#but if i met you in a ridiculous comedy i canNOT take you seriously in a horror drama | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

stayarmytinyzenmoa-l · 3 years

Text

Locked and Reloaded [Ch. 5]

Marvel AU

TW: Language, Graphic Depictions of Violence, Blood, Gun Violence, Implied Abusive Household

Genre: Action, Light Comedy, Angst

Pairing: NCT Dream x Reader

YN Pronouns: Female (She/Her)

(5/?) [First] | [Previous] | [Next]

[Main Masterlist] | [Locked and Reloaded Masterlist]

Word Count: 6.5K

Notes: It’s about time these members entered the story. I’m dropping this now instead of a Saturday upload because I’m getting my second dose of vaccine in about nine hours, and from how both of my parents reacted something tells me that I’m going to be incapacitated for the next two days, so I decided to finish this bad boy up now! Currently next on my list to work on is Infatuation, so I’ll see you in that update!

Disclaimer: Please remember that this is an AU and a work of fiction, obviously the idols mentioned/written about in this story would never partake in or condone these actions. I would never wish any of these actions to occur to the Idol(s) mentioned in the writings of these stories, nor do I wish any harm on them.

“That’s stupid,” you told your older brother. Baekhyun just laughed. You had just finished ranting to him how a majority of the premise of chemistry was ridiculous, being founded on one key theory that could be amended at any moment, something now set in stone or put to law. It was a theoretical science that clashed with the lawfulness of physics and the puzzle of biology. “Chemistry is literally the weakest link.”

“I don’t quite think so, songbird,” the nickname was sweet in his voice, it was one you had had for as long as you could remember. He leans against your desk and he points at the picture. “It’s just atomic theory.”

“Yeah, and it’s stupid. Imagine, all of this work, all seven hundred of these pages and countless other books could get proved incorrect if someone disproves it.”

“You read this entire textbook and that’s all you have to say about it?” Baekhyun raised his eyebrow and crossed his arms. “Wah, you’re so amazing and you don’t even know it,” he hugged your head to his stomach and you pushed him away.

“Ew, you’re so gross,” you wiped the sweat from your face. “At least shower before coming into my room! You’re disgusting when you use the gym.”

“And miss my darling sister? No way, that and I came to congratulate you!” He points at the certificate on your desk just under your coffee mug. “Not every day you win the science fair… again.”

“Yeah, yeah, thanks,” you put a textbook over it. He was right, but it was hardly an achievement for you at this point, it was an expectation.

“What did you do this year?” None of them even showed up, the only person there to help you with your project was Jeno, but he was always there whether you liked it or not.

“You don’t know?”

“I was at the conference, remember?”

“Oh, right,” you sighed. “It was just an observation on bees.”

“Whoa! Bees are great! They’re so helpful for pollination, for honey, and so much more!” Baekhyun smiles. “Hey, your birthday’s coming up, right? Fourteen? Oh god, oh no, my songbird? A teen? I don’t think I can handle this.”

“You’re overreacting! It’s not like I’m going to be any different. Plus, I’m already a teen.”

“Oh, (Y/N), you have no idea. Thirteen is the one year free trial before you start having to pay to be a teen. Once you turn fourteen, ugh, I don’t even know how to say this,” Baekhyun fake cries and wipes away the invisible tears. “It’ll be like you’re a whole different person.”

“Stop that! Why are you acting so weird?” You laughed and turned to him. Baekhyun crossed his arms over his chest and your smile dropped. You knew that look on his face better than anyone. “You’re leaving again, aren’t you?”

“Yeah, I leave tonight,” he says.

“How long?”

“Maybe a week this time, dad wants to show me the properties over in Zone 8.”

“Seriously? What for?” The factories that far out from the city were nearly ghost factories, they just handled building the smaller removable parts of the weapons your father developed. You couldn’t think of a possible reason why Baekhyun would have to go out that far.

“I have no clue, maybe he just wants me to see the Byun system at a smaller scale,” Baekhyun sighs. “Will you be okay here?”

“Will I be okay here? Don’t make me laugh,” you slammed your textbook shut and stared at him. “She hates me.”

“Don’t say that.”

“She does! You’ve seen the way she talks to me when you’re not around, Baek, I genuinely think that woman wants to get rid of me.”

“She’s your mother.”

“No, she’s your mother.” You didn’t mean for it to come out as accusing as it did. But you could genuinely say that you never felt anything from her aside from the obvious disdain she must have held for you. But what could you do? You’d hate you too. If one day your husband showed up at your doorstep with a kid you didn’t recognize telling you to treat her as if she was your own, you’d despise that child’s existence. All you were was proof of infidelity, and your stepmother made that very clear. You were her daughter on paper alone, but in reality, you were nothing more than a freeloader. “I’m just the bastard kid from dad’s mistress.”

“Do not,” Baekhyun held a finger up and stared at you with an intensity you’ve never seen on his face before. Seriousness wasn’t something that Baekhyun often used, especially around you. “Do not ever reduce yourself to that. Do you understand? You are so much more than that and you can’t let anyone who says that to you bring you down, you cannot let that weigh on you. Who even told you that?”

“She did. Who else?”

“God…” Baekhyun looked away and huffed. He held his hand to his forehead and sighed. “Keep in touch with me, okay? Just one more year and I can take it to court.”

“Forget it, Baek,” you waved your hand. “It would never work. We have no proof.”

“Well,” Baekhyun pressed his lips together and placed a tape in front of you.

“A tape? Seriously?”

“Don’t hate on old tech, they’re still around for a reason. I have a walkman in my room, second drawer on my desk. Listen to it later, okay?”

“Yeah, okay,” you placed the tape in your own drawer, out of sight and out of mind.

“Just wait for me, alright?”

“Yeah.”

“(Y/N), I’m serious.”

“I know.”

“I’ll be back, okay?”

“Okay, just go, dad’s probably waiting for you,” you opened your textbook again and stared at the passages on it. You had a really bad feeling about tonight, but you couldn’t quite place your finger on it.

“Love you, songbird.”

“I know.”

“Sungchan! Four o’clock!” You shouted towards the agent. Sungchan, moving a second too late was met with the spine of a book to his face, promptly knocking him out. “Aw, geez,” you shoved your bag under a table, hoping that it would be somewhat okay after the fight, and threw a metal tray, the circular object blocking one of the flying weapons from hitting Shotaro on his way to Sungchan.

“Thank you!” He shouts. He leans next to his best friend and tries to wake him up while the fight continued.

“I’ll try to keep you guys covered, but you might need to fill in for me eventually, Reaper’s not doing too good over there,” you stumbled over to the two and handed Shotaro one of the pillows from the couch. “Is he okay?”

“Yeah, just knocked out, but I have to watch him just in case… you know.”

“I do, just make sure he’s fine.”

With Jeno’s sudden appearance the Sanctum became a new battleground. Ancient artifacts were being used left and right for battle, whether they were used correctly or not, and with incoherent shouts filling the previously calm room. Strange was doing his best to prevent anything potentially world-threatening from happening, the Sorcerer Supreme understanding the laws of the universe, as well as any of you did, while the Maverick worked to bring down Vulture. The surprise attack rendered them at an unfortunate disadvantage. Strange was more concerned with keeping the battle within the Sanctum than he was helping any of you out, which was entirely understandable.

“I got it!” Peter shoved back the bookcase that was about to fall on you.

“Thanks, Peter.”

“Just so you know I am so sorry I did not mean for any of this to happen I didn’t know.”

“Oh goodness, no hard feelings, Peter, it happens to the best of us,” you said to him. “There’s no way you could’ve known.”

“Thanks, (Y/N), that means a— Watch out!” He pushed you out of the way just as a shield lodged itself between you, you turned towards the source and saw Vulture, and you had to stop yourself from getting any more frustrated than you already are.

“Fucking hell,” you clapped your hands together and jogged in place. “Stretching before fights is good for you, Peter, don’t forget that,” you said to him. Then you saw Cap waving his hand. You pulled the shield from its spot and threw it back to him.

“Nice arm!”

“Don’t lose your shit!” You moved your head to the side just as a bullet whizzed past you. “And watch where you’re aiming!” You dodged another bullet as it ricocheted off of one of the metal artifacts of the Sanctum.

“I am,” Jaemin’s voice was steady despite the chaos. “Reaper!” Jaemin tossed one o the artifacts towards the other, particularly a sharp one, and Jeno drove it into the wall next to Vulture, just barely grazing the Follower. Vulture grabbed onto the back of Jeno’s neck, the razor claws on his hands emerging and sinking into the half-demon before Vulture slammed Jeno’s head through the wall.

“Urgh, I felt that,” you rubbed the back of your neck as the phantom pain shot through it. You quickly stepped back just as an eldritch whip snapped in front of you.

“Mr. Wong?!” Peter gasps.

“That one isn’t in our database,” Jaemin grabbed onto the whip as it went towards you again, ‘Wong’ staring at him with a slight confusion, to which Jaemin just tugged it away from the other’s hands, watching the concentrated energy dissipate.

“Well then add him later, dammit,” you charged towards Vulture but soon felt something wrap around your ankle. You looked at the portal next to your foot and the hand around it. “Ew! Oh my god!” You yanked it out of ‘Wong’s’ grasp and shot towards him, the bullets disappearing before they could get anywhere close. No wonder it was so fucking convenient, you hoped whoever the real Wong was and where he was currently wasn’t too horrible.

“We should name this guy,” Jaemin dodged the eldritch disk that nearly sliced his throat. “I’m thinking Frisbee.”

“Oh come on, let’s stay true to tradition and wait for Hyuck,” you pulled a sword from the suit of armor next to you and blocked the whip again. You turned the hilt in your hand and smiled. “Ooh, I like this. You know my ex used to be an expert fencer.”

“I almost forgot about that one,” Jaemin hums. “What’s with sleeping beauty over there?”

“Got hit in a face with a book.”

“Oh that’s good, one less bomb we have to worry about.”

“That’s rude,” you scolded him.

“Can someone help me over here?!” Jeno’s pissed off voice came from the office. He pushed himself up from the rubble and cracked his neck before his knuckles. “I’m going to kill this guy, fuck the Agreement.”

“Does the Agreement even apply this far out?” You asked. Jaemin pulled out his phone briefly. The Agreement was offered by the D98 Avengers, basically promising not to do any dimension altering things, but it was just a promise, nothing was set in stone and thus was lacking in any legality. It was a gentleman’s promise, so to say.

“Technically it doesn’t, D62 is far out of D98 bounds. And since none of the Avengers are here…” Jaemin let Jeno fill in the blanks himself.

“Good,” Jeno tapped his wrists together, a blood-red magic circle appearing between them.

“Wait, do you guys hear that?” You looked around while skillfully parrying evil Wong’s attacks.

“Hear what?” Shotaro was nursing the passed out Sungchan while blocking any projectiles that made their way towards him.

“It kind of sounds like screaming,” Jaemin furrowed his eyebrows.

“No, it sounds like… no, of all the members to send,” you groaned. Then the sound of doors crashing open accompanied the chaos that was the Sanctum while a familiar face ran in head first, literally, screaming his head off, and rams into Dr. Strange.

“I got this one, V! Don’t worry!” Chenle shouts.

“You idiot he’s on our side!” Jeno grabs a polearm from a nearby suit of armor and whacks it over Vulture’s head, the polearm breaking in half right after and really just pissing off the Follower more.

“Oh is he? Sorry!” Chenle detached himself from the sorcerer.

“Looks like we’ll be having a change in plans,” Strange murmured and disappeared from the room.

“Did the wizard just dip?!” You yelled.

“I think so!” Chenle yelled back, despite being right next to you.

“Why are you even here?!”

“We were talking to Fury when Jeno just fell into a sudden pool of blood! I followed your tracker here because I figured you’re in trouble. Be grateful!”

“I never said I wasn’t?!” You heard a pang next to you and turned to your side, a circular shield blocking your vision for only a brief moment before connecting with Other Wong’s abdomen.

“Thanks,” you nodded towards Steve.

“No problem,” he says. “But where’d that bullet come from?” Cap looks around the room. Jaemin rushes next to you and grabs something, pointing it upwards. Within a few moments, someone materializes next to him. A classic cloaking spell, of course, right when you needed it most.

“Monsieur,” her voice was hoarse.

“Lynx,” you saw him grimace while the woman drove a knife into Jaemin’s side and twisted it harshly. A loud groan left the man’s throat while you darted next to him and tackled the woman to the ground.

“I like your D62 version better!” You pressed your gun to her head and she threw you off before you could pull the trigger.

“Nat!?” Steve blocked another gunshot from her with his shield.

“Not Nat,” Bucky answers.

“Where have you been?”

“This thing’s still glowing,” Bucky held up the crystal.

“Give that to me!” Chenle appears next to them and grabs it. “You meaty idiots don’t know what to do with this.”

“Was that an insult?”

“Apperio!” Chenle ignored the Captain and chanted the charm, a magic circle appeared around the crystal. Following the ripple of two blue circles that expanded throughout the room, two more people appeared.

“There’s more of them?!” You shot Vulture in the leg. Before you were two other notorious members of the Elite. Arachnid, who you fought before, and Dead Shot, someone you were hoping not to run into in this dimension. “Someone get Parker out of here as soon as he touches Arachnid it’s over!” You shout.

“Oh please, I wouldn’t even try that. What good is this mission if any of us blow up the dimension while we’re at it,” Arachnid catches the flying dagger and flings it back towards Jaemin, who easily dodged it.

“We have orders to keep you alive, Vendetta, comply and the others will live,” Dead Shot spoke in his trademarked mechanical voice.

“Fuck that,” you pointed your gun at Arachnid and click. Click, click. “Well, this is awkward,” you chucked the magnum at Arachnid, the handle of the gun hitting the area between the mutant’s eyes and stunning him briefly, while Dead Shot released a flurry of bullets. You ran along the wall to dodge them, looking for something to shield yourself with now that Cap and Bucky were busy with Lynx, Jeno had Vulture busy, and Jaemin moved over to Arachnid so that Peter could handle Evil-Wong instead.

“Surrender or be forced to, Vendetta.”

“Well, shit,” you held a book in front of you while Dead Shot went through consecutive rounds.

“How could you not know a Follower was here?!” Jeno was pushed back next to you while deflecting Vulture’s attacks.

“How the hell was I supposed to know?! I didn’t even know that those three were here until a couple of minutes ago!”

“Are you kidding me?!”

“No, I’m not kidding you because if I was we wouldn’t be in this mess!”

“It has been thirty minutes! I let you and Jaemin go for thirty minutes and this happens!”

“In our defense,” Jaemin gets pushed back to the other side of you and clears his throat. “Peter brought us here.”

“I said I’m sorry!” Peter brushes off the embers on his suit. “Aw man, how am I going to explain this to Mr. Stark?”

“Explain? Have you been reporting us to him?!” You asked.

“Uh… no,” Peter’s phone goes off and he answers it. “Hi, Mr. Stark, there’s kind of a situation going on right now—”

“Tell them not to come here! If any of the other Followers show up it could tear the fabric of reality apart!” Chenle shouts. A magic circle appears under Peter’s phone and it short circuits. Chenle adjusts the watch around his wrist, a much larger magic circle appearing from it.

“Vocavi te ab umbris,” at the utterance of the words the shadows in the room gathered together to a much larger amalgamate. “Go, Vendetta, I’ll keep them handled.”

“Fuck,” you spotted your backpack, which was pushed up against the wall on the other side of the room.

“What now?” Jeno asks.

“Backpack.”

“What about it?”

“There’s something really important in there,” Jaemin sounded disappointed. “We could hole-in-one it, V.”

“We could,” you said. “But that risks shaking it up too much.

“Hot potato then?” Jeno offers.

“Who would start it?”

“The closest person is Shotaro, if he throws it far enough I could probably catch it,” Jeno says. “Pass it over to Jaemin.”

“Then I’ll pass it to you. But by then you need to be in that hallway,” Jaemin says.

“Got it, I can do that.”

“And if anything goes wrong?”

“Wing it.”

“We’re going to die in this dimension, aren’t we?” Jeno frowns.

“On the count of three, break,” Jaemin says, ignoring his best friend’s words. You hand Jeno the old sword, which he took without question. “One.”

“What do I need this for?”

“Well, I certainly don’t need it.”

“Two.”

“Wait, are we even on the same page?”

“I don’t know, are we?”

“Three!” Jaemin shoved you forward and you took off, dodging literally everything on your way to get out and probably get some more help.

“Shotaro! Pass me that backpack!” Jeno shouts over the gunshots. Shotaro perked up and grabbed the black bag, chucking it towards Jeno, who caught it easily. “Monsieur— Fuck, too far, Apollo! Pass this over to him!” Jeno tossed the backpack towards Chenle, the heavy bag slamming into the magician mid-spell.

“What the hell?!”

“Pass it here!” Jaemin knocked over Lynx and used her head the propel himself up and grab the backpack after Chenle threw it. He ran over towards you and threw it. Right as your hand grabbed the strap, it was yanked away from you.

“Fuck!” You looked back at who had it now, seeing your backpack in the hands of the last person who should have it. You were about the run over to him, but the bullet that landed too close for comfort reminded you that you had to leave now. “Arachnid has it!” You’d just have to put your trust into the three that were already here.

“Got it,” Jeno bashed his knee into Vulture’s head, finally incapacitating the Follower and switched targets. You turned around and ran into the hallway. You just had to call one of the other members to run over here with some extra materials. You hit the side of your phone, which only frizzed at the motion. Chenle must have jammed the signals to prevent more reinforcements from coming, great. You couldn’t run around forever, Dead Shot always hit his targets in the end, you continued down the hallway, not bothering to look back, but when you found yourself cornered against a hallway, you forced to figure out a solution. With the smell of smoke and the sounds of bullets hitting the ground— Wait a second. You looked down the hallway, bullets hitting metal and ricocheting towards you but never hitting any intended destination, there wasn’t even a bullet hole in sight, instead there were just empty shells on the ground. But in your analysis you failed to notice the stray bullet that was right in front of you. Then you saw someone’s closed fist in front of you.

“Did I get all of them?” He panted. He opened his hand and twelve bullets fell out of it.

“Oh my god, Mark, you’re just in time, I don’t remember you being this fast either,” you caught your breath and hugged the speedster, separating quickly. Mark pat down the smoke on his boots.

“I don’t think I’ve ever run that fast…” He stretches his back and kicks the bullet shells aside.

“How’d you even get here?”

“The sorcerer guy called Baekhyun and asked us to come right away. I had a feeling it wasn’t anything good so I came first, told them I’d scout the area. It’s a good thing I came, otherwise you’d look like Sponge-Bob…” He laughs awkwardly. “You’re at your quota, aren’t you?” He looks down at your feet. You followed his gaze and saw the rusted knife sticking out from it, then you noticed the bloody trail you left behind. You sighed and pulled the old thing out.

“Remind me to get a Tetanus shot.”

“You are at your quota,” he gasped.

“Can’t afford to possibly die right now,” you shook your head. “I thought since the dimension was far enough it’d get me some leeway, but I guess not,” you grimaced.

“Shit, it really is a good thing that I came just in time,” Mark looks over his shoulder. “Dead Shot should be on his way, you didn’t make it hard to find you.”

“Don’t smart-mouth me right now, Mark.”

“Right, yeah, sorry about that,” the speedster ruffled his blue hair and unzipped his jacket, pulling out a book from it. It was heavy, no doubt, leather-bound with metal embellishments around it. The book had lived through as many eons as it did dimensions. You had asked Mark to try to get it for you if he could, but nothing more than that. Better to leave him in blissful ignorance. “Look, I don’t have a lot of time to say this,” he says while he hands it to you.

“Just spit it out.”

“I was looking into that thing you asked me about and here, this is all I got,” he says. “Whatever you need it for it’d better be important, I almost got turned into a frog for it. The guy I got it from warned me not to read it though.”

“Why?”

“I dunno, something about corrupting the person who reads it.”

“Oh shit, I should have Jeno read it then.”

“True, you can’t corrupt a demon.”

“But then again he is only half.”

“Look, (Y/N), I only got you the book because you were so insistent on it. Just reassure me and tell me that you won’t do anything stupid with it.”

“I won’t, I won’t, I may be stupid but I’m not that stupid, Mark. When are the others coming?”

“I just gave them the signal to enter, they’ll be taking care of the Follower problem here in a bit. But you’re going to have to explain why you’re here to them, and I’m afraid that it might involve you revealing your identities this time.”

“Why do you say that?”

“Why else would you be in D62 being housed and paid by this dimension’s Avengers?”

“Fair enough—” you were cut off by the bullet grazing your ear and landing in the wall behind you. Another one rang out and Mark grimaced, holding his hand to his shoulder

“Argh! Come on!” He grunts. He puts a hand on your back and one behind your neck.

“Why?”

“Whiplash,” you blinked and suddenly found yourself back in the Avenger’s Compound.

“Mark, don’t you dare!”

“Sorry! Jeno’s orders! I’d rather a pissed off you than Jeno!”

“Mark, I swear if you zoom out of here—” but the speedster was already gone by the time you turned around. “Dammit!” You kicked the wall and winced immediately, you completely forgot that it was the same foot that had a knife driven through it earlier.

He was right, you’d reached your quota. There was a certain amount of times you were allowed to “die” until it would be too much, and you knew you’d be at this quota when your body would stop healing itself, it was getting ready for its original host to return. You just didn't think you’d reach it soon, and who knows until the number resets? It was always a varying number, and until it did you had to lay low. It was such a hassle that you always tried to avoid it, but coming to this dimension seemed to have expedited the whole thing. You heard a bag of chips drop behind you.

“(Y/N)? When did you get here?” Jisung stared at you while he picked up the bag.

“Mark.”

“Mark’s here? Where?” Jisung looks around.

“There was a complication at Dr. Strange’s place,” you limped towards him, he rushed over to you and reached for your hand to help you, but you tugged it away. “I’m fine.”

“Oh, okay,” Jisung gave you a little more space, but still walked next to you, sporting that easy-to-read concern. “Do they need help?”

“No. The Avengers are coming.”

“Oh… oh no,” Jisung caught onto why you were being short now. “Oh no, oh no, we won’t have a choice then.”

“No, we won’t,” you heaved the large book under your arm. Jisung looked at it but chose not to question you. “I’ll be in my room, I have a lot of thinking to do before we explain ourselves to the lapdogs so, if you need me, I’ll be in there,” Jisung says.

“Oi, (Y/N)!” Haechan held his hand up and Jisung furiously shook his head. Hyuck pressed on regardless. “Think you need this,” he waved the small box in his hand and you did a doubletake.

“Where did you get that?!” You rushed forward and snatched it out of his hands. “Be a bit more gentle with it!”

“Whoa! What’s got you pissed? Jeno drowned and dropped this. Changmin said to give it to you so I figured it’s important, damn.”

“The Avengers are coming.”

“Like… these Avengers?” He points around the room. “Or our Avengers.”

“The second one,” Jisung nods. “Right, (Y/N)?” You didn’t answer, you were already halfway to your room. You tossed the book on your bed and you opened the small box, pulling the vial of iridescent liquid from it. You twisted it open and downed its limited contents in one gulp. You felt all of your muscles relax at once and you sat on the bed. The wound on your foot closed quickly.

“Postponed, at least for now,” you stretched your arms. “But not permanently,” you placed the vial back in the box and you grabbed the book. As you held the two sides in your hands, ready to open it, you recalled Mark’s warning. Then you remembered the words of the Demon King himself.

“If you know what’s good for you, and what’s good for the world you reside in. Do not seek more than you already know about yourself.”

The times you spoke to Jeno’s father were limited, and your best friend liked it that way, preferred it actually, but the times you did talk they were always pleasant. Save for that warning. He knew something you didn’t, the both of them. You acquired this book without any of their knowledge. For years you just went with it, there’s a quota for death, there’s a reason why you can’t die, there’s a reason why you should avoid stepping near the Seraph, but now in this new universe, you had to know. There was something calling out to you in this dimension, it was very faint, and you didn’t truly notice it until you walked into the Sanctum.

You put the book away, sliding it under the bed.

Trust is mutual, if two very powerful beings are telling you to stay in your lane you probably should. You knew the bare minimum of your condition, so to say, you knew what you had to. Die too many times too close together and something else will come and reclaim its host, and all you knew about that entity was that it was some eldritch creature that took a millennia to finally contain, and for some reason, it had some affinity for you. That is where your knowledge stopped and your curiosity began. What could be so powerful that even the all-powerful Demon King wanted to keep it contained, and what did it have to do with you? Your answers were under your bed. But you risked too much by simply opening the book on its own. You hit your head lightly on the wall behind you. The liquid in the vial would extend your quota by at most three, you had to use them carefully. If you were going to attract a horrific monster, it would probably be best to not do it in a world that you didn’t belong to.

There was a knock at your door.

“What do you want, Renjun?”

The door opened slowly, and someone else stood at it.

“Is now a bad time?” Stark asks. You shook your head.

“It’s your building, come in,” you sighed. He walked in at your invitation, sitting at the table to the side.

“So this is what S.H.I.E.L.D. meant by living accommodations,” he laughs.

“What did you need, Mr. Stark?”

“Tony’s fine, thanks,” he says. “Sorry, it was eating away at me, I had to ask.”

“You wanna know about what you’re like in my dimension, right?”

“I’d appreciate it, but, something tells me I should come back later.”

“Oh, no, no, it’s fine.”

“Where are your friends?”

“Probably getting their asses kicked, but I’m here instead,” you shrugged. “Honestly, you’re not that different. Maybe a little less depressed, but that’s about it. For what it counts, to our knowledge, you aren’t a Follower. You work closely with the Seraph, if they found out then you would’ve been executed on spot, at the very least.”

“Oh yeah? Crazy leader or rational one?”

“Bit of both,” you leaned forward on your bed, kicking the book further under your bed. “Want to know anything else?”

“I was wondering if you could walk me through your Traveler of yours, is it anything like Time Travel?”

“Let’s call it two sides of the same coin.”

“How so? What do you use? Cosmic strings? Möbius strip?”

“Have you heard of the infinite cylinder theory?”

“Also known as Tipler?

“Yes!”

“Then yes, I’m aware.”

“How about Schrödinger’s Equation?”

“We’re talking hamiltonian operators?”

“Bingo. If you can manipulate those two concepts, you can get time travel, but it’s not perfect. So manipulate them differently, add a few more concepts because you have to take relativity into account, and bam. Dimensional Travel.”

“That easy?”

“Yeah, well, no, but in theory sure.”

“And you never went to high school?”

“What’s that got to do with it? If you need a degree to prove you’re right then you’re probably not the sharpest tool in the shed,” you shrug. Tony opened his mouth to retaliate, but couldn’t think of a good comeback to that. “Something tells me you want to ask me something more specific though, Peter let slip that he’s been sending you updates, so I’m sure you’re here for a different reason.”

“Why?”

“Why what?”

“Why help us?”

“Don’t really know how to answer that one, Tony,” you placed your ankle on your opposite knee and rolled out your ankle. “Usually we just take whichever job pays the most, but Changmin asked us personally to take this one, so how could we say no? The guy rarely ever asks us favors, and it was the least we could do.”

“That simple?”

“What? Did you want me to say that we wanted to meet you guys? I mean, it’s certainly a plus. Most of your team happen to be carbon copies of the same one who wants to kill us, so there’s that, we’re observing the ways you act, maybe it’ll help us in the future, maybe not. It’s like a two-way deal, you get your Traveler, and we get data.”

“Data,” Tony scoffs. “I can see why you’d come to that conclusion.”

“What can I say? It’s helpful. But, I can definitely say that we might be relieved of our duties soon, we’re technically here illegally, I’ll have you know,” you said to him. “We’re supposed to get official approval from the Secretary of Travel before jumping dimensions, but we’re not exactly law followers so we never did. But now that an official government team is on their way, hoo boy, my greatest rival is yet to come. Paperwork,” you made light of what would otherwise be a very very bad situation.

“I heard, so we get to meet the other Avengers.”

“Yup. And, let me tell you right now, they’re not the nicest people.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, just you wait until I tell you about them.”

The shadow amalgamate shattered into what it once was, scurrying back to their original positions, once Chenle had the wind knocked out of him by Lynx. He landed harshly on Jaemin, who then lost his balance and sent the two tumbling down to the first floor of the Sanctum.

“Sorry,” Chenle rolled off the top of Jaemin.

“It’s fine, call it even for the incident with the banshee.”

“Agreed, ugh, my head’s doing cartwheels…”

“Cartwheels? I feel like mine is being churned,” Jaemin holds his head. Chenle and Jaemin lay next to each other for a moment, trying to stop their spinning heads when someone stood over them.

“Are we bothering you, gentlemen?”

“Ugh, these fuckers are here,” Jaemin covered his eyes with his arms. “Tell me when they’re gone, Apollo.”

“That’s kind of mean,” Mark frowns. Jaemin moves his hand.

“Mark’s not a bad person, actually, Tony. I feel bad because I encouraged him to join the Avengers when they asked, but the other guys saw it as a complete betrayal. But he’s loyal, he doesn’t hate us and we don’t hate him, or at least I don’t.”

“Oh look! The traitor!” He lazily points at him. “Do you know how much shit we’ve been through since you left?”

“All the dishes we’ve had to wash?”

“V won’t even let us take your room because she thinks you’re coming back! You dumb traitor, what happened to our friendship bracelets, Mark?! Huh?!”

“You guys, don’t call me that, come on! Look I’m still wearing it!” Mark whines.

“Go away! You left us for your cooler friends who can legally blow things up, go! Go have fun with them!” Chenle points an accusing finger towards the speedster.

“Just leave them there,” Mark whispers.

“We’re looking for Strange,” a deeper voice says.

“Oh my god, is that Wong Yukhei?” Jaemin asks, his blurred vision not helping him at all. “You know, Vendetta has a cardboard cutout of you, I think she talks to it sometimes,” he laughs, his words slightly slurred as a result of the head damage received when he fell on the hard floors in the first place.

“Flattered,” Yukhei responds.

“Wong Yukhei, decorated soldier from the order of war and the first in the super-soldier experiments. Actually not a bad guy, but feels the need to flex his bravado every now and then because of the team he’s on, and honestly, I kind of relate to that.”

“The hatless wizard is somewhere upstairs,” Chenle points up and lets his arm drop to his side. “We’d help, but you guys look like one big ugly walrus right now.” Jaemin starts cracking up and the two high five.

“Do we have to work with them?” Another voice snapped.

“Li Yongqin, Chittaphon Leechaiyapornkul, Lee Youngheum, he has too many names to remember so people usually just call him Ten. He was a perfect student in the military academies, which I’m guessing where his nickname comes from. But he’s pretty impatient, rather ill-tempered from my experience."

“We don’t have a choice,” a more suave on this time.

“Ooh, Lee Taemin. He's an interesting one, Tony. We’re actually pretty close, or used to be at least. He’s very good at what he does, he has years of experience under his belt, but it’s pretty scary. He’s probably done his research by now, be careful, he knows you better than you know yourself. Don’t argue.”

“Gentlemen, let’s end this, we have clearance from the Seraph to exterminate the Followers,” a more powerful one.

“Oh, oh, Lee Taeyong! He’s great. I’ve seen him work a couple of times, I think he’s shot me in the head before. Don’t ask. I have a great deal of respect for him, but he’s kind of anti-social, not easy to get along with him, but I think it’s all miscommunication in the end. I think if we really got to know each other we’d hit it off, but otherwise, I think I’m just a person with a bounty on her head in his eyes.”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” Jaemin pushed himself up, his eyes finally focusing. “Exterminate? Yeah, you guys do that, but let the Maverick leave first, we don’t want to get caught up in your deathmatch again,” Jaemin hits the side of his head a few times.

“Where’s the Vendetta?”

“Not here! She left because Reaper was being a little bitch!” Jaemin laughs again and Chenle joins him.

“We’re wasting our time here with these idiots,” another person says. Chenle squints his eyes to make out the figure.

“Now there’s Kim Jongin, he’s one of the people who started the Avengers project and got them all together. He’s an indispensable member, in my opinion. But when you’re in a team with that many star-studded members who are constantly in the public eye, it’s easy to get lost in the lights. But he knows how to keep things according to itinerary.”

“Who are you again?” He asks. “I thought the Avengers only had six members,” he stifles back a laugh.

“Dude that’s low!” Jaemin cackles. Mark swallows down a laugh when Taemin looks over at him, both of them trying to be respectful to their teammate.

“I know that’s why I said it!” Chenle hits his teammate’s arm and Jaemin winces, but the two continue in their little circus.

“Forget them, let’s just go,” Jongin. The team ascends the steps.

“Enter, the Avengers,” Baekhyun smiles.

“And finally there’s their leader. Byun Baekhyun— yes, he’s my older brother, no we don’t talk, and I don’t think he even knows I’m alive. He’s similar to you in some aspects, he pays for all of their shit. But he’s manipulative. He knows how to get into your head. Be careful with him.”

General Tag List: @vickylamore @yeongwvnhi @mizzdivagirl7-blog @sehunnies-hunnie96 @roses09020617 @bat-shark-repellant @cloudreads @awesomei @raeincitizen @here-aeth

Locked and Reloaded: @leesalts @lublyrecs @beefchippp @hiqhkey @tyuningkai @p-mini @ellie-idk-anymore @mischiefmakerliesmith5 @gaiyofanfiction @lucyinthesunshinee

If you want to be added to either tag list just send me a reply to this post, and ask, or a DM and I’ll add you as soon as possible!

#nct #nct dream #nct u #marvel #nct x reader #nct dream x reader #nct u x reader #nct fics #nct dream fics #nct u fics #my writings #L&R

29 notes · View notes

missorgana · 4 years

Text

your lucky day

pairing: bruce banner/thor, background pepper potts/tony stark

fandom: marvel cinematic universe

rating: general

word count: 4619

warning: swearing

summary: Bruce gets lost in IKEA. Luckily, he finds someone to help him out. (Ikea AU)

(it’s been Months and i’m finally done with this fic!! this is a very belated birthday gift for @nevillelongsbottom i really hope you like this legend 💕 uwu also thank you to @dykeacademias for beta reading u are a lifesaver seriously. hope you all enjoy this mess!!)

read on ao3

Doctor Bruce Banner is lost in IKEA.

While he certainly didn’t expect to find himself in this position, he can appreciate the comedy in it.

But Bruce is lost. Seriously, utterly lost.

The reason for him to even be in IKEA in the first place is simply Tony and Pepper convincing him to accompany them.

Yes, it might seem strange for a soon-to-be married couple to invite just the one friend along to look at furniture for the apartment they scored.

He’s gotten used to their shenanigans by now. Doesn’t mean he still didn’t lift an eyebrow, though.

“We need your help, Bruce, please?” his best friend asked him, and Tony knows that pleading face doesn’t work on him, but still, he wants them to be happy, you know?

In fact, both of them had that matching face on, because they’re perfect for one another, and he’s got this sense of guilt, and nerve in him, because honestly, he’s clueless as to why they’re choosing him for assistance.

He’s always been a nervous person.

Bruce figures an extra pair of hands would be helpful. And it’s not like he’s weak, wouldn’t call himself bulky either, but he can carry his fair amount.

It seemed like his friends might want his input on things as well, judging by the catalogue on they’d put in front of him on the coffee table, with dog-eared pages all around.

“I’m not really good with design and all, fair warning.” he’d said with an awkward chuckle, but Pepper showcased no worry.

“Don’t stress about it, okay? We just need you to decide for us when we disagree on something. You’re a darling.”

“You don’t really disagree on stuff, though.”

Tony blinked at him, “Have you met us?”

Really, the car ride was pleasant, and he loves them to pieces, but Bruce soon got Tony’s point once they were moving through the store, and not more than ten minutes in was forced to judge the lamps his best friends couldn’t seem to decide on.

It’s a month til their wedding, and they’re already acting like an old married couple.

And honestly, the lamps in question looked more or less the same to him, but he didn’t say that, because Pepper had a compelling argument about the placement and size of them, and Tony had to go with the majority, after all.

Regardless, he didn’t have to listen to their bickering for long, which he couldn’t decide if he found heartwarming, amusing or tiring, because somewhere between the kitchen and the office sections, Bruce lost sight of the couple.

Well, that wasn’t ideal.

Truth be told, he was distracting himself with a phone call, and left them looking at paint samples.

And Bruce figured they moved along without him. So it can’t really be his fault, right?

Or maybe they’re lost somewhere else too, who knows.

Thing is, Bruce has been searching this floor for close to half an hour, and now that he’s finally decided to move upstairs, to try his luck, let’s just say he’d really like to meet whoever designed this floor plan.

In fact, after roaming for another ten minutes, he has to admit he’s not sure where the escalators are located anymore.

Maybe he’s walking in circles. How is this even possible?

Honestly, it’s starting to get ridiculous when Bruce finds himself at the plant section, with little idea of how he got there, and also, since when has IKEA got a plant section?

Tony’s told him more than once that he needs to ‘get into the loop’ and ‘not live under a rock’, which really just means his friend has been begging him to start a twitter account.

Especially when he says some pun that’s not even that funny, and Tony laughs almost so hard he can’t breathe.

He can’t say he doesn’t appreciate that support, and confidence boost, though.

Anyway, there must be, like, a map of this floor, or a help desk, right?

Bruce is more or less dumbfounded, stepping out of the way for an elderly couple who are eagerly making their way towards the floor plants, and decides looking out for an IKEA employee might be his best option right now.

Yes, he did actually send Pepper a text, he’d not that out of the loop, but he’s getting no response, and besides, it might help him more if he had an idea of how to not be stuck in all this gardening interior.

But of course, as his luck has it, and Bruce swears he usually looks out for where he’s going, he very nearly smashes a vase that seemingly appeared out of thin air.

He’s in no way a religious person, but Jesus Christ.

Some luck he does have, as if sent like a prayer, when he spots an incredibly tall figure clad in a yellow and blue striped shirt.

And since their back is turned, Bruce figures he’ll politely tap their shoulder and ask for some guidance in a way that doesn’t sound as stupid as it does in his own head.

Good plan.

Or it would be, if he hadn’t tapped said shoulder, and said person turned around, and Bruce stepped back a little and might’ve smashed something for real.

So this has to confirm that he is, indeed, a nervous person, he guesses, because the vision of the stranger is enough to intimidate the doctor.

Well, intimidate sounds like fear, and that’s definitely not it.

Let’s just say this IKEA employee is a head taller, maybe more, who knows, than Bruce, and aforementioned yellow and blue striped uniform is a polo shirt sitting impossibly tighter than he can imagine it’s supposed to.

They’re well trained, to say the least.

In fact, this stranger’s broad shoulders might be launching him into a mental breakdown, and nope, he can’t be freaking out in an IKEA store because someone working there is, seriously, unexplainably attractive.

They even got their blond hair put up in a bun, for real.

And now, Bruce doesn’t really know how to process this encounter, and how to pretend the internal freaking out didn’t just happen, but luckily, real luck this time, the stranger gives him an easy smile on a silver platter.

Thank his non-existent Gods for customer service.

“Careful there, buddy. What can I help you with?”

The voice is soft and gruff at the same time, Bruce doesn’t really know what it is about it, but it’s… that.

His eyes quickly search for nametag, finding it easily on the employee’s (just as broad) chest, which he doesn’t really have the mind to overthink right now, but seriously, this person might just live in a fitness center.

And said nametag showcases Thor, accompanied by My pronouns are he/him.

Of course this giant of a man is named Thor. Bruce can’t even be surprised, really.

His mind manages to circulate back to the fact that he asked you a question, dammit, and the scientist almost stutters out, “I apologise, I, uh, for my clumsiness.”

Thor simply shrugs, staying silent, and seemingly, letting Bruce collect himself and continue.

“And yes, I, eh, was going to ask for your help. My current situation might be slightly embarrassing, however.” he tells him, finally, Bruce nags himself internally, with a small smile he cannot imagine is anything other than awkward.

And the Greek God-esque man in front of him, Bruce should really stop these God-related equations, anyway, chuckles softly in a way he can’t quite believe comes from a man twice the size of himself.

“I doubt it’s anything I haven’t heard before.” Thor, he remembers, tells him, and takes a quick glance behind him, before continuing, “You know how many customers inquire me about watering fake plants?”

And yeah, Bruce has to smile, a little, because he can imagine, and he supposes that remark did relax him about this situation, to some extent.

Not that he still doesn’t think he’s blushing, or fidgeting with his fingers, but this man’s probably used to that right?

Bruce is careful in his thought, because Thor’s most likely been objectified before, and it’s never anything the doctor wants to do, it’s just that this man might as well have walked out of one of his daydreams.

The tall man’s got this easy smile on his face and Bruce thinks he might be going crazy.

What’s gone into him?

To get out of his head, he chuckles just slightly, appreciating Thor attempting, at least, to make him less embarrassed, and, “Well, I- judging by the floor plan, you might’ve gotten this before, I don’t know. I have to admit I’m sort of lost.”

The man in front of him easily chuckles as well, nodding eagerly, resembling some sort of excitement just for a moment, “Oh, tell me about it! Honestly, took me a month before I knew the way around in here.”

Suddenly, Thor doesn’t look like a figment of the doctor’s imagination, but rather, cute in a way Bruce has never thought of men with his physique before.

As established before, these types of encounters, the rare he’s had, makes him a nervous wreck, and not in any way likely to flirt, which, in this case, would be highly uncomfortable for who his attention is devoted to, so it’s definitely for the best his skills are not brushed up upon.

That is, judging by his recent history of romantic relationships, or lack thereof.

He did come out of a long term one and got his heart terribly broken, but that was more than four years ago, and Tony and Pepper had his back, of course, helped him pick up the pieces.

Anyway, let’s just say he hasn’t been eager with going back to the dating market, which he hates calling it but nevertheless, he’s standing in an IKEA, and he really should think about getting back to his friends and not ponder over his mended heart and nonexistent chances with a man who’s, obviously, only this smiling and calm because he’s told to.

Get a grip, Bruce, you have a phd, for science and the modern world’s sake.

He’s quick to realize he needs to pay attention, now, because surely, he can keep his nerves under control for this. Seriously, he must.

“Where did you come from?” the tall man asks him, and it’s only now Bruce notices the cart next to him.

Typical of him to interrupt a dreamy man, not just standing around, but in the middle of a task, really.

He doesn’t usually swear, but fan-fucking-tastic, as Tony would say.

This embarrassment is going to move to the back of his mind, sooner or later, and so he adjust his glasses on his nose, most typical nervous sign really, and ventures on in the conversation.

“First floor, you see, eh…” and Bruce has to chuckle at himself, again, trying to minimize the eye contact with the tall stranger as much as possibly, which, really, shouldn’t be hard considering their height difference, “I lost sight of my friends, and well, here I am.”

Thor nods solemnly, in a way, like he finds this a completely valid reason.

“Okay, this is standard procedure, really, trust me,” he tells him, because apparently Bruce’s demeanor really is obvious, and it’s almost he’s reassuring him, “What section you think they’d wander off to?”

Well, this question boggles the doctor, because he’s not sure at all.

He does know those two like the back of his mind, but also, they went from browsing lamps, to scented candles, to desk chairs, to wall decor that looked like it was taken straight out of a stock photo search on Google.

Dammit, just give the man an answer! In the end, Bruce’s guess is as good as any, he guesses, and maybe Thor’s got some professional IKEA input, too.

And so he clears his throat and replies, “Can I be honest? They’re kind of weirdos, so, not easy. That’s a good thing, though! They’re newly engaged and took me here to help them find new decor, so…”

“Ah! The neutral third part when disagreements occur, I assume?”

This man’s got a certain pitch in his voice, like someone straight out of film school, Bruce wants to say, like he spent many days on learning Shakespeare plays by heart.

He’s not very versed on theater, himself, he’s only become familiar with this kind of voice by Brunnhilde. Once she’d broke through, he noticed what it was about her tone, and really, it barely changed at all.

It’s like she was born for it, which sounds like an old Hollywood drama, but there you go.

Maybe something about the way she carried herself helped, he supposed, but he still can’t anymore of a finger on it than that.

It smoothes out the voice in certain way. He imagines they know a lot of poetry, those actors.

She told him she’d been to voice coaches and such, besides auditioning, and demonstrated for him time and time again when she needed help practising, and Carol wasn’t available.

Maybe he’s an aspiring actor as well, or something similar, but it’s not like Bruce can ponder on this right now. Sometimes he feels like his brain’s got a life of its own, at least working at double speed.

“Hit the nail on the head, as you say, heh.”

Thor nods once more, and he latches onto this aforementioned cart, which appears fully loaded, and well, Bruce can admire the strength in his forearms, right?

Totally normal. It’s cool, Doctor Banner, you’re being real slick about this.

“Say, I’m not in any way experienced with reading people- or well, tracking them down, I suppose.” the God-like man told him - really, these God comparisons gotta stop - with what he hopes is a lighthearted chuckle, damn, he’s trained well with that smile overpowering most of his features.

Thor continues, “The cafeteria’s pretty much a meeting spot in cases like this, I mean, if it’s of any help to go there?”

Bruce just can’t help smiling back, can he? In any case, it’s becoming more natural for him now, less strained, the man fading less from an otherworldly state and more to quietly admirable.

“That would be lovely. I fear I might disappear from the surface of the earth completely if I keep wandering around like this.”

Right, tell a joke, they’re both laughing, it’s fine. Stop staring Bruce, you’ve thought about how tall he is a million times by now, really?!

In less than a second, the cart’s turned around, and Thor removes a strand of blond hair from his hair, before he starts moving, dear God, is he a marathon runner or something?

“The elevator’s by here, somewhere, don’t worry, I got this.” he tells the doctor, as if he ever doubted his ability in any way, and Thor did quickly realize his pace, slowing down at the first corner, allowing the shorter man to catch up.

“No offense, but this place is a goddamn maze.” Bruce says, slightly surprised when they make it the elevator, like it’s a secret land he would’ve never found on his own. Luckily, Thor’s still not fazed.

Chuckling, still. You got this under control, Bruce. Somehow.

The cafeteria’s queue is abnormally long, the soda has definitely been sitting out for a while, the meatballs are steaming hot.

There’s too much noise for Bruce’s liking, but he doesn’t really have much choice of where to go right now.

But today still holds surprises, clearly.

The doctor expressed his gratitude to Thor for leading him this way, which really was hilariously easy now that he thinks about it, but you know, the elevator was actually hidden away, so.

It’s not like he can justify it for himself anymore, so he’ll just give up on it.

The thing is, Bruce in no way expected the handsome stranger to help him anymore so than guiding him here. Only when they stand in the foyer, looking out at the many sterile white tables for customers to have their lunch at, he tells him to stay where he is.

Well obviously, he might get lost again, and there’s no way he wants a second wave of embarrassment right now. But also, surely, Thor has to keep going with whatever business he’s doing?

It seems the man notices Bruce’s scrunched brow, since he dishes out further explanation a few seconds later, “I have to bring this down to storage. It only takes five minutes, trust me!”

Bruce can’t say he expected that. He doesn’t have time to answer, anyway, because Thor once again picks up a pace as if he’s running for his life, and is gone before he knows it.

Guess he’ll stay put. Guess he’ll try to not stand awkwardly around as mothers and children and students are milling around him. It’s easier said than done.

Luckily, because damn, that thing really is with him today, huh?

Well, a minor misadventure, which led him to luck. That could mean something, but Bruce can’t think of that much, because, luckily , just as the fidgeting returns for, like, the 20th time, his phone buzzes in his backpocket.

Of course, Pepper’s texting him now, thank god , because he might go out and trip over himself if that Greek God himself returns, which, conveniently, he does as that moment.

It’s almost like he’s smiling even more now, if that’s even possible.

And he watches Thor wipe sweat off of his forehead with one eye, replies back to Pepper with an urgency, and she’s calm, because she manages to do that in almost any situation, she’s gotten used to Tony, after all, and lets them know his location.

“Hey, buddy!” the tall man comes to a stop, puts both his hands on his hips and shoots a look toward the bustling queue, which, after all, is significantly shorter now, they all work quickly around here, huh.

“You hear from your friends?” he continues his sentence, maybe because Bruce doesn’t know what to answer and he’s freaking out, maybe because he’s simply curious. It’s a 50/50, really.

Again, he really should stop thinking of a million things at once, and nods instead, and now, for some reason, Thor’s got them drinks and a table, kindly offering to wait with Bruce till Tony and Pepper’s finished with their shopping.

Well, he doesn’t offer as much as tells him, makes his way to the queue even though the doctor was about to refuse, but the deed is done, anyway, and he appreciates it.

Bruce does wonder the tall man’s going to get in trouble, though. Surely, hanging out with a customer can’t be allowed?

“You know, uh, you don’t have to wait with me.” he can’t help chuckling awkwardly, because everything he does becomes awkward around Thor, who seems so easy going, it’s insane, “I don’t want you to get in trouble with your boss.”

The stranger, or, not really a stranger anymore, he supposes, is eating like he hadn’t breakfast, which does worry Bruce, but he shakes his head and gulps down some more soda before he speaks.

“Oh no, it’s fine. I was overdue for a lunch break, anyway.”

And he can’t help but just shrug.

A small smile isn’t totally awkward, right? This is fine. Just two dudes hanging out. Thor’s on his goddamn lunch break, he’s working , Bruce, what did you expect?

“Besides, don’t tell anyone I said this, but the conversations my coworkers usually engage in are, um,” he turns his head, and nope, only customers in sight for now, surely those behind the counter can’t hear what he wants to say, “rather dull.”

Okay, he has to laugh a little bit. Because Thor’s laughing, that is.

He’s kind of, sort of, insulting someone, but he’s being so incredibly nice about it. As nice as possible.

And now, he’s totally not watching him, come on, they’re having a conversation, this man seems to be fidgeting now.

In a different way than Bruce, surely, kind of like an excited labrador who’s owner just come home after a two week vacation.

It’s cute. Shut up, he can find him cute, not only teenagers say that, right?

Bruce is feeling like a teenager, seeing some jock in a varsity jacket walking down the hall, every student eager to just have him look at you, just once. Maybe he’s been there before. He barely knows this man, keep it together!

Him beating up himself is interrupted by Thor, again, “Do you mind if I am a tiny bit nosy?”

The doctor blinks. “I guess it depends on what topic we’re discussing.”

Thor gulps some more soda. Bruce truly has to wonder if IKEA feeds their employees at all.

“Right! Right. I just thought, since you know my name, you know, I might be allowed to ask your name.”

And another surprise. More shock, maybe. Definitely not what he expected him to ask, but what did he expect, really?

Bruce does smile, and it’s like, okay, this is casual, it’s like the customer service barrier is a bit broken down now, “Of course. It’s Bruce.”

Thor nods again, excitedly. Excited about everything.

And he’s not usually like this, but this man’s attitude is sort of rubbing off on him. Weird.

“What do you do, Bruce?” and Thor’s constantly removing strands of hair from that worn out bun, “Other than being a good friend, that is.”

Now why does he have to go and compliment him? It’s thrown out like it’s nothing, like it’s easy, and his self hatred won’t let him say it’s easy, but he takes it, because it seems like Thor means it. He hopes so, anyway.

He does laugh, to keep a little distance, “Uh, well, I’m a professor.”

Bruce doesn’t exactly like to advertise, and shout out to the world about his PhDs. No, he’s proud of his work, don’t get him wrong.

But he doesn’t feel particularly impressive compared to some of his role models, who progressed faster than himself, and anyway, he isn’t great with compliments. As is obvious from this conversation.

Needless to say, if this man gets anymore excited, he might just explode in front of him.

“Holy shit,” he blurts, he assumes, because oh, how the tables turned, when the embarrassment Bruce has been feeling is mirrored on Thor’s face, “oh, dear God, sorry for my language. But I love that. I’m afraid I’m just an actor.”

So, he guessed right, he notes. Doesn’t really know what do with that assumption.

“That’s not really a just, is it?”

He shrugs.

They’re both too humble for their own good, in the end, Bruce thinks. At least Thor is only slightly visibly upset when he brushes off the compliments, or at least, tries to signal to his new acquaintance that his work really isn’t that big of a deal.

He does tell him more details when Thor asks, of course, he’s always been relatively polite, hopefully, but Bruce has never been good at not comparing himself to others, as you might’ve guessed.

“That is a big deal, though!” the tall man says, sounding more sincere than anyone Bruce has ever met, “You are brilliant.”

He’s not blushing. Not at all, except he is, a little bit, anyway, “I mean, I- thank you. We’ve only still just me, though.”

“I can tell. And we shouldn’t underestimate ourselves. I’m still learning that, as you can tell.”

Of course, he’s right. Of course, this man encourages a relative stranger to be confident. Of course, it’s lovely.

And this conversation goes on forever, which probably isn’t realistic, he’s aware, but well, Bruce is getting comfortable.

It’s stupid, he shouldn’t, he knows.

But this man is so friendly. Endearing. And he has to think, honestly, how can anyone not immediately be drawn to him?

Thor does tell a lot of kind of ridiculous jokes. That’s endearing too, dammit.

Also, maybe, Bruce wants to spit out his soda when the half God, half man asks him for scientifically related pick up lines. He doesn’t, of course, he’s not an animal.

This can be restrained, sure, and it’s not like his new… friend means anything by it. Really, this is just a once in a lifetime acquaintance. Probably never going to see each other again.

But it’s a fun run.

Maybe he should just thank his lucky stars for this. Maybe Bruce should just get his head out of his ass and go on an actual date, instead of getting nervous about someone in a goddamn furniture store.

Thing is, this nice time ends far too quickly, not soon after the doctor’s almost, completely relaxed, as much excitement as this one man contains, it soothes his nerves. That’s ridiculous, isn’t it?

At least, it’s like Thor can tell how embarrassed he is, and cancels it out by telling embarrassment stories of his own.

Or spilling ketchup on his uniform button up, newly washed, even. Bruce would feel bad for finding it a little funny, if the man didn’t laugh at himself and smack himself in the head.

The self awareness is admirable. The doctor still doesn’t laugh, because he’s just, God, way too empathetic. He feels bad for him.

But yes, it does end, because Tony’s familiar exclaim of “Brucie!” wakes him up from whatever dumb haze this is.

No more time to get lost in this impossible relation. Sadly.

Of course, his friends’ cart is filled to the brim. They have a bag, too.

Pepper rushes for a hug, because she’s a sweetheart and worries too much, as usual, “Thank God! Oh Bruce, I feel terrible we lost you.”

And he pats her shoulder in reassurance, chuckles, casts a glimpse to Thor, who’s standing there like an overgrown puppy, assuming they’ll part ways soon, “I got by, thankfully.”

Indeed he did. After a small exchange not much time passes before Thor has to go back to work (really, how long of a break is he allowed?) Bruce wonders, because surely more than half an hour must’ve gone by.

And the doctor thanks him for the help for the millionth time, like the other times weren’t enough, but he appreciates it, and whatever this relation is, but he doesn’t mention that last part, of course.

The blond man is humble again. Of course.

And, of course, Tony teases him for about the whole car ride to Bruce’s flat about how he ‘was saved by a tall handsome stranger’, and he ‘should’ve made a move, surely’.

It’s not like he disagrees with the savior part.

Pepper shakes her head along with him.

Maybe, for once, Tony’s right about something, to his credit, because Bruce spent a lot of time convincing him, and himself, that the man was just being polite when offering to wait with him.

And the conversation, too, as genuine as it felt.

Needless to say, the slip of notepad paper with the Ikea logo on tip that the doctor finds in his jacket pocket a day late, written on in what might be the most pleasing handwriting he’s seen in a while, was surprising.

There's also a phone number.

This is breaking all the protocols, and I am terrified that you will be offended, I sincerely apologise if so, I in no way want to make you uncomfortable.

I did enjoy our conversation very much. I would also enjoy the opportunity to see you again, if you agree, perhaps with other surroundings than Swedish furniture.

Sincerely, Thor (from IKEA).

Maybe he types the number into his phone. Maybe he calls it right away.

Of course, Tony doesn’t need to know that right now.

49 notes · View notes

plays-the-thing · 3 years

Text

The Mandalorian S2: Style Over Substance – A Companion Piece

This is a companion piece to this video where I examine the strengths and weaknesses of the first two seasons of The Mandalorian. It’s a collection of ideas and evidence that were cut for time or focus reasons from the main video. I’ve included both timestamps and quotes of what section of the video each idea refers to. Under a cut for length.

[1:48] Akira Kurosawa, whose movies would be very important in the western genre was very big on complete and realistic sets and effects because it helps the quality of an actors’ performance.

“The quality of the set influences the quality of the actors' performances. If the plan of a house and the design of the rooms are done properly, the actors can move about in them naturally. If I have to tell an actor, 'Don't think about where this room is in relation to the rest of the house,' that natural ease cannot be achieved. For this reason, I have the sets made exactly like the real thing. It restricts the shooting but encourages that feeling of authenticity." – Akira Kurosawa, Something Like an Autobiography

[2:27] Like the original trilogy, The Mandalorian has its fair share of humor. The sequel trilogy also had a lot of humor, and was criticized for it, but it wasn’t the humor itself that I think people had a problem with, it was how the humor was done. See, in the original trilogy humor never changed or undercut the overall tone of a scene. If a scene is tense humor might lighten or even break the tension but never undercut it. The original trilogy would never, ever, make fun of the plot, character, or scenes in its own movie. The Mandalorian follows this mold of lightening or breaking tension without undercutting the scene itself which also helps it feel like the OT.

Just Writes video on Bathos is a good expansion on this idea. Personally, I find that particular brand of humor, popularized by the Marvel movies, extremely off-putting because it just screams at me to not take the story seriously and that makes it pretty hard for me to stay immersed in it. My three favorite marvel movies are Guardians of the Galaxy, Black Panther, and Thor Ragnarok because Black Panther doesn’t really do that kind of humor and Guardians and Ragnarok manage to make it seem natural by genuinely being comedies.

[7:18] This brings us to Episode 4. Last time I criticized this episode, but I wasn’t very specific, I just mentioned that we were starting to get away from showing and towards telling. Let’s take a closer look.

The first part of this scene, where the kid was being a nuisance, was actually really good. It kind of seemed like it was going to lead into some genuine frustration with him being a nuisance and therefore maybe some drama in their relationship.

[9:51] Cowboy Bebop is another space western with a strong style and a mix of vignettes and episodes which advance a characters story. But every single episode builds up the themes of the overall story even if the plot has nothing to do with it.

To be fair, not every episode builds up *Spike’s* story and themes, but Cowboy Bebop has four main characters and every episode works towards at least one of the characters’ stories, characterization, or relationships.

[12:20] Mando’s mistrust of IG, when they really have quite a lot in common, speaks to something about his character.

What does it speak to exactly? Well, everyone might have their own opinion about that but here’s mine:

IG-11 used to be a hunter, but now Queel has reprogrammed him. Mando still sees the droid as the hunter and is adamant that it can’t be trusted no matter how much Queel insists that Mando must trust his work reprogramming the droid as an extension of trusting Queel himself.

Now, why does Mando hate droids so much, and particularly this droid? Well, that’s an open question, but I have my theories. Part of it is the trauma he experienced when he was young, but I think it runs deeper than that. You know how sometimes the traits that really bother you the most in other people are the things that you don’t like about yourself? The IG-11 that Mando met is a lot like the part of Mando that I’ve been calling “The Professional.” IG is efficient and ruthless, just like Mando on a job. They are deaf to moral and personal appeals in the face of a contract. This is also the part of Mando that took the kid to the Imperials in the first place, the part that he conquered and redeemed by the end of the third episode.

But IG has been reprogrammed. Just like Mando, he has changed and now cares for the child over himself. IG even develops a personality, and at one point attempts to tell a joke. But because IG reminds Mando so much of that part of him he had to defeat, he can’t bring himself to trust him. The tension between them persists pretty much up until IG fully demonstrates to Mando that he is there both to care for the child, and for Mando. In this moment Mando begins to really see how similar they are.

This connection makes it hard for him to let IG make his sacrifice, and he even appeals to this by telling IG that he thought his old core functionality was gone. But by reactivating his old functionality as a part of his new core function, IG is also giving Mando a template to incorporate his Professional self into his new self. He shows Mando that those two halves of his self that came into conflict back in the beginning can be synthesized into one new whole. He doesn’t need to reject any part of his identity.

Then the newly synthesized Mando dons his jetpack, fulfilling his only stated desire in the entire season, and defeats a scenery chewing villain to win the day.

But that’s just my interpretation, and I’m willing to haggle over what exact interpretation the evidence best supports.

[15:29] Speaking of Luke, let’s talk about fanservice. Now to be clear, there’s nothing intrinsically wrong with fanservice, what matters is what always matters: how you use it.

This also applies to the other two “Trademarked Star Wars Problems” I mentioned in the last video: repetitiveness and hamfisted merchandizing. These things are not necessarily bad. For example:

I would bet Baby Yoda is the most successfully merchandized product since the OT, but there’s nothing wrong with that because they’re part of the story being told. Baby Yoda doesn’t distract from the story, they are part of the story. On the other hand you have Ewoks, which were originally going to be Wookies. I would bet they went with Ewoks at least in part to sell more cute toys…but at least they still sort of work with the story. In TLJ the penguin things are there for no other reason than to be cute and sell toys. Same with the crystal dog. They have literally no purpose in the story, and their obvious and prominent inclusion only to sell toys distracts from my immersion.

Obviously repetition is part of stories. That’s why we have tropes, and the Hero’s journey, as tools for a writer to communicate information quickly. Just from his outfit we know a lot about Han before he ever opens his mouth, same with Obi-Wan. In RotJ, the heroes need to blow up the Death Star again. It’s kind of annoying that we’re literally doing the same thing we did two movies ago, but at least it’s a little different. In TFA Han Solo reassures us that the Starkiller Base isn’t that big of a deal by saying “don’t worry, there’s always a way to blow it up.” This is an example of a character reaching out from the script and telling the writer to change their story because the repetition is getting ridiculous.

[18:32] So…why is it here? Yeah, I know who Thrawn is. I don’t know why Ahsoka does, or why she cares, or why I should care. If the writer had cared about that they would have made her talk to Mando about it so she could give some sort of story or character-based explanation for why she cares, instead of just dramatically saying his name.

I mean I know the most likely reason it was here: to build hype for her solo show, but they could have done that without punching my immersion in the kidney.

[20:20] So it was no surprise that in the end the Expanded Universe’s greatest hit of all piloted his X-Wing into the show. But, I didn’t mind this. They had been seeding that a Jedi would be coming to collect Groghu for a while now, and if you had been running through the timeline in your head you were probably at least half expecting this. It’s foreshadowed well, it’s part of the story, and it triggers our emotional climax.

The reveal is quite well done too. First it’s an X-Wing, then we see a Jedi dressed in Luke’s RoTJ gear but it’s over the security cameras so there’s no color, then we see it’s a green lightsaber, then they clearly show that it’s Luke’s lightsaber hilt, then they finally have him peel his hood back. Each small reveal builds up the suspicion in your mind that it’s Luke until it’s confirmed.

That being said I would totally understand if someone thought it was obnoxious and hamfisted to shove Luke into another story, even though it did work for me.

[29:12] Parts of it even connect back to Mando’s story and character, though not in a new way because it’s mostly a redo of Mando’s relationship with IG last season.

I understand that Mando breaks his rules a little bit more here, but it’s still a riff on the same theme of: Mando has a conflict with a character, the he sees the similarities between between them, and then circumstances force Mando to take his helmet off in front of the character.

However if his arc with the other Mandalorians was functioning properly than this could work as a synthesis of a change in ideology and a reassertion of his willingness to bend the rules, but instead it just comes across as another redo of stuff in the last season. It’s still halfway functional because by this point it’s easy to forget that Mando had a character arc last season and it reminds us of that right before they pull the trigger on his and Groghu’s separation…but redoing the development from last season doesn’t count as a real character arc.

[31:08] There is so much more I could say about all of the bad writing, plotting, and characterization in this season. There are so many things that just don’t make sense, waste our time, or just plain don’t work.

I’m still confused over what the writer was trying to do with the snow planet. Like they crash land there and Mando decides to go to sleep inside his hull-breached freezing ship and the fish chick is like “Mando this is dumb you should fix your ship” and then he just fixes it. What was even the point of handing Mando the Idiot Ball there? Why not just have him fix the ship without trying to commit suicide by hypothermia first? Like…what?

[31:27] Why are you just listing off a bunch of names that mean nothing to us like she’s a video game character telling us where we need to go next?

I want to point out that even though I’m using this footage of Delphine as a reference she’s actually managing to tell you something about Malborn and why he is trustworthy, so it’s actually better than what Bo is doing. Though to be fair the tidbit about “the forest planet” is cute since it will be a deforested planet when we show up, that line needed some character connection to not sound so weird.

[33:13] That’s what the point of Show Don’t Tell *really* is, it’s not about how much dialogue you use or whether a character is explaining something. It’s about using exposition to tell us something about a character at the same time. It’s about putting the camera in a place that shows us something about the character or the action, not just what’s happening. It’s about packing as much of the story as possible into every choice you make.

In Avatar, the way that Zhao tells us about Zuko’s banishment tells us a lot about both Zhao and Zuko. The camera angle here emphasizes Katara standing encouragingly over Aang’s back as he stares dejectedly at the ground (contrasted with Toph’s angry stare) and tells us about the nature of Katara’s relationship to Aang as his teacher and friend as opposed to Toph’s. In the opening shot of A New Hope, the low angle of the camera implies dominance and the length of the Star Destroyer shows us the long reach of the Empire. Every single time Zuko is on screen it is worth paying attention to which side of his face is dominating the shot: scarred or unscarred. Exactly what each side represents is up for debate: I tend to think of it not as good Zuko vs. bad Zuko but more as Zuko’s feelings of obligation to his family and people and Zuko’s obligations to his own sense of what he believes is right and what he needs to self-actualize.

Show Don’t Tell is just a saying. It’s a saying to encourage writers, particularly new or inexperienced ones, to focus on the *art* of telling the story instead of focusing solely on the plot and facts. I am using it somewhat liberally here to say it’s about “using exposition to tell us something about a character at the same time” but since that is about the art of telling stories, and not just a recitation of facts, it does technically count.

[34:32] With television shows and the way they can go on forever, and with how much money there is in going on forever, it seems like they always become a sagging mess at some point. Some of them manage to bring the quality back, but some of them don’t. So to a certain extent, these problems with the Mandalorian are kind of normal for television shows.

I can’t remember exactly where I stopped watching How I Met Your Mother, the last thing I remember is Ted dating some crazy girl and swearing off relationships. I abandoned The Expanse midway through season 2 earlier this year…maybe I’ll go back but boy was I bored. I made it all the way through the Wire. Season 2 had its problems but eventually got back on the right foot midway through or so, but the problems came roaring back in season 5 which it took me almost a year to finish because it was so agonizing.

Avatar is probably the most controversial choice here of a show in which the quality slipped but I firmly believe that if they cut out the second half of season 2 and the first half of season 3 the show would have been much, much better. Most everything in Ba Sing Se is tonally weird and the whole idea of a city with too many rules and bureaucracy is way too complex an idea for this show to tackle. Avatar does tackle incredibly complicated and adult themes for a kids show but in my view this was one step too far. They get Zuko to a place where he’s ready to join the Aang Gang but then have him backslide temporarily. There’s this whole idea of an invasion on the Day of the Black Sun but it would be such a story cheat to allow Aang to beat the Firelord without actually mastering the four elements and so obviously isn’t going to work. All of these things together just make it feel like wheel spinning where the story and characters aren’t actually growing or developing but just being padded out.

Except for “The Tales of Ba Sing Se” and “Appa’s Lost Days” obviously, those are great.

It’s actually pretty funny because the episode before Aang is supposed to fight the Firelord the first time (the Black Sun time) he’s a nervous wreck and everyone is trying out different psychological techniques to try and make him feel better which is…I guess sort of valuable for kids to see that nervousness is normal. But when you compare it to the second time he’s going to fight the Firelord, for real, it’s *so obviously* for real this time because Aang is having a *character* based crisis about the conflict between his pacifism and his duty to stop the Firelord. The comparison of the two is telling in terms of what was going on in the story of each.

[35:03] Now they are spinning it out into not one, not two, not three, but FOUR different shows all based on the Mandalorian. It’s almost gross how hard they are milking this.

Okay apparently they fired Gina Carano so I guess it’s not four anymore. Or maybe it is who knows. Listen, the point is they *intended* to make four shows okay.

[35:06] Thanks for watching all the way through to the end. These videos take a ton of time and effort so that means a lot. Even though I’ve reset my subscriber count to zero now that I’ve criticized the Mandalorian, I will continue to work on the channel as much as I can, so subscribe if you want to see more videos like this.

I promise to always give you my honest opinion.

Also I know I was shooting for one video a month and, well, I still am but these videos are really time-consuming. I want to make sure I maintain a really high level of quality and so sometimes I get halfway through a video, realize it’s no good and have to start over with something else. Sometimes it takes months of rewrites to get it to a place where I’m happy with it. This one came out pretty quickly, it was about 6 weeks from when I started the script to when I uploaded. Hopefully I’ll only get better and more efficient at it as I get more practice.

#star wars #the mandalorian #plays the thing #video companions

2 notes · View notes

rhysismydaddy · 5 years

Text

Friends with Benefits (Nessian Smut)

“Are you serious?”

Nesta nodded.

“I think they’re so stupid,” he protested, burying his head into her stomach again.

Nesta smacked the top of his head. “Romantic comedies are not stupid, Cassian. You just don’t have a romantic bone in your body.”

She was sitting on her couch, her best friend’s massive body taking up most of the space. He hadn’t said a word when he walked in her apartment uninvited, flopping down and wrapping his arms around her waist, putting his head on her stomach.

He hadn’t even complained when she’d put on Sex and the City.

“I have romantic bones. I’d be happy to show you my romantic bones,” his voice rumbled around her as his hands slid up her sides slowly.

“Shut the fuck up. You’re about to make me miss my favorite part,” she shushed him.

Nesta could feel him roll his eyes, but he didn’t say anything as the climax of the movie played out.

“I cannot believe people pay to watch these things,” he says as the credits roll by. She flicked his head. “They’re so unrealistic.”

“Of course they are.”

Cassian peaked his head up from her sweater. “Are you saying you don’t believe in true love?” He asked dramatically, making little kiss noises.

“I believe in love, but not for me. It’s not realistic to believe someone could put up with me for an entire lifetime,” she laughed.

“Oh, monogamy definitely doesn’t exist. I don’t know why people convince themselves of that one.”

Nesta put on ESPN and he grunted his approval as people started tackling each other.

“God, I miss sex,” Nesta exclaimed suddenly. “Fuck monogamy. Fuck relationships. I haven’t had sex in forever.”

“I miss sports,” Cassian said, making Nesta wrinkle her brows. “Sex is a sport, Nesta,” he said, sensing her confusion.

“That’s ridiculous,” she laughed. “It’s not a sport.”

His hands pinched her sides. “Then you’re not doing it right, baby.” She laughed. “But seriously. Why isn’t it like a sport? It should be that simple. Two people getting together for an hour or two and... working out.”

She spewed her water all over him.

Cassian cackled, then groaned at his now-drenched state. “I’m pretty sure you’re the one who’s supposed to get wet when I say sexy stuff,” he laughed, then hopped up and peeled his shirt off.

“Want a beer?”

“How generous,” she muttered back, taking in the long lines of his shoulders, the heavy muscles in his back, as he walked into her kitchen.

“Hey, Cass,” she called out, laughing as he complained about her lack of food. “Let’s work out sometime.”

His head poked from around the corner.

“What the fuck are you talking about?”

Nesta smiled and accepted a beer from him. “I’m serious. Why not? You’re single. I’m single. Let’s get together for an hour or two and... work out.” She waggled her eyebrows as she took a long pull from her beer.

“What?”

“Cassian, I know you’re pretty, but I didn’t expect you to be this dense. Let’s have sex.”

He shook his head, laughing at her. “Nesta, love. I like you way too much to fuck you.”

Her eyes drifted shut slowly. “There are so many things wrong with that sentence.”

Cass looked like he was confused. “I’m serious.”

“But so am I.” She got to her feet. “No relationship. No expectations. No way to fuck up our friendship.”

“Just sex?”

“Just sex,” she confirmed.

His eyes narrowed. “Do you even find me attractive? You insult me all the time.”

“Of course I do,” she scoffed, motioning to his shirtless frame. “You’re ridiculously attractive. You have no manners, but you’re pretty nice to look at.” He laughed. “And me?”

“What about you, Nes?”

“Do you find me attractive enough to have sex with me?”

He paused to consider. “Well, you have tits, and you’re breathing, so it’s a yes from me.”

Nesta let out a surprised laugh. “Then it’s settled. We’ll be friends with benefits. Awesome.” Honestly, any solution that got her laid sounded awesome to her.

“So... we just start? Now?” He looked around.

“Are you in the mood?” she asked.

He grinned like she’d just said the most adorable thing. “I’m always in the mood.”

“Maybe we should make some ground rules,” she suggested. He shrugged, so she continued with the first thing she could think of. “Don’t touch or even look at my feet. I don’t like my toes. Intimacy issues.”

He burst out laughing, but said, “Don’t touch my butt. Ever. Daddy issues.”

“But it’s so cute-”

He glared at her.

“Don’t be afraid to be rough with me. I can take it.”

Cassian looked her up and down. “We’ll see. Don’t be afraid to be vocal--tell me if you don’t like something, although I doubt that’ll be the case.

“Oh, and Nesta. Don’t ever, ever make an orgasm with me. If I have to work for it, I have to work for it. I like a challenge.” He gives her a male smile.

“Should we shake on it or something?”

Cassian shook his head, curly locks muffling. “Or we could consummate it,” he murmured, sliding a hand around her waist to grab her ass. “Now good for you?”

“Now’s good for me,” she said softly, smiling as his lips crashed onto hers.

His tongue swept into her mouth, his other hand coming to where his other still was as he lifted her up. Nesta marveled at how strong he was, how natural it felt to wrap herself around him.

He started to set her down on the couch, but Nesta protested and said, “Bedroom.”

Cassian rolled his eyes, muttering about how ridiculous chicks were, but carried her into her bedroom anyway. He set her down on top of her dresser long enough to peel off her shirt.

The feeling of his skin on hers drove her wild, but there was something missing-

“Cass,” she all but panted. “Kiss my neck.”

He obliged, the feeling of his mouth sending out every thought in her head. “Take your bra off,” he growled, hands gripping her hips roughly.

She reached behind her and threw it on the floor, then took one of his hands and led it to her chest.

She wrapped her legs around him again and he picked her up, then threw her on the bed. Prowling over her, he pressed searing kisses all over her legs, then sucked on her hip bone, making her gasp.

“Lift your hips,” he murmured. She did, then her underwear was gone. She couldn’t believe she was completely naked in front of Cassian--her oldest friend--and didn’t care at all.

Especially not as he dropped his mouth to her.

“Fuck,” she groaned, hands slipping into his hair.

He pulled back far enough to mutter, “Pull my hair, baby.”

Nesta tugged on the strands and he groaned against her, then slipped a finger up her thigh and inside her.

“Cassian,” she moaned, wrapping her leg around his shoulder. “Right- go to the right-”

He gripped her hips and followed the direction, and soon her back was arching off the bed and her moans were getting louder.

He ran his tongue up her entire center and she groaned loudly, coming undone.

He peaked his head up, then pressed a rough kiss to her lips. She could taste herself on his lips, and that fast--that quickly--she was ready for him.

He seemed to sense it, and abruptly turned over, pulling her on top of him. His arms were bands of steel around her waist, lifting her up and setting her on him. Both of them groaned as he filled her, and he murmured curses as she began to move.

“Go,” he breathed, “in a circle.” His hands were on her hips, guiding them in the direction he wanted. Her clit brushed against him with every rotation, and Nesta felt herself losing her mind.

“Pull my hair,” she groaned, and he did, taking advantage as soon as her neck was exposed. He pressed kisses to the base of her throat, biting the soft spot where it met her shoulder.

Nesta saw stars, falling over the edge. She could tell he was close, but it seemed he wasn’t done with her yet.

His arms grabbed her waist and he hauled her up. Before she could register what was happening, her back smacked against the wall roughly. He was still inside of her, and he roughly slammed into her, making her groan.

“Kiss my neck,” he almost growled at her.

Nesta did as she was told, kissing her way up his neck till she got to his ear, then roughly bit down on the shell. He groaned, his movements getting slightly sloppy, as they both came closer and closer.

“Nesta,” he panted, fingers digging into her hips hard enough to bruise.

She leaned forward and bit his bottom lip suddenly. He buried his head in her neck, groaning loudly as he came inside of her, both of them falling over the edge together.

He stood supporting her for a few minutes before letting her fall down his body slowly.

“That was...” she panted.

He nodded, moving to sit on the edge of her bed. “Yeah.” He ran a finger over his lips like he could still taste her.

Nesta leaned against the wall. “Well, that’s one way to work out.”

He laughed, then leaned back and murmured, “Come here, baby.”

She came forward and sat on his lap, straddling his waist. “I think you’re my new favorite friend,” she said softly.

“I don’t know about you, but these,” he pressed a single kiss to each of her breasts, “these are my new besties.”

“You’re ridiculous,” she laughed.

“Shut up and kiss me.”

She hand’t felt so good, so content in a while. So she leaned forward and kissed him deeply, trying to memorize everything about this moment.

#nesta #nesta archeron #nessian #cassian #nessian fanfiction #acotar #acomaf #acowar #a court of mist and fury #a court of thorns and roses #a court of wings and ruin

284 notes · View notes

infinitelytheheartexpands · 4 years

Note

ALL (supervillain laugh) take your time tho :D

Oh no WHY alright I submit *sighs, shakes my head, and briefly regrets all my life choices*

here we go! (#9 and #19 are pending specific opera submissions)

I wrote an overly long post here in response to this question a while back

Don Carlo!!!

Just started Halka. Not very far in, but I’m liking it so far.

In full, Cavalleria rusticana (yesterday)

Die tote Stadt (specifically the one recording conducted by Erich Leinsdorf)

Sopranos, with baritones in a very close second.

I will keep advocating for a Belle Époque Simon Boccanegra until it actually happens. Also Paris Commune Le prophète.

*see the 2017 Paris Opéra cast, except very reluctantly swap in Furlanetto for Abdrazakov*

pending submission of a specific opera

really tough...the ROH 1985 one was my first, so it may be my favorite for sentimental reasons, although I also LOVE the current ROH/Met coproduction (with the exception of some details), the Salzburg 2013, and that Liège production from not too long ago

well, based on several factors (including roles I’ve played in musicals, choir assignments, and stuff from voice lessons in the past), I’ll say Poppea (Agrippina), Zerlina (Don Giovanni), and Urbain (Les Huguenots)

Yes, my answer is Don Carlo

Depending on the day, either ‘Dio, che nell’alma infondere’, ‘Nuit d’ivresse et d’extase infinie’, or ‘Ô ciel! où courez-vous?’

my HOMEGIRL Princess Éboli

any really good rendition of ‘Depuis le jour’. that aria SLAPS.

I’m cheating and doing a play instead BECAUSE I FEEL LIKE IT anyway we need Ibsen-based operas and I nominate Hedda Gabler with Sonya Yoncheva and Lisette Oropesa as Hedda and Thea there I said it if you want further casting ask me again later

I don’t know if there’s any one character I have the same personality as??? although I was recently told by someone else on here that my personality is a cross between Figaro and Marguerite de Valois so... make of that what you will (and tell me what you think!)

we all know my answer to this (it’s Carlo/Rodrigo)

also pending a specific opera submission

depends on...a lot of factors, but I adore both Jonas Kaufmann and José Carreras (he is the best of the Three Tenors; no, I am not accepting criticism at this time)

going with Carmen for the sake of argument here, definitely Carmen

...I am not a fan of Puccini’s Manon Lescaut

probably Die tote Stadt, which is seriously bizarre but incredibly amazing (possibly because of its inherent bizarreness?)

not sure if this is in reference to characters or singers; I’ll assume this is about characters and say (of course) Carlo/Rodrigo, with Marie/Tonio and Fenton/Nannetta very close behind.

Renato needs love and hugs and just deserves so much better (he just needs to learn to not be a Jealous Baritone Husband). Other than that drama, he has a proven track record of being a good friend.

waaaaaaaaaaaayyyyyyyyyyyyy too many. for the sake of being concise, five I love: Callas, Popp, Benackova, Oropesa, Rebeka.

Verdi ❤️ no one else has written so many great operas I love so much over such a long period of time

waaaaaaaaaaaayyyyyyyyyyyyy too many (again). first one that popped into my head just now was Sophie from Werther, so we’re gonna go with her.

Act III finale, La bohème.

how has there not been a good opera version of Twelfth Night? that is operatic comedy gold WAITING to happen

a) I hate these singer questions because I have way too many, and b) among many, many others, Milnes, Gobbi, Zancanaro, Keenlyside, and Tézier.

I see a sweet trouser role, I adopt him. also Annina from La traviata deserves WAY more credit than she gets. love her to death.

since I try to be optimistic or at least neutral when going into a new opera, none

cannot gender swap names in my head at the moment, so Carlo becomes a standard mid-late Verdi soprano role, Elisabetta becomes a baritone (YOU THOUGHT SHE’D BE A TENOR BUT NOOOOO), Rodrigo is the Good Mezzo who gets the Basically Non-Existent Mezzo Death Scene, Éboli is a tenor, Filippo goes full dramatic mezzo, and the Grand Inquisitor becomes a nearly-impossible-to-sing contralto role with a few extremely powerful high notes thrown in because why not. Tebaldo remains a coloratura soprano.

slightly cheating, but Berlioz’s Les Troyens (not directly based on myth, but kinda?)

‘We really gotta hurry-‘ ‘But first, let’s sing about our feelings!’ or ‘death scene with lots of blood and sadness’ or ‘death by singing’ or party gone wrong (I’m a sucker for good opera tropes)

For baritones: Onegin, don’t go to the name day ball. Just don’t. For tenors: either Otello re: trusting Iago over Desdemona or...pretty much Hoffmann’s entire life.

Again, I hate these questions, but here are five anyway: Cossotto, Troyanos, DiDonato, Garanča, and Rachvelishvili.

FILIPPO (I would DIE to be able to play Filippo. also can I just say that bass and bass-baritone roles in (at least originally) French operas are...*chef’s kiss*.)

Éboli’s outfit in Act IV, Scene 1 of the 2017 Paris Don Carlos.

I really, really want to like Aida as much as everyone else seems to, but I still think that while the plot is good and the music is good, it somehow just doesn’t work and is also massively overrated.

so I don’t talk about Lucia di Lammermoor much but it’s awesome and the mad scene is one of my favorite things ever and ALSO THE OPERA SHOULD HAVE ENDED WITH THE MAD SCENE WHAT THE HELL CAMMARANO so yeah there’s that

well, I’ve been in love with Carmen since I was 7, so...

so many! Figaro seems like he’d be a pretty awesome BFF

Three words: Così. fan. tutte

La gioconda, which has okay music overall (although ‘Stella dal marinar’ is good and the Dance of the Hours is an absolute BOP) but I like the plot a lot better (imagine how it would have been if Verdi or even Boito wrote the music!). also ‘Cielo e mar’ is the third-most overrated tenor aria of all time and you can fight me on that.

way too many (again), but I gotta say it: especially in Verdi, Furlanetto simply cannot be beat.

so many ridiculous roles...you know what’s ridiculous? Hélène in Les veprês siciliennes. At least she gets a scene off, but other than that it’s *high notes* *low notes* *coloratura* *declamation over a huge orchestra and chorus* *sassing the French* *cadenza* *repeat for three hours*

I have been meaning to watch Boris Godunov in its entirety for a while and I WILL THIS WEEK (thanks, Met Opera!). Also literally any Wagner. I was going to see the Met HD of Höllander but you know what happened.

Tosca for tragedies, Barbiere di Siviglia for comedies, Don Giovanni for everyone.

4 notes · View notes

let-it-raines · 5 years

Note

Based on the real life girl that lost her boyfriend at Epcot. Emma loses Killian at a theme part and tries calling him, but his phone is dead. So she's forced to turn to social media to find him, and a real life where's waldo comedy ensues!

So, anyone up for a new addition to Single Riders Won’t Stay Single? You totally don’t have to have read this ridiculous universe to understand this, but if you want to, the entire thing can be found | Here | or | Here |

I hope you guys, enjoy! It was kind of fun to get back into the humor of this story!

“Okay, so what are the rules, guys?” she asks as Killian drives them into the park. She knows that they’re not listening, that Declan and Hope are too hyped up on adrenaline for their first trip to Disney World after literal years (according to Declan as he so eloquently puts it every single time they talk about it) of anticipation. She’s not necessarily thrilled over the trip, personally partial to Universal herself, but as she’s learned, her kids don’t exactly care when or how mommy and daddy met. They literally only care about the fact that they’re going to Disney World, which is all Declan has talked about since his friend Jackson went over summer break last year and couldn’t stop talking about it. Seriously, the kid can work in Mickey Mouse in a conversation about politics. He’s eight. He’s not talking about politics. But he could still work it in. She’d bet good money on it.At least she as Ada to talk to about how she and Killian met. She’s two and can’t do anything about Emma blabbering to her, but that’s the beauty of having a toddler. The again, Ada definitely doesn’t care how she and Killian met, so maybe all she does have is Killian. But that’s okay with her. There’s no one else she’d rather talk about that story with, even if she does think it’s a story good enough to share with anyone with ears, Mickey Mouse or otherwise. Seriously, she could write a movie or something about parts of her life they’re so insane. Who the hell meets their husband because they’re standing in the single riders’ line for the Hulk rollercoaster? No one. Absolutely no one. It’s insane.

Maybe she should write the people at Marvel and ask them if she could be in one of their movies. That would probably make her kids pay attention to her. And, you know, it would probably mean she wouldn’t have to keep working as a bail bonds person. That’s not exactly a convenient job to have when you have three kids and your husband doesn’t work normal hours either. At least she can get away with doing research for others at work instead of having to go out into the field herself. There’s only so much she can do while balancing so many different aspects of her life.

They should have gone somewhere more relaxing for winter break. They should have gone somewhere and with just she and Killian, the kids staying behind with Mary Margaret. Maybe a beach. It definitely should have been a beach. And her phone could be thrown into the ocean or something. She doesn’t think Verizon covers you if you willingly throw your phone in the ocean. She didn’t check when they switched over to them last month.

What they don’t know won’t hurt them. It might hurt her though. She kind of needs her phone to live. That sounds dramatic, but it’s true. She needs her phone to be able to get in touch with Killian and to make sure she knows where all of her children are at any given time. They can all run like crazy, so it’s kind of hard to keep up with them. Hence why she’s trying to have this conversation. “Hey,” Killian says, his voice loud enough to reach over their talking, “listen to Mum, guys. We don’t go inside unless we listen to Mum.”“Sorry,” they both shamefully admit, looking at her with sheepish yet still happy faces. “It’s okay, guys,” she smiles, looking in the backseat at the smiles on their faces, mouse ears on all three of their heads. They’d insisted on mouse ears, and Killian being Killian, bought each of them the one they wanted even before they got to the park. Declan’s just got on a normal pair, but Hope is all decked out in one covered in sequins while Ada has an actual bow, the ears hurting her head so they compromised. Hope was not happy about it. This is all insane. So insane. She needs a new word. “I know that you’re excited, but this is a very big place with lots of people. And it’s very important to me that at all times you’re either holding onto my hand or daddy’s hand, okay?”“Okay, but what about Ada?”“What about her, baby?”“Is she going to hold onto your hand the whole time?”“Yeah,” Ada giggles, and everyone looks at her as she reaches her hand out to Hope, trying to hold her hand. “I hold your hand.”Killian chuckles and she reaches her hand over to grasp his forehand, her heart swelling at how sweet her kids are. They’re definitely going to have a meltdown at some point today, but right now they’re sweet. “That’s so good Ada, but you’re going to sit in a stroller. She’s going to sit in a stroller, but if she’s walking around, she’ll hold onto one of our hands, okay?”“Okay. When do we get to see Mickey?”“This afternoon,” Killian answers vaguely before they’re pulling into the parking lot of the Magic Kingdom. Killian had wanted to do Epcot simply for the alcohol, but that’s not really going to fly with the kids. They’re definitely more interested in seeing the rides based off of their favorite movies.

The beach vacation with just them is sounding better and better. She’d even wear one of those awful t-shirts that say “Life’s a Beach” if it meant she got to go. Most of the time she’s kind of thinking that life’s a bitch…okay, most of the time is an exaggeration. She’s just remembering how much it’s costing for all of them to get into this place today.

It’s a lot.

It also takes longer than she expected to get up to the front gate, having to take a trolley from the parking lot, but with much squirming and squealing and actual wrangling, they’re inside and mixed among thousands of other people walking down Main Street. She’s got a tight hold on Declan’s hand while Killian holds onto the other two, and even though it’s loud, surprisingly hot for January, and crowded, she can feel a bit of excitement running through her veins. The look on her kids’ faces, though, they’re priceless.

Okay, so maybe not priceless. She was just thinking about how expensive it was for them to get in here, but she’s totally got to put that behind her and just enjoy the day and the fact that every single on her kids cannot stop talking about the giant castle in front of them or the fact that everything looks like it’s been taken out of their favorite movies. And technically it has, but to them, it’s kind of like they’re getting to be a part of it all.

To be a kid and to get lost in the magic of it all.

They’re not at all interested in Tomorrowland until they see the Toy Story ride, and their day pretty much starts off with them spending their time in a line. It’s air conditioned though. She lives in Massachusetts. It’s never this hot in October there, but it’s got to be at least ninety degrees here. Florida is ridiculous.

(Florida really is, though. Every weird news story comes from Florida.)

Why is she acting like she’s never done this before? She loves going to amusement parks. This is going to a fun trip, and she’s going to enjoy it with her family by shooting at these little monsters from Toy Story.

“You’ve got a friend in me,” Killian whispers in her ear, the scruff brushing against her lobe and making a shiver run down her spine.

“To infinity and beyond or whatever,” she teases as she pecks his cheek.

“And you say I’m cheesy.”

“You are. Also, Declan and I are totally going to beat you guys when we go through this.”“That’s a challenge then, love?”

“Most definitely.”If she does say so herself, she beats Killian’s ass at the ride, and she’s totally going to use that as a bragging right for the rest of the day. Or at least quietly because Killian was on the same team as Ada and Hope, and she may be rude sometimes, but she’s not about to boast about beating her children…in front of her children. She can do that in secret.

After they wander around a little more, Killian going on a small rollercoaster with Declan and Hope, they start wandering to find the Little Mermaid ride. Ada’s been really into that movie lately, and while this trip is really more for her older siblings, she should at least be able to get to do something she likes. It’s kind of hard to find things for a two-year-old, but she’s trying.

She’s also trying to find out how to get to the dang ride. There are maps everywhere, but with people crowding around them, the park becoming fuller and fuller as time passes, everything is a bit more difficult, especially when they wander into Fantasyland (She knew the damn mermaid ride existed somewhere. It’s not like Ariel is from Atlantis.) and the entire place is packed with people dressed up in costumes that all look exactly the same. Did they all buy these costumes here? Is that what’s happened? She’s pretty sure that she read about there being some kind of beauty shop here that will do that for the kids. How has everyone already had time to go there? It’s still early.

“Hey, babe,” she starts twisting to the side to look for Killian only for him to not be there. She stops in her tracks, turning around to try to find her husband while people yell at her for stopping the flow of traffic. She can’t find him, and the moment she realizes that, her heart quickly pounds in her chest as she checks to make sure that she has all of her kids. Declan’s hand is still in hers, Ada is still in the stroller, and when she looks to her left Hope is walking just up ahead of her. “Hope,” she calls, speeding up to grab onto the back of her jumper. “Hope, baby, come here.”

“What?” she laughs, smiling up at her as she pulls her daughter back into her side.

“Where’s daddy?”

“Um, I don’t know. He told me to come find you.”

Well shit.

Shoot.

No, she’s thinking in her head. She can think shit.

Shit. Shit. Shit.

Shoot.

“Okay, come here,” she sighs, taking a deep breath and making sure she’s got everyone while her eyes continue to glance around for Killian. She doesn’t see him anywhere. This is so not good. “We’re going to get a snack at – ” She looks around the park until she sees the Cheshire Café. Seriously? The Cheshire Café? That thing is creepy. Why would anyone want to eat from there? The cat in the movie always kind of looks like it wants to eat Alice. “We’re just going to get something to eat while I call your dad.”“Where is Dad?”

“I have no idea.”

She orders them all food, miraculously finding an empty table near the restaurant, and she sets them all up before calling Killian. Their faces are already so red despite the sunscreen they applied, and it’s just…they need more. She and Killian are not really tan most of the time, and their poor kids are the same way. She’s got so much sunscreen in her bag. She’s pretty sure she bought out all of Target before they came here.

“Pick up, pick up, pick up,” she mutters as she listens to his phone dial ring only for it to disconnect before the voicemail picks up. “What the hell?”

“That’s a bad word, Mommy,” Declan points out.

Crap. She said that one out loud. And now she’s thinking in terms of crap instead of shit. Someone should really have come up with better curse words and substitutes for curse words. These are…not good. Killian knows a million random words that no one else knows, so he could probably help out in this dilemma that isn’t actually a dilemma.

A dilemma, Emma.

That kind of rhymes or goes together or whatever.

Nope. No. she needs to focus.

“I know. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it.”

She dials Killian’s number three more times, but each time his phone goes to voicemail. He’s either ignoring her and ending the calls immediately or his phone is dead. She’s not sure which one would piss her off more. How in the world can his phone be dead? Just how? The man is the most meticulous person she’s ever met, and she knows how he charges his phone every single night.

Where the hell is he?

She’s lost her husband in the middle of Disney World. If a kid gets lost, amusement parks have sections for that, but what do they do for men in their mid-forties? Probably nothing because who loses an adult?

She does. She loses an adult.

“Where’s Daddy?” Declan asks as he pops a piece of popcorn in his mouth. “I’m not sure. Hope, when did you last see him?”She shrugs, her mouth covered in purple icing from the cookie she’s eating. Did Emma even buy a cookie? She’s not entirely sure that she did. Oh God, she hopes her kids didn’t steal a cookie. This isn’t even the right place for the Cookie Monster. Does the Cookie Monster steal cookies? Does this even matter?

“I don’t know. He was there and then he wasn’t. Can I get another cookie?”

“No, just one before we eat lunch. And drink some water please.”

“Daddy has the bottle.”

“Of course he does,” she sighs, hanging her head a bit. “Give me a few minutes, and I’ll get you guys a water.”

Emma: Where are you?

Emma: Answer your phone.

Emma: Seriously, Killian. Answer the damn phone.

Emma: We’re sitting by the little Cheshire Cat Café thing if you’re looking for us.

Emma: I really hope you’re looking for us.

The more minutes that tick by, the more she begins to worry. Like, really worry. She wants to go look for him. She knows she could probably find him that way. Hell, her entire job is finding people. But she knows her best chance is staying her and hoping that he finds them. She really needs him to find them. That need grows more and more the longer they stay sitting at this table, all of her kids becoming restless and needing to be able to move around and go on all of the rides that they’re watching pass by.

The so-called happiest place on earth isn’t feeling too happy right now.

It’s kind of feeling like the crappiest place on earth.

Okay, so that was bad even for her. She is not meant to work in advertising.

She doesn’t know what to do. She’s in a huge place filled with thousands of people with no way to communicate with Killian. Does Ariel have some kind of shell phone she could use? No, no. the jokes are bad even in her own head. She needs to stop.

She needs Killian to show up. How the hell did she lose a fully grown man?

Her gaze stays between her phone, her kids, and the crowd, and after about twenty minutes of sitting at the table, a Facebook notification pops up on her phone. She never really uses it, but she’s been in this Disney group for tips and tricks about how to save money and make the best of your trip. It hasn’t really been helpful, but she might as well try this. Desperate times call for desperate measures or whatever.

Emma Jones: This is going to sound odd, but I’m looking for my husband in the Magic Kingdom. His phone is dead, and he somehow got separated from our family. Here’s a picture of us from today, so he’s wearing this outfit. He’s British, if that helps. If anyone sees him, can you send him to Fantasyland and to the Cheshire Café? Thank you.

“Oh my God,” she mutters underneath her breath as she messes with her sweater, “this has got to be the most embarrassing thing I’ve ever had to do.”

“Where’s Daddy?” Declan asks again, and she turns her focus back to her kids.

“I don’t know,” she answers honestly, shrugging her shoulders before she brings Ada into her lap. “But I’m sure we’ll find him, okay?”

“Do we have to wait for him for the rides?”

“Um,” she hums, not really sure what to say as her phone buzzes on the table, “yeah.” When all of their lips start quivering, the meltdowns coming, she has to quickly respond before she’s both lost her husband, her mind, and all sense of control. “At least for a little while, and then we’ll go on the Little Mermaid ride, okay? If Daddy doesn’t show up today, we’ll just have to ride things without him and tomorrow he can come with us.”

Hope literally groans before she throws her face down on the table, only peeking her eye up to give Emma an evil eye that will never not chill Emma down to her bones. She’s got some crafty kids who can be kind of terrifying.

Her phone keeps going off on the table, so she picks it up only to see notifications filling her screen, every one of them from Facebook and none from Killian.

(And none for you, Glen Coco.)

Gregory Hart: How do you lose a grown man? Oliver Judson: This guy was my professor at Harvard, and he’s lost in Disney World. Lmfao. Isabella Santiago: He was mine too! Super hot. I’m pretty sure I showed up to class just to look at him. I almost failed. Lol. Beth Johansson: What does it say about Harvard that their professors can’t keep up with their families? Shameful. Jake Smith: I think I saw him in the Frontierland section, but I don’t know. There’s a lot of guys dressed like him. Blue jeans and a button up are not exactly distinctive. Should have worn a Hawaiian shirt or something.

Sylar Ng: Okay, time to place bets. Where do you think this guy actually is?

Exploring the hall of Presidents? He’s a professor, so probably pretty boring.

With another woman?

With another man?

In line for Space Mountain?

Stuck on It’s a Small World so he’s about ready to pull his hair out?

Eating Dole Whip?

Back at the hotel to catch a nap without his kids? Hannah Hoistler: Have you ever considered this to be a good thing? You can get in the single riders line? That’s like a fast pass to freedom.

Hannah Hoistler: Oh wait. Forgot about the kids. Never mind. Emma Jones: that’s funny because that’s actually how we met, so while I’m very fond of the single riders line, I do like riding my husband. Emma Jones: *with my husbandEmma Jones: I like riding him, but that’s not anyone’s business. Anyways, someone please help me find my husband.

Yeah, she’s officially gone crazy if she’s spending her time talking about her sex life with complete strangers online. Strangers who aren’t exactly helping her find Killian. All of the responses are a little insane, but they’re hilarious. And as stressed as she is right now, this is making her laugh.

“Mom,” Declan groans, “we’re never going to go on any rides if we just sit here all day.”

She looks at her son, looks at the desperation in his eyes, and really, she can’t keep them sitting her. She just can’t. Killian is a grown man lost in Disney World. It’s not like he’s been kidnapped by Mickey Mouse or something. He’ll figure things out, and she’ll just hope that someone finds him or that they miraculously run into each other in a line or something. It’s happened before, so there’s no reason it can’t happen again.

It’s probably not going to happen again.

“You’re right, kid. Let’s go.”

It’s basically a mad dash to all of the rides and shows from there, even if they end up having to stand in the lines for a little while, even with their fast passes. But her kids’ anticipation for everything is insane, and with the renewed energy they got from the sugar she just fed them (probably not the best move on her part), they don’t mind waiting, especially as they talk to other kids around them about the movies and rides and about just how big Cinderella’s Castle is. Of course, just because Declan and Hope are excited, that doesn’t really mean much about Ada. She conks out around three, and it’s kind of difficult to balance a sleeping toddler in a deeper sleep than Aurora and two kids who could climb Rapunzel’s tower without any kind of assistance from the giant rope of hair or a magic carpet ride or something.

But she makes it work. She’s never had to parent alone outside of their usual activities, kind of hopes that she never has to do it again, but after she gets used to it, she kind of masters it. No, she definitely masters it. And they have a fantastic day full of far too much food all of the rides her kids can imagine until they’re watching a parade on Main Street with ice cream in their hands and their feet all tired from moving around the park all day.

Seriously, she probably burned off all the calories.

Her phone has been going off all day, and while no one has found Killian, her post has apparently been shared over a thousand times, and even without her telling their friends what’s happened, they’ve shared it too. Liam is having a field day with it all.

“Swan,” a familiar voice calls, and her head whips to the side so quickly that it hurts. But then she sees Killian moving through the crowd, his hair sticking up like he’s been worriedly running his hand through it, and she’s not sure if she wants to smile at him or slap him. “Oh, my love,” he sighs when he gets to her, immediately squatting down and kissing all of his children’s cheeks before he slants his lips over hers, “where have you all been? I couldn’t find you.”

“You’re in trouble, Daddy,” Hope sighs, her eyes never leaving the parade.

“Am I now?” he asks her, his eyes filled with worry and his cheeks tinted red. She bets that he didn’t reapply his sunscreen.

Wow, she really is such a mom, even if she fully believes everyone should protect their skin.

“Where the hell did you go?”

“I don’t – I don’t know. My phone fell out of my pocket when we were walking, and I sent Hope up to you while I turned around to get it. It’s absolutely shattered. I’ve spent all day talking to the people in the front office and then looking in every damn section of this park.”

“That’s a bad word.”

Her kids are really into pointing out cursing today, and she’s not sure if she’s proud of it or annoyed by it.

“I know, bud, I’m sorry. And I’m sorry, love,” he whispers to her before kissing her once again. His lips taste like chocolate, and she knows he must have been eating a lot today too. He eats when he’s stressed, which she finds weirdly endearing. “I tried calling on an office phone, but you got the new number when we switched carriers last month and I don’t…”

“You don’t know my number?” She slaps his shoulder before shaking her head. “Oh my God.”

“I know, I know. And I literally…I haven’t memorized another number besides yours in eight years.”

Ridiculous. Absolutely ridiculous. They obviously need to stop coming to amusement parks. Or at least know each other’s numbers. She doesn’t know Killian’s new one either, but she isn’t about to tell him that right now.

Probably not ever. She’ll memorize it later, and he’ll never have to know.

“So after today” she sighs, scooting over and allowing him to sit down in the cramped space next to her before Ada crawls into his lap, immediately snuggling into his chest like the daddy’s girl she is, “I’m kind of thinking that this morning I should have told you to always hold my hand so you don’t get lost.”

“I mean, what makes you think this wasn’t an elaborate plan just so I could hold your hand?” he laughs before he twines their fingers together, the float with all of the Aladdin characters going by singing a Whole New World. There’s a pun there. She just knows it. She’s also just too tired to think of it.

“Because that would be pathetic.” She squeezes his fingers before bringing his knuckles up to her lips, kissing right over his wedding band. “Also, they’ve had a lot of sugar today. You can be in charge of bedtime.”

“I would expect nothing less.”

“And, by the way, you’re internet famous today.”

He quirks a brow. “What now?”

“I’ll tell you about it later, babe. Let’s just enjoy the parade.”

He squeezes her hand before leaning over to whisper in her ear, “I will always find you.”

“I know, but your efficiency needs work.”

#cs prompts #cs fic #cs ff #single riders won't stay single

107 notes · View notes

peachychibi · 5 years

Text

petty in pink | #01 | Johnny

petty in pink

Drabble #1

Genre: breakup-makeup!au (or is it) | comedy, flangst

Member: Johnny / Reader

Word Count: 1,100+

Warnings: massive jerk moves (not from johnny), nct as adult with jobs™

She couldn’t believe this. Really, honestly, in all seriousness; what the fuck.

The girl never would’ve thought that this turn of event could happen. Sure she was the one who sank the ship, said she needed to be set free as the thing they had going was suffocating her (a complete exaggeration on her part). The point was she was the one who got over the relationship first, sure. But never once it crossed her mind that he would be the one to board onto a new relationship first! Imagine waking up to multiple texts from your best friends, all saying the same thing, one of them even sent the picture of the new lovey-dovey couple in town. They had gone ‘instagram official’ apparently, showing the moderate seriousness of the relationship by millennials’ standard.

Adding a more theatrical flair to the whole situation, her friend even dared to call her as early as 7am, screaming ‘YOUR EX HAS A NEW GIRLFRIEND’ in maximum volume, almost sacrificing her eardrum to deafness in the process.

This put her in a severe bad mood for sure.

***

‘I don’t care, for God’s sake–how many times do I have to say that so you can believe me?’

‘Really? Are you trying to convince us or yourself?’

The girl in question grunted in response. With all due respects, she loves her pals, she really does. It’s just that sometimes they could be such little shits with their false accusation.

She looked up to two pair of eyes, one was looking concerned while the other looked so tired of her bullshit. They all met up after office hour in their usual hang out place, an emergency meeting as one of her friend had put it, cos their youngest was “heartbroken”. Bold of them to assume that! she humphed mentally.

In actuality, she really felt fine? With the current situation?...

Fine, admittedly she was a lot salty since her ex had the audacity to replace her first?! Whatever happened to those cries for two long weeks after their breakup, pleading her to come back and he’d be better and he could never ever feel this way for any other girl in the world. ‘The world may have over seven billion people but there is only one YOU, how can you leave me like this?’ that had been one out of the hundreds corny lines of his. Ha, guess those were fucking lies. It has only been 3 months after the split yet he got himself a new girl in lightning speed.

Her friends kept on probing to get some kind of an admission from her, she knew it. Admitting what? She also had no idea. She was not jealous, not at all. She’s just plenty petty.

‘To be honest tho, the girl seems’, a short pause, ‘too fluffy? You’ve seen her post, right?’

‘True. It’s like she’s already in love with him. Writing such poetic caption, mentioning the stars, the suns and the likes of those were pointing him to her, yadda-yadda.’ her other friend adding fuel to the fire.

She rolled her eyes and scoffed ‘What a match made in heaven, then. Yawn, I’m bored. Tell me another story.’

Laughter ensued on the table as the night rolled on and more petty shades were in order.

***

Looking back to their days together, the end was inevitable. It was crystal clear that they would not last. Keeping up with the relationship for almost two years was just another inevitability in the equation, she justified.

It was a shame that they ended up on bad terms, but then again it was not like she wanted to stay in touch with him either so whatever. To provide a better understanding, the decision was not made impulsively. It has been on the back of her mind for the last three months, she just needed a trigger to put her thought to action.

Her friends said that the trigger was trivial and she did not deny that. The night when she one-sidedly ended their relationship was a bit blurry. She remembered it was Friday, she was wearing her favorite pink coat. As soon as she got to the lobby of her office, Johnny arrived just in time to pick her up with his black SUV. He was playing his self-curated ‘after office drives’ playlist on the stereo, when the rain started pouring he swiftly changed the music to his favorite ‘rainy mood’ playlist. He said it was his favorite since he spent a lot of time perfecting the song choice, the song orders (putting the playlist on shuffle mode was a huge crime for him), not to mention he took the lyrics into accounts as well. To set the mood for rainy days, the songs cannot be too happy-go-lucky, he once said to her. She thought this was a bit of an irony since Johnny was one of the most positive guy she’s ever met. He also would never play his precious ‘rainy mood’ playlist unless the sky was actually raining, he would not even put it on if it was only pouring some light drizzle. At that exact moment, she knew they were over.

At first, this seemed so cute to her. But after two years, it got boring just how predictable he was. It was coming back to her all at once that night, every single habits of his which used to be endearing have now turned boring. The novelties have worn off, what was exciting has gone way too bland for her liking.

When it rained, he played the ‘rainy mood’ playlist. If it was sunny, he would play ‘Here Comes the Sun’ by The Beatles. Every third Saturday of the month he would always take her out to eat at a restaurant near their former high school so that they would never forget the place where they first met (his words). If it was full moon, he’d call her and ask her to watch the moon together.. Okay, granted she never supported this and she literally ridiculed him on the spot the first time he asked this. Yet he still never missed the chance to call and let her know that yes the moon was full that night. God, not only was he a plain vanilla boyfriend, he was super cheesy, too.

Well, the trigger was superficial nonetheless it still did its work. At a glance, there was nothing out of the norms happening in the car. Johnny was singing along to the song on his playlist, she would sometimes join him. They still conversed about their days at works, too. Him complaining about how the coffee maker in his floor has not been repaired for two weeks. Her complaining about another stupid antics her coworker did that day. All seemed good. Perhaps, this was why he never stopped terrorizing her for explanations post-breakup.

Right after his car parked in front of her house, she dropped the bomb. Doing it as casual as possible, hoping she could pull that aura of nonchalance off.

‘Thanks for the ride, Johnny. By the way, let’s break up.’

notes: i’m sorry?? the story will get better soon, i hope. will update soon!

#johnny #johnny suh #johnny seo #nct #nct127 #nct 127 #Johnny Fanfic #johnny scenarios #johnny imagines #johnny fluff #nct fanfic #nct fluff #nct scenarios #nct imagines #nct fanfiction #johnny fanfiction #johnny nct #nct johnny

71 notes · View notes

trivialqueen · 5 years

Text

39. Hero

{Here’s the next section of that original story. Still currently, and creatively called, Hospital Romance Drama. As always, I’m neither a doctor, nor British. I’m just a girl who fancies herself a writer and likes slow burns, smart women, and tall men.}

“No, not to be so odd and from all fashions As Beatrice is, cannot be commendable: But who dare tell her so? If I should speak, She would mock me into air; O, she would laugh me Out of myself, press me to death with wit. Therefore let Benedick, like cover'd fire, Consume away in sighs, waste inwardly: It were a better death than die with mocks, Which is as bad as die with tickling.” Sofia Grace stopped so abruptly she almost spilled her flat white. As it was the jarring motion broke the perfect little heart Helen had made with the milk. Slowly she approached, just to confirm what she was fairly certain she was hearing. It sounded like Magnusson, baritone with just a hint of Scandinavian coloring his otherwise impeccable English. It sounded just exactly like Director of Surgery Felix Magnusson reading the part of Hero from Much Ado About Nothing.

“Yet tell her of it: hear what she will say.” A younger voice replied. Sitting up in her hospital bed was a young woman, maybe sixteen. She was focusing very intently on reciting from memory her lines. Beside her sat Felix, glasses perched on his patrician nose which was firmly wedged in a tatty script copy of the Bard’s comedy.

“No; rather I will go to Benedick And counsel him to fight against his passion. And, truly, I'll devise some honest slanders To stain my cousin with: one doth not know How much an ill word may empoison liking.” Magnusson read. He made no effort to change his voice in any way – adopt an accent or sound more feminine. Sofia couldn’t decide if that was better or not. She couldn’t imagine the man adopting a falsetto and yet just thinking about it she desperately wished he had. She honestly also wouldn’t have imagined him sitting in the middle of his day with one of his patients to help her memorize lines either. And yet here he was.

“Line?” The girl had sat quietly for a few moments, staring hard into the middle distance.

“You know it, just try.” Felix looked up at the young woman, his tone encouraging. There was something different about his voice. About him. It was the same gentleness he’d shown Addie, a sort of parental mien that occasionally popped out in unexpected places. He was capable of patience, of kindness, of all the fatherly virtues. Just not when it came to anyone he worked with. Tamara had been crying in the bathroom on Harvey earlier. She didn’t even want to cry in the bathroom on Irene, just in case. Tamara had only been out of school a few months and literally looked like she was twelve. One would think such a combination would bring fatherly Felix to the fore. That was, however, not the case, apparently.

“She cannot be so much without true judgement--” the girl began. Felix clicked his tongue.

“Not quite. The line begins, ‘Oh, do not do your cousin such a wrong’.”

“Got it.” The girl gave a decisive nod. “O, do not do your cousin such a wrong. She cannot be so much without true judgment-- Having so swift and excellent a wit as she is prized to have--as to refuse So rare a gentleman as Signior Benedick.”

“Very good.” He returned his attention to the script. “He is the only man of Italy. Always excepted my dear Claudio.”

And so they continued, ‘Ursula’ reciting from memory and Magnusson correcting her as necessary. It was not a good performance by any means, both were too flat for that and the setting left something to be desired, even by ‘random adaptations of Shakespeare’ standards. Nonetheless Sofia felt not great urge to interrupt them. Nor was she ready to walk away either. In the midafternoon sun and the overhead light Magnusson looked relaxed, almost charming. The rays glinted off the slight red gold undertone in his curls. He must’ve run his hands through his hair recently, and frequently, it was not as tamed as it usually was. The gel was broken up and his hair was almost Byronic. Adding to the image of the hero, his aubergine colored tie was slightly loosened and the top button of his pale blue dress shirt was undone.

“… I'll show thee some attires and have thy counsel Which is the best to furnish me to-morrow.” His fingers were long and slender sprawled across the cover of the script. In another context one might say he had musicians’ hands.

“She's limed, I warrant you: we have caught her, madam.” ‘Ursula’ looked up from her middle-distance staring and caught her watching. She colored brightly, her ears turning scarlet under her mop of professionally caramel colored hair.

“If it proves so, then loving goes by haps: Some Cupid kills with arrows, some with traps.” Magnusson did not notice her, nor his patient’s embarrassment and finished the dialogue as evenly before. He slid his glasses off his nose and into his pocket. He looked up to ‘Ursula’ and then followed her gaze to Sofia Grace. Their eyes met and she could see his ears tint, yet he arched a brow as if challenging her to say something.

“What fire is in mine ears?” Ms. Hale was smirking, her cayenne lips twisting smugly and her eyes twinkling with delight.

“Ms. Hale.” He shouldn’t feel embarrassed, but her eyes pinned him.

“Go on!” Bridget chirped. She’d gone from embarrassed to intrigued in seconds. Ms. Hale smiled brightly.

“Can this be true? Stand I condemned for pride and scorn so much?” She had the delivery of a thespian, which he was hardly surprised. Her every day comportment was dramatic, why should she be anything less than theatrical when actually reciting Shakespeare. “Ummm…” And then she paused. Looked thoughtful for a moment. And sipped her coffee to buy some time. Being lefthanded logos on mugs never faced out when she drank out of them, but he could tell it was her Wonder Woman mug. As far as Felix could tell she didn’t own any other mugs. “Contempt, farewell! And maiden pride, adieu! And that’s all I can remember.” She gave a charming shrug.

“No glory lives behind the backs of such.” The script was still open loosely in his hand, so it was easy to check Beatrice’s next line. She stared at him for a moment and he read on, “And Benedick, love on-”

“I will requite thee!” She jumped in, clearly her memory jogged. “Taming my wild heart to thy loving hand: If thou love, my kindness shall incite thee to bind our loves in a holy band; for others say thou dost deserve, and I believe it better than reportingly! HA! Nailed it.” She exclaimed with a fist pump.

“Ah! Not quite.”

“What?” Both surgeon and student stared at him.

“If thou dost love, my kindness shall incite thee to bind our loves up in a holy band…”

“Oh, come on! After twenty years you’re going to ding me on two words? The spirit is the same!”

“Let’s apply to the director then.” Bridget looked between them both.

“I’d say that’s good enough after …twenty years?!” Ms. Hale gave him a cheeky smile over the rim of her coffee mug.

“I know, right?!” She preened.

“It seems like it should be longer ago, doesn’t it?”

“Hey!” Bridget dissolved into peels of laughter. Felix could feel the smile spread across his lips. It was perhaps not the best dig, but it was so perfectly set up. “Just because you’re jealous of my theatrical chops-”

“I would have you know that I made a fine Thespian in the sixth form.”

“Who were you? The messenger boy?”

“Sir Andrew Aguecheek.” Ms. Hale visibly chocked on her coffee. He couldn’t blame her; it was not the role he’d have cast himself in either. But Aguecheek was supposed to be a ridiculous man and at sixteen he had been all arms and legs and knobby, awkward angles.

“WHAT?” She chocked, thumping herself in the chest like it might help. “Was this one of those instances that it was for a class and they had to cast everyone, even if it meant combining or breaking up parts to get the right numbers?” It had been for class credit, but he would never admit that. Instead he stood and handed the script back.

“Bridget, if you need further help with your lines, I think it’s obvious who you should ask.”

“You’ve been a big help, Mr. M.”

“You haven’t forgotten our three o’clock appointment I see.” Magnusson commented as he keyed in the five-digit code to his office door.

“How could I, you’re in check!”

“Not for much longer, Ms. Hale. Not for very much longer.” They had been at this particular match for the last three weeks, ever since the machines incident and her opening move. A normal chess match should not take so long, however, they had yet to play even fifteen minutes in a single sitting. Emergencies had no concept of time so even with all the planning, getting to be in the same room at the same time was difficult. She hadn’t even realized she’d put him in check until later, she’d been distracted by her pager when she’d made the move. (Not that she’d admit that to him).

She follows him into his office, it is more familiar to her now, almost as familiar as it was when Charlotte was DOS. Over the course of their several chess moves (it’s hard to call them matches when they don’t even last as long as a cup of coffee sometimes) she and he have developed a routine. Upon entering his office he would immediately turn on the hot water kettle he kept in a discreet corner by his desk, he would then empty his pockets, carefully placing his cellphone on his desk, and then he would bring his tea set to the table. Magnusson took his fancy leaf water quite seriously, carefully choosing the tea he wanted from a selection of loose-leaf options, measuring it out precisely into the teapot, and occasionally going so far as to get up and adjust the water temperature on the kettle. The tea set would always include the tea pot, a single cup and saucer and a 350gram jar with three beautiful biscuits in it. And not the store-bought kind either, biscuits clearly made by an individual.

While Magnusson carefully matched his tea to whatever sweet treat he’d brought with him that day (florentines with Darjeeling, palmiers and chamomile, shortbread with earl grey, gingerbread and lemon tea) Sofia Grace would kick off her heels and snoop examine his artwork. All of the photos on his walls were signed works, the vast majority taken by an Ingrid Karpe. He had a small collection of sculptures as well, all contemporary looking and rather abstract, although the one on his desk was clearly a fish. Just like the photo on his desk was clearly his son. Magnusson would never say anything as she examined his small gallery, but she was aware that he was aware of where she was looking. If he wouldn’t offer, she wouldn’t ask, even if it did pique her curiosity – why did so many of the photos have seemingly the same subject? Where was that dark-haired little boy now?

Eventually, when it looked like Magnusson’s little tea ritual was nearly finished Sofia Grace would return to the sofa, curling into one of the corners, her bare feet tucked up under her as she’d lean on the arm. Rather than face off against one another over the small conference table in his office he moved his chessboard to the end table between them. He stopped offering her tea early on, since she always brought her coffee. And so coffee versus tea, black versus white faced off. She would accept his biscuits, however.

“Is that a bakery digestive biscuit?” It was. A lightly brown, crunchy-tender semi-sweet meal biscuit. It was thicker than the digestives from the store, but it was unmistakable. “Holy shit, I didn’t know you could actually makethese. You have got to give me the name of your bakery.”

“I’m allowed to have some secrets.”

“Oh, come on.”

“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.” He gave her a smug smile over the rim of his tea. It was the sort of expression that told her he wouldn’t pressed further. At least not at the moment.

“You’ve acquired a new nickname.” They had settled into the game, digestives devoured. Magnusson had deftly saved his king for checkmate and they were now back to a nearly cat game. During her yearlong recovery she had had nothing to do but play lots of chess, learn German, and read many, many trashy romance novels. Sofia Grace knew she was good at chess, but Magnuson was something else entirely. (Not that she’d ever tell him that).

“If you going to try to get people to call me Sir Andrew Aguecheek, I’m going to have to draw a line.”

“Ooo, I hadn’t thought of that! Brilliant!” Her eyes sparkled at him, like stars dancing. It was perhaps the first time those dark eyes sparkled at him. He had seen them sparkle before, for others. But at him they only ever spat fire, or at best, flinty sparks. And now they were sparkling for him. The sight whipped through him like the first cold wind of winter – he was completely unprepared; his breath caught; senses tingled. He could feel it cut through him to the very core.

“Don’t you dare.” He felt slight pride in being able to speak like he was unaffected. Ms. Hale’s white knight retreated slightly, smartly. She smiled.

“In addition to Sir Andrew Aguecheek, you’ve acquired a new nickname.” After thoughtful deliberation he moved his bishop to C4. Felix had expected her to be as rash a chess player as she was a person. He’d heard tell that she’d once incited an abusive husband of a patient to punch her in the face in the middle of the hall so there was more concrete evidence pointing to his violent temper and to buy time for the man’s partner to finish giving their statement to the police. She had absolutely no sense of self-preservation, as far as he could tell. And yet when she played chess, her moves were anything but impulsive. He had expected this game to be over by now, but she had surprised him as an opponent.

“Don’t people have better things to do?”

“It wouldn’t be a hospital without gossip.” Her quip was only halfhearted as she studied the board. He sipped his tea and waited – for either her move or his apparent new nickname, whichever came first.

“Well, what is it?” She’d studied the board for what felt like an hour before she carefully moved her pawn. “It can’t be worse than ‘Björn the Slasher’…” A few of his monikers had made their way to his ears. None of them were good – they were both disdainful as well as lazy and stupid. A smörgåsbord of Swedish stereotypes peppered with some tortured reference to his height.

“That one’s hilarious.”

“It makes me sound like a camp horror villain.” She gave him a look over her mug that clearly said, ‘well, aren’t you?’ “If you’re going to tell me about ‘Fucking Felix’, I’m aware.” Alliterative, yes, creative, no.

“That’s hardly a nickname and more a general reaction whenever we have to work with you.” He stared blankly at her, for want of a response – other than to note that their colleagues were more than a little dramatic.

“Well what is it then? Is it the abominable snow man? The Snow King, perhaps? The Ice Giant? Felix the Herring? Hurdy Gurdy – which I really don’t get by the way. Dr. No perhaps?” And then there were the more hurtful ones like Dr. Death or the Angel of Death. But it was truly ridiculous the names he’d been called in the short time he’d been at Saint Sebastian’s.

“Don’t forget the good humor man.” She added brightly. Ah, non-literary irony. He thought sarcastically. They lapsed into temporary silence as they studied the board.

“Doctor Damocles.” Ms. Hale said after carefully removing his captured pawn from the board. It made him start.

“Dr. Damocles – That doesn’t even make sense!” He was well familiar with Damocles, the obsequious courtier of Dionysius II of Syracuse and the moral anecdote about him.

“You’re the harbinger of impending doom! Looming about, threatening everyone’s job, scaring people half to death. You’ve made five people cry since you’ve gotten here – three F1s, two F2s, plus Tamara Aquilarios just this morning!” Ah, that interpretation of the tale, he remembered it well – and paid dearly for it. Just listening he could feel the sting of his father’s hand across his cheek. His first summer home from boarding school his father had insisted that rather than make noise around the house he dedicate his time to something useful and worthwhile – translating all five books of the Tusculanae Disputationes. Every night his father had marked his translations. There had been no room for error. There was never allowed any room for error. It was one of his earliest lessons.

“But that’s not the point of the parable at all. The sword doesn’t just represent, oh, something terrible is going to happen, but it’s about realizing that what looks like an enviable life – a life of wealth, power, and luxury is, in fact, fraught with anxiety, terror, and possibly death.” She stared at him blankly for a long moment.

“God, you really are an insufferable pedant, aren’t you?”

“I’m just saying, the nickname is fundamentally wrong.”

“This would be why we call you ‘Fucking Felix’.” He had nothing to say to that and so he returned his focus entirely to the pieces on the board and his mostly consumed cup of breakfast blend (a choice he made as it complimented his biscuits, ignoring the fact it was after three o’clock). For a move they were both quiet. Focused.

Ms. Hale licked her cayenne lips, they were slightly faded, the color having transferred from full mouth to the rim of her mug in a distinctive kiss, making the cup as hers more than the motif on the outside could. There was some intimacy in seeing her without that flawless signature color, even if it was a fleeting moment before she touched it up and returned about her day.

He was distracted by the red bow of her mouth rather than listening to the words coming out of it.

“But seriously,” She was saying, “we can’t go on like the anymore. The cuts, the redundancies. Everyone in this hospital is running scared. You can’t run a hospital like it’s some company, we’re here to make people better, for God’s sake, not turn a profit.”

“You know that the hospital is not a for profit company, and I know that the hospital is not a for profit company,” She looked at him skeptically, both forgetting the chess match for a little while. “But it has been made abundantly clear to me that the Foundation Trust board does not care. They are interested in seeing healthy profit margins, strong financials in general, efficient staff, and an impeccable reputation. The austere, and only the austere, will survive.”

“Making nurses cry, terrorizing the staff, you think this is going to make Saint Sebastian’s a better hospital, this is how we achieve FT status?”

“Ensuring that the staff are fulfilling their roles and obligations, that nurses are performing proper procedures and tests and running effective bed checks will go a long way toward our Foundation Trust application, particularly since Sir Stewart Frazier, Angus Black, Tristan Guy will be looking over our shoulders for the foreseeable future. They start their on grounds audit Monday.”

Sofia Grace felt herself choke on air. Monday?! The audit starts Monday?!

“The audit starts next week, and you didn’t think to tell us yet?” She was incredulous.

“I myself did not know until this afternoon when Sir Stewart called me.”

“And you decided to read Shakespeare and play chess rather than inform us of this?!” Magnusson sat his teacup down on the table, she momentarily worried that it would have broken, the thud was so heavy sounding.

“I am not one to just fire off emails, saying whatever it is I’m feeling as I feel it. I think before I speak, and in this case, I wanted to think quite carefully about what I should put in such an email. Rest assured, there will be notification by the end of the day regarding this development.”

“You can’t just keep secrets from us!”

“I am hardly keeping this a secret.” His tone was as frosty as Lappland. “Everyone will know by the end of the day, once I have time to sit down and draft the email. Didn’t I ask you to have some faith in me?” She opened her mouth to protest, it was hardly a lack of faith when he literally said he would inform people when he felt like it. He cut off her retort, however. “Regarding Nurse Aquilarios, on the topic of having some faith in me, did you bother to find out the context in which I apparently made her cry?” His delivery was nothing like any rant she was familiar with, certainly nothing like her own style which built and built and built until she exploded like a steam engine without a valve. Instead he was cold, even, and brooking no interruption. “I asked her why a patient hadn’t had a pregnancy test performed. She had skipped the routine procedure in order to save time and because the patient had said they were not pregnant. It’s how she has been able to get such good bed check times. It turns out the patient was actually pregnant, which of course meant an entirely different treatment plan.”

“Your asking had her in tears in the women’s loo! She’s only been out of school six months you know.” Ah, to be young. She wouldn’t do it again for a million dollars. Tamara was maybe 23. It seemed so long ago now but the fear was something she’d ever forget.

“Then it should be fresher in her mind than others that routine procedures become routine for a reason: they serve important purposes and it’s not for us to arbitrarily decide what really is or isn’t important.”

“She’s a good kid, cut her some slack.” Sofia Grace was still skeptical about his just “asking” Tamara rather than yelling at her – the young nurse had been a mess of runny mascara when she had stumbled upon her in the toilet, but she was inclined to agree with Magnusson on the general point. Running a pregnancy test on anyone with a uterus was an important habit to have. There were a surprising number of otherwise competent people who nevertheless weren’t 100% up to date or correct about their current health or health history.

“She has all the makings of an excellent nurse, if she could master the basics of routine procedures and confirming what we think we know, rather than assuming or simply taking someone’s word for it.” It was perhaps the nicest thing she’d heard him say about anyone, except for perhaps immediately after she impressed him with her trick to avoid cracking the chest of a young chef to repair their punctured artery.

“Have you considered telling her this?”

“I censure when there is a need to censure and I praise when there is reason to praise. I won’t go out of my way to do either.”

“It wouldn’t kill you to be nice, you know.” Perhaps it would, it was so hard to tell. There were moments. Flashes of kindness in him. And then, well, he made grown men cry. For a long time they just stared at each other, chess match forgotten between them as a battle of wills took all of their strategic thinking. Without his glasses it was easier to see his eyes. They were nice eyes - sable colored, with long, thick dark lashes – the kind mascara companies were forever trying to replicate.

A shrill beep broke the silence – and their eye contact. Both reached for their pagers.

“Schiße.” He was grateful for the interruption, as piercing as it was. Her eyes had stopped dancing and they had taken a hard, flinty expression. They unnerved him, her eyes. He knew they could steal his soul. They were eyes that could lead a man to hell.

“I’ve got to go.” She began putting on her shoes. “Same time tomorrow?” He stood with her. In her smart heels she was still a head shorter than he was. It was noticeable when they stood next to each other, but so easy to forget given the size of her personality.

“I will have to check, there are some meetings for me to attend before the board begins their audit.”

“Well, you have my number.” She gave him a polite smile, her face a mask of professional focus. Once she was out of his office and off to Harvey, he carefully cleaned up the remnants of his tea and then sat heavily at his desk. With a sigh he opened a new message.

Dear Colleagues…

#Hospital Romance Drama #Cait writes #original fiction #Sofia Grace is Chaotic Good chaffing under Lawful Good Rules #I know nothing about Chess #much ado about nothing #Much ado about the Bard

1 note · View note

thelowlysatsuma · 5 years

Note

Ramble in whatever form you choose. I won’t be able to be active all the time so if you want to be able to do it whenever you want I’d say text posts but I’ll also try to occasionally ask you about them so there’s some variety

!!! okay! well i think i’ll choose a couple from the list that i haven’t made many posts about before (aka no ts or go) and ramble on here!

oof under the cut bc idk how long this will get

steven universe

oh hon don’t even get me STARTED on su like that shit? that shit is so good? okay first of all i love the cast so much? gosh they’re just all so sweet and cool and sometimes they collab w/ thomas sanders and i love rebecca sugar and im gonna cry they’re so sweet im so soft

okay SECONDLY the show itself oof

okay okay im just? god im so soft?? like the music is so good, i can (and do) watch it w/ my parents, GOD do i wanna cosplay pearl’s new outfit (and rainbow 2.0, if i can pull it off), im in love with the concept and all the fusions and the story and the worldbuilding and god, this made me realize my utter love and adoration of COLOURS like they’re so PRETTY im in LOVE oh my gOD and just

god it has such a good message and such a good plot and such good characters i wanna be steven’s friend i wanna be all of their friends oh man i just can’t wait until my baby cousins are old enough for me to show this to them because i’m going to enjoy that experience so much

ducktales

oh jfc where the fuck do i even start with ducktales okay david tennant as scrooge mcduck makes my fucking life literally he’sthe best goddamn charaacter in the show – well, best besides the triplets (my BOYS), webby (!!! my KID), f e n t o n (god i love that nerd), mark beaks (what an asshole), mrs beakley (i wanna be her when i grow up), launchpad (!!! he!!), and so many others??? this is like serious every character in the show erasure but hot damn duck tales says gay rights and it does so in style (oh yeah also i love lena della donald oh webby’s new friend whose name i forget uhhh herules oh the inventor guy fenton’s boss that dipshit love him uhhh gandra dee who’s voiced by jameela jamil if im not mistaken??????) and yeah it’s a hilarious show but it’s also just a really good one for me to watch whenever i start to like. feel empty inside?? but then like i’ll put on ducktales and i’ll feel better

gravity falls

this show. this show RUINED ME. i started watching it like four years late (aka last year lmao) but GOD, im so in love with it. def another one i wanna show my cousins.

like?? just??? the ciphers and mysteries appeal so much to me and my love of mystery and crime novels, the characters are all amazing, alex hirsch himself is just such a g?? and like. it’s so good. it hurts me so much but then it’s all okay in the end and it’s just. it’s so good.

yeah i sobbed my eyes out when i watched that series finale.

camp camp, which somehow i forgot on my other list

god, is this show hilarious. like, fuck is it funny. it’s so good. it’s so fucking good. i was a little shocked when i saw the first episode but i’m so into it now, and i’m so attatched to all the characters bc they’re just dumbasses trying their best (or worst, in a few cases) and i love them for it. that’s peak fool energy right there and it speaks to me

orphan black

okay okay okay veering now into a much darker type of television, orphan black is??? phenominal???

okay so my best friend @fuck-me-gently-with-a-slurpee got me into it when i was like 14 or 15 i think and i honestly cannot thank her enough because this show is incredible. the plot’s super engaging, i literally cannot say anything about it without giving away spoilers, and the main character has quite possibly the best actor i’ve ever seen playing her

like. you think thomas sanders is good? he ain’t got SHIT on tatianna maslany

mythbusters

you guys. you guys. mythbusters was my childhood. like seriously, i watched that show religiously.

it’s what first got me into science, and it’s what kept me interested in explosions. it’s light and funny and ridiculous and scientifically accurate in the dumbest ways possible. i swear to god the main cast nearly dies once an episode

these guys are my idols. like, i seriously cannot overstate how much i love the mythbusters. adam and jamie, tori, kari, and grant.

when i was a kid, i wanted to be a mythbuster when i grew up, and god damnit, i still do. they mean that much to me

bill nye

fun fact! i actually had no fuckin clue who bill nye was until seventh grade, when i had to watch an episode of his show for homework because i missed a day of class. it was the episode on static electricity, and i remember sitting at my dining room table in the dim winter afternoon light, squinting at my computer, and thinking “what the FUCK am i WATCHING?”

needless to say, i’ve seen more since then, but that initial what the fuckery is still present and i love it.

not only is bill nye the science guy a flippin fantstic show, but bill nye himself? the coolest guy alive. god, i love him. what a g.

various comedians including but not limited to john mulaney,john oliver, and hasan minhaj

okay, as a gay, i am legally required to love john mulaney, but seriously that guy is so. fuckin. funny that i can’t help myself. his timing is priceless, the way he moves onstage is hysterical, just. god i love his stuff.

literally his comedic timing and style is half the reason people find me funny. i just phrase my sentences the way he would because, you know, i’m good at stealing things, and people laugh, and i go “hey. that actually worked”. and then i keep doing it

next, john oliver. okay, so while i don’t watch his show religiously, i do watch it when my parents do every now and again, and fuck is his stuff funny. like. just. shit.

finally, hasan minhaj’s patriot act is just. one of my favourite current events comedy shows out there. it’s in a similar vein to john oliver’s stuff, just more international, and shit, is he good at what he does. i lvoe it.

hoodwinked the movie (i am dead serious)

okay, while i haven’t seen it in over four years, this is still my favourite movie of all time. it also has one of my favourite villain songs of all times, and some of the best character exchanges just. ever. especially with wolf and twitchy

...god, i love twitchy. also the goat. i’m probably gonna be the goat when i grow up, let’s be honest

one day at a time

i just.

there’s so much to say about odaat. like. it’s so funny. it makes me nearly cry every episode (and makes my mother actually cry every episode). the characters, god, the characters

like. alex is such a cute dumb kid (who’s smarter than he looks), penelope is so salty constantly and i love her but she’s genuinely so cool and such a good mom and i cry??? elena is so amazing like god she’s such a fuckin nerd but she’s also so salty (takes after her mom) and is literally the best????

and then there’s abuelita, whom i adore. like, god, rita moreno is SO cool and SUCH a great actress and has SUCH an amazing sense of comedic timing and GOD, i LOVE HER

can’t forget about syd and doc berkowitz, which like. okay first off the good doc. just. god i love the doc. he’s so sweet and such a genuinely good dude and he’s a bit of a coward at heart but that’s okay because he genuinely cares and does his best and god he’s just such an amazing character im !!!!! and then syd is such a dork and i love them and elena and god, it made me so happy to see not only an actual enby character on a big sitcom, but also just?? like??? it’s not forced but it’s still there??? like there’s one episode where one of the plots is just syd and elena trying to figure out what elena should call them, since neither of them are comfy using “girlfriend” for syd since they’re not a girl, and they finally agree on “significant other” and schneider imMEDIATELY says “dont you mean, SYDnificant other?” and then they use that for the REST OF THE SHOW IT”S SO CUTE OKAY

and finally, schneider. he might be my favourite character in the entire show (which is a damn hard list to pick from!!!), but he’s just. he’s so sweet, he and penelope have one of the absolute best male/female friendships i’ve ever seen (which! never! turns! romantic! ever!!!), he’s actually got surprising depths but he’s also like such a nice goofball that when they get revealed, it hurts, and he’s just this canadian dumbass (heyyyyy repreSENT) with the worst goddamn canadian accent sometimes and he’s a hipster and The Dumb Friend and the weird uncle all rolled into one and GOD, i love him so much

the good place and brooklyn 99

okay, i love these two both so, so much, but i’m lumping them together because a) they’re both mike schur shows with a similar sense of humour, that say gay rights, and with characters who’d definitely love each other if they met and b) my hand is getting tired from all this typing but i still have so much love to go around!!!!

okay so so SO! they’re both so good. they’re so fucking funny and amazing and i was immediately hooked on both of their pilots. their characters are all so genuine and flawed and fucking hysterical to watch, and the ships and friendships are all so amazing and pure and good and soft and they have their problems and they WORK THEM OUT HEALTHILY AND IT MAKES ME SO HAPPY OKAY!!!

god, i literally cannot overstate how much i adore these two shows. mike schur, you’re a wonderful, wonderful dude. thank you so much

many musicals (top faves include BOM, hamilton, legally blonde, chicago, matilda, and more!)

i’m putting the musicals together because while i do adore each and every one of them individually, i also just have great big deep-seated love of the art of musical theatre itself in general, ya feel?

like, as someone who’s been both performing and viewing them from a very young age, the sheer sense of utter joy they bring is almost unparalleled

not to be That Bitch who quotes musicals, but “and that hop in our hearts as the overture starts lets us know how lucky we are” might be the closest i’ve ever gotten to finding words to fit the feeling when the lights go down and the show begins. it’s simply phenomenal

the others series by anne bishop

okay, OKAY, if you haven’t read this series (first book called written in red – they have terrible titles but god, they’re worth it), then what are you doing with your life? like, not only is there the perfect logicality au to them (just sayin’), but god, it’s such an incredible series

the worldbbuilding is so cool and the characters are all great and god the ships are the damn hill i die on it’s got literally such a good “sort of enemies mostly just dislike each other to reluctant acquaintances to friends to lovers” ship and it deals with some serious issues rlly well and it’s got baby puppies!!!

like, they’re wolf puppies, but still, they are b a b e y

and finally (for now, at least), the mysterious benedict society, by trenton lee stewart

this book series was my childhood. i mean, there are so many other books i could be talking about right now that i utterly adore (the artemis fowl series springs to mind), but gosh, MBS just brings me such absolute joy to read that i just had to have it on here.

i’m not thinking straight at this point in the evening, but i just wanna say that i will never, not ever forget about reynie. about kate. about sticky. about constance. about rhonda and number two and milligan and miss perumal and my absolute son sq pedalian and, of course, i will never, never forget about mr benedict

it’s bright, and it’s bittersweet, and it’s beautiful.

and it’s good. simply, utterly, wonderfully good.

thank you for the ask, anon.

thank you.

8 notes · View notes

charmingturkeysandwich · 5 years

Text

On Series Finales

(I need to get this out of my head)

(I have so much to say about narrative structure vs. audience opinion)

People always have very strong opinions on series finales. Obviously. It’s the culmination of years of investment in something. Because of this you’re never going to make 100% of people happy. Each of us is invested for different reasons; we connect with different characters. What we “like” is always going to differ.

That doesn’t mean that calling something a “bad” finale is all about taste or who you ship or stan or what have you. Sometimes the episode simply fails the narrative it built. Being disappointed in something because of a narrative failure can’t be written off as “you just wanted a happy ending and that was never going to happen.” Especially with modern dramas, bittersweet is the happiest we can really hope for. Even comedies usually have some painful episodes leading to the end. I don’t think anyone is expecting TV shows these days to end like Disney movies. Hell, Disney movies sometimes don’t end like Disney movies anymore.

Anyway, enough babbling. Here’s the thing: in fiction - as in life - expectations are everything. Many writing choices the writers, directors, and producers make will set up these expectations. When they’re not met, people are cranky. And for valid reasons.

1. Where you start a story is important.

An often ridiculed series finale is How I Met Your Mother. The pilot focuses on Ted falling immediately in love with Robin. And the “twist” is all “oh, that’s not your mom; that’s Aunt Robin!” But there’s a reason it started there. Yes, technically, you can argue the reason is because Ted ran into the mother at Robin’s wedding, so meeting Robin was important. But they chose to continue to focus on Robin/Ted the whole fucking series. So technically it made sense narratively for him to come back to her in the end. Somewhere along the way I tweeted the show and said it should be called How I Met Your Aunt Robin, because it truly was more about her than the mother. So, yes, people were pissed when she died and it was “all for nothing.” But despite the title... it was never really her story. So in this way, I defend the ending. It fit the story that they told. They began with Robin. They continued to focus on Robin. Why wouldn’t he “end up with” Robin?

2. Pacing matters - and heavily influences expectations

In How I Met Your Mother, you have a day-to-day, usual kind of sitcom for 7 seasons. Then all of a sudden, a 48-hour span of time is spread out for an entire season! This was jarring and I found it to be tedious. Jack Bauer is not here; the world is not at risk. We do not need a minute by minute account of these two days. In this way, I think the whole last season is a disappointment.

It also served to adjust our expectations. OK I just watched 20 episodes of how much Barney loves Robin - this must mean something. NOPE! Divorced in one episode. An episode, mind you, where they flew through years of their lives. After drawing out two days. For a whole season. They put a couple decades in, like, a half hour. In this way, How I Met Your Mother failed narratively. The pacing sucked and it made us expect something different from the finale. In this regard, I fucking hated that show and want my time back.

Pacing is super important to Game of Thrones, AKA the reason I can’t get series finale essays from running through my head. You’re set up in a world that is medieval-esque. There are no airplanes and Ubers and the magic doesn’t seem to have evolved into teleportation or the like. Everything was slow in the beginning, for many seasons. Conversations were at the forefront. It was a social game. It was about the people, first and foremost, even though the stupid sword-y chair was important, too. That was the plot. Likewise, in the beginning, people weren’t protected by plot armor. Remember, GoT so fantastically shattered our collective expectations for a show, but in the most organic, realistic way. We were carrying the expectations of other dramas with us and projecting them on this show, assuming Ned was “safe” because he was our lens - at least, more so than anyone else. He was the protagonist! He might be tortured, but he surely wasn’t going to be beheaded. Wrong! He was. That and its fallout allowed us as viewers to fully commit to a whole new set of expectations.

But then as time went on, travel just kind of... happened. Things that should have taken a whole season happened in a scene! And with no kind of acknowledgement. Additionally, that initial slowness built us up to have HUGE payoffs. Think of all the tiny things that led to the disaster/amazing episode that included the Red Wedding. They built us up and they met that slow burn hype. In later seasons, they have ridiculous outward hype over the white walkers and Night King, over confrontations between Cercei and her potential killers (Jamie, Arya, etc.) The pacing led us to believe that these things would conclude in a deep and meaningful way that justifies the time we spend watching and theorizing on our own. When you suddenly hit fast forward through the good stuff, it’s jarring! And you lose character development.

And, oh, the plot armor thing. We were led to believe this show wasn’t like other shows. No one was safe. So someone please explain to me how exactly half (or more) of the named characters survived the battle with the undead?! Sam was basically crying in a pile of bodies. Jon was hiding behind a rock from the Ice Dragon who had just blue-flamed down a giant fucking wall. Brienne and Jamie had been on the front lines of that second wave. But their (and others’) plot armor was simply too strong. We were betrayed by the “new” expectations that I, for one, deeply respected. Gore is not my thing - I often had to look away and hum through certain scenes over the seasons - but to know that there were always consequences and that the stakes were always high and unpredictable... that’s what made this titty-fest bloodbath worth it! Take away its uniqueness from all other shows, and you’re just left with some really violent almost-porn.

3. We watch your show for characters, not shock value

OK, yes, some people enjoy the big reveals and that’s kind of why they signed up to begin with. My brother cannot get over some of the CGI scenes and battles, so I get it. But for the most part, every story is rooted in the characters. You could take the most exciting story on the planet, in the most intricate world, but if you put boring ass people in it, no one will care. We’re invested in the characters and we want them to be consistent. And if they change... well they better change slowly, the way that actual people usually do. Redemption arcs are common in fiction - more common than in real life, sadly - and they can really pay off. As can whatever you call the opposite of that. Falls from grace? I’m not sure. Either way - slow is key here. Drop hints. Build it into their character. It’s a gruesome comparison, but if a frog jumps into boiling water, he jumps back out; if he’s in cool water and you gradually heat it up he will eventually boil to death. This is how falls from grace should occur. The character doesn’t just jump into boiling water. It doesn’t hold up.

Dany is obviously the big one here. I’m not arguing that it would be possible for her to become the Mad Queen and torch King’s Landing. But I’m saying that maybe at least a time or two before her little tolling bells meltdown we should see her saying “fuck the innocent people.” We should have seen her violence spreading beyond people who deserved it. The writers should have presented us with more moments that signaled she cared more about power than actually breaking the wheel. Her character was too consistent for too long (go back to pacing and expectations and where the story began) for her to have a turn like that and for it to be satisfying and accepted.

Similarly, Jamie’s abandoned redemption arc didn’t make sense to me. Drop us some hints that he’s still hateful above all else, maybe, before you have him just up and revert at the mention of Cercei dying... a thing he clearly had to realize was coming well before that moment.

There were complaints about this same thing with Barney from HIMYM, along the lines of “seriously we sat through a season of him redeeming himself (and truly, he started before that) just to watch him go back to banging any under 30 with daddy issues an episode later?” Honestly, that one makes a little more sense. He was problematic even at his best! And they did show that he tried to not be that guy - he and Robin were married for a year or two (offscreen, of course) before the divorce. The biggest problem with HIMYM wasn’t the characters - it was the pacing! It changed our expectations and left many disappointed.

And finally, For God’s sake you don’t always need a crazy twist.

And maybe this falls to the producers and not the writers. They want viewers. They want coverage. They want listicles on Buzzfeed. And both HIMYM and GoT got them! But at what cost? The reason we didn’t get any lead up to Dany turning is because they wanted to shock us. The reason that they didn’t have some of the strongest theories come true is because they wanted to shock us. Shock has been used well in this series to this point. Masterfully, even! But this wasn’t masterful. This was the showrunners playing God instead of letting things happen organically. Some twists make sense after you look back and notice the buried hints. Some twists make sense because there were things that you as the audience didn’t know yet. But other twists are only shocking because they’re out of character, unrealistic, or just plain dumb. We didn’t get much after the twists except some speeches that honestly sounded like the showrunners themselves speaking to defend their choices. Awkward.

Another series finale that disappointed many fans with its twist was Lost. I never watched, but, I mean, if I watched a whole series just to have it never have been real, I would have been pissed. I was terrified that OUaT was going to do that - that in the finale we’d find out it had all been a dream little Emma was having at a group home or some shit. Fans are invested in long-running series - especially those with supernatural/sci-fi words - and to pull the rug out from under them like that is just... rude. And massively disappointing. You mean we speculated ourselves to death for nothing?!

What people want from a series finale is an ending of this chapter of the characters’ lives that honors the past and acknowledges the future. There’s a reason that series finales often do something to bring it “back to the beginning.” It’s satisfying! I love that the last thing that we saw the Friends do is go get coffee together. That’s how it started! But after that coffee, they were off to the next part of their lives. I love when they get a little self-aware/meta in the last episode, like when Cory says, “Boy Meets World, now I get it.” And then he and Topanga were moving to New York City. Back to the beginning/the roots... but also going somewhere new.

My point in all this is simple: usually when there’s a massive uproar over a series finale, it’s not just petty people being mad their fave didn’t get the ending they wanted. It’s usually a sign of a problem in the writing, whether it be the writing of that last episode or of the series in general.

Everyone’s opinions are valid and their feelings are real. But when the writing is bad/lazy/shoddy/too focused on a few scenes they’d clearly imagined before writing the finale/clearly leaving certain plot holes or opportunities for spinoffs even when it doesn’t necessarily make sense... people notice.

(And, oh, do they let you know it.)

#series finales #series finale meta #game of thrones #how i met your mother #lost #keisha has writing degrees #and hates when people don't recognize the problems in the writing #and instead just get pissy about whether people loved or hated something #flawed is flawed #it's ok to like bad writing #we all like what we like #but don't act like it wasn't written poorly #or that people don't have a reason to be mad #i mean #not PETITION FOR A REDO mad #that's stupid #fanfiction friends #read it write it live it

5 notes · View notes

welllpthisishappening · 5 years

Text

Older Now, But Not Done Hoping (2/3)

Killian Jones has lost his festive spirit. It’s been forcibly removed by corporate America and private developers and how much alcohol the customers at his bar drink every night. Although, he supposes, that means he’s making a profit, but that also feels a little Scrooge-esque and he doesn’t have time for visits from ghosts.

Because he’s suddenly got a whole schedule in front of him, written out and planned by his roommate. To reclaim their mutual and collective festivity. Together. Oh, and he’s in love with her. At Christmas. And all the time, really.

This is going to be great.

Rating: Teen Word Count: 9K and change. Lots of adjectives. Lots of New York. AN: Back again with more words and more pining and more New York at Christmas. Like. A lot of New York at Christmas. You really need an appointment with Santa at Macy’s in Herald Square. This is still for @xellewoods and still because of @cssecretsanta2k18. Merry Christmas Eve, internet!

Also on Ao3 if that’s how you roll.

He’s never actually been to hell, but Killian assumes if he were to ever visit, it would be very similar to standing in the middle of Times Square on a Saturday in December.

Three different tourists have already run into him. One with a particularly aggressive shopping bag.

There is a person taking pictures of...something half an inch in front of him. They’re also standing on his left toe. But Emma is also holding on tightly to his right hand, so Killian figures that evens it out.

Or something.

It’s a few days after they first decided to do this – recapturing their festivity and Emma has been nothing if not a complete force for Christmas goodness. There have been cookies baking almost constantly in their less-than-impressive oven all week, a constant scent of sugar hanging in the air that Killian is certain is going to, eventually, do some serious damage to his cholesterol levels, She keeps bringing the cookies into the bar.

The regulars have started making requests. There were some questions about some kind of chocolate wreath-shaped thing that had filling and Emma had spent the next two hours crouched over her phone doing research.

There’s been Christmas music playing on loop whenever he wakes up as well, the quiet hum of Michael Buble’s voice seemingly working its way into Killian’s subconscious, and the list of tourist traps they’re getting ready to traipse to this afternoon has been hanging on the refrigerator door since Tuesday.

And, honestly, from the outside looking in, this is not a bad thing. This is a very nice, very festive thing. But from the inside looking out, it’s also kind of a worrisome thing because Killian cannot remember the last time Emma looked up a recipe for anything, let alone some random international dessert, and he’d spent those same two hours casting meaningful glances Will’s direction.

He’d been no help at all.

Figured.

So Killian is only a little concerned that this is all some great, big coping device and a distraction and he knows the last place to broach that particular subject is the middle of Times Square with a tourist resting most of his weight on his left foot, but there’s this knot in the pit of his stomach that hasn’t gone away in days and maybe won’t ever go away and he’s not entirely sure what he would have done if something had happened to her.

Or what will happen if Robert whatever-his-last-name-is calls his phone again. He’s called six times in the last four days. His assistant has called ten times more. Killian is very seriously considering throwing his phone up Broadway at some point this afternoon.

Maybe he’s just eaten too many cookies.

Emma is also questionably good at baking, it seems.

That figures too.

“Hey,” Emma says, tugging lightly on his hand. Neither one of them are wearing gloves. “You want to walk while you ponder whatever serious thoughts you’re pondering right now?” “Who says I’m pondering anything? Serious or otherwise?” “Your thought face.” Killian chokes on air that doesn’t smell like garbage anymore, but does, somehow, smell kind of smoky and there’s something coming up from the vent on the other side of the block. The tourist in front of him does not appreciate whatever undignified sound he makes, glancing over his shoulder at him with a look that could probably melt snow into disgusting sidewalk slush.

“Oh my God,” Killian mumbles, and this is not the bright, festive outlook he promised Emma he’d bring when she handed him a mug of coffee that morning. “You are not part of this conversation. Just keep walking. Right across the street.” The tourist blinks. And does not walk.

Killian can feel his phone buzzing in his pocket.

“Do you know how to get to Rockefeller Center? The one with the ice skating rink, I mean.”

Killian glances around to make sure there aren’t any hidden cameras. There aren’t. Just the normal cameras and traffic cameras and, God, there are a lot of very obvious cameras in the middle of Times Square.

He supposes that’s a good thing. Security. Or something. And no one getting shot. God.

The tourist waits expectantly for an answer, ignoring the small crowd that is forming behind them because they all refuse to walk across 44th Street in a timely fashion.

“Wait, what?” Killian asks, brain not quite ready for the specifics of the question. He’s half positive he’s being Punk’d. He’s not sure Punk’d is a thing anymore.

“The Center with the ice skating,” the tourist repeats. He shifts the bags in his hands, knocking one with an I Love NY emblem against Killian’s calf. Emma is honestly doing a God awful job of not laughing, although he’s fairly certain she’s not laughing at the tourist.

Killian’s definitely the jerk in this situation.

“You’re going the right way up,” she answers, twisting against Killian’s side to block another plastic bag strike. Or maybe just move closer to him. He really hopes for the second one. His phone has stopped buzzing. “Five more blocks to 49th, but then you’ve got to head back East. Over towards 5th Ave.” “Which way is East?” Killian resists the urge to shout slightly dated comedy routines in a tourist’s face. He assumes that was not on the list of how to reclaim their festivity 101. He also assumes that was not the name for the day.

Emma would have come up with a better name.

“That way,” Emma says, nodding towards her right. “Two blocks over towards 5th Ave.” “Ah, technically three, right?” Killian asks. He winces when he realizes he’s joined the conversation, squeezing Emma’s hand slightly in apology.

“Seven minus five is two. That is like...the most basic math in the world.” “I’m not disagreeing with that, love. I’m just saying,” he waves his free arm towards Broadway. “That’s also a street. So that should be three blocks.” “It’s, like, three feet of space.” “Still counts as a street.” Emma shakes her head. The tourist looks very confused. People are moving around them now. There are so many honking cars. “No, no, no,” she chants, and this probably shouldn’t be enjoyable. It’s definitely not on the list. “That’s ridiculous.” “The street is right there, Swan. Look that guy almost got run over walking across it.” “Happy Holidays.” “I’m just saying,” Killian continues, almost entirely forgetting about the tourist and his bags and whatever desire he possesses to pay a ridiculous amount of money to go ice skating. “That’s a street and that should be included in a block.” “Nope.” “A block is a measure of street to street.” “That makes no sense,” Emma argues. She’s waving her other hand now too, strands of hair hitting against her cheeks and chin when she keeps shaking her head. Killian resists the urge to run his fingers through it.

That, however, would require him to let go of her hand, so…

“A city block is not a set measurement,” Killian says. “Think about 14th Street in between 6th and 7th Ave. It’s the longest block in the world.” “That is only because you think it is. Manhattan is a grid system.” Killian opens his mouth to object to that, or possibly quote some more stand-up routines, but Emma’s eyes narrow and he has to bite his tongue to stop himself from laughing too loudly. “Most of Manhattan is a grid system,” Emma amends, and he can’t help but smile. “City blocks should be consistent. And the minimal amount of space between 7th Avenue and Broadway right here should not count as a block. It’s, like, seriously a few feet.” “And also not part of the grid.” “What?” “Not part of the grid,” Killian repeats, smile widening.

He’s not sure when this started, exactly, the almost too obvious attempts to poke each other’s even more obvious buttons, but it may honestly have started the first time they met and argued about something he also can’t remember. It might have been hockey.

It’s an unspoken kind of game now, an easy rhythm to it that always seems to time up with his pulse and the slightly erratic way Emma makes his heart beat. It’s fun.

They may be scandalizing the tourist.

Emma scowls, trying to tug her hand out of his grip so she can cross her arms over her chest. He doesn’t let her move. “How do you figure?” “Broadway doesn’t run north and south,” Killian answers. “It goes sort of diagonal across the city. You can’t have diagonal on a grid.” His smile turns into a grin – wide and winning as soon as Emma huffs out a breath of frustration through her teeth. She twists her lips, jaw clenching and eyes narrowing and it probably isn’t supposed to be attractive, but Killian is mostly attracted to every single thing she does, so he’s not entirely surprised by it.

“Did I win?” Killian asks. “Three blocks?” “That is stupid.” “That’s not an answer, love.” “Literally the most stupid thing I have ever heard. Broadway shouldn’t count at all, then! In anything! It shouldn’t even be a street.” “It’s definitely a street. Look there are cars on it right now. I think this means I won and you just don’t want to admit it. What do I win?” “Shut up.” “Still not an answer,” he mutters, moving into her space with practiced ease and clicking his tongue in reproach when she swats at his chest. “Now, Swan, that’s hardly festive.” Emma sticks her tongue out.

The game, it seems, usually dissolves into something that some may consider flirting.

Killian doesn’t. Of course. Because he’s the world’s biggest idiot.

“You get nothing,” Emma says. “You lose. Good--”

“--Day, sir,” he finishes, the muscles in his face starting to ache from standing in the cold with a very confused tourist starting at them and smiling at Emma. “Was it on TV? Is that why that just happened?” “We should be monetizing your mind reading powers. I mean we’re in Times Square. Only seems right, huh?”

Killian chuckles, pressing a kiss to her hair and that’s been happening more in the last week, but he’s managed to rationalize it on the lingering hint of gunshots mixing in the air with the sugar and over-confident real estate developers.

Emma’s never actually told him to stop either.

“Is Willy Wonka a Christmas movie?” Killian asks, Emma shrugging in response. “That’s like...aren’t the kids supposed to represent the seven deadly sins or something?” “Were there seven kids?” “No, right? Charlie and Violet and Mike TV and the chocolate kid.” “The chocolate kid? Augustus?” Emma shrugs again. “I’m missing someone aren’t I? There’s one more kid.” “I’m not the one who watched it on TV recently enough to quote it,” Killian points out. “That can’t possibly be considered a Christmas movie. That’s not festive at all, it’s--”

“--You’re missing Veruca,” the tourist interrupts, and God Killian’s totally forgotten about the tourist. “Also agreed on the festiveness. I have no idea what the hell you were talking about with the blocks, but thanks for the directions. You both are incredibly cute.” He nods once, a tight smile and then he’s gone, a flash of bags and one side of his scarf hanging over his back.

Neither Emma nor Killian move.

A different tourist runs into them.

“I can’t believe we forgot Veruca,” Emma mumbles, barely audible over the rush of another push of pedestrians. “She’s the only one who gets a song.” “Not a Christmas song, though.” “That’s a very good point.” “I’m here to make those.” She hums, twisting again and, somehow, finding a few inches of a space she hadn’t been previously occupying which is why Killian can feel, with almost startling clarity, how quickly her body tenses when a car honks.

Emma’s breath catches, shoulders going tight and the arm that had been hanging at her side flies around Killian’s middle. She squeezes tightly, burying her head against his jacket and he’s only a little worried she’s going to cut her cheek on his zipper.

She doesn’t shake, still, but Killian can’t actually feel her inhale either and he’s not entirely sure what to do.

He swallows down the rather large wad of whatever that’s returned to the back of his throat, shifting his weight so he can work his own arm around her, tracing mindless patterns against her back and the ends of her hair.

At some point, some part of his mind decides to start mumbling words against her, quiet promises and guarantees he’s got no business making – it’s fine and nothing’s happening, love and I’m right here, Emma. She tightens her hold on his middle, almost the wrong side of painful, particularly when his phone starts to make that obnoxious buzzing sound again.

“Is your phone ringing?” Emma asks, not quite able to mask the sniffle when she inhales again.

Killian nods. “Incessantly it seems.” “Should you be acknowledging that?” “No.” “Is it Scarlet?” “No.” Emma leans back, an appraising look on her face. “Ok,” she says slowly. “I’m not...actually trying to pry, but apparently we’re doing this not telling each other stuff now and--” She grits her teeth when Killian’s eyes widen. “Damn, that’s not what I meant. I just…” “I know, Swan,” Killian promises. “And it wasn’t an intentional secret, more a biding my time secret until I figured out a way that it wouldn’t be an issue.” “And have you?” He shakes his head, disappointment slinking down his spine and threatening to freeze him to the spot. They could probably market that in Times Square, honestly. “No, nothing. And Scarlet said the pita people are a little annoyed with us now because Gold’s offering more money and threatening to get the city involved and--” “--Can he do that?” “I have no idea, which is part of my problem, honestly. But I’ve also got an actual business to run still and try to make money at so I haven’t been able to devote a ton of time to research.”

“Plus reclaiming your festivity,” Emma adds, voice dropping a hint in a way that is far too telling because they spend far too much time together and she’s definitely been using Christmas cookies as some kind of emotional buffer.

That tourist totally thought they were a couple.

God, Killian hates when Will is right. It’s so annoying.

“That’s something I was more than willing to dedicate several days to if I needed,” Killian says. He makes a face – a twist of eyebrows that always manages to get Emma’s lips to twitch slightly, the most delicious kind of festive themed torture.

“I think Scarlet would kill you. I already told him I’d bake him some kind of cookie loaf thing his mom used to make when he was a kid to make up for this.”

The ice at the base of Killian’s spine melts immediately, only to turn into fireworks and hope and so much goddamn want he can’t understand how it’s not just pouring out of every single one of his pores. Emma smiles. “You want some help? When you make it, I mean.” “I was thinking about doing it when we get home. Then he can eat it while he complains about how bad American football is tomorrow and wax poetic about the Premier League or whatever it is he watches.”

“The Netherlands National team.” “Is that weird?” “I think his mom went to Amsterdam once,” Killian reasons. “It’s definitely a family thing. What if we bake whatever cookie loaf whatever in wooden shoes. That’s festive, right?” “I think that may be a stereotype honestly.” He makes a dismissive noise in the back of his throat – another attempt to get Emma to smile that may, honestly, be just flirting. He is, admittedly, still having a difficult time hearing her call the apartment they have shared for literal years as home.

“If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you were trying to antagonize him on purpose,” Emma says, stabbing a finger into his jacket. They’ve finally started moving again, walking up 7th Ave with the throngs of tourists and flustered retail workers and Killian has absolutely no idea where their destination is.

“Would I do that?” “I think you are, currently.” “Nah,” Killian says, but it sounds exactly like the lie it is and he realizes where they’re heading. Towards that line wrapped around the corner of the block, shivering families and over-excited kids and Emma when her head falls against his shoulder.

“Damn,” she breathes. “I didn’t think this place got a line anymore. What year is it?” “It’s Saturday.” “Damn.” Killian hums in agreement because he can’t quite understand why anyone in their right mind would stand in line to get into the goddamn Hershey’s store. It’s a tiny space and it probably smells even more sugary than their apartment, the scent wafting onto the sidewalk every time someone opens up the door.

“How much do you think this door person gets an hour to direct this line?” Emma murmurs, not lifting her head up.

“Not nearly enough.” “Yeah, that’s true. Damn. Seriously. I know I just keep saying that, but David said Ruth wanted this one specific kind of hot chocolate.” “Oh, is that why we’re here?” Emma makes a noise that might be agreement or the growing sense of frustration at their inability to start the plan on the right foot. “It has to be Hershey’s?”

“So David claims.” “That is oddly specific.” “I’m just the messenger.” “It’s been appropriately delivered,” Killian says. He lets his cheek rest against the top of her hair, staring at the door to the Hershey store as it keeps swinging open and the, very likely underpaid, door attendant tries to explain why you can’t go in quite yet to every person who asks him. “What about M&M hot chocolate? That’s like…” “Close?” Emma suggests.

“Like 7th Avenue and Broadway on 44th Street.”

It gets the laugh he was hoping for and the smile he was only slightly determined to work out of her, a breath of fresh air and brightness that would rival every light in Times Square in several hours. He’s thinking in metaphors now.

“Yeah,” Emma agrees. “Exactly like that. Alright, well we’re oh-for-one. It can only get better from here, right?” “That’s definitely the spirit, love.”

She nods once, a quick smile and even quicker tug to the end of the scarf she’d totally forced him to wear that morning, before grabbing his hand again and tugging him towards the M&M store on the other side of the street.

It’s a bigger store than its Hershey counterpart – several floors and more space between shelves and while there are still plenty of people crammed inside, it’s not impossible to breathe as soon as they try to move. Emma doesn’t let go of Killian’s hand. Or the the other way around. He honestly could not care less, just lets her direct them forward and it takes half a second to realize she’s humming along with the Christmas music they’re playing.

And Killian’s laugh seems to almost fall out of him, quiet and a little surprised because, even after all these years, he’s a little surprised by how easy it is to remember how much he loves her. She keeps humming, head moving with the beat every now and then until the music shifts and stops and--

“God, what the hell is that?” Emma asks sharply as a painfully cheery voice announces it’s time for our hourly holiday giveaway over the PA system. “They give away something every hour?” “I don’t think they’re exactly lacking for funds here, Swan.” “You’re a miser.” “No, no, Scrooge never would have made Jacob Marley baked goods when he got home later.” “You are helping. You’re not making them and--wait, wait, I know the answer to that question!” He hadn’t heard the question. It clearly doesn’t matter though, because Emma is moving and Killian’s got no choice to follow her, twisting around displays and oversized versions of the M&Ms on the TV commercials and there’s a glint in her eyes that he hasn’t seen in forever as soon as they skid to a stop on the side of the cash registers.

“Hi,” she says brightly to a polo-wearing worker who only looks a little stunned by the enthusiasm in front of her. “I know the answer to your trivia, giveaway thing.” The theme of the day may actually be both Emma and Killian overwhelming strangers across Midtown Manhattan.

The girl’s eyes dart across Emma’s face, likely looking for signs of impending insanity because he can only imagine the kind of people who come into the M&M store shouting about things throughout December, but she doesn’t appear to find anything entirely wrong and her answering smile is only a little tremulous and customer service appropriate.

“You know what other Christmas song was referenced in Christmas (Baby please come home)? By Michael Bublé?” “Well, I mean all of them. The lyrics don’t change just because Bublé is or isn’t singing it. Better with him, but…” Emma shrugs and Killian genuinely isn’t sure whether to laugh or kiss her or possibly just shout that he’d very much like to spend the rest of his life scandalizing M&M store workers with Christmas knowledge for the rest of their lives. “Everything’s better with Bublé at Christmas, right?” Emma continues, and the worker nods slowly. “Anyway the answer is Deck the Halls.”

“That’s right,” the worker says. Her name is Aurora. It says so on the tag on her shirt.

“Yeah, I know.”

Killian ducks his head, moving it directly into Emma’s hair, which is either the greatest or worst idea he’s ever had, but he’s also having a difficult time staying upright while laughing so hard. Aurora looks even more stunned.

“Ok,” she says, more forced customer service voice as she leans back behind the register to grab a pre-filled bag of red and green M&Ms off the nearest shelf. “So, uh...congrats on your extensive holiday knowledge and opinions on Michael Bublé.” “Who doesn’t like Michael Bublé?” Emma counters. She takes the bag, a quiet noise because it’s obviously heavier than she expected. Killian is feeling more festive already. He didn’t know the answer to the trivia question. “Also, thanks. Do you guys sell hot chocolate? You know fancy hot chocolate? That could be easily passed off as hot chocolate made by Hershey?” “There’s a Hershey store on the other side of the--” “--We weren’t really big on waiting in the line,” Killian explains, Aurora’s eyebrows jumping when he joins the conversation.

“Ah, well, unfortunately no. Unless you’re looking for Dove chocolate hot chocolate.” Emma shakes her head. “M&M owns Dove chocolate too?” “Mars does. And, like, every gum brand you can think of. Although I’m pretty partial to Juicy Fruit. And Uncle Ben’s rice.” “Wow,” Emma muses, shifting the candy into the crook of her elbow. “That is...something huh? Corporate. That's the word I was looking for. It’s corporate.” Aurora looks incredibly confused. That’s fair. But Killian can hear the hint of something on the edge of Emma’s voice, a flash of disappointment that does not belong in this day or this month or this holiday and at some point he really will stop pressing kisses to her temple.

Probably when his stomach unclenches.

“C’mon, love,” he says, letting go of her hand so he can wrap his arm around her shoulders instead. “I bet there’s super fancy hot chocolate in Bryant Park.” That’s the next stop on her list. She smiles.

And they end up giving the M&Ms to the door man at the Hershey store – some kind of up yours to corporate America that probably doesn’t belong at Christmas either, but Phillip, his name is Phillip it says so on his name tag, mumbles something like oh my God, thank you, I never have enough time to eat on my 15 and promises not to brandish competitive merchandise. They tell him the bag was made by Aurora in the M&M store who really likes Juicy Fruit gum.

He beams at them.

It only takes a few minutes to get to Bryant Park, twisting their way between tourists and slow-moving cars in Times Square and both of them exhale sharply as soon as their feet land on the 6th Avenue. That, of course, only lasts as long as it takes to get across 6th Avenue and the sea of humanity waiting for them in Bryant Park is only a little intimidating.

“If I just keep mumbling damn under my breath all day is that going to get super annoying and repetitive?” Emma asks.

Killian shakes his head. “Depends on your voice inflection. Throw in some accents too. It’ll sound like a new word every single time.” “That’s the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard.” “Did you not hear yourself say you wanted to go ice skating before?”

“Maybe we’re both secretly fantastic ice skaters and we’re just missing our potential. This is our moment. Carpe diem or whatever.” “You know usually people leave off the whatever part of carpe diem and I think the whole phrase really suffers because of it. Not nearly as inspiring.”

Emma scoffs, but there’s still a smile on her face and she pulls herself closer to him when he moves his eyebrows. “You think you’re very charming don’t you?” “Only around you.” It’s not actually an admission, but it kind of feels like one and Killian digs his teeth into the side of his tongue. To stay grounded. Or whatever. Emma, however, doesn’t seem troubled, just presses up on her toes and rests a freezing cold hand against his cheek.

“I’ll take it,” she says. “C’mon. We’ve got to rent skates.”

Skating, it turns out, is much more difficult than Killian expected to be. The rink itself isn’t particularly crowded, but ice, by its very nature, is particularly slippery and neither he nor Emma seem capable of finding their stride.

He hopes that isn’t a sign.

“Oh my God, no, you’re going too quickly,” Emma says, breathless and a little flushed. That may be a sign.

“Swan, we literally cannot be going any slower. We’re not even moving.” “Too quick.” Killian chuckles, but the sound turns into a groan when Emma’s skate skids underneath her, sending her crashing into his chest. “Oh shit, this was a mistake,” she moans. “Whose idea was this? This is not festive at all.” “Your idea, love.” “Idiot.” He’s back to laughing and the security guard with perfect skating form, who probably makes a bit more than either Phillip or Aurora, keeps glancing at them. Because they aren’t moving. And haven’t in some time.

“That’s incredibly untrue,” Killian says, leaning back slightly. It’s a mistake – they both shake and wobble, baited breath and wide eyes with only the fear of becoming some viral sensation keeping them upright.

There are a lot of phone in Bryant Park. And Christmas music. He’s fairly positive this same song has been playing on a loop for the last thirty-three and a half minutes.

“You’re an adrenaline junkie, aren’t you?” Killian presses, and the ice under him suddenly feels thinner. Metaphorically. Emma’s eyes flash, a warning there. He ignores it. “C’mon Jones, you’ll love it. It’s a famous roller coaster. On the Travel Channel all the time. Everyone has to go on it once in their life. Just ignore the negative effects the g-forces will have on your internal organs.” Emma’s nose twitches. “I never said that part. And if that was supposed to sound like my voice, it was absolutely atrocious.” “Eh, I’m working on the fly here,” Killian grins.

“Well the least you could do is quote me correctly. Don’t you actually remember what I said?” “Perfectly.” He doesn’t shout the word, although the security guard definitely looks up like he did. That may be because it’s the truest truth Killian has ever spoken. “You said you didn’t want to ride with some stranger if I wimped out. Mary Margaret and David were probably already making out in line.” “They totally were.” “Interrupting,” Killian mumbles, Emma sticking her tongue out in response. “Anyway, they were off being disgusting and you said I had to ride and--” He has to take a deep breath, the ice feeling like it’s melting a bit under him, but that may just be because Emma's fingers are warm when they lace through his.

“I told you that if you freaked, you could just hold onto me,” Emma finishes. “Because I wasn’t going anywhere and you made a joke about Isaac Newton.” That was timely.” “Yuh huh. Ok, we can go slightly faster on the ice if you absolutely do not let go.”

Killian nods, tugging Emma’s hand up to brush his lips over her knuckles. “One foot in front of the other.”

They push off.

And for, at least, sixteen full seconds Killian is certain this is going to work. They’re gliding and haven’t sustained any lasting injuries and Emma’s hand feels impossibly wonderful in his. It’s good. Great, even. Festive, for sure.

That is, of course, until an alarm blares somewhere and the kid pushing a wooden sled thing shaped like a tree to help him keep his balance totally loses his balance.

Emma yelps, Killian growling a wholly inappropriate curse with a now-crying kid in such close proximity. It’s less good then. Because then they’re a mess of limbs and Emma’s hair in his face and ice is incredibly painful when they’re both landing on top of it with a distinct lack of grace.

Neither one of them lets go of the other’s hand.

“Those g-forces were more aggressive than I expected,” Killian mutters once he gets some oxygen back into his lungs and a bit of feeling back into his right leg. The words are mostly pressed into Emma’s cheek though, half her body still draped over his and the laugh that flies out of her is questionably loud.

“That’s not even funny.” “You’re laughing!” “No, this is not laughter--” Emma’s body shakes when she cuts herself off, twisting in a way that is entirely unfair when they are still so decidedly in public, and Killian isn’t entirely prepared for the look on her face. It makes his heart thud erratically in his chest and his vision swims slightly, but that may just be because of the distinct lack of blood flow he’s getting to several different limbs at this point.

“Thank you,” Emma finishes. He doesn’t expect that.

“What?” “Thank you. For...well, for going along with this festive nonsense and I know Scarlet was pissed you weren’t going to be there later--” “--He can deal with it. It’s probably one of the last Saturdays he’ll have to be behind the bar anyway, so you know, relatively speaking.” “I really don’t think that’s true.” Killian arches an eyebrow. “No?” “No,” Emma says, and there’s no way to doubt the certainty in her voice. The same certainty that knew he’d enjoy the goddamn roller coaster and that they should definitely go on the roller coaster three more times while David and Mary Margaret did something disgustingly romantic on the other side of the park.

That may be the biggest sign of them all.

Killian wonders if that’s what they actually tripped over.

“No,” Emma says again, fingers drifting back to his chest and the zipper hanging underneath his scarf. He’s definitely not counting the number of times her fingers drift. Only a crazy person would do that. “This is--Christmas is supposed to be good, right?” “I’m fairly certain those are the rules, yes.” “Then this is going to be good and fine and--” “--Festive.”

She beams. And for another few seconds, not quite sixteen because nothing can ever be normal or consistent, Killian is positive he’s going to duck his head and kiss her. Right there on the goddamn ice in Bryant Park. He’s half an inch away from doing it, the glint in her eyes doing something specific to his cognizant reasoning and ability to breathe and Emma’s fingers are still toying with metal and fabric and, if put under oath and asked, he would guarantee she tilts her head up.

Towards him.

“Yeah,” she breathes. “Exactly that. That’s--” “--I’m going to have to ask both of you to get off the ice.”

Emma’s eyes flutter shut, head dropping onto Killian’s shoulder and he’s probably going to limp for the rest of the afternoon. That may make the rest of the schedule difficult. Plus the whole kissing thing.

He ignores that part.

The security guards stares at them expectantly when neither one of them makes a move to stand up. “Now,” he says. “Unless you’d like to do some single-hand combat with the zamboni.”

Emma’s body shakes again and Killian isn’t sure what noise he makes, but it doesn’t sound human and kind of hurts his throat on the way out. “That’s definitely a new angle for the Greatest Story Ever Told,” he mumbles, nudging Emma up and they both slip and slide and glare at the security guard in equal measure.

The zamboni does not appear to be moving.

“Who does that make us, exactly?” she asks, arms flailing slightly to keep her balance. They could not be farther away from the opening in the boards. “Different variations of the Little Drummer Boy?” “Well you do know all the words to every Christmas song ever written, Swan.” He does it, only partially, to get that very specific flush on her face – but that partial amount may honestly be, like, ninety-seven and half percent and Killian barely hears the security guard clear his throat. “Not all of them,” Emma grumbles. “Just, you know. Some of them. A normal amount. People know these things. Maybe you’re the weird one.” “Yuh huh.” She sticks her tongue out again, glancing at the security guard. “In that one song. The guy from Tennessee. Do you know where he was heading?" “Pennsylvania and some homemade pumpkin pie,” the security guard responds. He doesn’t smile, not entirely, but his lips quirk just a bit and the zamboni is still on the other side of the ice. “That’s basic Christmas song knowledge, ma’am.”

Emma makes a sound that will probably echo in between Killian’s ears until New Year’s and possibly the rest of his life – joyful and festive and he hopes the smile on her face imprints itself on his brain because he can’t imagine a world where he doesn’t remember every single bit of that very particular smile.

Probably to continue to pine for his roommate.

And her knowledge of Christmas song lyrics. But mostly her. Just. In general.

“That’s what I’m saying,” Emma continues, working her way against Killian’s side as the security guard does his very best to usher them off the ice and away from the slowest-moving zamboni in the history of the world. “Thank you for proving my point. You’ve done a very good Christmas thing here.”

“It’s been my pleasure ma’am, but if we’re finished discussing slightly nostalgic holiday feelings, then I’m really going to have to ask you and your boyfriend to get off the ice. Killian’s eyes fall out of his head. Or, at least, they feel like they do. He imagines there’d be more yelling from the ever-growing crowd on the right side of the boards if they had.

As such, there’s no yelling, just a distinct lack of contradiction from either him or Emma and it’s not the first time someone has made that mistake. In fact, it’s a mistake that has become so common that it’s almost expected and his pulse nearly stays at a normal, human level when someone utters those words in that very specific order.

Almost.

So they don’t say anything, no correction or objection, just slightly awkward skating technique and quiet happy holidays under their breath when they avoid fighting the zamboni. And Emma’s still smiling when they hand their skates back, head tilted up towards Killian because it’s still early and there’s still plenty of city and--

“You want to get some food?”

She nods. “I thought you’d never ask.”

They don’t go in every store in the holiday market, but it’s pretty close, testing as many overpriced food in the name of festivity as they can. There’s a fairly serious debate over the Belgian fries and which sauces they should get and whether or not the cookies that they buy from the booth four away from Max Brenners are better than Ruth’s.

“I’m going to tell her you even considered this for one single, solitary second and she’s going to kick you out of the house,” Emma warns, Killian already shaking his head.

“Nope. She likes me way too much. I am Ruth’s favorite kid.” “You are not her kid.” “Tell that to Ruth.” “God, it’s so stupid when you’re right. You do this whole thing with your face and it’s--” She waves a frustrated hand a few inches away from his nose, yelping when he nips at her fingertips. “It’s genuinely the stupidest thing I’ve ever seen.” “We should have ordered garlic aioli for the fires.” “Ah, damn that sounds good.” “At some point you’re going to realize I know absolutely everything, love,” Killian laughs, slinging an arm around her shoulders to direct her back to the fries booth. The garlic aioli is worth it.

Although it doesn’t entirely go with the eggnog-flavored coffee.

“We should have waited,” Emma says, wandering up Fifth Avenue and the crowds around them only seem to be growing. “You know, like swimming.” Killian scoffs. “Wait thirty minutes post aioli to drink a festive beverage?” “I mean, that sounds kind of fancy, but something along those lines, yeah. Is it just me or is it getting even more crowded?” “It’s Saturday.” “You say that like it’s a reason.” “Is it not?” he asks, weaving his way through a very obvious tour group and his toes are going to be bruised from the beating they are currently taking. “This is really ruining my perception of eggnog completely, love. I think we’re going to have to chalk this up as a mistake and try again later.” “We’re going to spend a small fortune on food and beverage.” “Ah, well, what better way to declare bankruptcy?” “That’s the spirit, for sure.” He chuckles, tossing the cup out and reaching behind him for Emma. Something about the crowd and people’s inability to walk across the street in a timely fashion. “Are you worried I’m going to get lost?” Killian glances over his shoulder to find her smiling at her, a few flecks of what may be more snow because it’s starting to get cold again in her hair. He nods slowly. Or quickly. He’s not entirely sure. Everything seems to have lost its meaning outside of the moment and them and they’re the ones causing pedestrian issues now.

A horn honks at them when the light turns.

“Oh shit,” Killian breathes, tugging Emma against him with far more force than necessary and he hadn’t realized they were so close to Rockefeller Center already. “Do they realize it’s just a tree?” “Do we realize it’s just a tree?” “This is a very good question.” Emma laughs, twisting around him until she’s the one doing the tugging and it isn’t really all that hard to get closer. That’s probably another sign. They’re practically slamming into Killian at this point. That may bruise too.

“Well,” Emma says, dragging the word out. “It certainly is a tree, isn’t it?”

“With lights.” “And support wires.” “It’s a big tree. There are physics involved.”

Her nose does that thing again. It’s distracting. “Oh yeah? Tell me more about physics, please.” “Isaac Newton.” “What about him?” “Knew about physics,” Killian shrugs. “Right?” “You having to double check on that leads me to believe he probably didn’t.” “No, no, objects and motion and, you know, intrinsic force or something.” “You made that last one up,” Emma accuses, although it loses a bit of its bite when the smile on her face would probably rival the goddamn tree at night. When it’s lit up. It’s really more impressive then.

They seem to have messed up their Christmas tree timing.

God.

“Alright, here, I will prove it to you,” Killian says. It takes some finagling to get his phone out of his pocket, wincing when his shoulder makes a noise it absolutely shouldn’t and that only gets another laugh out of Emma. And he’s just about to google something, but this whole day has been absolutely absurd and maybe they’re wearing signs that suggest strangers should keep approaching them.

“Would you like me to take your picture?”

The woman in front of them is holding an I Love NY plastic bag. She’s probably from, like...Indiana or something.

“Oh no, no, that’s ok,” Emma promises, rushing over the words so quickly it’s impossible for them to sound anything except disingenuous and people from Indiana are, apparently, very confident.

The woman reaches out to grab Killian’s phone, promising it’s fine, I don’t mind at all and there’s something about her family waiting on line to get into FAO Schwartz too. Killian barely hears any of it, Emma’s arm finding its way around his middle and--

“Smile!”

They do. And Mrs. Indiana takes no less than twenty-seven pictures. “I’m sure I got a good one,” she says, handing Killian back his phone with a genuineness that the world could probably use more of.

He nods. “Thanks. C’mon, love, let’s see if we can guess the themes of some of these windows.”

They get stumped by Cavalli. And the robot theme at Tiffany’s. Although they do go into Tiffany’s which is a little unexpected and kind of nice, particularly when Emma’s breath catches just a bit at several different and decidedly sparkly things.

“I just don’t understand what robots have to do with jewelry,” she says, hours later and tucked into a dimly-lit bar on the Upper West Side that Yelp! promised had very good holiday drinks.

The eggnog tastes better without the lingering bit of aioli. And probably the rum too.

“It’s clearly above our pay grade, Swan.” “Someone had to approve that. Multiple someone’s!” “I’d imagine it was an entire committee,” Killian says. “Ads and sales and marketing. There were probably several graphs made.” “Power points too?” “Undoubtedly.” She laughs over the top of her own drink – something named after some dead poet because that’s this bar’s schtick and the whipped cream on top is threatening to brush against the tip of her nose. Maybe they should get some kind of schtick for their bar too.

Then maybe they can keep it.

“This sounds very in depth.” “Corporate America at its finest,” Killian mutters, a hint of bitterness that does not belong in a bar so clearly obsessed with death and Christmas. Emma blinks. “Sorry, sorry,” he continues. “That wasn’t--you know, one of the first memories I’ve got is walking up Fifth Ave with Liam and questioning every single window display. I was very impressed by Saks.” “Well they do that whole light thing on the side of the building. What kid wouldn’t love that?” He smiles. And takes a far-too-large drink. “That’s a good point.” “I didn’t know you and Liam used to do this,” Emma says, voice dropping slightly because it’s kind of depressing and he’s kind of depressing and he refuses to look at his phone. So he’s kind of immature too.

“That’s not your fault, Swan.”

“I’m not saying it is. I’m just…” She exhales, ruffling her own hair in the process and it may be the single most endearing thing he’s ever seen. “I wasn’t lying before. You can tell me stuff and things and whatever you want and I know talking about Liam is--”

The single most difficult thing in the world. She doesn’t actually say that, but she doesn’t have to and Killian keeps wondering what he’d say about a developer and him and he would have liked Emma so much.

God, he likes Emma so much.

He loves her a lot.

It’s getting more difficult not to tell her that.

“You know that was the first time I thought I could really actually decide to like you,” Emma says, an abrupt subject change that makes Killian wonder if he’s more drunk than he thought.

“What?” “I didn’t want you to come on that trip. To the amusement park, I mean. Elsa was supposed to come, but then stuff happened and she couldn’t and David suggested you and I was, God, I was so mad.” “If this is supposed to be a compliment, I’m afraid you’re missing the mark, Swan.” “No, no, I know I am, but...David said he’d asked you and then you were there and I knew we were going to have to ride everything together. I was so pissed about it. Ask Mary Margaret when we go home.” His heart may explode at that particular word. So he takes another drink. “Don’t think I won’t.” “I am counting on it. Because I was so mad, but then you were--” Emma shrugs, downing the rest of her drink and slamming it back on the table like she’s proving a point. “The roller coaster clicked on the chain and you grabbed my hand like death was imminent and it was…”

She sighs again. He’s not counting. He’s totally counting. What a creep.

“I don’t know,” Emma shrugs. “Human.” “Did you think I wasn’t?” “I’d considered alien cyborg for awhile, if I’m being totally honest.” “Brutally it seems.” Emma laughs, twisting her hair around her fingers. A tell. That he noticed a few minutes before they got on the roller coaster.

It feels like they’re about to get on again. Or, maybe, they’ve just never got off.

“This is a good story, I promise,” she says. “I just...we had fun that afternoon, right?” Killian nods. He needs more to drink. “And we’ve never really stopped and I just--it was like something clicked and I thought maybe we could get along and I wouldn’t be some horrible third wheel for Mary Margaret and David for the rest of my life and, well--” Another deep breath. He feels a bit like he’s suffocating. “I wouldn’t have wanted to reclaim my festivity with anyone else.”

It’s not romantic. Not really. It may even be decidedly unromantic.

Killian’s brain doesn’t care – because his brain is on overdrive and his heart is threatening to explode out his chest and he’s standing before he realizes he’s decided, pulling Emma off the stool in the corner and they nearly fall over five different times on their way back to the sidewalk.

“What are we doing?” Emma asks, a note of something in her voice when he hails a cab.

He doesn’t answer. At least not here. “Macy’s,” he says instead, nodding towards the driver and if this is all going to end, if he’s going to lose his bar and his livelihood and his festive spirit, then he’ll be damned if he does get some photographic evidence of how absolutely happy he is right now. In this moment. Without a tourist from Indiana ruining it.

None of the pictures she took were very clear.

Emma doesn’t ask any questions the entire drive downtown, but her eyes keep darting towards Killian and his clearly impatient left foot. He keeps tapping it. And they can’t actually get in front of the store – promising the driver two blocks away is fine , although he’s also a little worried about timing and store hours and they don’t quite run from 36th Street.

They jog. Briskly.

“It can’t possibly be good for me to be this out of breath, can it?” Emma asks, pressed against his side just a few feet past the doors.

“You’d still get your guy, Swan.” “And in this case is the guy Santa?” “You know, I bet if we combined our mind reading abilities in Times Square, we’d make an absolute fortune every day.” She hums, glancing around like whatever department they’ve stumbled into will have directions to Santa. “Where do you think he’s hiding the North Pole?”

“Only one way to find out, right?” Emma nods.

There’s more jogging and weaving through workers offering perfume samples and they’re definitely deep in Macy’s when the escalators start looking older. “Do you think they’re required to keep these?” Killian asks, glancing down at the rickety thing under them. “Like for history?” “New York City does love its history,” Emma says, and if he weren’t so determined to get their picture taken with goddamn Santa Claus he probably would have noticed the way her voice stuttered slightly over the words.

As it is, he’s far too busy gaping at the scene as soon as they step onto the eighth floor. There are snowflakes everywhere – hanging from the ceiling and displays, music pumping through what sounds like a dozen speakers and more than few workers dressed as elves. He hopes they make more than minimum wage.

Some joke about Bob Cratchit or something.

“Do you have an appointment?”

Killian stops dead in his tracks. Emma makes the world’s single most ridiculous noise. “What?” she balks. “An appointment to...see Santa? Are you serious?”

The elf nods. It’s nice to see nothing about this day has made any sense. “It’s uh...a new North Pole tradition this year!”

“Written by the North Pole PR department,” Emma grumbles. The elf nods again. “So there’s like...no chance of getting to see Santa without an appointment? Seriously, why is that a thing?”

The elf glances around – like she’s worried about being overheard and Killian has to press his face into Emma’s hair to stop from dissolving into hysterics. That’s totally why. “It’s crowd control,” she whispers. “You know we had families waiting hours and screaming and crying kids. So many crying kids. But then they’d get inside and they’d get stuck and--”

“--Stuck in the North Pole?” “There’s a pretty extensive display back there,” the elf explains, Emma humming in understanding. “But you’re kind of locked in. This is, you know, better. A little colder, but better.” “Practical,” Killian says.

“Yeah, exactly that.” The elf looks around again, mouth twisting when it appears she comes to some kind of decision. Her eyes narrow slightly, gaze turning appraising and maybe a bit wistful and Killian can’t understand that part, but then Emma squeezes his hand slightly. He hadn’t realized she was holding his hand. “Tell them that you had an appointment for 10:15,” she whispers, leaning over the podium so her hat almost falls off her head. “They’ll let you right in.” Killian blinks. And blinks again. The elf smiles. And Emma squeezes his hand. “C’mon, Jones,” she mutters. “We won’t get what we want for Christmas if we don’t go see Santa.”

The elf yells something as they walk by – barely audible over the classic Christmas carols all but blasting through the North Pole, but it sounds a hell of a lot like that’s really romantic and Killian wonders if anyone’s just gone into complete cardiac arrest in the North Pole.

Probably not.

And there’s not really a line because it’s almost 10:15 on a Saturday in New York and meeting Santa probably isn’t on anyone else’s must-do list, but they still have to wait outside a door and--

“Why Santa?” Emma asks, eyes still bright when she glances at him.

“Wasn’t on your list.” “Yuh huh.” Killian shrugs. “What’s the most ridiculous, cliché Christmas thing you can think of?” “Sending Christmas cards.” “Exactly,” he says, nodding in thanks when a different elf directs them towards a different themed room and Santa smiles at them as soon as they walk. “And,” Killian whispers against Emma’s hair, “you need pictures for that.”

She doesn’t quite gasp, but it may actually make her breath hitch and that very enjoyable flush is back on her cheeks. Santa is asking them questions, another elf directing them towards their designated seats on either side of him, but so much of Killian is tied up with Emma that disentangling that seems like a feat impossible.

So he does the only thing that absolutely, positively does not make sense. He pulls her onto his legs and wraps his arm around her waist and they banter with Santa Claus.

“I just want something good,” Emma answers when asked what she wants, and Killian doesn’t think before he drops a kiss to her shoulder blade.

Santa may wink. “I’ll see what I can do. And what about you, my boy?” Killian startles, Emma’s laughter ringing in his ears. She moved her own around his shoulder at some point. “What she said,” he mutters. “Something...something good.” Santa definitely winks.

And they make ridiculous faces at the camera – smiles and laughter and more tangled limbs that may represent something more because Emma Swan is so much a part of his life that Killian can’t imagine a life that is any different. He doesn’t want to. Not at Christmas.

Or ever.

He pays for the biggest photo package they have. It comes with keychains. And mobile downloads. And, several hours later, after copping some of his own alcohol stock from his own bar, with Emma curled up asleep against him on the couch, he changes his phone’s lock screen – an unposed photo that was probably against the rules to take and even more against the rules to use, but she’s smiling and he’s got his lips pressed against the back of her jacket.

He doesn’t realize she picked the same photo while he was behind the bar.

#cs ff #captain swan #captain swan ff #captain swan fic #cs fic #secret santa fic #EVERYONE IS IN LOVE #EVENTUALLY THEY WILL ALSO REALIZE THAT

27 notes · View notes

radramblog · 3 years

Text

we live in a society (that has progressed)

There’s always an interminable shift, a flux, in culture that can be hard to spot if you don’t quite know what you’re looking for. As times change, people grow, and media is released, causing perspectives and opinions in the general psyche to sway over the course of human cultural history.

Basically, the Joker is allowed to be funny again, and that’s a good thing.

I’m not going to bother explaining who the Joker is to you, like I often do when I’m introducing a post like this. It’s the fucking Joker, I’d be shocked if you didn’t know what the character is. You have to be online to see this post, after all, and if you’re on the obscure rabbit-hole known as My Tumblr, you’re online enough to see Joker memes and such.

The Joker is an inherently ridiculous character. He’s literally a clown man, a foil to the deadpan Batman, humour literally written into his name. And while I cannot possibly capture the full breadth of his various iterations and interpretations over the course of DC Comics’s long history, a lot less people are going to have read the comics than seen the adaptations of such, and those are what has stuck out in the public consciousness. There’s a few versions in particular I’d like to highlight before I get into the meat of this.

In particular, the early visual interpretations of the character are, well, monumentally silly. It’s impossible to talk about the 1966 Adam West Batman series without an understanding of just how camp the whole thing was, and the Joker is no exception to this. Even Jack Nicholson’s performance in the 1989 film is inherently silly despite it’s overall serious tone, a villain who kills people with a chemical called, I shit you not, Smylex. Considering the actor, and especially considering what came just a year before that film, such a portrayal is actually kind of a confusing cultural milestone.

And that thing that came a year beforehand is The Killing Joke, potentially the most iconic Batman comic, nay, DC comic there is. And with it, potentially the most sympathetic portrayal of the Joker that there had been so far. A man driven mad by exposure, a situation he was only in to afford his family’s bills. It presents the most clear image of him as Batman’s mirror- literally, at times, and yet shows some of his most shocking brutality at the same time. The idea of the comic, if I may be so bold, is to imply that the line between Batman and the Joker isn’t quite so thick as it appears at first glance.

We don’t talk about the animated version of the Killing Joke.

I’m going to move right past the Animated Series in general, not because it’s bad or anything, but because I’m relatively unfamiliar with it (this may be a reoccurring theme) I’ve only seen a handful of episodes, the ones my family had on VHS, and they sure didn’t have the Joker in them. (The Gray Ghost and….I think a Scarecrow episode? Which was a hell of a thing to see as a kid). It does have his portrayal with Mark Hamill as the voice actor, though, which is frankly such a choice decision.

The thing that made the Joker, and the Batman franchise as a whole, come back into the limelight was obviously the Nolan movies, specifically The Dark Knight. Being the face of such a critically acclaimed movie with such an incredible performance by Heath Ledger (I am obliged to stan, he’s from Perth, I’ve met his stepdad) is obviously going to get the name back in the books, even if it’s such a different version from what had previously been seen.

Ledger’s Joker has a humour, sure, but it’s a significantly more morbid one than previous incarnations. Previous Jokers killed people, sure, but The Dark Knight added a level of brutality to the whole thing that made the character so much more serious, pun not intended. One can largely attribute this to the darker tone of the film he appears in compared to previous Batmans (especially the 90s films), because in those versions the Joker was, well, not a serious character. He doesn’t interact with the world in the same way other people do, his values are completely alien. Ledger’s Joker has a very specific ideology, one people can understand, and more relevantly, one people can misunderstand.

The actual post begins here.

Ledger’s Joker has been the icon of the edgy teenager since The Dark Knight came out and was watched by millions of them. Something about the character speaks to them, something about being an outsider, not like the other people, and also both smart and violent, which are attributes that 13-year-olds idolise.

A Joker profile picture has long been one of the biggest red flags on the internet. A sure sign that someone is going to say the dumbest fucking thing imaginable, or something hideously offensive apropos of absolutely nothing. This isn’t even getting into how the character became an icon for the Gamers Rise Up movement, which I will remind you that a fair few people actually took seriously. A legion of the worst of nerd culture- misogynistic, racist, and toxic folks who have nothing better to do than yell at people on Reddit.

Where as I, the cultured individual, explain things to people on Tumblr. Very different. But the point is, this specific version of the character is an anarchist, out to prove that, at the end of the day, every single person has the potential to become a monster, that chaos is the nature of humanity, somewhat akin to his portrayal and point in The Killing Joke- all it takes is the right thing to set you off. This twisting of the message into “im better and smarter than u also I will kill u” is frankly kind of disgusting.

The point I’m trying to get to is that for the last decade-ish, The Joker, a character built around humour and gratuity, has become incredibly unfunny. From the internet fuckwits to the grim Ledger portrayal, the character with Joke in their name has been impossible to laugh at.

Another factor contributing to this is the growing awareness and increased sympathy for mentally ill people, which is where Joker (the film) comes in. Now, obviously, the understanding of mental issues is not a bad thing, and I’d love to see this trend continue. But my understanding is that Joker and its titular character are not a particularly humourous time, despite the character literally being a comedian this time.

To be clear, I have not seen the movie, and I have no intention to, so feel free to completely ignore my opinion on this. But the fact that the film seemed to have made all the GRU stuff worse is not a good sign for it.

However, as in life and in media, all things shall pass, and that does include the Joker. Ignoring Suicide Squad (because I know like nothing about the Joker’s place in that film and don’t want to research it), late 2010-s on portrayals of the Joker appear to be returning to the characters roots somewhat, though to be fair, both of the things I’m basing my judgement are comedy features.

The first is, oddly enough, the Lego Batman movie. I can understand not having seen this film, because from the outside, it didn’t look or sound good, but the whole thing is basically a love letter to Batman/DC as a franchise, complete with possibly the silliest incarnation of the character so far. This Joker is utterly obsessed with proving himself as Batman’s equal, as the greatest villain to rival the greatest hero. He’s probably the most potentially homoerotic interpretation, which is kind of silly considering he’s literally a Lego dude. But the movie is funny, and so is he, which is the key point.

The other recent addition to this list is the Harley Quinn animated series, where the Joker obviously plays a significant role. Now, I’m not really familiar at all with this interpretation, having not seen the show, but considering the memes going around about Batman apparently not doing oral, and that having stemmed from this show, it’s not hard to imagine the Joker’s portrayal being similarly silly- even if his canonical abusee is the protagonist. Like, I’m pretty sure he’s a bastard in this one, but he’s also the butt of the joke, considering the series is in large part about Harley getting over him and moving past that part of her life (and ideally hooking up with Poison Ivy, because, come on)

I guess my point is that the Joker is an inherently comic character, in all that entails. You cannot have the Joker not be in some way silly without making massive changes to his design, his characterisation, and his ideals- which is pretty much what has happened in the past few years. I mean, the guy’s got bright green hair, he wears purple suits, he kills people with laughing gas.

This comic, by artist FruitEater, is kind of what inspired this whole post. It’s such a silly little thing from a silly little trend, but it really stuck in my head, and not just because it reminded me of my past self- a child who was super into Crazy Frog when I was, like, 10. It’s a comic that couldn’t exist were it not for the passage of time beyond the era of edgy Joker. Time has moved on- Gamers Rise Up is dying (the subreddit got banned, where else are they supposed to go?), cringe culture is dying, and the Joker is a character that’s allowed to be funny again.

We can laugh with the Joker again.

#ramble #the joker #god that's a tag i didn't expect to put on this blog #batman #(i guess?)#clearing my search history after posting this so the government doesn't think i'm a scumfuck

1 note · View note

365lite-blog · 7 years

Text

How to be a heartbreaker

Pairing: Jihyun(V) x reader/MC. Genre: Comedy, Romance. Plot: (Y/n) broke up with her boyfriend. One night, she gets drunk with friends and, on her way home, she meets Jihyun. She gets confused and believe they are on a date. But because she is afraid that he would hurt her, she decides to play by the heartbreaker rules. And it is dramatic. Disclaimer: Drunk MC. A/N: Please, drink with moderation♥ I do not know how I came up with this scenario.

High heels made her presence sophisticated, attractive, as they could be heard anywhere she wandered. Nevertheless, she sighed as she stumbled, frustrated fingers brushing her hair as a response of incoherence. Her mind was already a chaotic mess and now, as if it was not enough, her stomach was indisposed. If she began throwing up, she had no idea if it would be her dinner or her heart that would come out. Really, she had drunk too much in the hopes of moving on. So many fishes in the sea, they said? She was still far from agreeing with that ridiculous statement.

Aquamarine locks flied in the air as the doors of the metro opened, welcoming the cold wind of autumn. Beautiful ocean eyes were glued onto the tiny screen of the camera he had in hands, struggling to discern the image as he was trying to judge if it came out as he had originally desired. To be honest, more than a decent capacity of sight, he needed inspiration. Something that would excite him, give him the flame he lacked to create art again. Deep down, he hoped he could fall in love again, for he knew he only felt alive when being in love and devoting himself to the person his heart claimed. Speaking of which, just as if his prayers were granted, his intact sense of hearing favored him with the distinct sound of unstable heels and he turn his head only to be greeted by the sight of a drunk young woman trying to proceed her way to the vacant sit next to his. He grew worried as she came closer, therefore aware that she looked as drunk as the scent and gait suggested. But before he could offer his help, she fell onto the sit, jolting his shoulder before moaning a vague apology as she flunked to meet his face. A hiccup shook her upper body and she sighed once more before bumping her occipital against the glass behind her in an attempted to rest for a while. The photographer slid his sunglasses down the bridge of his nose, allowing the gesture since there was not enough light to hurt his cornea and stayed silent for a moment, taking her full frame in a sense of true appreciation of art. He though she was beautiful. No. Mesmerizing. His eyes cuddled her bare thighs, followed by her modest breast, soft neck, perfectly sculpted jawline and the cutest nose he ever saw. How he had wished to photograph her right in the instant. Even drunkenness suited her as it left her cheeks in an adorable strawberry tint. She was a piece of art on her own and he longed to immortalize her existence.

Air left in between her parted lips for the hundredth time already and she soon fell asleep, alcohol crushing her brain for some non-restorative sleep. In a matter of minutes, after being swung from left to right a dozen times, her head fell on the shoulder of the man at her other side. The stranger grimaced, impatience giving him allures of a apathetic human being. He was about to jerk her off, not giving a care about her deplorable state, but Jihyun pre-empted his rudeness and gently shifted her head so she would be resting on his own shoulder. Innocently and obviously still napping, she took his arm in between hers and snuggled closer to him. Almost a millisecond later, his face went hotter and he pulled his sunglasses back up as if it could have hidden his reaction. Following this event, he decided to close his eyes for a moment too. When he opened them again, he found himself being scouted by a pair of hypnotizing iris. For how long had she been watching him? But, as he adjusted mechanically his glasses again, she smiled coyly and went back to rest on his deltoid. Half an hour later, he arrived at his station. What was he supposed to do? He was concerned enough that her friends let her leave alone so he, obviously, could not do the same. Even if he knew nothing about her. With that conclusion in mind, he mildly shook her hand on his lap, causing her to yawn in response and look back at him with half closed eyes.

- We should get off here.

She scanned her surroundings and got up with him, clearly not aware of the situation in which she found herself. How could she binge drinking so much she could not even comprehend what was happening? Thankfully, he was the one she met before anything bad could occur. After walking for a few minutes side to side in a surprisingly peaceful silence, he discerned the lights of a taxi and was about to call for it when the girl clung on his lifted arm to pull it down. She was not pleased by his gesture and her entire face transformed into a moody winsome expression.

- You cannot leave me now.

Her actions made him look at her with astonished eyes. He really had to call a cab for her but, if she was being stubborn, maybe sending her home alone was a bad idea. Against all ethics, he decided that she would be safer at his house and headed in that direction. On the road, a grin was plastered on his face while she was playing a game on her own, failing to walk only on the lines even if she was seriously trying to. Sometimes, he had to catch her hand to prevent her from falling and, in the mist of confession, he felt like a knight next to her. But she was more charming than a princess. Anyways, they managed to reach the apartment building and (y/n) stopped abruptly at the door, making Jihyun wonder if she finally realized where she was, only to be shut by her next move. Her fingers adjusted the collar of his coat as she bit her lip in reflection.

- Thank you for tonight.

Her voice was low, hinting an attempt in being seductive and Jihyun had to refrain a laughter since it was evident that she could not remember a thing but tried to fake it. What happened next though, left him speechless. There she was, softly kissing him as if for rewarding him after her statement. Unconsciously, his hand took shelter on her waist. He was far more enjoying the kiss than he would have expected. But she was also drunk so he knew where to stop his pleasure. They parted briefly after, Jihyun still being light-headed and secretly admitting he wanted more of it. Resulting in self-awareness and shame for his mental behavior. He could definitely not get attached to her. She headed to the door before gasping loudly. She could have understood her situation now, right? No. She complained that she could not remember the passcode and chose to press on the bells of every name figuring next to the lock pad, claiming that some neighbor would help her. He ran to her and opened the door quickly before anyone could see who made a ruckus in the middle of the night. When they entered his apartment, she threw her heels in the void and took a few steps as she scanned the place.

- I do not remember having such a cool home. I am so drunk.

At least, she knew it. He was about to enter his living room when she turned around to face him and chuckled.

- You know I am not going to have sex with you tonight, right?

Well, she was not blunted with her words. That was for sure. Fortunately, that was not his plan either so any misunderstanding was out of the way for now and he could calm his concerns a bit.

- I know, I will sleep on the couch.

He believed she would have a better rest if she slept in comfort so he had no problem in letting her sleep in his bed. Therefore, he smiled politely and headed to the bedroom so he could take extra sheets for himself. She followed closely and sat on the edge of the unfamiliar bed, watched him as he opened a closet and took out two blankets.

- You are a gentleman, I appreciate that.

She gestured him to come closer and, when he did, she pulled him so he tripped and landed on her. Not wasting a second, she kissed him once more. This time, running her phalanges in his azure hair. It took him a moment to restart his brain and, in the meantime, he kissed her too, leaving the mark of a burning desire on her cold lips. She was toying with him, he could see that. It seemed as if she wanted him to desire her just so that she could reject him afterward. The possibility that she drank to forget a boyfriend came in his mind and he felt sad for her. But when he came back to his senses, he got straight up and, for once, was pleased to be on his way to blindness because she looked way too desirable in this position and it would have been worse if he could have seen her clearly. She definitely got what she wanted out of him.

- I should leave you to sleep before doing things that might trouble you… Good night.

With that said, he fled out of the bedroom and headed straight to his living room, forgetting the blankets he left behind and never thinking about them again for the rest of the night.

A couple of hours later, he was still struggling to fall asleep. Disrupted by her presence, he got up and took his phone to look at the weather for the next day. He was being selfish, he knew it, but maybe he could photograph her. He was aware he might want more after getting to know her but he would think about that risk later. For now, he only wanted to do, with her, the only thing he was good at. After putting his phone down, he pondered which camera he should take and got lost in the process of deciding which type of photo would suit her best. That was the only thought that finally relaxed him enough to drift off in the arms of Morpheus and have a quiet night for once.

The next morning, he heard a scream followed by rushing footsteps and smiled kindly, keeping his amusement once again to himself, as the girl froze when she entered the room and saw him making breakfast.

- I am so sorry, she said. I broke up with my boyfriend and my friends thought it would be great for me to have fun, so I ended up drunk and at some point, I thought we were on a date and I did not want you to play with me so I decided to play with you instead but you were so kind and hot and now I feel bad… Oh my god, I am so sorry, I will leave now. Thank you for letting me stay.

How could a human speak so fast and without taking any breath? Her face was hot red and her gaze was glued to her agitated fingers. She was in a really embarrassing position but it only made her look cuter, to be honest. He forced himself to stay calm instead of cracking an entertained smile and served the pancakes in a plate. He assuredly heard her calling him ‘hot’. This made his day.

- There is no need to be worried. Take a seat, I made breakfast and there is medicine for your hangover.

He placed the plate on the empty spot in front of her and took his own as she sat nervously, muttering a shy thank you. As she did not seem to have hesitated in staying, he took this as a good sign and seize the opportunity right away.

- Now that you are sober… Do you have something planned for today?

#scenarios #mystic messenger #jihyun kim #jihyun x reader #mc #mysme #non requested #v

68 notes · View notes

idle-flower · 4 years

Text

Dear Yuletide Author - 2020

Thank you for your time and attention, and I hope your wishes are granted this holiday season!

Likes:

I prefer plot and angst and adventure to fluff, though a nice warm fluffy scene can make a good dessert at the end of the pain and suffering. I lean more to f/f and m/f than m/m. I enjoy forbidden relationships. I love exploring the 'what if' spinoffs of a small change in a canon. I swoon for lovers who take dramatic risks to protect their loved ones.

I also enjoy detailed description of clothing/furniture/jewelry/pretty things in general. Not just heaping up brand names, but sensory detail.

Dislikes:

Please avoid sweeping tropey AUs like 'what if noir' or 'what if everyone was in high school'. I'm REALLY picky about comedy so it's probably not a good idea to go for wacky funny stuff. No excited rambling about pregnancy or babies. (Older kids are okay.) While I am okay with pretty dark stuff, please don't gorily torture characters to death on screen. If people gotta die, limit the details! I am generally not keen on crossovers. I dislike PWP unless it is exceedingly hot smut (see below).

Smut:

I don't require it, but I do read a good bit of filthy porn.

Kinks I find interesting: mild bdsm, pain mixed with pleasure, dubcon, sibling or cousin incest, strap-ons, futanari and other magical appendages, teasing, teenagers, drugs/magic with interesting effects, people making terrible decisions due to being emotionally overwrought or really really horny

SMUTTY DO NOT WANTS:

rape or painful sex that one party is not enjoying at all, inserting anything edible (licking off boobs is okay), aggressive face-fucking, choking, degradation, scat/watersports, bukkake, parental incest, anyone younger than teen, emphasis on 'virgin blood' (some writers make it a huge deal with tearing pain and fountains of blood, please don't).

Wayward Children

Jill Wolcott

Down Among The Sticks And Bones is my absolute favorite of this series. I love both Jack and Jill, but everybody loves Jack. Let's talk about Jill. Let's talk about a hungry girl who wanted things, fiercely, who wanted to be pretty and special and loved, and who was left behind by a sister who chose to save herself and never look back. A girl who was deliberately cut off from friendship by the father-master who made himself her only source of love.

What if Jack and Jill maintained more contact during those formative years in the Moors, meeting in secret and trying (and probably failing) to rekindle their bond and to convince each other to appreciate their choices? What if Jill softened, and her certainty faltered?

What if both Jack and Jill had grown up without disruption in the Moors, becoming a vampire and a mad scientist, in balance and at odds? How would they interact and conflict as adults?

What happened with Jill and her friends, the ones she played with around the fountain before the Master killed them? Who were they? What did she think happened to them, and how did she react? Did they ALL die, or just enough to scare the other villagers into shunning Jill? How did she deal with the rejection?

What if she'd chosen some other method of being ruthless? Captured Alexis and locked her in the dungeons to be a plaything? Or some other village child, kept in secret, to be her pet and her 'friend'? Or perhaps captured people and brought them to her 'father' as offerings for his appetite, to prove herself?

What were days like, living with her Master? (And yes that could get kinky or creepy)

What went through her mind during EHAD? What triggered her to start her plan? Did she consider that she was behaving more like a mad scientist than a vampire princess? What did she think about Jack? Did she plan to kill Jack eventually? If Jack had abandoned Jill at the school and opened her door home alone, might Jill have succeeded in creating a key and come seeking vengeance?

Disregarding Come Tumbling Down, what else might have happened to Jill after her resurrection? If the Master rejected her, might she have gone in search of even darker powers? Do rules normally govern the fate of failed apprentices? (After all, Mary's still alive despite rejecting the Master, but apparently bound to serve him.)

Basically I'm open to a TON of ideas here but I want to stick with stories from the first two books and leave out what happened later. Bring on the angst. Let Jill suffer in tragedies of her own making, but give her sympathy as well. Maybe she’s redeemed! ... Maybe not.

VIOLENCE: I'm okay with murder and blood and torture in this canon, just try to make it more poetic than gross. You can imply she broke someone's fingers with snaps and screams, but I don't need descriptions of what somebody's kidneys look like.

TRAGEDY: You can cut my heart out on this one if you want to. Any character can die, including Jill. I don’t require either a happy or a sad ending, but I might enjoy the tension of having no idea which way it’s going to turn out.

IF YOU WANT TO WRITE SMUT: Jill/Jack, Jill/Master, Jill/Mary, Jill/Some random villager, these are all fine. Jill/Alexis is better as a horror element than as a smut one, I don't want to read sex if one party isn't at least reluctantly enjoying it.

DNW: Jill/Kade.

Poison Ivy (1992 film)

Sylvie Cooper, Ivy

I was struggling through the confusions of puberty, Ivy was hot, this film left an impression on me. In a way it's perfect as it is, and trying to build any sort of happy ending for Ivy feels out of place, but on the other hand there's a lot of loose ends left after the story.

Throughout the film, there's a lot the audience never knows about Ivy, including her legal name. Did Coop know it? (Maybe, probably.) Did her father? (Quite possibly not). How do they handle all the legal responsibilities of her death? Were Ivy's stories about the aunt she was staying with true? How do they break the news? How does her funeral go?

What do Sylvie and her father have to say to each other about Ivy after the truth comes out? Does he admit everything that he did? How does he handle the guilt? How do they rebuild their relationship?

What is school like, afterwards? What rumors escape? How does Coop handle them?

Or - what if Ivy survives the fall? Seriously injured, possibly paralysed, but alive? How do they deal with her, once the truth comes out? Do they cover up her crimes? Do they keep her in their home? What happens to their relationships?

For AUs, what would have happened if Ivy had met Coop when they were several years younger, so she couldn't get her hooks into Darryl as easily? What if they met at summer camp and Ivy was just as messed-up and needy but the situations were different? What if the movie plot is actually a fantasy younger-Ivy spins about her future to her fascinated-and-appalled friend, who then has a chance to react to it?

IF YOU WANT TO WRITE SMUT: I'm fine with Sylvie/Ivy, I'm okay with Darryl/Ivy but I would rather he not be the focus of the story (Sylvie catching them having sex has possibilities, or Ivy thinking about Sylvie while seducing Darryl)

DNW: Anyone other than Ivy to die, Ivy to marry Darryl

Xanth - Piers Anthony

Jenny Elf, Gwendolyn Goblin

I have an ulterior motive, I badly want to insert some gayness into Xanth after the author has tried so hard to make it impossible, even allegedly threatening magical straightjackets to cure homosexuality. And it is difficult to think of a good f/f pairing because female characters in Xanth are almost completely obsessed with flashing their panties and attracting men. Almost the only good female friendship actually on-page (as opposed to a vague comment that Ivy and Nada used to hang out) is Jenny/Gwenny, who are best friends.

The events of The Color Of Her Panties even provide some possible groundwork to build on. They've been raised together in the care of centaurs who have different views on morality/sexuality than humans do. They're forced to think about sex and be inducted into the Adult Conspiracy together. Gwenny's new contacts mean that she starts seeing other people's sexual fantasies (and Jenny does too, for a while). They're bound to have some good girly gossip on the subject at some point, talking about what all these weirdoes are into and trying to figure out what the appeal is! Or some simple "ugh boys are gross, especially goblin boys" that leads to pushing them closer together. (Well, Che is quite different from the goblin boys, and I'm not totally opposed to including him, but my ulterior motive makes me more interested in Jenny/Gwenny as a couple than all of them as an OT3.)

Straightforward romance: Gwenny relies on Jenny to cheer her up and help her relax from her duties. Romance blossoms! Simple.

Silly fluff: Gwenny and Jenny visit the Pantry, try on tons of lingerie together, have a ridiculous slumber party and pillow fight, end up snogging... maybe they even accidentally found Dolph and Electra's honeymoon chamber.

For a slightly more dramatic plot, Gwenny's bound to feel like she has to marry and have a child because goblins have hereditary rulership. She also knows all the good and bad sides of that - she would never have come to power without those rules, but those rules also made her bastard half-brother a threat when he would have been a terrible leader. And she knows that true family is what you choose, not just an accident of birth. Will she decide that she has to have a husband? Will she decide that she cannot have a husband, who might threaten her power, but must give birth to a child for the succession? (And hey, magic can be involved, she can TOTALLY find a way to summon the stork with Jenny somehow) Or what about adoption?

If you smut it, I don't care if they're still as young as they were in TCOHP (but no younger). I'm also fine with them being older. I would rather not do any temporary sex-change because that defeats my ulterior motive, but weird uses for Xanth-style magic stuff could be entertaining.

If the real-world implications of Jenny Elf bother you, I'll settle for Ivy/Nada, but that's going to need a lot more imagination to get a satisfying story out of it. How does their friendship develop between Isle of View and Man from Mundania, other than gossipping about their respective brothers? Do they have any adventures? How does Ivy cope with Nada's occasional self-destructive tendencies? How does Electra fit into their group?

DNW: Tragic endings, any references to canon post The Color Of Her Panties

My Little Pony Megan, Wind Whistler

Wind Whistler needs more love. I will be perfectly content with any fantasy adventure story featuring the G1 / MLP&Friends characters facing dramatic fantasy peril and saving the day with some help from Wind Whistler's brains. I loved Tambelon and Midnight Castle and The End Of Flutter Valley and all sorts of mystical threats, so throw some big old magical doom at me. I don't really want any permanent harm to come to anyone, it feels out of tone for a show adventure, but you can tie Megan up and have her suspended over certain death and rescued at the last minute by Wind Whistler swooping in or whatever.

Please avoid any references to Friendship is Magic locations/characters/etc, I actually haven't watched it and will just be confused.

Now, if you want to cater to my weird midnight thoughts...

Megan and Wind Whistler were close. Very close. And ponies having crushes on human-shaped people was canon. And Wind Whistler is not always good at dealing with her heart. Imagine the angst potential of these two developing feelings for each other. How do they cope? Do they maintain a romantic friendship while supporting each other in other relationships? Do they remain together, chastely bonded, all their lives? What if Wind Whistler found a way to take human form? How would she cope with giving up her wings for Megan? (Could be a bit of a Little Mermaid plotline there).

Given the in-cartoon existence of Mama and Baby versions of the same pony, and no Papa pony ever, suggesting you can have identical offspring with no father needed, do ponies actually reproduce through some sort of magical stork/cabbage-patch scenario? And if so, could weird pony hybrids start showing up if the ponies socialise too much with other creatures?

SMUT: Only if Wind Whistler takes on human form, and only as a small element of the story, that's really not what I'm here for with this request. (But being able to take on human form only once and having only one night together would hit my taste for angst.)

DNW: Sex involving ponies, canon-atypical violence/injuries/death.

#yuletide letter #yuletide 2020

0 notes