The little AU: Winter Woven Fine: Wingéd Mercury, or on the other side of things
The little AU: Winter Woven Fine: Wingéd Mercury, or on the other side of things
slashfairy
~~
It's different for each of them, but for each of them there's the strong sense he's passed some mark that'd intimidated or worried or annoyed or frustrated him, that he'd approached with longing or dread or irritation or anxiety and that now he is on the other side of it, and from the other side it looks different, somehow. It looks- well. Just different.
~~
Henry comes back from Danmark having celebrated both his birthday and his heritage in full, his Danish better, his connections to family on that side stronger, his sense of growing into his own life and liking it more solid. Even Aunt Tulle commented on how he's not yet grown into his body, his face changing each time she sees it- so many ancestors in him is how she'd said it, or someone at his party had said it, looking out of his eyes, having stories to tell. He'd said back We'll just have to wait then, until everyone's shown up, to know how I'm going to look! and that'd made his dad laugh, snort on his drink, an unplanned spit-take that got them all going.
21 had seemed so far away when Mom and Dad split up, when the Rings was filming, when he started at uni. Now here it is, and every day after it is his, a full adult-responsibility day, and unlike so many he welcomes them, relishes the base it gives him, the credentials, though he's still quiet when he speaks, still searches for words then lets an erm or uhum fill the space instead, leaning on a y'know to keep his balance while he sorts his thoughts and brings them forward on his show, in his classes, with his family. Maybe it's sentimental, but it's a bit of a big deal to him, turning 21, and he's glad he got to spend it with his Dad in Danmark- that's part of who he is, and wouldn't have it any other way.
~~
Orlando's never felt healthier in his life. He runs over the world like wingéd Mercury, both feet off the ground at once, contained within himself, confident. Happy. Not goofy and giggly and someone you might mistake for a teen-age girl if you weren't paying attention. No, he's happy: a man in first flush of full man-hood, solid, strong, able to lift himself with his own wings like Pegasus. He wears leather pants and a winter's tree and fighter's wrist-band and delights in being back at work even as he ignores, for the most part, the crows and gulls picking at the crumbs of his day for their sustenance. He's been near the top of the world, and to the bottom of it, seen the difference a few cents and some common sense can make in a whole town's life and how each town's life added to the next becomes the planet's life, come to terms with his talent and his beauty, and chosen for himself what his life is. The other side of 30 is to be celebrated and so he does, and damn anyone's expectations for what he should have been by now. He's who he is, and who he is becoming, and that's a life he's grateful to lead. He shares it with people who respect him, loves them for that respect and safety. He doesn't need to be liked to be content.
~~
Karl, if you'd asked him ten years ago, wouldn't have predicted that 35+ would find him with two lovers, three homes, a career that, for all its seeming quietude, has supported him well and given him things he'd never have had otherwise. He'd've said 35 would find him half-way to old, mebbe settling for character parts on NZ telly and helping out in the country when the work got to be too much for his uncle on the land. Not feeling young and vital, adventurous and satisfied with where he's been, where he's going- he's done things he'd've never expected to do, acted in some of his favorite imaginary worlds: Middle Earth, biggest and best; Doom (WHEN do you EVER actually get to be the character you like best to play?); Pathfinder, living in a Frank Frazetta world, some of the best comic book art ever- and now Star Trek. How does a kid from the New Zealand farm country end up on the Enterprise? By living all the years between then and now, and taking the best from them instead of dwelling on the worst.
Now? 35 isn't even half-way done with living. He's got two men who love him and whom he loves, a son he's so proud of, a line of work that lets him be paid to play, each one of those things feeds him so much, makes him so wealthy, he's quite content not to be famous or rich or in the top ten of anything. Let life come- he's only just beginning.
~~
Viggo struggles. Not so much with being 50, though he'd rather there'd not been so much noise made about it. No, it's more that he'd thought, somehow, he'd have this year "off" after the last two years- that The Road would have been released, that the publicity would be done, that there'd just be the awards season to get through and then he could retreat into his "other" life- the one he's always had before catching the eye of the entertainment gossip media and being hung up on the fence with all the others, a scarecrow frightening away deep feelings and serious thought. He'd thought this year, 2009, would be private, secluded, but there was a hitch in the git-along and now it's not, and he's a bit- well, to be honest, more than a bit- put out about that.
So he stays in Danmark, where he can blend in, where people will protect him as one of their own, and posts fan letters to El Ciclón and politically pointed editorials and poems that say better than he can what he feels- he feels so much, he loves this life and this world, the people in this world and in his life, and the possibilities- oh, God, Diós, the possibilities to do better, to be better- those poems, in English and Portuguese and Spanish and German and Danish, and he wishes for wings on his heart to carry him when, sometimes, his frustration and worry weigh him down, but he doesn't regret a day of it, no, not a single day, and he'll fight for each and every one of the ones coming to him, because life is worth that. Life is worth the fight.
And he's past that mark on the calendar, passed it and survived. More than likely, he can take what's coming next.
previously: Quiet Evening
next: Draw from your life. Write what you know.
slashfairy
~~
It's different for each of them, but for each of them there's the strong sense he's passed some mark that'd intimidated or worried or annoyed or frustrated him, that he'd approached with longing or dread or irritation or anxiety and that now he is on the other side of it, and from the other side it looks different, somehow. It looks- well. Just different.
~~
Henry comes back from Danmark having celebrated both his birthday and his heritage in full, his Danish better, his connections to family on that side stronger, his sense of growing into his own life and liking it more solid. Even Aunt Tulle commented on how he's not yet grown into his body, his face changing each time she sees it- so many ancestors in him is how she'd said it, or someone at his party had said it, looking out of his eyes, having stories to tell. He'd said back We'll just have to wait then, until everyone's shown up, to know how I'm going to look! and that'd made his dad laugh, snort on his drink, an unplanned spit-take that got them all going.
21 had seemed so far away when Mom and Dad split up, when the Rings was filming, when he started at uni. Now here it is, and every day after it is his, a full adult-responsibility day, and unlike so many he welcomes them, relishes the base it gives him, the credentials, though he's still quiet when he speaks, still searches for words then lets an erm or uhum fill the space instead, leaning on a y'know to keep his balance while he sorts his thoughts and brings them forward on his show, in his classes, with his family. Maybe it's sentimental, but it's a bit of a big deal to him, turning 21, and he's glad he got to spend it with his Dad in Danmark- that's part of who he is, and wouldn't have it any other way.
~~
Orlando's never felt healthier in his life. He runs over the world like wingéd Mercury, both feet off the ground at once, contained within himself, confident. Happy. Not goofy and giggly and someone you might mistake for a teen-age girl if you weren't paying attention. No, he's happy: a man in first flush of full man-hood, solid, strong, able to lift himself with his own wings like Pegasus. He wears leather pants and a winter's tree and fighter's wrist-band and delights in being back at work even as he ignores, for the most part, the crows and gulls picking at the crumbs of his day for their sustenance. He's been near the top of the world, and to the bottom of it, seen the difference a few cents and some common sense can make in a whole town's life and how each town's life added to the next becomes the planet's life, come to terms with his talent and his beauty, and chosen for himself what his life is. The other side of 30 is to be celebrated and so he does, and damn anyone's expectations for what he should have been by now. He's who he is, and who he is becoming, and that's a life he's grateful to lead. He shares it with people who respect him, loves them for that respect and safety. He doesn't need to be liked to be content.
~~
Karl, if you'd asked him ten years ago, wouldn't have predicted that 35+ would find him with two lovers, three homes, a career that, for all its seeming quietude, has supported him well and given him things he'd never have had otherwise. He'd've said 35 would find him half-way to old, mebbe settling for character parts on NZ telly and helping out in the country when the work got to be too much for his uncle on the land. Not feeling young and vital, adventurous and satisfied with where he's been, where he's going- he's done things he'd've never expected to do, acted in some of his favorite imaginary worlds: Middle Earth, biggest and best; Doom (WHEN do you EVER actually get to be the character you like best to play?); Pathfinder, living in a Frank Frazetta world, some of the best comic book art ever- and now Star Trek. How does a kid from the New Zealand farm country end up on the Enterprise? By living all the years between then and now, and taking the best from them instead of dwelling on the worst.
Now? 35 isn't even half-way done with living. He's got two men who love him and whom he loves, a son he's so proud of, a line of work that lets him be paid to play, each one of those things feeds him so much, makes him so wealthy, he's quite content not to be famous or rich or in the top ten of anything. Let life come- he's only just beginning.
~~
Viggo struggles. Not so much with being 50, though he'd rather there'd not been so much noise made about it. No, it's more that he'd thought, somehow, he'd have this year "off" after the last two years- that The Road would have been released, that the publicity would be done, that there'd just be the awards season to get through and then he could retreat into his "other" life- the one he's always had before catching the eye of the entertainment gossip media and being hung up on the fence with all the others, a scarecrow frightening away deep feelings and serious thought. He'd thought this year, 2009, would be private, secluded, but there was a hitch in the git-along and now it's not, and he's a bit- well, to be honest, more than a bit- put out about that.
So he stays in Danmark, where he can blend in, where people will protect him as one of their own, and posts fan letters to El Ciclón and politically pointed editorials and poems that say better than he can what he feels- he feels so much, he loves this life and this world, the people in this world and in his life, and the possibilities- oh, God, Diós, the possibilities to do better, to be better- those poems, in English and Portuguese and Spanish and German and Danish, and he wishes for wings on his heart to carry him when, sometimes, his frustration and worry weigh him down, but he doesn't regret a day of it, no, not a single day, and he'll fight for each and every one of the ones coming to him, because life is worth that. Life is worth the fight.
And he's past that mark on the calendar, passed it and survived. More than likely, he can take what's coming next.
previously: Quiet Evening
next: Draw from your life. Write what you know.