#cmbyn 10

"I Remember Everything"

"Happy Cremaversary!" Tim laughed loudly, completely unabashed on the other end.

"You remembered!" Armie smiled. He didn't think Timmy would remember much less take the time to call. They hadn't spoken in weeks, work taking its toll on them both.

"Armie, I remember everything" he sighed and stretched out the "everything" coyly. It was entirely possible the kid was drunk.

"So ummm, what are you up to tonight?" Armie was attempting to sound nonchalant but didn't know if he was hitting the mark. The silence from the other end made him uneasy.

"Armie, you're alone right now, aren't you?" Tim's voice sounded strange--a little bit nervous even a hint of desperation could be detected. "Ummm yeah, you must've seen Liz is back home with the kids for about a week." His heart was racing and his stomach dropped, for some reason, Tim's tone made Armie feel things he hadn't felt since the last time they'd been together. It felt like so long ago...

"So ask me..." Tim whispered almost breathless "ask me what I've always wanted you to ask me over the phone."

Armie felt dizzy and all too alive. He couldn't stop the words from coming out of his mouth even if he tried. Because he wanted to know and he wanted to hear Timmy's response.

"Timmy..." he sighed, it was nearly a moan, "what are you wearing right now?" He could barely get the words out he was so dizzy with arousal. Just from his voice...Jesus Christ!

"Your trunks Armie. The red ones. I came in them...just thinking about you, I really..." a soft breathy sigh escaped Tim's lips, "I just wanted you to know."

This was really short and weird. Sorry, I couldn't do satire today.

I don’t write quickly. I like re-reading and tweaking virtually every sentence, so this was difficult. I wasn’t tagged in the original post, but I really wanted to have a go at this. Hope nobody minds :)

Crystal Ball

I’m so excited! It’s the first time I write something like this and in english. I had to write in spanish some parts to star but translated it and then I kept on going in english. This was a great thing to do, I loved it but the time press wasn’t easy so I must admit that I spended more time than 10 minutes (18 min. to be more exact)

My inspiration is a song from my favorite band Keane, Crystal ball. If you don’t know them go and listen, they are great and deep! Here is a link to the song: 

https://open.spotify.com/track/1iew6eeA9jhU8cNeSOBbYe?si=EoYL8-_NQmS1G6B9JK6lWA

Armie x Timmy

In the restroom at the Oscar, Armie can’t breathe and this happens:

Look at you! You're nothing but a joke!, he said to himself looking in the mirror. What a pathetic piece of shit!Armie was tired of having to pretend. He was tired of wearing that facade he had been wearing since he was a child not to disappoint his family, to don't disappoint his wife either the world. He was tired of pretending to be someone he wasn’t.Tears began to show in his eyes and he felt a ball forming in his throat. He remembered that thanks to Timmy he had awakened from the hell that hiding meaned all these years. Sometimes he didn’t recognize himself, many times he didn’t know where he was, what he wanted. With Timmy, he didn’t have to pretend to be other than himself. He knows his secret and loves him for who he is.Timmy! Oh Timmy! My sweet heart! My compass!, he whispered and tears started streaming down his face now. But the worst was that he couldn't demand anything from him. How could he? And that scared him. He could lose the most precious love he had ever had. Not accepting himself or taking off his heavy mask would make him lose him. How much more could Timmy endure only because he couldn't make his mind? Shit!, he thought while he looked himself in the mirror again and dried his tears. He wanted to run away with him and forget the world. Why not shout to the sky what he felt and say who he really was? God, why? He look at his face once again and the mask was back as soon as his tears were gone. He acted like everything was allright. He put a smile on his face and turned on to go back to the show. Behind him was his Timmy with tears in his eyes looking at him...

Hope you liked it and don’t judge me hardly, please! 

thanks to @hammer-chalamet for tagging me!! 

have a not-really-Charmie Lone Ranger x Hostiles AU inspired by this post. i know basically nothing about The Lone Ranger except that Armie’s character is v dirty and rugged™, but this was fun. :)

John knows something’s not right as soon as he rides into the gully. It’s quiet here–no birds, no scuttling critters, no sound at all except the heavy whoosh of buzzard wings. He keeps going anyways, scanning the horizon, until he comes to the first body. 

Silver stops dead in his tracks, and John slips off his back, stooping to examine the corpse. Military. A little further on, another body. Comanche, judging by the clothes. There’s scattered supplies in amongst the dead folks, but John doesn’t bother with that; he has enough bullets, and he knows Tonto will have caught a rabbit or two for supper. The sun’s already low in the sky and they’re due to rendezvous in an hour or so. 

At first, he’s not sure why the body in the ditch catches his eye. Another military uniform riddled with bullets, stained with blood, just like all the others. But the boy is young–barely a shadow of hair on his upper lip–and something about the sight of his pale, fine-featured face makes John take pause. 

“Poor son of a bitch,” he says, and Silver whinnies softly like he understands John’s melancholy precisely. Doesn’t help the way the boy’s lying, all haphazard, limbs akimbo like a broken marionette. Not dignified. But John doesn’t have time to dig a proper grave and the buzzards are circling. 

He spots a blanket a few feet away and grabs it, meaning to spread it out over the body. Before he can, the boy sits bolt upright with a gasp. 

John nearly has a heart attack.

*

Tonto doesn’t say anything when John slings him down in front of the fire, just raises an eyebrow in a way that John knows all too well. 

“Think you can help him?” he asks, and Tonto bends down, examining him with a frown.

“We’ll see.” 

*

It’s dark when he finally comes to. Tonto’s off doing god-knows-what and John is staring into the fire. It’s quiet one minute, and then the kid mutters and moans and John nearly jumps out of his skin. He practically has to hold the boy down as he thrashes wildly, muttering in a mixture of English and French about an attack, about the Comanche, about someone named Rosalee Quaid. 

“You’re safe now, you got that?” John tells him over and over. “Calm down or you’ll hurt yourself.”

Eventually the kid stills. 

“What happened?” he asks in a thick French accent, voice hoarse, and John holds a flask of water to his lips. 

“Looks like you were ambushed. Your party left you for dead.” 

The kid manages a few sips, then lies back, spent. His eyes are wide and afraid, but even in the darkness John’s struck by his features. The word angelic comes to mind. 

“What’s your name?” he asks.

“Private Philippe DeJardin,” the kid mumbles. 

“Well, I’m John. John Reid.” 

Philippe’s eyes go wide, and John would be lying if he said that wasn’t just a little bit satisfying. 

“The Lone Ranger,” he breathes, and John smiles. 

“Pleased to meet you.” 

tagging @meggiesobsessions @deadantmen @guccichalamet @pajamasecrets and anyone else who wants! i think this is technically supposed to be CMBYN-specific but i think it’s kind of a fun writing challenge that could be for any fandom, really. :P just set a timer for 10 mins and go, then post the result! :) 

I thought I’d give it another go, this time being rigorous about the time limit (10 minutes, including editing). This one is modern au. I’m a little intimidated - there is an insane amount of talent in this fandom. I was tagged the first time by @holdmygazeoliver . Thank you for letting me play :).

“Peaches?” Elio repeated.

“No peaches. They’re out of season.” I answered again.

His mouth tightened, then he bit his lip in consternation. Soon he’d pout. If that happened, I’d have to leave our grocery cart in the middle of the aisle and take him home to wipe the pout off of his lips. I wanted to avoid doing that again. We had no food left and it was getting ridiculous, this not leaving the house since he’d moved to Manhattan. In Italy, there was Mafalda, who still cooked for Mrs. Perlman after all these years. But I’d moved into a studio apartment in the Upper East Side after the divorce and didn’t exactly have a Neopolitan chef at my beck and call. If we were going to eat, we’d have to slow down long enough to buy food and fix the meals ourselves.

Elio reached for the hard fruit, pressing each, wrinkling his nose before putting them down. “Okay, no peaches. American supermarkets,” he snarled under his breath.

I smirked. He hadn’t lost that touch of arrogance. There were infinitesimal lines creasing the corners of his eyes now, though they were visible only when he smiled widely. His hair was still thick and dark, and he wore it even longer than he did that summer. I liked it - it gave him a rock star appearance that belied his more staid occupation as a composer and music critic. He was still slight but he’d lost the softness of young adulthood and had long grown into the wiry muscles of his body, his gawkish arms and legs lengthening into long-limbed elegance. He was all man now, and it aroused me in a different way than it had those many summers ago.

He had drifted to the pasta aisle, a bunch of barely ripened bananas in his arms. He smiled - there were those delicate lines - and turned to me, juggling boxes of penne. “What do you say to penne con crema di tartufo tonight?”

“You cooking?” I said, taking everything from him and placing it in the cart.

This is my first attempt to write a fic so please be kind. Thanks for taking the time to read it and I hope you enjoy it! I would love to hear what you think about it. Thanks again! Later! 🍑

My youngest boy greeted me in the hallway as soon I opened the door, clutching a tiny book in his hands. I noticed the familiar red and yellow of its cover and for a moment, I almost certainly smelled a breeze of Italian summer air the second I saw it. “Can you read this one tonight?” he beams. “Of course, bud. But first, let’s help with dinner, okay?” I said as I ruffled his hair.

Somewhere from the kitchen, my wife shouts, “He’s very excited about that book. Maybe because it’s new to him.” We walked towards the kitchen and I saw my eldest son already helping out his mom. “Where did you find this?” I teased my baby boy.

“I found him in your room. He was playing with your yellow and blue backpack. The one you got from Italy in ‘87. Couldn’t get it off his hands so I said to take really good care of it until you got home from uni.” she explained

“Oh by the way, I looked into it and noticed something was written on it. You bought a secondhand book?” she asks.

“No. It was from someone when I revised my manuscript there back then. It was the best thing I received that year.” I say.

“Oh yeah? Tell me who was in silence, somewhere in Italy in the mid-eighties? Was it professor Perlman?” she asked more. But before I could answer, the pot she was cooking pasta with overflowed and she had to clean it up. I had to get my boys and we waited in the living room. I hold the book in my hand, Stendhal’s Armance, study it, read the note that Elio made when he gave it to me, and take in all the memories of our summer that came rushing back. I felt something as darting as sorrow and fiercer than regret. Pity maybe? I’m not sure.

“For me in silence, huh.” I whispered under the noise of the boys’ playing.

That was when I realized something.

I have to go back to Italy.

I need to see Elio again.

Not sure who to tag so I apologize in advance to those who I do and those who I don’t but here’s a start.