Dan Howell is what every high school student aspires to be. A player on the football team and invited to every party within a 10 mile radius, Dan doesn’t have much to complain about. Everyone knows who Dan Howell is. Until someone doesn’t. Phil, an artist with dark hair and a paint-stained leather jacket. He’s alternative, he’s different. But maybe Dan needs something a little different.
Warnings: Swearing (warnings/triggers will vary from chapter to chapter)
Word Count: 1861
A/N: So basically this is my first chaptered fic. *celebratory music* This is something I’ve been wanting to write for awhile and I’m finally doing it. The updates will probably be a bit slow do to me currently being in school but I’ll try to post as much as possible. Also I know they don’t have American Football in the UK but for this just pretend they do. Anyway, thanks so much for reading. Enjoy!! xx
Véra and Vladimir Nabokov were married for fifty-two years—a record, apparently, among literary couples—and their intimacy was nearly hermetic. When they were apart, he pined for her grievously. She was his first reader, his agent, his typist, his archivist, his translator, his dresser, his money manager, his mouthpiece, his muse, his teaching assistant, his driver, his bodyguard (she carried a pistol in her handbag), the mother of his child, and, after he died, the implacable guardian of his legacy. Vladimir dedicated nearly all his books to her, and Véra famously saved “Lolita” from incineration in a trash can when he wanted to destroy it.
Wyatt is…not happy with Johnny at the moment, not that Johnny can blame him. It’s admittedly completely Johnny’s fault that they’re currently stuck inside a tiny, uncomfortable little jail cell, and Wyatt has every right to be pissed at him. He’s gone from college graduate to jailbird in less than a month, courtesy of one Johnny Storm.
There’s been an icy silence stretching between them for the past ten minutes. Wyatt’s doing his absolute best to give his buddy the silent treatment. He’s sitting with his arms crossed, eyes boring a hole into the bars of their jail cell. Looking at anything, in other words, but Johnny.
Ouch. Johnny is cut to the quick by that. He looks hot, thank you very much, and that hotness should be appreciated by someone.
Wyatt hasn’t been this angry at him in…maybe ever.
Well, what good is being the Human Torch if you can’t even get your own best friend to warm up to you?
“What if I told you that you’re really cute when you pout like that?” Johnny says, smiling as charmingly as he can. His smile always works on Wyatt. He’s a sucker for it. “Would you forgive me then?”
Wyatt gives him a look that says he’s not falling for any of Johnny’s sweet-talking, not this time. “I am not pouting, Jonathan,” he says stiffly. “And if I were, it would not be cute.”
Johnny hides a wince. Ouch. Full name. Wyatt’s definitely pissed.
“Hot, then,” Johnny tries, taking a different tack. He stretches out his legs so that his feet bump against Wyatt’s and widens his smile to a brazen grin. “And you’ve got to admit, I know hot.”
“Jonathan,” Wyatt snaps, pulling his feet away, “this is not the place to be making a pass at me. Do you see where we are?”
“Exactly,” Johnny says. He scoots sideways on his bench so that he’s closer to Wyatt. “You’ve got to admit, buddy, there’s not really much else to do inside a jail besides flirting. Plus, you’ve been telling me I need to lighten up. Consider me lightened.” He reaches out and tangles his fingers with Wyatt’s, and Wyatt, thank god, doesn’t pull away. Johnny gives him a wistful smile. “Besides, this might be just what I need, Wy. You and me together again. We were good together, weren’t we?”
They’d been…a thing back when they were college roommates, but it’d never been serious, official dating. Just…good times, laughter, falling into bed together every now and then, whenever they felt like it. No strings.
It was always good. Fun. Wonderful. Johnny could have fallen in love with Wyatt easily, he thinks, if he hadn’t already been so hung up on Crystal.
Sometimes he wishes he’d met Wyatt first, fallen for him before he’d ever even heard the name Crystal. Maybe he and Wyatt would’ve been the ones who were married now, instead of Crystal and Pietro.
Suffice it to say, Johnny has good memories of Wyatt. The best. He was always kind, generous, loyal, fun, and fiercely protective of Johnny from the first.
That protectiveness is what Johnny’s counting on now. Because Johnny needs this. Johnny needs to lose himself in someone. Forget about…about the terrible things that are going on with his family. Drive away every thought about his sister, his brother-in-law, but most of all, forget the sight of his poor little nephew and his blank, staring eyes…
He hopes that person can be Wyatt. If Wyatt doesn’t shoot him down, maybe he’ll suggest that they find a hotel somewhere. Not in Buffalo, though. Johnny’s going to get the hell out of here as fast as he can. The police here are not very friendly to superheroes.
Johnny deeply resents being stuck in a jail after saving the planet so many times. Buffalo would just be pieces of rock floating through space right now if it wasn’t for him. Or conquered by aliens. Either way, it’s because of him it’s still here.
Wyatt’s eyes soften, just as Johnny’d hoped they would. He squeezes Johnny’s fingers. “Yes,” he says, with a fond smile. “John. We were wonderful together. Never doubt that.”
Were, Wyatt said. Past tense. Johnny rubs his thumb in small circles along the back of Wyatt’s hand as he ponders that. “Do you think we ever could be again, buddy? Or is it too late? Did I screw things up between us when I…when I left you for Crys? Because I –“ He swallows. “I regret that now, Wy, really I do.”
Wyatt does the unexpected. He cups the back of Johnny’s neck and pulls him into a kiss that’s so tender and sweet it makes Johnny’s heart break. It makes Johnny feel as though he’s the most precious thing in the world. Maybe Wyatt really thinks that. Maybe that’s what ol’ Wyatt’s trying to tell him.
“It’s not too late,” Wyatt says, pressing his forehead against Johnny’s. “I have…I loved you then, I love you now, I will love you always.”
Johnny’s eyes widen. “Love?” he croaks. They’d messed around but never had the word “love” entered their conversations. Johnny would’ve remembered that. “Love? Wyatt, you were — are in love with me?” He makes a frustrated noise. “You never said! Why didn’t — why haven’t you ever said?”
That maybe would have changed things. But, then again, maybe not. Johnny was so blinded by his feelings for Crystal, maybe he would’ve made the wrong call even then, even knowing a guy like Wyatt was waiting in the wings for him.
“I tried,” Wyatt says, running the tips of his fingers along Johnny’s cheek in a way Johnny can only describe as loving. “I tried to tell you. So many times. You didn’t want to listen.” He raises his eyebrows. “John. I followed you all the way to Tibet.” He shakes his head. “Those were not the actions of a friend. I did it because I loved you and wished for nothing more than your happiness, even if it meant I had to lose you.”
Johnny knows his mouth is hanging open, but he’s too shocked to do much about it. “And you wait until now, until we’re sitting in a jail cell of all places, to tell me all of this?” he says accusingly.
“It’s your fault we’re in the jail cell, John,” Wyatt reminds him, a smile playing across his lips.
“That is so not the point, Wy,” Johnny hisses. A thought strikes him. Well, more like a suspicion. “Are you telling me this right now just to get back at me for getting you arrested?”
Wyatt considers that. He grins cheekily at Johnny, who finds it thoroughly charming and infuriating all at once.
“It’s not beyond the realm of possibility that I am, no,” Wyatt admits.
Johnny glares at him in response. “You’re going to be trouble,” he retaliates. “I can already tell.”
“Whose fault is it that we’re in the jail cell, John?” Wyatt says.
“Stop bringing that up,” Johnny says sourly. “I said I was sorry.”
Imagine you are being bullied one day in the corridor in high school by a bunch of girls. You were helpless as they scratch and kick you when you felt your boyfriend Loki appeared behind you, scaring them away before helping you up, healing your wounds and teleport you two to your house.
The next day, when you return to school, you heard that all the bullies had contracted a rather serious pneumonia and have to rest for an entire month, courtesy to your overprotective and loving boyfriend Loki.
Tracy Morgan Says 'Fist Fight' Movie Role Helped Recovery but 'I'll Never Be 100 Percent'
It has been more than two-and-a-half years since Tracy Morgan was severely injured in a six-vehicle accident in New Jersey that resulted in the death of his friend and collaborator James McNair. And while Morgan has since recovered from the horrific crash — having hosted Saturday Night Live in 2015 — he’s only just now reappearing in movie theaters, courtesy of this month’s Ice Cube-versus-Charlie Day comedy Fist Fight. And in advance of that film’s impending release, he sat down with Yahoo Movies to talk about his long-awaited return to the big screen.
In a new interview with our Kevin Polowy, Morgan — after pleasing co-star Jillian Bell by reprising his most famous SNL character, Brian Fellow — confesses that his transition back to movie acting was a relatively smooth one, thanks in large part to his great cast and crew mates, who made the process so easy. While he says he’ll never quite be 100 percent again (after having lost his friend in such a tragic way), he admits that his show business life has provided a “safe haven” in which he can feel comfortable – as well as be his usual funny self, which he definitely is once more in Fist Fight, according to director Richie Keen and stars Ice Cube and Charlie Day.
To hear Morgan discuss his current condition, check out our video above. Fist Fight lands in theaters on Feb. 17.
A Maine Central freight is dug out after a snow drift trapped it in Crawford Notch, NH. Late 1970s. The Maine Central’s Mountain Division between Portland, ME and St. Johnsbury, VT was notorious for its difficulty to maintain in the winter months.
Horoscopes for the Month (Courtesy of my college's newspaper. Stay lit, Fredonia.)
The stars hate the pants you're wearing today. Ask for new ones this holiday, or better yet, just stop wearing pants altogether.
Sadly, Taurus, your family still has no idea what to get you for the holiday season. Though you specifically asked for "Fallout 4," instead be prepared to receive socks and a third copy of the movie "The Shawshank Redemption."
This year while you were at school, your parents forgot entirely that you exist, a la Macaulay Culkin from "Home Alone." Remind then of your presence by screaming "Hello" by Adele as soon as you seem them.
Forget about receiving gifts from other people this year, Cancer. You already got yourself the best present of all: An existential crisis.
Set your sights low this year, Leo. If your New Year's resolution is simply, "Don't die," you'll either fulfill your expectations or you'll become unconcerned with material and mortal transgressions that once consumed your meaningless earthly existence.
Dress up as Santa and go into your neighbors' houses, leaving a warm brown present underneath all of their Christmas trees.
You'd better watch out. You'd better not cry. You'd better not pout, I'm telling you why. There are people in the world who have kidney stones.
You will finally meet Santa Claus on Christmas morning as long as you take acid and stay up all night on Christmas Eve.
Take time for yourself this Christmas. Get naked, dig a hole in the earth and cover yourself in a blanket of mud. If a cop asks you why you are nude in his backyard, don't answer him. Instead just mutter silently to yourself, "I'm ho-ho-home."
Take a shot overtime one of your family members reveals a deeply held and severely misinformed political belief over the dinner table. If all goes well, you'll become an alcoholic.
Invent your own holiday this year. My suggestion is that you go into your neighbor's backyard and chop down one of their trees. Use its bark to make an itchy sweater and dance in their kitchen chanting, "I am the earth; the earth is me" with a gradual forte in a chromatic scale.
Remind yourself to poke holds in the box of puppies you got form your significant other. You remember what happened last year.
- The SUNY Fredonia school newspaper, December 2015 edition. IF THE AUTHOR OF THIS COLUMN IS OUT THERE, PLEASE GIVE ME YOUR NAME AND I WILL CREDIT YOU OR DELETE IT, WHATEVER YOU WiSH.
Really no one picked the 6th category
Happy Black History Month, everyone, courtesy of last night’s all-white College Jeopardy panel! In the second round of play, the contestants sailed through five of the categories—including “International Cinema Showcase,” “Weather Verbs,” and “Kiwi Fauna”—but avoided the sixth like the, ahem, black plague. That category was “African-American History.”
In other words, these kids were more confident in their knowledge of weird animals in New Zealand than black human beings in America.