from my face. Luckily, it remained untouched. As I tried to collect myself, the question Tony asked made me freeze, “how long have you known?”

He knew.

The gentle thrumming of my heart stopped on a dime, and my breath caught in my throat. My eyes locked with his, and I searched them, seeing that there was no ounce of lightheartedness in him. He wasn’t joking with me or even offering up the question as a way to lighten the mood. He was asking me the question in all seriousness. It shouldn’t have surprised me as much as it did, what with Tony and I being as close as we were. We had a spiritual connection to one another, and his ability to read me like an open book was nothing new. Because I wasn’t ready to start speaking of it aloud just yet, my mouth fell open as I searched for any other explanation aside from the truth itself. While Life spoke to me, insisting that I was ready, I was afraid of the end of this road. I had just taken in Harley and Kaia, and Loki had finally asked me to be his. So much was happening, and the end of the road was tainted by what happened with Aurora. Ezra and Cul still posed a massive threat to my home and myself. In turn, they posed a massive threat to my love and my children, both alive and unborn.

“You’re pregnant, aren’t you?” he asked, nonchalantly. He knew the truth as well as I did, but he was just recently able to piece it together. I had been piecing it together since Life spoke to me, whispering words of loving encouragement right to my soul. The very essence of the universe was on my side, but I was still uncertain. Before I could open my mouth to speak again, a smirk played on Tony’s lips as his eyes scanned my body. There hadn’t been any physical changes yet, but they would start happening soon just like they did before. This time, I was more sensitive to the change within me, though, so I was aware of what was happening as it was happening. Looking for the right words to say in order to deter Tony from the truth that he already knew, he cocked his head to the side, snickering, “don’t try to lie to me, sweetheart, that’s my forte, not yours. Besides, I can see right through you. Just talk to me.”

I nodded my head in response to his first question. It was true. He knew of the awakening that I was ill prepared for, “I felt the change the morning I returned from Asgard. That night, Loki and I-”

He cut me off, holding up a hand as if it could somehow stop my words, “whoa, I already know where babies come from, so you don’t have to overshare,” he teased me, a playful grin forming on his lips. It caused the laughter that bubbled up in my chest and spilled from my lips. I leaned forward and gave him a gentle, playful push as his eyes filled with that sparkle that I missed each time it died away. When he was a child, that little twinkle in his eyes was there almost constantly, but the more of life he witnessed, the more cruelty he saw, the more that spark died away. When he spoke of Aurora, when he looked at me, when I told him about Loki, those little moments brought about that twinkle once more, and it was as if my life fell back into place. He cleared his throat, his eyes still bursting with life at the excitement of another little life that he could shower with love and affection. In the short period of time that he had Aurora, he treated her like the little queen of his existence, and I wondered how beautiful of a father he would be. His voice interrupted my inner thoughts, “besides, to feel that you’re pregnant the morning after...that’s impossible.”

“It should be, but I don’t know how else to explain it,” I remarked, finally able to sit up as my stomach stopped churning. I was nervous to eat anything else, but I was hungry without a single clue of what I wanted. I leaned back against the counter, resting my hand on my abdomen, “it’s like this little spark just ignited that morning, almost like my life essence split in two, and it joined together with Loki’s to create a new one. I don’t know how to put it into words, but I knew almost immediately what had happened,” I explained, the warmth of that moment still spreading through my veins. This familiar journey made it that much harder to stay away from Aurora, but it made me that much more passionate about ending the conflict with Cul and Ezra. I would have my daughter back before I welcomed her sibling into the world.

Tony slid himself across the floor until he sat right in front of me. He grasped my hands in his own, giving them a gentle squeeze, “stay in New York,” he insisted, his eyes filling with a hope that I would be forced to break. I wasn’t meant to stay, not without Loki. I wasn’t meant to be anywhere without him. Sensing the conflict in my eyes, he continued with even more resolve. He could sooner move a mountain with his bear hands before he could sway me in this. I couldn’t stay, but I allowed him to continue, “let me look after you while you go through this process. Thor told me what happened last time. You should be monitored. Give Bruce and I just a little more time to reverse the effects of the extremis...please,” he begged, tears filling his eyes as he spoke. The last time we were split up from each other, I died, and I knew how difficult that was for him to come to terms with. He didn’t want to be away from me again.

“I have matters to tend to in Asgard,” I replied, making my voice as soft and delicate as I possibly could. I knew that my words would break his heart and spirits, so I was gentle with how I spoke them. In my mind, I was looking for any possible way to go about the coming months without hurting anyone. The only way this could work out for everyone involved would be if Ezra and Cul were dealt with, taking them out of the picture completely. Then, there wouldn’t be an outside force threatening my family or myself. After that, Loki and I could escape to Midgard with Harley and Kaia to reunite with our daughter, and we could live peacefully amongst the Midgardians as we continued to build our family. While the odds wouldn’t be in my favor for that outcome, I wanted that fairytale happy ending, and I would make it happen. Even if it didn’t happen for me, I would see to it that it happened for my children and my love. I continued speaking, “Loki missed the birth of our first child. He will not miss the birth of our second one. I don’t care what steps I need to take to get him out of those dungeons, he is my beloved, and he belongs with me. I will tear the palace apart if it means he leaves with me,” I added, the anger boiling up within me. I watched as the veins in my hands began to glow that vibrant red, and the way Tony’s eyes widened let me know that my eyes had also taken on that familiar color. I smirked, feeling the power surging through me, “besides...that castle belonged to my father long before it belonged to Odin.”

*Aurora’s POV*

She didn’t like me.

It was clear in the way she had me shooed away every time I even ventured near her room. She wouldn’t make eye contact with me or speak to me. If Clint was so adamant that there wasn’t a hateful bone in her body, I would have presumed that she hated me; however, the first time I said that, Clint and Natasha both jumped to her defense, telling me that it wasn’t in her nature to harbor hatred for anyone. I trusted that they knew her better than I did, but I couldn’t ignore the fact that she didn’t seem to be as partial to me as everyone else. She was nothing like the stories Tony and Steve told me about. They talked about her all the time, but they never mentioned how closed off and isolated she was. She had been at the tower for nearly three weeks, and she had only spoken a single word to me. She was warm and inviting to everyone else from what I could tell, but it was a different story when I was involved.

Still, I wanted to learn about her. I wanted to know who she was like the others did. There was a reason why she was regarded as the Mother of the Earth or the Mother of Mankind. There was a reason why she was placed on a pedestal by the people of Earth, and I wanted to know what that reason was. I wanted to know about her, every little detail. The moment I first saw her the day we arrived, it was like the world made sense. My world began to burst with color. She was someone I was meant to find, almost as if every question in the universe remained unanswered until the moment we met. Every other moment in my life paled in comparison to that one. She was the very breath in my lungs, the sun that warmed my skin, the answer to every question, the lyrics to every song, the eloquent words on every blank page, the very beat of my-once empty-heart, the life that flowed around me. She was all of it.

I was desperate to get close to her, to hear her voice in every moment of silence, to feel the way the warmth would overcome me the moment she touched me. It felt as if I had been running for as long as I could remember, and she was my finish line. While she didn’t seem too interested in getting to know me, it didn’t stop me from forcing my presence in her life when I could. It took a lot of sneaking, but I was able to work my way past Clint, Natasha, and Steve-the ones who would usually steer me away from Eva’s room-and I’d maneuver my way into the brightened room just long enough to bombard her with questions that went unanswered. Thor and Bruce never tried stopping me, and Tony was too preoccupied with his work to pay much attention to what I was doing. He was attentive, but I could sense that he was drowning. He was overworking himself, and that would soon become a problem, so I made a not to intervene.

With Tony having recently left Eva’s room, though, after her confrontation with Thor, it seemed like the best opportunity to slip in. I felt bad for her after I heard the two Asgardians fighting. I was glad it ended peacefully, though. The last time Asgardians fought amongst themselves on Earth, they laid waste to a huge portion of the city, but I understood that it was also a war that Loki decided to wage against humanity. No one spoke of him much, but when they did, they tried to dance around what happened. I despised him. I couldn’t remember it happening-so much of my life was lost to me-but what I learned was horrific. He nearly killed all the people I held so near and dear to my heart, people I couldn’t imagine a life without. He would’ve murdered them, and that was unforgivable to me. I hoped that whatever Asgardian law they had would be cruel to him after what transpired in New York, but I couldn’t say anything of that nature without the room going completely silent and everyone getting uncomfortable, so I kept it to myself.

Making sure that Natasha, Clint, and Steve were nowhere in close vicinity to Eva’s room, I snuck up to the door and pushed it open, quietly stepping inside. My eyes connected with her immediately. She was standing before the large glass wall, staring out at the darkened sky as the rain continued to pour down. I’d never seen anything like it. It had been cloudy and raining almost constantly after she arrived. Tony told me stories about her, how nature seemed to change around her depending on her mood or physical state. He was poetic when he spoke her name, and I watched as the very heart within him danced to life when he gazed at her. She was beautiful, even in her sorrow, which she seemed to live in. Her emerald green eyes, which mirrored the color of mine, searched the outside world for the answers to questions I did not know. The very soul within me ached when I realized that I was unable to help her, that even should I offer my help to the goddess at the window, she would not speak a word to me.

She didn’t even turn to acknowledge my presence in the room, and I watched as her eyes remained fixed on the thick clouds in the sky. The only piece of acknowledgement I received was the light shift of weight from one foot to the other that she did when her ears perked up. She was aware of my presence, and that was the best I could get from her. I made myself comfortable in the room that smelled like her. The scent was comfortable...almost familiar. She smelled of spring, of freshness. Tony once called her the embodiment of nature and life. She was everything new and everything old. Her soul was that of the world we tread upon and the one that gave life to the universe. The room itself was like walking into a forest, but there was a hint of sweetness, too. It was such a familiar smell, one that was locked in the back of my mind. The flash of a memory raced past me, almost too fast for me to see it. I was running through a meadow with a tree with red and white flowers as the leaves positioned at the center of the clearing. There was a woman too far away to recognize, and the moment I tried to decipher who it was, the memory slipped away from me, almost as if I awoke from a dream and into this new one wherein she existed and stood so close to me.

The mere sight of her filled me with this sense of longing, like she was home for me. I wondered if everyone who met her had the same unexplainable connection. Everyone else in the tower seemed partial to her, even taking into consideration her fight with Thor. He still seemed pained by it, almost like arguing with her brought him physical discomfort. He was lucky that he gave up when he did, though, because I was one booming voice away from walking into the room and fighting on her behalf. Clearly, there wouldn’t have been much I could’ve done as a mere human stepping into the metaphorical ring with two other Asgardians, but his loathful tone stung everyone who was close enough to hear it, which was...everyone. I stayed just close enough to the room to hear her melodic voice bite back at him but far enough away that I couldn’t discern what either of them were saying. If Clint had his way, I would’ve been removed from the building completely, but Steve casually glanced the other way when I snuck closer and closer to her room. That was all I wanted: to be closer.

I closed the space between us, resigning myself to sit on the chair that I made my home while she was still asleep. Countless hours were spent in that chair, watching the gentle rise and fall of her chest or the way the light hit her sun-kissed skin. For a week, I found ways to sneak into her room just to be in her presence. It was similar to the warmth of the sun on my skin. I felt rejuvenated. Being close to her was like being...home. I knew so little about her other than what was said about her, but it was like my soul and her soul were forged into one from the very beginning of the universe. I knew that wherever she was...that was where I was meant to be. Pulling my knees up to my chest, resting my feet on the chair, I hugged my legs close, thinking of anything to say this time that would get her to open up. Tony made a remark once that she was old-fashioned, that her and I had that in common. He prided himself on building up a massive library, and he seemed to collect works that were of a more sophisticated taste. He kept a lot of the classics, but he had a soft spot for Shakespeare and Charlotte Brontë. I read constantly, spending most of my time among the books he collected. Hoping that it would be the thing that connected us, I thought of one of my favorite Shakespearean lines, one from Romeo and Juliet, a play that-upon its completion-left me devastated for weeks. Interrupting the silence, I took a deep breath, hoping that this would be the moment she finally let me in, “amen, amen. But come what sorrow can-”

She cut me off, a voice more beautiful than those of a choir of angels speaking directly to me, “it cannot countervail the exchange of joy that one short minue gives me in her sight. Do thou but close our hands with holy words, then love-devouring death do what he dare; it is enough I may but call her mine,” she finished the quote with ease. She was clearly well-versed when it came to Shakespeare, which caught me off guard, but it also gave me hope that this would be the tie that bound us together.

She still didn’t turn to face me, but I couldn’t help the pride that swelled in my chest. I broke through to her, “I didn’t think Asgardians knew Shakespeare,” I remarked, praying that this would be the start to a long, never-ending conversation. For a moment, I dreamed of staying up into the early hours of the morning, talking to her about our favorite books, asking her questions about her home, hearing her answers on that velvety smooth voice, cascading from her lips with the grace of a trained dancer. I dreamed of having her look me in the eyes like she did on the day she first woke up. I dreamed of having her look at me with the same unconditional love she had for the others.

After a moment of prolonged silence, her voice cut through it like a knife through butter, seemingly filling my soul with its majestic beauty, “my love used to quote Shakespeare to me often. He and I would sit beneath the ever-watchful stars above Asgard, and he would whisper my favorite sonnets to me. Shakespeare wrote the words, but my love spoke them directly into my heart,” she mused, a smile overcoming her lips as I watched her reflection intently. Every word, every pause to take a breath, every dip in her voice as she spoke left me entranced by her, but her smile was otherworldly.

I shrugged, hoping that she would say more but understanding that she may have needed a push, “he had good taste. Shakespeare is my favorite,” I explained, opening up to her as I had been doing almost constantly since she arrived. Most of the time, I spoke and she stood there quietly, not saying a single word back to me. The moment I opened up to her again, though, her smile fell, and our eyes locked in the reflection for a moment that passed us by so quickly. She hurriedly looked away, and silence befell us again. It couldn’t be over, not when it just started, “can you tell me about him?” I asked, yearning to get just a little bit more from her. Steve told me once that there were instances where it was better to never get the taste for something at all because then you’d never miss its sweetness. This was one of those circumstances, and I wondered if he was talking about her all along. He seemed to be partial to her in a way that he wasn’t with anyone else. He was just as enthralled by her as everyone else seemed to be, but he looked at her like she was some long lost love.

When the silence quickly became uncomfortable between us, I desperately tried to fix the damage that my previous question had caused, “nevermind, sorry. It’s not my business,” I cleared my throat, glancing around the room as if the blank walls would tell me what to say next, “so, Tony’s still working on the serum to counteract the extremis, and he said it should only take a few more days, so...if you do feel the need to just talk or...whatever, just let me know. I’m usually right in the living room, or I’m down in Tony’s workshop with him. We’d also love to have you for our Friday movie night. Tomorrow, it’s my choice, but if you want to join us, I’ll let you have my pick. It’s the last one before Clint leaves, and I told him he could have my pick, but he doesn’t want it,” I explained, running a hand through my hair that I hadn’t bothered to braid back. It was untameable that morning, so I left it alone, becoming frustrated with it quickly, “we’re still working on catching Steve up on what he’s missed, so I’m a bit clueless. It’s a lot of fun, though. We turn the living room into a fort, and we all sit in our pajamas with some popcorn and cookies that Bruce bakes. They usually come out a little strange, but we grin and bear it because he’s proud of them; though, they’ve gotten better since Natasha started helping. It’s an open invitation. We start at 8:30 because Tony wants me in bed no later than 11, but you don’t have a bedtime, so any time should work for you.”

Nothing.

She didn’t say a single word to me. It was as if my words fell on deaf ears. While it frustrated me, it hurt me more than anything. I felt like a pest, like just a waste of space. What was so wrong with me? What had I done wrong? I didn’t want her to form a bond with me out of pity-something I always suspected of the people at the tower-but I just wanted her to give me a chance to prove myself. The moment the door opened and Natasha appeared in the room, though, was the moment I understood just how unwanted I was by Eva. She turned to the redheaded beauty and smiled, greeting her with a friendly attitude, causing my heavy heart to sink straight into the chair beneath me. My body took over, sensing that my heart no longer knew what was best for it, and in a desperate attempt to save my heart from itself, I ran out of the room with tears in my eyes and a dull ache coursing throughout my entire body. It felt like I was losing something I never had in the first place. Eva wasn’t mine. She was nothing to me, so why did I feel so devastated when she placed herself just out of my reach?

I avoided the arms of Steve and Clint who both tried to catch me as I ran past them. I knew the two men well enough to know that they would plant themselves right outside my door until I caved and let them in or at least talked to them. They worried about me; aside from saving the world, it was what they were best known for. Once I reached my room, I pushed the door open before slamming it behind me, locking it just as quickly. Living with Tony, I knew there was no use locking the doors because Jarvis always kept an eye on me and kept Tony updated on my well-being. When I would get frustrated, I knew that it was easier to just talk to him about what was on my mind. Living with Steve was similar. I knew that a lock wouldn’t keep him from holding me through whatever hell I was experiencing. There was no covering up the fact that the man would’ve busted through the lock in order to get to me, but he gave me my space when I was desiring it. In this situation, I wasn’t so sure how the space would work out. I wanted space, but I didn’t need it. I needed to feel close, but I needed that closeness with Eva. Of all people, my soul chose the one just out of reach.

Leaning my back against the wall beside the door, I slid down it just as quickly as the tears slid down my cheeks. I wiped them away with one hand as my free arm wrapped around my knees, keeping them hugged against my chest. No matter how quickly I wiped the tears away, they were relentless. I bit my bottom lip, holding back a sob that threatened to give away just how devastated I was. Beyond the door, though, I could feel the comforting presence of Steve and Clint. Natasha wouldn’t have been far behind them, and if Bruce and Tony knew what was going on, no one could’ve stopped them from busting down the door as they attempted to comfort me, “talk to me, sweetheart. What’s going on?” Clint asked, his voice slightly muffled by the wall that separated us.

I ran my fingers through my hair, anger boiling up within me at the current situation. I wasn’t angry at Eva, though. I was angry at myself. There was clearly something wrong with me. I gripped the roots of my hair, pulling just enough to allow me the physical pain that acted as a momentary release of the emotional burden I had been carrying around for as long as I could remember, “Eva hates me! She hates me, and I’m a pest!” I yelled, wishing that the constant yearning to be closer to her would just die away. I wished to be able to cut it out because if it were possible, I would’ve done so in a heartbeat, but it was impossible to cut out ones own soul.

“She doesn’t hate you. There’s not a single hateful bone in her body. It’s just...hard for her to let people in,” Clint tried to explain away her behavior. It was clear that she didn’t want me. No one truly did. I was meant to be alone. My parents didn’t want me. Eva didn’t want me. I was sure that if I gave the rest of them a chance, they’d leave me soon enough. I was damaged goods. I had no name, no past, and I wished not to have a future in that moment as well. The thought was fleeting, but it frightened me nonetheless.

I bit my quivering bottom lip, sniffling as I fought back the tears, “she has no problem letting the rest of you in.”

There was a momentary silence, and I heard the nearly silent shift of Steve’s weight from one foot to the other. The two men would do with me exactly as they did with Eva. They would sit outside my door if they couldn’t be in the room with me. I’d found Steve more than once sleeping against the wall right outside her bedroom door on the one night he couldn’t sleep in the chair right beside her bed. That night, the chair was taken up by Eva’s father, Aaldir, who I had met. He looked at me for a long time, almost like he had seen a ghost, his face going pale as his dark brown eyes widened. I could see the universe in them as he looked at me. Once he collected himself, he bowed his head to me before brushing past me to speak in private with Thor. Steve slept right outside Eva’s door that night, and I brought two blankets: one for him and one for myself. I stayed on that floor in that very spot every single night, hoping-wishing that she’d invite me in, hoping that she would open up the door and allow me into a heart I yearned to hold only a piece of. The silence was followed by Steve’s calming voice, “you remind her of someone from her past, someone she loved more than anything else. When she sees you, she remembers all the pain that came with it. She’s been hurt more than most. Life hasn’t been kind to her, Aurora; you should be the first person to understand that.”

There was another near silence, and I listened intently as the two men stepped away from my door. Their soft voices-low enough so I couldn’t make out what they were saying-seeped into the room through the crack at the bottom of the door. Natasha’s voice was amongst the two deeper ones, and I smiled at her dedication to me. They were all family to me, but Natasha understood me in a way that the others couldn’t. It didn’t take long for their voices to fall silent, and a few knocks sounded on my door, “can I come in?” Nat asked in her raspy voice that often sung Russian lullabies to me as I fell asleep. She would stroke my hair back and sing, but they weren’t the songs that were in my heart. Instead, I was left trying to figure out the melodies on my own as her voice lulled me to sleep.

I closed my eyes, focusing on the lock on the door. I imagined it turning. Just as I imagined it, I listened to the metal lock unlatch itself, allowing Natasha access to my room. Over time, I began to discover things about myself, things that I didn’t dare speak of to anyone else, things that I kept hidden away. No one else needed to know about these unimportant occurrences because it would only worry those who worried about me enough for a thousand lifetimes. As soon as the door unlocked, Nat pushed the door open just enough to slip inside before closing it behind her, “hi,” she whispered, her voice like a single ray of light shining through the storm of my darkest thoughts. Without another word said, she leaned back against the wall and slid down to sit right next to me, draping her arm around my shoulders the moment she reached the floor.

I leaned into her warmth. The woman who was seen as an assassin was nothing of the sort in my eyes. She was powerful-a force to be reckoned with-but gentle when the situation called for that. I nestled into her, but I still felt like something was missing. Eva. She was that missing puzzle piece. I didn’t know why the universe brought us together, but it did. She was what I was looking for. She was the person I needed to feel whole. No matter if I ever found my parents or not, she was the one I needed most. It was as unconscious a thought as breathing. We didn’t think of it, we just did it. I didn’t have to think about why I needed her to know that I did, in fact, need her. I buried my face into Nat’s neck as the tears wet her warm skin, “I just want someone to choose me!”

She stroked my hair back, her fingers never once tugging at the wild waves, “we chose you,” she reminded me, her voice thick with unshed tears. She buried her emotions until she was alone. I heard her cry in the room with Eva one day, but when I saw her, she was just as stoic as usual. Those feelings-the heavy ones-weren’t ones she wanted to share.

“No, you guys were stuck with me,” I argued, shaking my head at the notion that anyone, especially people like Tony and Steve could bring themselves to love someone like me. I was unlovable...unwanted.

“Is that what you think this is? That we’re stuck with you?” she asked, as if my question somehow offended her. She wasn’t easily offended, so I knew that the damage my words had done was serious. Still, I was certain that my words were no less than truthful, so I nodded in response. Looking up at her, I saw that tears welled up in her eyes. She tried to blink them back, but in doing so, I watched as they fell. I did that. I caused that. I was the water that found its way into a rock and cracked it open from the inside. I ruined things. I destroyed things. She cleared her throat, collecting herself enough to look back down at me, our eyes meeting with mutual love for one another. She forced a smile, “well, I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but we didn’t choose what happened when we all first met you. We didn’t choose how deeply in love we fell with you. What we did choose, however, was to let you into our little world, and I think I speak for everyone when I say that we never once regretted that. It was the greatest decision of my life to let you into my world, to let you see me for what I am instead of the monster other people see me as. I’m not afraid to tell you that you’re wrong about us being stuck with you. You’re a gift.”

I nodded my head, allowing the tears to overcome me again as I lost myself in her embrace, “why does it hurt so much, then? Why does it feel like this? Why can’t I just accept that she doesn’t care?”

“Because you love so deeply. Those who love the most are also the ones who suffer the most. She’s guarded, but she wasn’t always that way. I’ve heard stories of the girl she used to be before the universe pulled the rug out from under her,” she explained, looking for the right words to help me understand the mysterious Asgardian better; however, it seemed as if she was dancing around a clearer description of events. She was choosing every word meticulously. There was something I wasn’t being told, and I was going to find out what it was, “Eva is the only person I know who loved so deeply it cost her everything...even herself.”

9 notes · View notes

oscopelabs · 6 years

Text

The Cat Who Won’t Cop Out: Shaft as the ‘70s Black Superhero by Jason Bailey

(The following essay is excerpt from Jason’s new book, It’s Okay With Me: Hollywood, the 1970s, and the Return of the Private Eye.)

The first thing John Shaft (Richard Roundtree) does in Gordon Parks’ Shaft, after emerging from a Times Square subway station below the grindhouse movie theaters that would eventually and enthusiastically screen his adventures, is walk into New York City traffic (Shaft can’t be stopped, even by Eighth Avenue) and flip off the driver who gets too close to him. Meet your new action hero, Middle America; here is his message to you.

Shaft came early in the so-called “blaxpoitation” movement—a period, running roughly from 1970 to 1975, that saw an explosion of films made for, about, and often by African-Americans. This was an underserved audience; with the exception of independent “race picture” makers like Oscar Micheaux and Spencer Williams, their stories simply weren’t told onscreen, and they certainly weren’t told by mainstream studio films, which consigned black performers to subservient roles (or worse). The winds started to shift in the 1960s, when Sidney Poitier became a bankable name and Oscar-winning star, but he was the exception to the rule. It wasn’t until football star-turned-actor Jim Brown leveraged his supporting turn in the 1967 smash The Dirty Dozen into bona fide action hero status that this untapped swath of moviegoers, hungry for entertainment and representation, began to make itself known.

1970 saw the release of two very big (and very different) hits: Ossie Davis’ high-spirited crime comedy Cotton Comes to Harlem, and Melvin Van Peebles’ provocative, X-rated (“by an all-white jury!” boasted the ads) Sweet Sweetback’s Baadasssss Song. Peebles’ film was, essentially, the black Easy Rider, a rough-edged road movie with a decidedly European sensibility that grossed something like $15 million on a $150K budget, a return on investment so huge, the (flailing) studios couldn’t help but take notice.

Shaft was next down the chute. Adapted by Ernest Tidyman—who also wrote that year’s Best Picture winner The French Connection—from his 1970 novel, the film was helmed by Gordon Parks, the influential photographer who’d made his directorial debut in 1969 with the autobiographical The Learning Tree. MGM gave him a modest $1 million budget; model-turned-actor Roundtree was paid a mere $13,500 to play the title role. (Isaac Hayes was among the actors who auditioned, and though Parks passed on his acting, he hired Hayes to compose and perform the picture’s iconic funk score.)

“Shaft essentially was a standard white detective tale enlivened by a black sensibility,” wrote Donald Bogle, in his essential Toms, Coons, Mulattoes, Mammies, & Bucks. “As Roundtree’s John Shaft—mellow but assertive and unintimidated by whites—bopped through those hot mean streets dressed in his cool leather, he looked to black audiences like a brother they had all seen many times but never on screen.” He’s right on both scores. Shaft, who is smirkingly called a “black Spade detective,” is embroiled in a commonplace private eye narrative, engaged by a lying client (uptown gangster Bumpy Jonas, smoothly played by Moses Gunn) to find a missing girl—in this case, the client’s daughter. Shaft is a snappy dresser and sharp shooter; he uses the neighborhood bar as his second office.

But we’ve never seen a private eye who looks like this. Shaft leaves the shirts and ties to the cops and gangsters; he wears turtlenecks with his suits, along with that amazing leather coat. In the documentary Baadasssss Cinema, blaxploitation acolyte Quentin Tarantino is critical of the lack of action in Shaft’s opening credit sequence (“I’m semi-frustrated that [the theme] wasn’t utilized better,” he explains. “If I had the theme to Shaft to open up my movie, I’d open my damn movie”), but he’s underestimating the visual jolt of merely showing a man like Shaft strutting the streets of New York, and gazing upon him as he stakes his claim.

There’s something undeniably sensual about that gaze. Shaft was among the first major motion pictures to feature a black man of sexual potency—with the phallic overtones embedded right in his surname, and thus in the film’s title. He gets a full-on sex scene with his steady lady early in the film; later on, he shares a steamy shower with a white pick-up, a mere four years after the carefully sexless interracial romance of Guess Who’s Coming to Dinner.

But aside from that scene—and the iconographically loaded image, during the climax, of black militants turning fire hoses on white people—Shaft’s racial politics are surprisingly middle-of-the-road. Shaft may kid Lt. Vic Androzzi (Charles Cioffi) with lines like “It warms my black heart to see you so concerned for us minority folks,” but he humors the white cop, and mostly cooperates with him. The script is careful to disassociate its fictional black-power revolutionary group from real ones like the Black Panthers and the Young Lords, but it also shows them to be ineffectual, and Shaft is ultimately interested in their manpower, not their politics.

In other words, it’s a film that straddles its lines carefully, just as Shaft must code-switch between worlds: black and white, cop and crook, uptown and downtown (his black gangster client runs Harlem, but Shaft’s office is in midtown and he lives in the Village). Yet when it’s clutch time, Shaft is a full-on badass. In his first fight scene, the unarmed detective takes out two gun-wielding tough guys; in the climax, he swings in through a window like goddamn Batman, the black superhero rescuing the damsel in distress (stolen, not incidentally, by the white man).

Such elements became cornerstones of the blaxpoitation action template. Nelson George, who calls the film “a typical detective flick in blackface,” runs them down in his book Blackface: “black nationalists depicted as inept, if well meaning, supporting characters; young women, of all colors, are sexual pawns or playthings; white and black mobsters are in constant collaboration and conflict.” To that we can add a dash of respectability politics (Bumpy’s daughter is worth saving because she’s a “good girl” who’s “going to college”), righteous condemnation of drug dealing, and black characters working within the system while maintaining (though not without a struggle) their “blackness.”

Audiences ate it up. “Take a formula private-eye plot, update it with all-black environment, and lace with contemporary standards of on-and off-screen violence, and the result is Shaft,” opined Variety, predicting that “Strong B.O. [box office] prospects loom in urban black situations, elsewhere good." That was an understatement. Shaft’s $12 million gross helped save MGM, confirmed the audience that Cotton and Sweet Sweetback suggested, and prompted a flurry of imitators, including the following year’s quickie sequel Shaft’s Big Score!

Parks, Tidyman, and Roundtree all returned for the sequel—the latter with a healthy salary bump, to $50,000—though Isaac Hayes only contributed a single new song, turning over composer duties to Parks. Inexplicably, Hayes’ “Theme From Shaft,” which had won an Oscar in the intervening year, is nowhere to be heard, jettisoned in favor of a sequel song by O.C. Smith (and sequels, per usual, aren’t equal), a decision roughly akin to discarding the Bond theme after Dr. No.

It’s not the only questionable call. Instead of Lt. Vic, Shaft’s police foil is a smug black sell-out cop, whom Shaft calls a “black honky with big flat feet” and who is seen telling a black suspect, “Fuck your rights, go sue the city.” Shaft doesn’t really investigate a mystery this time around—the villain is revealed before our hero is, and the script stays that course—and no one actually hires him either. The script merely parachutes him into the middle of another war between Harlem gangs and the Italian mob. Parks was working with a larger budget, but you don’t see it until the third act’s tight car chase, followed by an ace boat/chopper sequence. The filmmakers clearly put their energies into a super-slick Hollywood ending—and it looks great. But they ended up sanding down what made the first film interesting; much of its uniqueness is in its rough edges.

The same goes for Shaft in Africa, which appeared the following year and took that character to the logical conclusion of his savior-warrior construct. Shaft is hired this time to penetrate a modern African slavery ring, and though he is initially resistant to the mission—he says the case is “out of my turf,” since “I don’t know any Africans, brother”—he ends up training and studying to go undercover as a native. Gordon Parks demurred from participating in this third and final installment, and white director John Guillermin (who would next direct The Towering Inferno and the 1976 King Kong remake) is extra careful with his camera placement during Shaft’s nude “stick fight,” but the sexual implications aren’t exactly subtle, and that’s before our hero smirks, ��Guy named Shaft ain’t gonna be bad with a stick.” (Finally, someone said it.)

Africa has the broadest and perhaps clumsiest sexual messaging of the trilogy (and that’s putting aside its weird female genital mutilation subplot—don’t ask). Late in the film, our hero is seduced by the arch-villain’s insatiable white mistress, who initially queries, “How long is your phallus, Mr. Shaft,” and later tells him, “You’re the first man who’s ever made love to me the way a man should.” Shaft is, indeed, the private dick, detective as both superhero and super-stud. That scene falls during Shaft and his fellow laborers’ crossing from Africa to Paris, a water journey that’s uncomfortably crowded and dehumanizing, explicitly echoing the Middle Passage—and thus positing Shaft as a racial avenger. He ends up leading what amounts to a slave revolt, an unexpected Shaft-as-Nat-Turner twist, full-on retroactive wish fulfillment.

But wish fulfillment was ultimately what blaxploitation in general, and these films in particular, were all about. Characters like Shaft and Trouble Man’s “Mr. T” don’t do a helluva lot of detecting, per se; they’re more like urban independent cops, allowing their creators to make what amounted to police movies for audiences who didn’t like and didn’t trust police. (When a complicated film like Across 110th Street dealt with those complexities, neither black nor white audiences showed up.)

But the further they got from their mean streets, the less they reflected their day-to-day reality. Reflecting on the power of Shaft in his review of its sequel, the New York Times’ Roger Greenspun noted, “After every sort of big-town white detective from Marlowe to Madigan had obviously lost the freedom of the city, John Shaft—cool, insolent, clever—seemed a fair choice to take their place. For the detective is nothing if not indigenous; the best hero we have to offer, once we know the misery around us and our own despair.” However, “the new Shaft follows a new and glossier and tidier image, an image that is much more James Bond than Bogart.” The Shaft sequels pivoted from the urban gangster bad guys of the first film to smugly erudite super-villains; Big Score’s plays a clarinet, for God’s sake. By the time he hits Africa, Shaft has to explicitly insist that he’s not James Bond, but it’s an easy conclusion to jump to—the line comes during a gadget briefing sequence, from his own junior varsity Q.

Yet the inclination towards such a character, for filmmakers and audiences, is understandable. In his book More Than Night, James Naremore attributes Parks and Van Peebles’ “black supermen” as a response to “decades of emasculated or nearly invisible black people on the screen,” but there was more at play here than that. By the early 1970s, black heroes were at a premium; Martin was dead and so was Malcolm, Fred Hampton and George Jackson, too, and the black revolutionary movement was scarcely in better shape than in its portrayals in films like Shaft. Eldridge Cleaver and Huey P. Newton’s in-fighting split the Panthers in 1971, and by early ’72, Newton was shutting down chapters—the ones that hadn’t been raided by police. Cleaver was in Algerian exile, and Bobby Seale was in jail. The Panthers had been undone by COINTELPRO, heroin, and ego. “We had the revolution,” Richard Pryor joked in 1976. “Remember the revolution, brother? We lost!”

But on screen, they could win. If he was enough of an outsider—his own boss, beholden to no one—the black man could be a hero. He could mouth off to cops, he could protect the community, he could be irresistible to women. He could come out on top, and truth and justice could prevail; he could do all of the things that white private detectives did back in the 1940s, and didn’t do anymore. When those white counterparts first appeared in the ‘40s, they served a similar function for an audience coming out of a Great Depression, fighting a world war, and uncertain about their future. That audience needed tough, straightforward heroes with an unerring moral compass; so did this one.

The black private eyes didn’t have the luxury, in this tense and uncertain time, of flirting with the existentialism of Hickey and Boggs or The Long Goodbye’s Marlowe or Night Moves’ Harry Moseby. Isaac Hayes may have called Shaft “a complicated man,” but there was nothing complicated about him, or any of his brethren. What you saw was what you got. “He was everything we’d always wanted to be,” said Samuel L. Jackson, who would take over the role of Shaft in a 2000 remake. “He was cool, he talked tough, he looked great, and he was fearless. He was a hero.”

In the ‘70s, black audiences looked at their movie detectives and saw what they wanted to be. White audiences looked at theirs, and saw what they were.

4 notes · View notes

buriedbybooks · 3 years

Text

Stumbling into you (Guardian 5+1)

Here's section 5 featuring Troll Shěn Wēi! (Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4)

Tags: 5+1 things, fluff, pining, teasing, flirting, Zhào Yúnlán is a disaster, sexual innuendo, suggestive consumption of lollipops, lollipop flirtation

Summary: Zhào Yúnlán started consuming lollipops when he stopped smoking to help with his craving and oral fixation. As time goes on, he realizes how useful lollipops are as a prop in his everyday interactions, especially when it comes to a certain gorgeous professor. He could never have predicted where this lollipop flirtation would land him.

Notes: This is the companion fic to Sucker, with the same scenes from Zhào Yúnlán’s perspective. The title is inspired by the song “Sucker” by the Jonas Brothers.

Today started as a shitty day and it has only gotten worse.

Zhào Yúnlán’s temples throb in time with his heartbeat, spikes of pain radiating from his clenched jaw as he bites back profanities and protests. His father has been berating him for the last twenty minutes, which is longer than usual. Perhaps it is because they aren’t face-to-face and Zhào Yúnlán can’t storm out of the room. He could hang up. He had hung up once already in fact, but his father had just called right back and picked up from where he’d been cut off. Perhaps it is because Zhào Yúnlán made the critical error of actually giving a damn where Zhào Xīncí would notice. Or perhaps it is because it is just Zhào Yúnlán’s lucky day.

The morning had started with a sit-down meeting in Minister Gāo’s office to debrief after returning from his first trip to Dixing. Gāo wasn’t as hard to placate as his father, but Zhào Yúnlán had still needed to talk quickly to alleviate any potentially arising political incidents.

When he had returned to the SID offices, his team had all been slowly working on reports, still left over from the short period of time Zhào Xīncí had taken over the office. Zhào Yúnlán had told them all to leave it and go take a break. It was quiet for once, and who knew when the next Hallow would surface, or Zhú Jiǔ would cause more trouble. Best to keep his team fresh for the next case.

Of course his father had disagreed. And demanded to know where all those reports were that he had expected on his desk <i>days</i> ago. Reports to replace the ones done previously because they had been unacceptable.

Now he was more than glad that he had sent everyone home because Zhào Yúnlán’s headache and grinding teeth were not enough to keep him from barking angrily into his phone. This wasn’t something his team needed to hear, and they would have heard even through the closed door to his office. And Zhào Yúnlán didn’t want to snap at them later because he knew with complete certainty that he was going to be prone to bite anyone’s head off that tried to cross him.

Zhào Xīncí had moved on to critiquing Shěn Wēi’s appointment as a consultant. His father knew very well exactly who Shěn Wēi was, and his xenophobia was showing.

Zhào Yúnlán’s teeth clench harder, sending another stab of pain into his head.

He attempts to distract his father from the topic of Shěn Wēi because Zhào Yúnlán knows that he will never change his father’s mind, and Zhào Xīncí will never sway his own.

Barking that he doesn’t owe the Xingdu Bureau any reports that were ordered by someone other than himself as Chief of SID earns him another frustrated lecture.

Altogether this conversation has included more words spoken to him by his father than in the entire previous six months.

Zhào Yúnlán looks up as his office door opens silently and Shěn Wēi slips in. Just his presence in the room eases a little of the tension from Zhào Yúnlán’s jaw and shoulders. Not that he will admit that aloud just yet. Zhào Yúnlán lifts his chin in greeting, not bothering to attempt a smile that will just look like a grimace at this point.

He only half way listens to the repeated justification for requiring those reports from SID. Instead, Zhào Yúnlán watches as Shěn Wēi sets down a package and then shrugs off his jacket, folding it neatly over a chair. He then takes a seat, apparently content to wait. Zhào Yúnlán adores that Shěn Wēi is comfortable enough here, with him, to let down his guard even that little bit as evidenced by the shedding of a layer.

Zhào Xīncí is still demanding that his son at least attempt to be responsible. Zhào Yúnlán’s lips tighten, and his temper finally breaks. “I heard. Yes. Fine. You’ll have them in the morning,” he snaps into the phone and then hangs up. If he were a praying sort of man, he’d ask that his father not call back this time.

Zhào Yúnlán tosses his phone, and then shoves himself back in his chair, thunking his boots onto the desk as he tilts his head back and lets out a growl at the ceiling. If Shěn Wēi weren’t there, he would have followed it up with a string of invective long and harsh enough that Wāng Zhēng would threaten him with soap in his tea. Instead, he scrubs his hands over his face and then tilts his head to the side to give Shěn Wēi a crooked smile.

“Tell me your day has been better than mine.”

Shěn Wēi looks composed, and as breathtakingly gorgeous as always. His sleeve garters have an argyle pattern on them today in shades of blue that match his tie and jacket. Elegant eyebrows rise further above the wire-rimmed glasses at Zhào Yúnlán’s plaintive demand. “My students were exemplary today,” Shěn Wēi tells him.

Zhào Yúnlán snorts, and suppresses a smile. That is what constitutes a good day for the Professor? What must an extraordinary day entail? Shěn Wēi’s eyes are open and honest, not hiding, so Zhào Yúnlán believes him; it just isn’t what he was expecting. “Not the same thing, but I guess it will do.”

Those eyes are hidden briefly behind lowered eyelashes, before Shěn Wēi looks up again, a hint of a smile at the corners of his eyes and mouth. “Case?” Shěn Wēi inquires.

Making a face of utter disgust, Zhào Yúnlán reaches for the drawer that holds his lollipops and swears when he comes up empty handed. “Worse. My father. Apparently our reports on the last couple of cases have been… insufficient, lacking, an utter disgrace. Take your pick,” he bites out, tapping his fingers on the arms of his chair. He’d wanted a smoke before, and the urge is coming back now without even a hit of sugar to alleviate it. Zhào Yúnlán tries to distract himself, explaining further. "It's actually been a quiet day in terms of new cases, so I sent everyone home early to rest before the next glut. No reason to make everyone listen to me fight with the Xingdu Bureau."

Shěn Wēi reaches down to the seat next to him and then holds out a package to Zhào Yúnlán. “Guō Chángchéng picked these up for you.”

Leaning forward with a relieved grin, Zhào Yúnlán can’t stop a laugh as he shakes his head. “That boy.” He rips into the package and immediately unwraps a lollipop to slide between his lips, and sucks on it intently. The flood of sugar is welcome and he works his tongue around the ball, trying to gather more of the flavor. It helps, having something in his mouth. The presence of the man on the other side of the desk is even better.

Zhào Yúnlán watches Shěn Wēi tilt his head, eyes focused on the lollipop stem poking from between Zhào Yúnlán’s lips. It is more blatant consideration than he has shown previously and Zhào Yúnlán swallows at the potential implications. At least until Shěn Wēi extends a hand, palm up.

Blinking, Zhào Yúnlán looks between that upturned hand and Shěn Wēi’s still serene expression. Making an inquiring sound around the lollipop in his mouth, Zhào Yúnlán lets his hand hover over the opened bag in front of him. Since the hand doesn’t retract, Zhào Yúnlán fishes out another wrapped treat and passes it across with a raised eyebrow. He’d thought Shěn Wēi didn’t like sweets?

Shěn Wēi rolls the stick of the lollipop between his fingers delicately, studying it as if he hadn’t seen one up close before. Zhào Yúnlán watches in fascination as Shěn Wēi traces one finger around the spiral on the foil, eyes downturned and screened by those long lashes. He appears lost in thought, far more so than a simple candy warrants; Zhào Yúnlán wonders what exactly Shěn Wēi is thinking.

Then those fingers carefully remove the foil and fold it into a tiny square and tuck it into the pocket of his waistcoat. The lollipop is raised to his mouth and Shěn Wēi licks the lollipop, then curls his tongue around it and draws it into his mouth.

Zhào Yúnlán almost chokes on nothing but air at the sight of Shěn Wēi’s deliberate teasing at the lollipop. His own candy is forgotten as his eyes remain riveted to Shěn Wēi’s mouth.

Shěn Wēi’s long lashes flutter as he blinks slowly, then pulls on the stick of the lollipop, drawing the ball forward, hollowing his cheeks to suck as he purses his lips.

Sucking in a breath, Zhào Yúnlán chokes a bit on the sugared saliva pooling in his own mouth and has to clear his throat. He can feel heat rising up his neck at the suggestive display before him, and rubs self-consciously at the back of his neck. “Enjoying it?” he asks. His voice sounds a bit hoarse. “I didn’t think you liked sweets.”

If he doesn’t like sweets, what is Shěn Wēi’s reasoning for such a… display? Not that Zhào Yúnlán isn’t enjoying it. Probably too much. He resists the urge to shift in his chair.

Shěn Wēi only hums in response, and continues to use his tongue on the lollipop, briefly sweeping it over his lips as well, leaving them slick and slightly shiny.

It’s practically a debauched look from such a controlled, uptight man. It is fascinating, and Zhào Yúnlán can’t decide if this is some sort of reward, or torture. He groans, “Shěn Wēi!”

The smile that Shěn Wēi sends him is mingled heat, sweetness, and challenge. “Yes, Zhào Yúnlán?” he asks, nothing in his tone to indicate that he is doing anything out of the ordinary. He could be grading papers, or writing reports, or teasing Zhào Yúnlán with pages and pages on different species of bears. He’s just that sort of man.

Zhào Yúnlán opens his mouth, but no words come out. He gulps around his own lollipop and then coughs before trying again. “I’ll have to thank Xiǎo Guō when I see him tomorrow,” he rasps. The sight of Shěn Wēi… consuming… a lollipop is not one that Zhào Yúnlán is likely to ever forget. Even if Hēipáoshǐ can in fact erase memories.

“Please do,” Shěn Wēi agrees mildly.

Then he’s tucking the lollipop into his cheek as he stands and collects his jacket. He folds it over one arm and gives Zhào Yúnlán a nod that is as proper and correct as any he’d given to high-level administrators at the Haixing Inspectorate or Dragon University.

“What--? Where are you going?” Zhào Yúnlán fumbles for his phone, checks the screen which is still dark; he doesn’t see anything on his desk, and no one has appeared at the door to witness this current exchange.

“You have paperwork to do, and if you ask nicely, Dà Qìng and Wāng Zhēng may assist,” Shěn Wēi replies as if he hasn’t just turned Zhào Yúnlán’s brain into complete mush.

Paperwork? Zhào Yúnlán frowns and then pulls the last of his conversation with his father back from… a few minutes ago? How long had he watched Shěn Wēi mouth at the lollipop? “You just got here,” he protests. He refuses to call what comes out of his mouth a whine.

“I only seem to be distracting you.” Shěn Wēi explains. He rests his free hand on top of the jacket on his opposite arm. “I’ll see you back at the apartment, if you’re good.”

What? Good? What? Zhào Yúnlán knows Shěn Wēi is not unaware of his interest, but this is deliberate enticement on a drastically different and new scale. And now Zhào Yúnlán has to wait to see whether Shěn Wēi intends to follow through on the foreplay that he initiated, or whether they’ll be back to circling each other?

Zhào Yúnlán can’t stop the incoherent objections from following Shěn Wēi out the door. He has no idea what words are spilling from his mouth, but the smug tilt to Shěn Wēi’s head and shoulders as he sweeps into the hall is just insult to injury.

Dropping his feet back to the floor, Zhào Yúnlán grips the arms of his chair and tries to breathe. Why had he thought wearing his tightest pair of jeans to work today was a good idea?

The paperwork remains forgotten.

Click Here for Shěn Wēi's thought process!

#guardian #zhen hun #zhao yunlan #shen wei #weilan #suggestive consumption of lollipops #troll shen wei #my fanfiction tag

14 notes · View notes