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onelastbreath-writes · 3 years

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I Spy (2)

Pairing: Frankie “Catfish” Morales/Fem!Reader (AFAB, no y/n)

Word Count: 1.9K

Warnings: Swearing

Summary (lite): You literally fall for a guy you meet in a bar, and everything is going great until you learn both of you have been lying about who you are and what you do. Oof. (SpecOps&Spies AU with Young!Frankie)

A/N: Wow part one got a lot of love, thank you so much! And now I also have a taglist going for this fic, so let me know if you want to be tagged the next time I post. This chapter is basically just fluff with a bit of background plot,,, i’ve created both a slow burn, and a 100 metre sprint of a relationship for y’all, so be prepared for that. Depending on what I manage to get into the next chapter, aka if i can finish the story or if i wimp out, there will either be 3 or 4 chapters total, and if i like the universe enough I might have some bonus content in the future. Nothing is set in stone so don’t start counting your chickens yet, but like... maybe. Anyways, I hope you enjoy part 2 of Let Me Have Nice Things I Spy <3

PS it is 3:45am when I’m posting this, please forgive me if its actually just weird thnxxxx

[AO3A][Masterlist]

[Previous Part]

---

“Water with a wedge of lemon, please,” you ordered as you and Frankie claimed a bar stool each at the counter.

“And a coke for me, thank you.”

The drink offer was always a toss up for you; a good way to measure the type of guy interested in your company. Even if you hadn’t decided that you were done with the alcohol tonight, you would still have ordered a water on your date’s dime. It was a simple test of character that more than a few guys had failed in the past. Were they looking to get you drunk, or were they willing to respect your choices? Frankie, so far, had done nothing but respect you.

Your drinks arrive quickly, and the cool glass feels refreshing in your hands. You still feel warm from your brief contact with the handsome man beside you, but after peaking at him from the side of your eyes, you can see that his ears and cheeks also have some red to them as well.

Frankie accepts his glass and angles himself towards you, bumping his knee lightly to yours and offering you another sweet smile. “Would it be presumptuous of me to offer a cheers? To meeting new people? Or I’ve got some great, really catchy and not at all cheesy pick-up lines, if that’s more your style?”

You snorted a laugh at his teasing but held out your drink for him to clink his against, “To meeting new people, then. And please, I have extremely high standards so only your best lines will appease me.”

“Ah, a connoisseur! Well then, please prepare to be amazed,” Frankie swivelled around to fully face you, ran a hand through his hair, fluffing his curls and pushing them away from his face, and cleared his throat for dramatic effect. “You blinded me with your beauty, so I’m going to need your name and number for insurance purposes.”

Your plan was to hold out, not to crack against whatever corny, horribly cliché thing he was going to say to you. You’d been given them all, and had never had much trouble before, even with guys as attractive and cute as Frankie. You had a great poker face, and could keep yourself together like a pro. There was nothing he could say to you that would break your façade. And then he opened his mouth, and you were gone.

“Oh my god! That’s so bad!” You were shaking, gasping while trying to contain and smother your laughter. You hadn’t thought to put your drink down before he started, and you could feel the liquid sloshing around the glass in your hand. Frankie, thankfully, noticed your problem, and gently wrapped his fingers around your wrist to steady your grasp. He helped you set the drink down safely, before pulling your still jittering limb away from further potential accidents. And then, he just didn’t release you.

He had slipped his hand into yours and was running his thumb over your knuckles.

As if your cheeks weren’t warm enough already.

What is it with this guy? You just couldn’t catch a break.

“Okay?” Can I keep holding your hand?

“Yes,” Please don’t let me go.

---

“And so, we’re just, like, full-tilt sprinting to catch this last train. And of course, its raining cats and dogs, so the sidewalk is slippery as hell, and Santi’s down a shoe so he’s splashing around in his sock, and then we hit the stairs up to the platform, and the train is pulling out…” You couldn’t remember the last time you smiled so much but listening to Frankie’s stories about his friends and their misadventures was making your cheeks ache.

You had been trading stories for ages, back and forth and jumping all over your lives to tell each other your greatest hits. Something between you two had just clicked, and it felt like you’d known him forever.

Early in the conversation you’d discovered he was his buddies’ designated driver, and would be on non-alcoholic beverages all night, but offered you anything you would like if you wanted more than water. You’d of course thanked him, but refused, stating your own reasons for sobriety. And that’s the point you got into talking about your careers.

“The guys wanted to get wasted during shore leave, and I’m not big on drinking so I offered to be their ride this time.” He was rather adorably touchy-feely with you, currently playing with your fingers and drawing on your palm absentmindedly.

“Shore leave? So, you’re military then?” That would explain the callouses and healed scars on his hands that you’d also been acquainting yourself with.

“Army, yeah,” Frankie had pointed out his group of hooligans across the room, playing what he’d told you was ‘Extreme Darts’. “Me and Santi were best friends in high school and enlisted together, and then we met Will and Benny in basic training. We worked together well enough to get us assigned to Tom’s squad and the rest’s history.”

“Then you’re still on active duty, right?” You couldn’t say you knew much about how a military contract worked, beyond what you’d seen in movies and on TV, but you knew soldiers were required to do a certain amount of service before they could retire; baring career-ending events that would get them discharged, of course. “When does shore leave end?”

“Ah, that’s a little complicated to explain, actually. We’re technically active soldiers still, but after our last deployment ended, we signed back on as like, uh, contractors. Sort of like on-base reservists? We help out where we can but don’t really see much in-field work, you know?” He was definitely struggling to describe his job to you, and you could imagine there was a lot of red tape and confidentiality around anything military he was doing, so you just nodded along and let him drop it. “But we still have a couple weeks stateside before we ship back out.”

You hummed at that, thinking over your own known schedule. “I can’t say I’ll have much time off before you need to leave, but I would like to see more of you, if you’re agreeable?” There was something special about this guy, and whether you were just friends or something more eventually, you didn’t want to waste your opportunity to have him in your life. Long distance anything was a lot of work, but you wanted him to know you were willing to try if he was.

“Do you like raisins? How would you feel about a date?”

---

That was how your unconventional romance with Frankie Morales started. You’d talked all night, and when the bartender kicked you and your groups out at closing time, he and his friends helped get your girls into their cabs. And once they were all taken care of, he had offered you his arm and walked you to your car like a proper, posh gentleman.

“Goodnight, paloma, thank you for such a wonderful evening.”

You had given him your business card, personal phone number and a flirty call me xx written on the back, and he in turn lifted your hand to brush a delicate kiss to your knuckles with a teasing wink. You went home that night mildly concerned you’d spontaneously combust from the heat blazing through your body. That man was a menace, and he knew exactly what he was doing to you.

He had called the next evening, and from there you spent as much time as you could together. Coffee dates, dinner and movie nights, even a walk in the park like some fairy-tale couple; he always greeted you with a bad pick-up line to make you smile, and a left you with a kiss on the hand at the end of your outings.

It was three wonderful but short weeks later that he got his ship-out date.

You were back at the dive bar where it all started, your friend (and some of her friends) and his all together again, to celebrate their last night of leave. The bar had unofficially become your ‘spot’, and you’d visited a few more times over the weeks, both as private dates and as group activities to get to know the rest of his squad.

It was bittersweet, saying goodbye to your new friends and your, well, Frankie. You had both agreed not to put labels or promises into your relationship until you were sure, and you were fine with that in the beginning when you were still strangers just interested in spending time together. But now you knew him, now you had feelings to back up your attraction to him, and now, he was leaving for who knows how long and you didn’t know if he felt the same way about you.

He must have noticed something was upsetting you, because he excused himself from his buddies’ conversation and held out a hand to help you up out of your chair.

“Join me for some fresh air, hermosa?” He was as courteous as ever as he led you outside into the chilled night, offering you his jacket and his side to cuddle into when you shivered. He was good at reading you by now and could tell when you wanted to work up to saying something without prompting, so he stayed silent and let you organize your thoughts.

You were struggling with your plan, with what you wanted to say to him, ask of him. He was rubbing your shoulder and you reached up to lace your fingers together, remembering the first time you held hands here at the bar…

Please don’t let me go.

That was your answer then, and it was still your answer now. You wanted him to keep holding your hand, now and for however much longer he could. You just needed to tell him that. Easy peasy. And because he’d made a sentimental dork out of you with his unending lines, you couldn’t think of a better way to confess to him. You looked up and met his eyes, allowing yourself to get lost in them.

“I must be a snowflake, because I’ve fallen for you.”

He untangled your fingers from his, pulling his arm away from where it was draped warmly over your shoulders, and took a step back to face you head on.

Oh gods, you wanted to rewind time and stop yourself from opening your big mouth, I’ve ruined it all.

Frankie snagged both of your wrists in his hands, startling you out of your downwards spiral as he tugged you close to his chest. He was staring down at you, brows furrowed and lips pursed seriously. Your hands were pressed between you, resting against his sternum over his steadily beating heart.

“Feel my shirt. It’s made of boyfriend material.”

And then you were both gone, laughing so hard you had tears in your eyes and grins splitting your faces as you held each other close.

You hadn’t ruined anything after all; you could cry you were so relieved.

Once you’d both managed to settle down, he leaned in and rested his forehead against yours, his own shiny eyes meeting yours earnestly. “I’m a terribly selfish man to ask this of you, but would you wait for me? Will you give us a chance? Exclusively?”

“Yes.”

Your first kiss together was there, on that cold night outside the bar where everything changed. It was soft and sweet, and you couldn’t wait for more.

---

Taglist:

@playbucky

#triple frontier #frankie morales x reader #frankie morales #frankie morales x you #Pedro Pascal #triple frontier fanfiction

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nickyandmikey · 3 years

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talk a little life with me

hi anon i took this opportunity to basically say whatever came to mind i’m sorry if you were only expecting a few sentences and hope you don’t mind sdhfjksd <3

TLDR; a little life is so interesting to think about when it comes what should and shouldn't be "allowed" in art, but still it feels emotionally manipulative for me, and the question of who the target audience is is worrying at best... The contents of the book itself were a lot of times straight up evil, yet i couldn't help be touched by the story that was told; the story of someone's life "as inconcievable as it is" will always feel like a privilege to hear/read about (even if it's fiction). i just really really wish it could've been done in a way that felt more like it was honoring certain experiences instead of being as harsh as it was.

(under the cut i get into it a "bit" more, so if you wanna read what i was thinking about as i was losing my mind through the last 100 pages, go ahead - but it IS like a mile long i warned you lmao)

What's interesting for me to think about regarding a little life is the discussions to be had about its right to exist. It has become sort of infamous for being very difficult to read. Everybody wants to know what all the fuss is about, people always have a perverse interest in taboo things, wanting to get a peek at the worst of the worst etc. And i've always thought of myself as someone who has a high tolerance for brutality and violence (in fiction!!!), so i also wanted to see how much of it i could take, pretty much just to be able to say that i did it, i finished it and prove to myself… what exactly? Idk. But here comes up my first problem: that the whole book can feel like an exercise in just how many absurdly, sometimes cartoonishly, evil things the author can throw in there. The reader is faced with an endurance test, and those who complete it are now part of an exclusive club. So what's the message here? Does there need to be one? Does any art need to have a moral to justify its existence? What should and shouldn't be limited and would taking away the most difficult parts of this book be censorship? I don't really have answers, i just find myself being like "including this part doesn't sit right with me" then asking impossible questions about the purpose of art and what it serves and how.

Despite this, one question still remains: who is this book for? Because i cannot imagine it would be an endurable read for someone who has gone through any of the numerous trigger warning-worthy events and experiences depicted. So that leaves those who had not, those who can only imagine, which includes myself. This creates a story only to be consumed as a spectacle for those who wish to be shocked by, to marvel at, to feel pity for people who cannot be present at their very own exhibition, because it is designed to be that way (also, as i mentioned, the book now has a reputation that precedes the reading experience, people obviously wanting to see for themselves just how fucked up it gets). So tossing aside all musings about what art should do and mean, i cannot help but feel that there is something exploitative being done here, even though it's a fictional story with fictional characters. Or maybe i'm being presumptuous, and i should appreciate that Yanagihara doesn't shy away from portraying the more brutal aspects of life. Then again, is it honest? Exploitative? Cruel? Does it exist only to shock? Is it a problem if it does? I really don't know. Maybe i've also misjudged people's ability to see reflections of their traumas portrayed as they are in a little life, so i'm sorry if that's the case, though just how much any one person can endure is of course individual. Typing this i realize the question i'm really asking myself is "can i call this sensationalist and exploitative without belittling real people's experiences of abuse, mental illness, disability etc?". Maybe manipulative is a better word for it?

I think for me personally the best way to describe this book is "exhausting". it's so emotionally draining and mentally taxing. It took me almost a year to finish, and i can be a slow reader sure, but at some points i just didn't have enough energy to take away from other parts of my life for this. Basically, there were months between me reading the first 2/3rds and the last 1/3rd so my memory of the beginning and middle of the story was able to mellow and lose some of its painfulness lmao. But it really is so all consuming, it enters your mind so deeply and it doesn't leave for days or weeks after reading any amount.

Reading about someone's life in its entirety is such an overwhelming experience. Seeing it unfold in front of you in a few hundred pages the decades someone (albeit someone fictional) had lived through, all the pain, the joy, the suffering, the glory… indescribable. And despite the often graphic imagery, the vividness of the details that made me wince and want to turn away from the book altogether, i still grew to love the characters. And they grew to be a part of me, no matter my gripes and doubts and iffiness about certain things. For this i am thankful.

SPOILER ALERT FOR THE ENDING FROM HERE. First of all, Willem's death. Trying to comprehend the enormity of Jude's loss feels impossible. I don't think there are words accurate enough for it, and this inability to understand on my part - due to being young and not having had the chance to develop that sort of history with someone - in itself becomes an experience for which no words exist, if that makes sense. After all, how do you give name to the experience of trying to imagine the unimaginable, you know.

Then there's the Ending ending. i feel there is something very dangerous about how beautiful it was, how inevitable. Something sinister in its implications but i don't think i can get into it now, not eloquently enough.

All in all, i wish it wasn't something you had to shield yourself from, putting up walls just to keep going forward, paying half attention at a few points, hurrying through plotlines to get to the end of them finally. I guess i just wish it had been more gentle. Finishing a little life is a sigh of relief, and in many ways it is an impossible book.

#my brain is so scattered but i hope this makes sense even if it's just rambling #i don't think i have it in me yet to unpack more concrete events from the book so these are very general thoughts #a little life #hanya yanagihara #books #literature #asks #anon #oh im so glad i typed this out last night because i Cannot think anymore. tho im starting to think maybe im giving the benefit of the doubt #to hanya yanagihara and the book #death tw

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seokmins · 4 years

Text

Don’t - JJK

ℙ𝕒𝕣𝕥 𝟙 of Physical

"Just be careful,” Yoongi cautioned. “Don’t get caught in something you don’t want to end up in.”

“Yoongi!” Jimin exclaimed. “Our baby is growing up! He’s developing feelings - !”

【ˢᵉʳⁱᵉˢ ᴹᵃˢᵗᵉʳˡⁱˢᵗ || ᴮᵀˢ ᴹᵃˢᵗᵉʳˡⁱˢᵗ || ᴹᵃⁱⁿ ᴹᵃˢᵗᵉʳˡⁱˢᵗ】

💞 🄿🄰🄸🅁🄸🄽🄶: Jeon Jungkook x Reader 📚 🄶🄴🄽🅁🄴: Fluff, Angst (?) 🌟 🅁🄰🅃🄸🄽🄶: T 💬ⓌⒸ: 3k ⚠️ 🅆🄰🅁🄽🄸🄽🄶🅂: Swear words? Suggestiveness? Gosh idk.

💫 (っ ◔◡◔)っɛƖ۷'ʂ ŋơɬɛʂ 💕:

I think this switches POV a few times, hope it’s not confusing 😅 I think [Y/N] is an interestingly shallow character hmmm 😆. I don’t really know names for dance moves bear with me. This is gonna lead to a series whee 🤭

“1... 2... 3. 1... 2... Oof!” A muffled curse and a hard thump sounded inside the supposed to be empty dance practice room. Jungkook frowned, it wasn’t uncommon to pass by someone as they left if they stayed a little longer through the half-hour time-slot between booking appointments. But to still hear angry counts and crashes fifteen minutes after his reserved time did not make him particularly thrilled. He hesitantly peeked his head in, the creak of the door drowned out by the on and off music now blasting as a girl once again counted out her steps.

[Y/N] came tumbling down, tripping over her two feet. Again. Sweat coated her entire body as she glared at her glistening forehead in the full-length mirror. She had tried numerous times over the past week to nail that footwork, but today was particularly rough. One more time her mind screamed even as her body ached.

“Is that the new choreo?” A gentle voice asked as she paused to reset the music back, causing her to yelp in shock. She broke out in a cold sweat as if she wasn’t already drenched enough. Primal fear coursed through her as she recognized just who was standing at the door, fit in his oversized hoodie, white baseball cap, and combat boots. Yes, Jeon flipping Jungkook in all his big-shot glory. She gulped.

“Hello.” [Y/N] bowed formally, cursing herself for looking like a bedraggled, wet rat. Of course, most people don’t look too swell during dance practice (unless they were BTS) and of course, it wasn’t as if she had never been in the same room, breathing the same air as Jungkook. After all, she shared the stage with him and the rest of the esteemed members. “Yes, I’ve been trying to perfect the footwork for next week. I’ve been practicing for... Oh my gosh - !”

Jungkook chuckled. It looked as if this was the first time she’d actually looked at the clock and he couldn’t help wonder just how long had she been here - and how long she planned to stay. “Ya know, this is the reason why there are bookings. Not just so everyone can get some practice in, but also so you don’t overwork yourself.” He hummed casually (in his angelic voice) and strode over to hand her a water bottle from his vast supply hidden in his duffel bag.

“I...Thank you.” [Y/N] murmured, grateful and shocked by his kind gesture. She’d save this water bottle forever. “I-I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to cut into your practice, I totally lost track of time.” Hastily gulping some water, she made to gather her items and skedaddle out of there, but Jungkook cleared his throat, halting her.

“Hey, stay a while. You need to cool down and I need to warm up.” A chance to one-on-one cool down solely with the Jeon Jungkook. An opportunity of a lifetime. “You’re... [Y/N] right?”

[Y/N] blinked. He knew her name. “Y-yes. I’m, uh, Lee Minho’s little sister. Um, you prolly don’t remember him, he’s -”

“- a member of Stray Kids.” Jungkook interrupted, glancing a little sardonically at her as he stretched one arm over the other. “Yes, I recall, he was on the Wings tour?” [Y/N] blinked. “I can see the talent flows in the family then.”

“Uh, wow. Thanks. I’m not so sure about that. I’ve taken forever to learn these moves. Even though I helped come up with these moves, I can’t execute them perfectly yet.”

“Wait, you came up with these?”

“Oh, uh yeah - yes. I... talked with one of the choreographers and they loved my idea. I have to perfect it just right so I can be ready by the deadline or it’ll be disastrous for the comeback.”

“That’s really impressive. Thank you. We appreciate your talent.” He said, smiling his signature bunny-tooth smile. [Y/N] blushed, even more so when she realized she had been wearing a sports bra. Having finally ‘cooled’ down, she grabbed her loose shirt and threw it back on. It didn’t help that she could feel Jungkook’s gaze on her, making her burn.

“It’s nothing, really. Um, it was nice talking to you. Really. I gotta go now. Sorry again for disturbing you.”

“No, it’s really not a problem at all.” He soothed. “Hey, maybe next time you book an appointment, let me know. Maybe we could chat more.” Jungkook waved his phone around, displaying the digital booking website for the dance practice room. “Huh, message me on KakaoTalk?” He offered.

“Oh, uh, ok. Uh yes definitely.”

“Oh, I’m sorry. That was a little presumptuous of me.” Warm redness rapidly spread up his neck to his cheeks. For the first time during their interaction, [Y/N] smiled at him.

“No, not at all.”

“Hoseok, you know that one girl who came up with the idea for our new choreo?” As casually as he could, the maknae questioned his hyung.

“Yeah, not very well, but she’s super talented from what I hear the dance team say. She leads a lot of the practices for the rest of the backup dancers to help them learn, almost like a professional teacher and choreographer.”

“Wow, I had no idea,” Jungkook admitted. [Y/N] hadn’t told him about that during their weekly meetings. Granted she didn’t talk much about herself in general.

“Well, it’s not that uncommon. While we try to get to know all of our staff, it’s impossible to get very close because of how often they rotate in and out.” Namjoon reassured him although the two other members of the maknae line grinned knowingly at their fellow member.

“I think Jungkookie here has a little crush on [Y/N]-ie.” Jimin teased as Taehyung voiced his agreement. Jungkook felt the red hot flush make its way up to his cheeks again. It seemed to be happening more and more these days.

“No, you’re wrong. I-... how do you even know her name?” He stuttered out.

“I may or may not have looked at your phone,” Jimin smirked. “As if we haven’t noticed you’ve been sneaking around doing a lot of dance practice when we haven’t even been told the final choreo.”

“I have to keep in shape, it’s better to get a taste of some part of it so it’s easier to learn the final version.”

“Uh-huh. That was actually a good excuse.” Seokjin laughed. “But you can’t fool us. You learn the choreography practically instantaneously... and you’ve never done that before for other comebacks.”

"Just be careful,” Yoongi cautioned. “Don’t get caught in something you don’t want to end up in.”

“Yoongi!” Jimin exclaimed. “Our baby is growing up! He’s developing feelings - !”

“I’m just saying.” He shrugged.

“I’m not doing anything bad. I’m just making a new friend, besides ARMY is my one and only love.” Jungkook sulked. “Stop making a big deal out of nothing.”

His leader rubbed a hand on the maknae’s slumped shoulders. “We just want you aware of the implications. Even if you’re ‘just friends’ as you said, rumors will fly if you’re close with anyone. We just don’t want a scandal. Especially not before the comeback.”

“I know. I promise nothing will happen.”

“Hey, I heard that there’s a fun dance practice that the backup dancers run` every week and she’s leading this week’s.” Hoseok, always the amicable sunshine brightened the atmosphere. “Why don’t we all go check it out?”

“Yay!” Taehyung cheered. “We can see who Kookie’s so fascinated on!”

“Stop! She’s just a friend!” The group laughed as he pouted.

♫ Adrenaline keeps on rushing in Love the simulation we're dreaming in Don't you agree? Don't you agree? ♫

A step. A twirl. A side-step. Arms waving. A clap. Joy filled [Y/N]’s entire being - adrenaline high as she twirled along to the beat. Dua Lipa’s husky voice boomed through the packed room, stuffy from the people’s energies as they danced. The dancer grinned wide as she stood in the front of the mirror moving her heart out alongside her peers. Each one of them had practiced the random choreo she had thought up and today they were putting it all together.

♫ Hold on just a little tighter Come on Hold on, tell me if you're ready Come on Baby, keep on dancing Let's get physical ♫

She blinked. Even as fast as she moved, the choreo was rather simple in general - muscle memory at the least. Which is why she didn’t stumble when locking direct eye contact with a pair of brown doe eyes paired with a bunny smile. What... what was he doing here, let alone them?

Yes. All seven members squeezed themselves in the back area of the practice room. While it wasn’t too uncommon for Hoseok to pop in on his way home after a practice, throw some pointers, and leave with a bright smile, seeing the star group of Big Hit threw the whole room in for a loop. However, they were professional dancers. They kept dancing - albeit a little on edge, slightly losing their previous unlimited pep during the first half of the song.

“So... [Y/N]-ie is the beauty at the front?” Jimin asked both as loudly and quietly as he could with the loud music. He nudged Jungkook out of his deep catching-her-eye with the girl moving smoothly across the room, in lead and in control. Jungkook had never truly seen her in her natural element, seemingly always so tense.

“Uh, yeah.”

“I can see why Kookie’s so fixated on her.” Taehyung acknowledged, all seven boys focusing on her also, although she didn’t notice having lost Jungkook’s stare and instead concentrating on her moves. But she could feel his presence as intense as if it was just the two of them alone.

♫ Let's get physical Physical Let's get physical Come on, phy-phy-phy-physical ♫

Cheers erupted as the last notes of the song faded, all rushing to give their input on each other’s moves and the choreo - and the choreographer herself. Even Hoseok went to join the masses, caught up in the excitement. Jungkook contemplated if he should join Hoseok or the others as they snuck out the door, offering praise to those they passed so as not to seem standoffish. Unsure, he chose to awkwardly linger by the door as everyone slowly filtered out. Hoseok winked at his maknae as he passed, raising his eyebrows quickly towards [Y/N]’s direction. She as well seemed to be keeping herself busy after her colleagues said goodbye almost sensing Jungkook’s hesitation to leave.

“Hey. What brought you here?”

“Hobi mentioned something about a weekly dance practice.”

“Ah, I see.”

“Wow, it was great seeing you dance.” Normally their meetups consisted of a few conversations while [Y/N] cooled down and Jungkook warmed up - quite similar to their first meeting. However, last week he encouraged her to stay and watch as he danced, yet still, knew very basic information about her and wondered if maybe he was being bothersome. Perhaps she was just entertaining him, too nice or even scared of what he might do lest she say she didn’t want to hang out with him.

“Thank you.”

“I really liked that song, it had a great beat.”

“That was the English version. Did you know Hwasa was featured in another version?”

“No way, she’s a great vocalist.”

“She really is.” [Y/N] hummed. “Here, I can play it for you.” She turned to her phone and pulled up the song.

♫ Although we eye each other You know I’ve read your feeling Don’t you agree? Don’t you agree? ♫

“How’s the choreo for the comeback coming?”

“It’s almost there. I should have it nailed by this week.”

“I can’t wait to see the finalized result.”

Sneak peeks while [Y/N] finished up her final minutes before he announced his presence lent Jungkook a good idea of what their final concept would be. To say he was excited was an understatement. She had true talent and an insightful eye.

♫ You try to hide your feelings You don’t have time just wasting time Don’t you agree? Don’t you agree? ♫

Jungkook swallowed. Internally, he wondered if he was gonna start screaming as he listened to Hwasa’s silkiness as she voiced the lyrics. [Y/N] smiled, motioning to him. “C’mon, do you want to dance?”

♫ Who needs to go to sleep, when I’ve got you next to me? ♫

Pass up an opportunity to dance her? As if. With a shy grin, he accepted the challenge. This might be the first time she’d become so carefree with him and he wasn’t about to lose.

♫ Night is passing There’s no point in hiding it So come on, come on, come on Let’s get physical ♫

Regardless of the girl dancing side-by-side to him, both trying to mimic each other’s moves so they were in sync, Jungkook enjoyed dancing. He even enjoyed dancing with other people, such as his hyungs and fellow Kpop groups. But maybe he enjoyed this just a little more.

♫ Close the door of this room Just us together in this space So come on, come on, come on Let’s get physical ♫

If only it was just that making his heart pound. Jungkook had been around girls before. While he shied away most times, not a single one of those interactions had made him feel like this. [Y/N] put him at ease even before he officially met her. Even dancing didn’t make him feel like this. Blood and adrenaline pumped through his veins and he turned to look right into [Y/N]’s eyes. Both dancers held each other’s gaze that asked the same question - “What are you feeling right now?” The raven-haired man licked his lips nervously, stalling his movements.

“I -. Do you...?” Gosh, he felt ridiculous. But there was no denying the undercurrent, despite their hesitation, that ran between the two.

“Do I...?”

“Do you, uh, find me attractive?” Jungkook almost regretted the words as soon as they came out.

“Gosh, Jungkook. What kind of question is that?” [Y/N] laughed as he blushed profusely. “If you don’t believe the hundred thousands of ARMYs that sing your praises, I don’t know what can convince you if not that.”

He mumbled something she couldn’t catch.

“Hm?”

Brown doe eyes met hers, shyly. “You telling me what you think.”

[Y/N]’s eyes widened as she gulped. “Well. I - just proved there’s no way you’re not attractive.”

“That’s not what I meant.” He turned away from her, thinking about leaving but she cleared her throat.

“Of course I find you attractive. I mean, you’re Jeon Jungkook, Golden Maknae of BTS. I mean... it’s almost intimidating and unfair how good looking you are. And you’re nice, talented, and sweet.” Gasping more than she would be from dancing, [Y/N] shakily met him eye to eye.

♫ All night, I'll riot with you I know you got my back and you know I got you So come on, come on, come on Let's get physical Lights out, follow the noise Baby, keep on dancing like you ain't got a choice ♫

With an unknown surge of confidence blazing through him, Jungkook latched his lips onto hers. Nerves flooded him, yet were soothed as she eagerly met his tender, yet fervent kisses. Grinning lazily as they separated for breath, he led her out of the dance practice room and they stumbled through the empty halls of the Big Hit studios to outside. The moon lit their path as [Y/N] led him to a hotel, flashing her card at the receptionist as Jungkook kissed her neck. He remained attached to her as she swiped her card into the hotel room and before he knew it they tumbled together into the crisp sheets of a bed.

“Is this what you want?” [Y/N] asked, cupping Jungkook’s cheeks as he hovered above her.

“Yes.” Jungkook breathed, ecstasy lacing his whisper. “Is this what you want.”

She answered him with a kiss.

♫ So come on, come on, come on Let's get physical ♫

Jungkook groaned as he awoke to not the sun shining through his windows, but the sound of his phone vibrating. Again and again. Blinking blearily, he grabbed it and answered the call.

“Hello?” He grumbled - voice raw, body sore, and not fully awake.

“Jungkook.” Came the stern voice of Namjoon over the phone. “Where are you?”

“I’m -” The maknae shook himself awake, glancing around, panic filling him. The silence rang awfully loud through the small hotel bedroom. Except for Namjoon’s voice calling him back to attention.

“Jungkook?”

He cleared his throat. “I’m in a hotel. I passed out.”

Namjoon was silent. “I suggest you check your messages. I’ll see you back at the dorm. Try not to get caught again.”

In the quiet of her dorm, [Y/N]’s face was illuminated by the light of her phone screen as she hastily dialed a number. Not even two rings in, the person answered.

“’ Sup, Ugly?” A familiar snide, male voice greeted.

“Is that how you answer your phone now?” She huffed.

He let out a sleepy laugh. “Only how a certain someone looks when she calls me at this hour.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be.”

A pause. [Y/N] knew there was no point beating around the bush and got straight to the point. “I want to take you up on that offer you extended to me.”

That got his attention. It’d been several years since they last talked about the subject and what it entailed - never touching upon it again after the argument that broke out. That was the only reason he knew what she was referring to. If he wasn’t awake before, he was now. “... Are you sure? I thought -”

“Yes. I thought there were no questions asked.”

The man on the other line hesitated. “What happened?”

“Didn’t I just say?”

“But -”

“Look,” [Y/N] interrupted. “Forget it, I-”

“No, no, no. I’m sorry. Come over. But promise we’ll talk. In person, okay?”

“In person.” She agreed. “Thank you.”

“See you soon, then?”

“Yeah. I love you.”

“Love you too.”

Breaking! Dispatch has reported that Jeon Jungkook of BTS was seen entering a hotel with an unknown woman late last night. Big Hit has yet to comment on the situation.

💫 (っ ◔◡◔)っɛƖ۷'ʂ ŋơɬɛʂ 💕:

Physical - by Dua Lipa / Physical by Dua Lipa ft. Hwasa & Lyric videos ➡️ links will be given under the series’ masterlist.

Hehehe another song might be added too 😉

I finished writing this at 2 am. It’s rough. I know this moved fast but O well. If anyone reads this, let me know if they want tagged in Part 2!

ezralia-writes June 2020: ♫ Physical: Don’t - Part 1 ©

#jeon jungkook #bts #bts fanfic #jeon jungkook fanfc #jjk fanfic #jungkook x reader #jjk fic #kim namjoon #jung hoseok #kpop #kpop fic #bts fic #jjk x reader #ezraliawrites #ezralia vali #physical

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emmaofnormandy · 4 years

Photo

~Two worlds collide: when Odin visits Thomas Howard, 3rd Duke of Norfolk~

It had been a long while ever since Odin had visited Earth. Such visits were rare, but contained the purpose to keep an eye on humankind. Throughout ages, he accompanied different tribes with different beliefs in different times of Midgard’s history. Knowledge’s a purpose there should be no limit to hold him from achieving it, it was his favourite saying.

So far, Middle Ages had been his favourite days to look upon when he was not busy with his own doings back at Asgard. There were plural faiths, struggles in between but also a considerable advancement from here and there. However, ever since a king of England won a battle in Agincourt, France, some day in the 15th century, Odin’s attentions had been drawned to that small, but far from insignifant island.

The year now was 1554 and there were no more Plantagenets to occupy the English throne or interesting wars to wage upon. Nonetheless, there was a new dynasty in the power, responsible for new changes here and there. It was the reign of it’s first reignant queen, Mary Tudor, but the reason why Odin was going to Earth in such days was not because of her, her past or anything of the sort. He was going to take away the soul of a character who was seen with very few good eyes by most people who knew him.

Nonetheless, Odin was eager to hear history from that man’s eyes. Thomas Howard, the 3rd duke of Norfolk, was ailing at the Kenninghall’s palace. His servants and family were aware that he was dying, but Odin managed to get close to the old duke without notice.

It was close to twilight by the time Odin arrived at Kenninghall. Thomas, in the meantime, was found in his bed, staring at the nothing, completely unaware of his surroudings. The comfort of his pillow was all he held onto, as the blankets, too heavy and warm, were pushed down his belly to ease the unbearable heat that troubled his body. The candle light was swift and the wind coming out of the windows seemed to suddenly make the bedchamber too cold.

Thomas sighed, but even doing so hurt his lungs. He wished he could sleep, but there were too many memories, voices of people who were there no more, left to haunt him. A small moan escaped his lips, for death would be very welcoming right now... and there would be no need for the cold or the heat to struggle over for his body.

“I see my lord is in pain”, a male voice captured Thomas’s attention for there had been none lately who would distract him from the swings of moods that dying made of him. But also because it was a voice he could not identify, which was interesting.... And yet disappointing when he saw this was just a servant.

Odin saw there was distrust in those green eyes, which amused him. Disguised as a poor peasant man who worked in the household of the duke, there was no surprise that he would be received with unspoken hostility. Nonetheless, even so he managed to make the duke more comfortable. Once this was done, Odin took a seat nearby and said:

“I am aware I am in no place to speak with your lordship”, he thus began at last, “but forgive me sire, for there’s something in you that makes me forget my forwardness.”

“H-How so?” the duke managed to speak, too tired to hold onto hostility as he knew he was in no position to act so arrogant.

“You are History in itself, my lord. I’d like to hear some of your memories concerning the past”, said the peasant lad, who was the Norse deity.

Thomas seemed to enjoy the compliment. No one cared about this anymore...of who I once was, of what I brought that shaped me who I am... or was.

“The past is past for a reason, young man”, he spoke in a melancholic mood. “Why would you like me to dwell on it?”

“Not to dwell, sir, but to pass forward your wisdom. Surely there are rich experiences you must’ve taught your children, for example. I carry no importance to you whatsoever, as I am merely a servant, but one who seeks the knowledge in any opportunity.”

Thomas managed to smirk.

“Even as if comes from a dying man?”

“Especially so.”

As if recovering strenghts the duke thought to have long lost, he adjusted on bed and said:

“I told my children, but alas... I don’t think they listened.”

There was a pause. Odin noticed the man’s eyes sparkling briefly, a flush painting those cheeks, only to pale again.

“I loved her, you see. I never admitted this publically, there should be no reason to do so. But I did love her.” He began.

Again, another pause. But Odin, knowing no bounds, said:

“Whom are you referring to, sir? Your lady wife?”

“Not Elizabeth, nay!” Thomas ardently protested, before softening. “I’ve meant dear Anne. At the reign of her uncle, Richard III, we were betrothed, an arrangement made by this king as he favoured my family very dearly. However, the battle of Bosworth happened and we were no more the darlings at court. Those were difficult days, but by the 90′s, we were back at the new king’s grace. He favoured this betrothal and we were thus married. She was very gracious, the most beautiful lady I’d ever put my eyes on.”

Odin smiled.

“Was she like her sister, the queen?”

Lost in days that would not go back, so said Thomas:

“Every inch like her if not the better. She was kind and good, loving and dutiful. I could have not asked for a better wife. I do not speak only in terms of rank. As you may see, what was I if not the son of a duke and she, the daughter of a king? She was meant to be archduchess of Austria!”

“Did she love you, though, sir?”

Thomas smiled down at him.

“Aye, she did, in spite of everything. She did give me children, whom we named firstly Henry, after the generous king. Our second boy received the named of me, Thomas. There was even a third boy, whom we named Edward, after his maternal grandfather, the English king, and then we had a little girl whom we named Elizabeth, both after the queen and the queen dowager, even though she was not living in those days.”

But the smile did not last long, so Odin waited to hear more of such a man. Thomas, after quietening a bit, sighed, even with difficulty, and casted a glance to the man who gave him more ears than his sons ever did. He proceeded:

“But none of our children survived infancy. Anne was desolated. It saddened her good heart and soul, those losses were too much. She shared her birthday with a brother... a brothe she too lost. You surely must have been told of the tale of the princes in the tower?”

Odin nodded.

“Good. You have a wit for a peasant, young man.” Thomas smirked. “Well, as I was saying, Richard III, however kind he may have been, took the crown from his nephews. It’s a mystery that remains until our days of what happened to Edward V, the true king, and his brother, the duke of York. Anne panicked when a pretender, whom we later knew him to be an impostor named Perkin Warbeck, announced to be Richard Plantagenet. Her own dear brother. She did not wish to believe it, and even when the impostor received the death penalty for what he did, it shook her spirits.”

“Did she believe it was him?”

“To be honest with you? No. She told me that Edward, her oldest brother, was never one too healthy. So she thought he may have died in the Tower, although she blamed Richard for it nonetheless. As for Richard... Anne believed him to be alive, however, not turned into a man like Perkin.”

“How so?” Odin asked, intrigued.

Thomas smirked.

“Richard would not have behaved like a beggar the way Warbeck did. And Warbek was proud, but messy in many, many ways. I don’t say that only because I’m a Tudor supporter by all means.” He shrugged his shoulders.

Then it occurred to Odin and he said:

“Do you know where he is, sir?”

Thomas narrowed his eyes at the blunt servant who, against his own will, had made him like him.

“What’s it you speak of, man?”

There was something different in the lad when he responded the duke, or perhaps he was just fearless when he did:

“I think you know where Richard Plantagenet is, and your lady wife knew it also.”

Thomas opened his mouth to protest but began to cough violently. Odin calmly offered the duke a glass of water, aiding, with his secretive powers, him in the proccess. Suddenly feeling better, Thomas adjusted himself on bed and replied:

“You are very presumptuous to assume that we’d know such a thing.”

“Even if the late duke of York was alive, he could not pose any threat. England’s a Tudor now and the queen...”

“...is possibly barren and will be succeeded by her half-sister”, interrupted Thomas, dryly so.

Odin arched his eyebrows.

“So do you admit the duke lives? Otherwise, you’d not say such a thing. The queen is young, she could produce heirs...”

Thomas rolled in his bed uncomfortably.

“I am admitting nothing.”

Odin gave the duke another glass of water. Although suspicious of such a lad, Thomas sensed he could trust him.

“I am a keeper of secrets, sir.”

Thomas knew the other was not lying, but even so...

“I’ve kept this with me for long years. Even from the king himself.”

“Which king do you speak of, my lord?”

“Henry the Seventh, of course”, retorted the older male, impatient. “Who else could have been?”

But unnaffected by the duke’s humour, Odin said:

“Well?”

Thomas did not like his impertinence, although at the same time... it was a fresh welcoming. The servants in general usually avoided his presence and even his children feared him.

“Richard was, indeed, alive. He was sent to live in the North of the kingdom in the Augustinian priory.” He took a deep breath. “Two weeks after Richard III had the young duke to accompany his regal brother at the Tower, Edward V died of natural causes. There was already growing a great deal of panic of the children being dead, the two legitimate sons of King Edward the Fourth, and people comprehensively blamed their king for it. Well, he trusted my father, as I’ve said, we were in great favour at the Yorkist court. My father was the responsible for taking the duke in security back to Norfolk and then to the lands of Northumberland.”

“Why so far North if they were loyal to the Yorkist cause?”

Thomas frowned. He knows too much for a peasant lad. But Odin was unimpressed by the old duke’s suspicious. So he added:

“I ask it because it’s common knowledge that the North is more traditional, and that King Richard III was kept in great esteem by the northerns. So my father told.”

“I see...” Thomas was partially convinced. “Well, then you know that this was why. The Northerns were more reliable, but even so it was not something that would go out simply as that, for they could have used young Richard as their pawn as it happened with Lambert Simnel. As I was saying, there were agreements from both parts that Richard would live quietly. Every now and then when the Queen and her sisters had the opportunity to go in pilgrimage, they would visit the duke without the king’s knowledge. Turns out that Richard adopted another name and enjoyed a quieter life, so he really never became a trouble for the Tudors.”

“A secret that died with the queen and her sisters, eh? The key to solve the mystery...”

“It’s for the best.”

“But your lordship claims that the said duke is alive?”

Thomas smirked.

“He was. How did he outlive the king’s swift change of faith? Don’t bother asking me.”

“He must be a sad person, though. Outliving all of his family only to see what this came to be...”

“Politics can be cruel when given to the wrong hands.” Thomas shrugged. “We all do wrongs when in power. But Richard was a good man. I’ve seen him only twice, if that’s what you like to know.”

“So he is not alive?”

“Nay. He died only two years ago. We were born the same year and they say it’s the Plantagenet blood that keeps us living too much.” He chuckled a bit. “But even so... Anne had good recollections of him. She would have named one of our children after him too... and yet she died before...”

He cleared his throat and glanced away. It was night and the wind began to blow cold again. There were signs of an upcoming storm, but Thomas was too lost in his memories to bother with that.

Odin, in turn, waited. He was patient.

“I thought you’d leave”, he heard the old man say. “They all do.”

“I don’t, sir. You are a good man.”

He laughed, but the sound of it was sad.

“I’ve seen two nieces, blood of my blood, condemned to death on false charges. I’ve lost many relatives because of my damn pride. I am no good man, lad. Far from it.”

“Your lordship sounds bitter.”

Thomas grimaced at how freely he was being spoken to.

“It’s because I am. How could it be otherwise?”

“Many men claim that the death of a beloved one changes a man’s nature.”

“A philosopher now are we? Although that could well be said of Thomas Seymour, if what I was told is correct. But no matter, I am responsible for what was done. I did not work alone on any schemes, my man.”

“How so?”

Thomas sighed, impatient, his eyes filled with scenes that, without his knowledges, Odin could see.

“Men like Cromwell, Wolsey, Gardiner, Dudley, Seymour... Well, they were no lambs either. Cromwell was a friend of the Boleyns, if my memory is not betraying me, and yet he was the first to turn his back off when they needed the most. He too has his share of guilt.”

“But he died.”

“He was executed. Fairly so”, Thomas corrected him. “But I was almost. I was this close. The boy king reigned and yet I outlived him.”

Silence stood between them. Odin knew was almost time, but it was when Thomas said:

“I do wish things were different. That she was not foolish.”

“Who?”

“Both my nieces. Katherine’s crime was her youth. She was not well advised, was not even prepared for the damn role”, he spoke with remorse.

“It was the other queen whom you judged, sir.”

Thomas’s felt the wound open at those words. They were true, and he was but an old man, a reminiscent of the past and glorious court of Henry VIII...However, being reminded of was entirely difference. He was accostumed to have to live with people pretending and lying at his face. Odin knew that, but he was not scared of the old man and the duke knew it.

“If I were possessed of my judgement, you would have been killed.”

“And I would have gladly gone to death”.

That was the response Thomas hoped to hear.

“What? Are you mad?”

“I might be, good sir. I am one filled with a thirst for knowledge.”

Thomas did not keep the eye contact too long. He knew there was something odd in that man, and there was this feeling he was not a merely servant. When he began to make the sign of cross, Odin stood and decided it was time.

“Why are you so fearful, sir? What is done is done. There is nothing you can do to repair that. Even if you could get rid of me, what I say remain it so. You did lot of wrongs, indeed, though I believe you were mostly motivated by circumnstances. I can tell you that when it comes to human being, there’s no black or white and no one, absolutely no one, is right in judging one another. You are proud as the day you had been when you were told you’d espouse a daughter of York. You remain proud as the day you sentenced your own niece to die. But you did what you could. And that’s that.”

Thomas stared wide-eyed at the peasant who stood before him.

“W-Who are you?”

As Odin revealed his true self, night turned to light. A smirk crossed his lips:

“It does not matter who I am, when I know who you are. It’s time to come home. Your wife and children await. So do your nieces and the rest of your family.”

“B-But...”

“They forgive you. You are, after all, a man of your own days, Thomas Howard, Duke of Norfolk.”

And on that day, Odin gained more knowledge, acquired more secrets, but also befriended a man often judged by the times of men. Thomas Howard, cleansed of his sins, gladly joined Anne of York in a heavenly place where their children surrounded them and all was what was meant to have been: happy and chill.

#Odin #Thomas Howard #3rd duke of Norfolk #crossover universe

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philosopherking1887 · 5 years

Text

Letter to Tom Hiddleston

As I posted before I saw Tom in Betrayal in London, I wrote a letter (composed on the computer then transcribed by hand on nice stationery, which caused some flare-up of my tennis elbow...) to give to him after the show. I didn’t get into the stage door line fast enough to be able to see Tom; he only went partway down the line before going back in. (I’m not sure if that was his idea or his handler’s. Charlie Cox, meanwhile, did go all the way down the line; I got his autograph on my program and a couple of photos of him, though not with him.) But some house manager/handler person was collecting letters, cards, and gifts, and when I asked skeptically whether he would actually give them to Tom, he said, “100%”. So in theory, Tom actually received this and might read it. Maybe it was dumb, or presumptuous, or outright rude, but I expressed my condolences for what the MCU did to his character. If Tom isn’t actually as depressed about it as he seems, it won’t matter -- he’ll ignore it like the rest of the nonsense fans probably write to him -- but if he is, maybe it’ll help a little to know he has allies.

Anyway, here’s what I wrote.

---------------------------------------

Dear Mr. Hiddleston (or Tom, if I may),

I’m a philosophy postdoc at [redacted], in London for an on-campus interview for a lectureship at [redacted]… which actually isn’t until next week; I extended my trip a few days on the front end so that I could catch one of the last shows of Betrayal before the run ended. It’s more than a little silly, but I’ll admit that a large part of the reason I was hoping [redacted] would invite me for a visit no later than mid-June was so that I’d have an opportunity (or excuse) to come see you act in person.

Like many people you’ve heard from, I’m sure, I became a fan of yours through your portrayal of Loki. I was blissfully ignorant of the MCU until 2015, when a friend invited me to see Avengers: Age of Ultron. My interest was piqued when I learned that Joss Whedon wrote and directed it, since I greatly admire his work. So of course, because I wasn’t raised by wolves, I had to go back and watch all the previous MCU films in chronological order. I wasn’t really hooked until I watched Thor, but not because of the title character.

Loki’s story was deeper, more tragic, more Shakespearean than I expected from a comic book movie, even in this golden age (though perhaps not from one directed by Kenneth Branagh). It was striking that the villain (seemingly) died not as a direct result of his wicked actions, in the Wile E. Coyote-like fashion favored by Marvel and Disney movies, but by suicide, prompted by his father’s rejection. He was three-dimensional, flesh and blood, and never lost the audience’s sympathy even in his cruelest moments—like Shylock, Cassius, or Macbeth. Then, when Loki turned up again in The Avengers, more desperate and ruthless but fundamentally the same proud, wounded spirit, I was fully drawn in. (Whedon’s incisive writing certainly didn’t hurt.)

I needed to know who played Loki with such poise, charm, and pathos. After getting caught up on the MCU (including another nuanced, twisty, show-stealing appearance from Loki in The Dark World), I needed to find more of your work. I watched Unrelated, Archipelago (ouch), The Deep Blue Sea, and the Henry installments of The Hollow Crown. I went to see Coriolanus when it was shown in a local movie theater; I watched Crimson Peak, The Night Manager, and I Saw the Light when they came out.

And the amazing thing all of these performances had in common is that you disappear into each role, inhabiting each character completely. You make the most diverse characters equally believable, from the selfish frivolity, with an undercurrent of sadness, of Freddie Page or Prince Hal to the grim inflexibility of Caius Marcius to the inscrutable chameleon Jonathan Pine and, of course, the mercurial, self-destructive Loki. When you speak Shakespeare, the words flow as naturally as if you grew up in Elizabethan England, and the meaning comes across so lucidly that I feel like I did, too. I had no idea what Coriolanus was about when I went to see it (generally not recommended with Shakespeare), but I found myself as effortlessly caught up in it as if it were an episode of Game of Thrones. Nonetheless—and this is what drew me to your work in the first place—you put the same kind of thoughtfulness and conviction into the most (apparently) frivolous roles that you do into Shakespeare.

I haven’t heard anyone say this or ask you about it in interviews, maybe because they know you wouldn’t be able to say anything publicly if you agree or maybe because there are so few people who feel this way, but I want to express how sorry I am about what was done to your character, how thoughtlessly all your masterful work and dedication were thrown away—in Infinity War, yes, but even more insultingly in Thor: Ragnarok. Maybe I was just imagining it, but I sensed from your comportment during the press for Ragnarok, however gamely you talked up the humorous new tone (you are, after all, a professional), that you weren’t entirely happy with the way Loki and (to an even greater extent) Thor were “reinvented”—or, more accurately, bowdlerized, made into caricatures rather than characters: Loki was turned into an effete, hedonistic cartoon cut-out “trickster” who betrays people for shits and giggles because it’s “in his nature”—completely disregarding, or rather attempting (successfully, for most audiences) to erase, his complicated, compelling motives for his misdeeds in previous films; and Thor was turned into a compassionless, narcissistic bully (however much the movie tried to make out that Loki was the narcissist) and, to use some technical terminology, a fratty douchebro. This mean-spirited retcon, which gleefully mocked its predecessors and the people who liked them (especially with the parody of Loki’s death scene in The Dark World), was not the conclusion to the trilogy that Thor, Loki, or their fans deserved. It was not the conclusion you deserved, after the heart and soul you put into the character.

All that is to say: even if Marvel didn’t understand or appreciate what they had in your Loki, some of us do, and we are grateful for the dignity and compassion with which you incarnated a character who suffered from emotional abuse, social ostracism, and mental illness (Ragnarok cannot make us believe that all of these problems are mere “childish fixations,” to quote the director, or a lazy failure to “grow and change”). I hope the Loki TV show turns out to be worthy of the character as you, Branagh, and Whedon shaped him, not another cynical effort to cash in on Loki’s fans while making no secret of the contempt in which we are held, especially because most of us are female, and bowing to the dislike of the Reddit crowd that can’t understand why a cerebral, slightly androgynous, morally ambiguous character is more appealing to women than the standard self-certain male power fantasies (must be because women always go for assholes, right?). I haven’t decided yet whether I want to subscribe to Disney+ so that Marvel knows exactly how many people care about Loki, or boycott it in protest of how the MCU has treated Loki and his fans. Maybe I’ll compromise by using someone else’s login…

To conclude (finally; we academics tend to wax long-winded): Thank you for all your magnificent work, which clearly demonstrates your respect for both your craft and your audience. You’re a true artist, and you manage to elevate everything you act in (your eyebrow movements furnished most of the sincere pathos in Ragnarok). I hope you will continue to act both in the theater, which is obviously your true passion, and in film and TV so that your work is accessible to a larger audience. Or do more of those National Theatre Live things; best of both worlds.

Sincerely, etc.

#letter to tom hiddleston #tom hiddleston #tom hiddleston as loki #tom hiddleston's acting #anti thor ragnarok

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bluehhj · 5 years

Text

listen to me — chapter 3

LISTEN TO ME — 0003

listen to me masterlist;

WORDS: 1.4K

a/n: hii, at first i had imagined this au as a short au, but i kind of had some ideas for it and transformed into a long au, but it also depends on whether you guys are liking and wanting more or not. tell me, okay? hope you like it!! ❤

Jinah managed to fulfill her goals and slept all day sunday. She only woke up at six in the afternoon, took the opportunity to take a shower, eat something and take a look at the movies that were on TV, then returned to the room and slept more. She slept so much that at three in the morning she woke up tired from sleeping. From then on, her body went into a critical state of inertia, so blinking was a very difficult task to do, and it was until dawn. The fact that the windows were closed and there was no opening that allowed the light to enter prevented her from realizing that it was time to get up, but, fortunately, there was Christopher Bang, or simply Bang Chan, to make things work in that apartment.

"JinJin?" the blond boy called outside, knocking on the door. "Can I come in or are you naked? I don't wanna see you naked, girl!"

Being listened to with her face on the pillow wasn't a very easy task, but thanks to the almost total silence, Jinah managed to make her murmur swept over the walls and into her friend's clever auditory channels.

"You've taken all the sleep of the world for you, my God." Chan was already opening the curtains and raising the windows, as he always did. "And get up or you'll be late for college, it's almost seven already."

"I'm numb," Jinah muttered after two attempts to move her legs. "It's as if my muscles have melted."

"Of course! After about twenty hours in that cave, you wanted what?" Impatient, Chan pulled his friend's covers and had the graceful sight of the beautiful body covered only by a large black shirt. "Come on, get dressed before the coffee gets cold."

Gathering all her strength in a rush of courage and motivated by a tasty breakfast, Jinah mumbled the whole way to the bathroom. After brushing her teeth, she went into the stall and switched on the shower in the cold, intent on warding off the lethargy that was already bothering her nervous system and making her angry. She didn't bother to get too worked up, just tried to hide her swollen face with a little makeup, put on jeans and a comfortable sweatshirt, dried her hair, slipped on her sneakers and left the room.

The apartment wasn't so small, but being divided by four people, it was normal for a few mounds of clutter to accumulate here and there, since residents spent most of the day — or night — out and didn't have much time to worry about the tidiness of the place, only doing it during the weekends. Jinah crossed the room and found some books cluttered on the coffee table along with two empty coffee cups and a lost leather jacket. She had a faint memory of leaving one of those glasses there, and her sense told her to pick them up. Arriving in the kitchen, the scene that was already so accustomed to see every day was repeated for the umpteenth time.

Chan shared his space on the table with a college book and a plate of toast with strawberry jam, always studying madly for the tests that would still be applied at the end of the period. Beside him, Jade blew her cup of steaming coffee carefully while Changbin rested his head on the shoulder of the american girl, too busy with his phone and a piece of cake.

Jinah wasn't sure when Seo moved definitely to that apartment. At first, when he started dating Jade, his visits were timid and occurring only on weekends, but as time went by, the two started to share the bed and Changbin couldn't leave because Jade always convinced him to stay a little longer. Since then, finding him in the rooms, regardless of the time or day, became routine, and both Jinah and Chan would find it strange if they didn't see him again. Despite the strange obsession with black and the false aura of bad boy — since he was a sweetheart, as Jade herself said — Changbin became an essential part of that small family.

"Look, she's out of the coma." the brown-haired girl, with two unique wicks painted blond on the front, joked after Jinah left the dirty cups in the sink. "I thought you'd become part of the mattress."

It was like this: you trusted people, did favors, shared a life with them, and you couldn't take a few hours off without them filling you up. Again, friendship is everything.

"Good morning to you too," Jinah said wryly, letting her body fall into the empty chair beside Changbin.

"How was saturday night?" Chan asked, not taking his eyes off the book. "I wish I'd asked you before, but you kinda hibernated."

"Boring, but I discovered something." Jinah winced as she took a sip of the coffee, mentally cursing herself for not blowing it up before, and turned to Changbin. "You know Jisung?"

"The one we were talking shit about last week?" the boy lifted his head from his girlfriend's shoulder and set the cake and phone aside for a moment.

It wasn't exactly talking shit, but the four of them had come together at lunchtime to discuss how Han Jisung's relationship with Kwon Chaerin was strange, and they ended up calling him an idiot because he didn't realize that the girl was doing things right under his nose.

"Uh huh. He fell on my branch and said he was kicked, he looked devastated."

"Wow." Chan made a sad pout. "Not that I'm surprised, after all, it was many times that we saw Chaerin going out with Seungmin, but still..."

"Chaerin was a coward," Changbin said. "If she wanted to be with Seungmin instead of Jisung, she must've been sincere from the start, not insisted on that idea of marriage, even though she knew she was going to leave him."

"She may have her motives." Jinah shrugged. "As absurd as it sounds, I don't like to make judgments before I hear both sides of the story."

"Still, I think it was stupid. But what did you tell him?"

"I've tried to distract him, I've said some nonsense, I think he needs more of a friend than a project of psychologist by phone who'll forget about him once the call ends."

Immediately, Jade raised an eyebrow and cast a smug glance at Choi.

"And you want to be this friend?"

Jinah shrugged again.

"Maybe, why not?"

The american giggled and sipped the coffee that was still in her hand.

"Wasting time for what, huh?"

"Hey, it's not what you're thinking."

"Ah, JinJin, please" Chan also laughed, but less presumptuous than Jade and more interested in the subject. — "You suck at disguise, we've caught you drooling over Jisung in the hallways countless times.

"I wasn't drooling over him." Jinah frowned. "I was just watching."

It was true that from time to time she'd stare at Han for no solid reason, but that was all. Obviously Jisung called attention because he was very handsome, but Jinah never looked at him with ulterior motives, after all, he was about to get married and wasn't part of her character, wanting a committed person, so much so that the ‘feeling’ that she felt for him couldn't even be titled as crush, but maybe as a kind of admiration or something, that's all.

"That's how it starts," Jade said, getting up. "Just be careful not to be anyone's toy. We don't know much about Jisung, but I wouldn't be surprised if he started using anyone just to look good in front of Chaerin."

"That's true." Chan stood as well and shoved the books into his backpack. "But you're an adult, and I think you know how to take good care of yourself. Now come on, it's the last year and we can't be late for nonsense."

Jinah decided not to retort Jade's words for a part of her being aware that perhaps her american friend was right, and also because she couldn't miss the first lesson at all, because it was the subject in which she had the most difficulty. She finished the coffee quickly and helped Changbin keep half of the things in the refrigerator, making a mental note not to forget to wash all the dishes when they arrived, since her turn to do it was the day before, but she didn't do the task for have overslept.

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wolfman-al · 5 years

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Good bye horses and my lack of activity

So it is over. Last night the series finale of "My Little Pony - Friendship is Magic" aired. Nine seasons, 9 years and 2 days - from 10.10.2010 to 12.10.2019. What a ride. What a run we had. I got on the ride in February 2011, a few month into the series, and for the last 9 years, almost a quater of my life, the ponies have been a part of my life. So it is hard to let go. It hurts. I´m going to miss our girls. I watched the finale streamed from 2:00 am to 3:30 am and at the end I was crying like a baby. I had to take a long walk in the middle of the night to collect my thoughts before going to bed. So nine years of FIM, what can we take from it? Well, first of all the TV-show may be over, but there is still the comic and the manga. The comic just announced that they will brand themsleves as season ten, which I find a little presumptuous. Don´t get me wrong I read the comics and like them mostly, but they have been quite bad at times, story and art wise. Also sometimes characters act out of character, stuff is added that doesn´t fit in the universe and the lore of Equestria. I don´t consider the comics canonical to the show. So if they want to be season 10 (and beyond) they really have to step up their game. The Manga however is brilliant. It really has that season 2 feeling which was IMO the best season of the show. I really can´t wait to see what they will add here. What makes me really sad is also that I feel like many opportunities in the show were wasted, you had promising plotlines that were abandoned while completely pointless ideas that led nowhere were followed through. And there is the issue of zombification, which comes even to the best shows, the last Seasons really showed some signs of zombiefication. So in a way I am glad that it endet before it turned into a shambeling husk of a show like Spongebob Squarepants or the Simpsons. And well, I don´t think this is the end, the fandom will live on. The fans will keep the show alive, with fanart, comics and stories. I mean look at Star Trek, or other franchises where the fandorm survived for decades without any new media. Well and then there is G5. We know literally nothing about it, aside from some leaks of a very early development phase. Some people say that it will be more adult oriented than G4, some the opposite, that it will be quite dumb baby entertainment like G3.5. Supposedly it stars new incarnations of the M6, so its quite possible more of something like G4.5. However, there are some people who believe that G5 could bring back the fandom to its glory days of ca.2011 to 2014. I doubt that. FIM and the brony fandom was a lightning in a bottle, a once in a lifetime thing that is impossible to repeat. Being part of this fandom was a stroke of luck, being at the right time at the right place. Its a popcultural experience that happens once every decade, like being at Woodstock in 1969 or seeing Star wars in cimena back in 1977. I can say that I had the luck to be in this fandom from the beginning and, I for one, will stay in it untill my drawing breath. You can take the ponies off the TV, but you can´t take them out of me. Anyway lets see what the future brings for us and our ponygirls. No matter if G5 will be good or a dud, G4, Friendship is magic was a hell of a ride, especially the early fandom and I am gratefull that I was, that I AM a part of it. So after that long winding horse show related ramble I would like to excuse myself fo the lack of activity in the last weeks. Work was and still is hell at the moment. There was a new law introduced and that dropped a shitload of extra work onto us. I have to work overtime almost every day and at night I´m too shagged out to draw, work on art or upload stuff. I really hope this changes soon, but I think its probably untill November untill stuff gets back to a normal level. I still have a lot of Photos from the Frankfurt motor show to upload and some comissions to draw. Also I need to help a friend of mine with his comic project. So much to do so little time. Again sorry for the lack of new content from me.

#My Little Pony #My Litte Pony Friendship is Magic #G4 #G5 #Brony fandom #procreation #my art #my life

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welllpthisishappening · 5 years

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Have Your Cake [And Eat It Too] (Part 2)

Killian can’t seem to stop moving. It’s a nervous habit. He’s a little nervous. Because they’ve been waiting forever and he’s been waiting forever and he really just wants them to be a family. Officially.

Emma needs to keep moving. To win. She’s very competitive. And she’s needs a distraction. Because they’ve been waiting forever and trying a bit longer and she really just wants them to be a family. Officially

Or: Another quasi Out of the Frying Pan sequel with the legal system and Kitchen Stadium.

Word Count: 8.4K of Emma Swan and Killian Jones being stupid into each other while cooking. Rating: Teen. But, like, a higher teen than last time. AN: Back at it again with the family feelz and the kissing and I did more food-based research for these few thousand words than I have in my entire life. Also, peanut soup is a real thing that they serve in Colonial Williamsburg and I have begrudgingly had it on more than one family vacation. As always, thanks internet for being awesome and reading the words I spew at you. I really will write that other sequel eventually. In the meantime, if you’ve got thoughts on what I should hoarding fic-wise, let me know.

This is also on Ao3 if that’s how you roll.

“It’s kind of intimidating, isn’t it?” “It’s a stadium, Swan.” “I really need you to stop referring to it as that.” Killian glanced at her, all smiles and bright, blue eyes that were going to be way more distracting than they should have been when there would probably be a considerable amount of very sharp objects nearby soon. But it had been that way for a week and it was closing in on Christmas and there was always something about Christmas in New York and snow and family and everything felt decidedly official and kind of like they’d been living in some kind of snow globe for the last week and a half.

Emma assumed things were consistently picturesque in a snow globe.

Or, at least, their snow globe.

It was a very strange metaphor. She wasn’t sure she’d ever actually seen a snow globe in real life. Maybe, like, at Macy’s.

Macy’s seemed like the kind of place that sold snow globes at Christmas time.

“Swan,” Killian said lightly, wrapping his hand around her shoulder to stop her from walking any further into Kitchen Stadium and now she was doing it too. It was, admittedly, pretty goddamn intimidating and absolutely enormous. “You went all distant there, love,” he continued.

There was a hint of worry in his voice. That did something absurd to Emma’s pulse. That might have been because of his hand. Maybe she’d buy Killian a snow globe for Christmas.

That also felt like a kind of lame gift after everything else, but everything else felt less like a gift and more like just their lives and Emma hoped the secret ingredient was good.

She hoped Archie didn’t bother her too much while she was cooking.

“I think you could fit, like, six of my studios in here,” Emma said, not quite an answer, but Killian hadn’t actually asked her a question and his eyebrows shifted when she spoke.

“That seems like a lot doesn’t it?” “This place is enormous.” “You’ve been here before.” That was true. She’d watched Killian cook on that soundstage or studio or whatever more times than she could count in the last few years, and he won every single time, some kind of kitchen wizard or a compliment that wasn’t nearly as lame as that, but they both kept calling it Kitchen Stadium, so maybe they were on even footing there.

And Emma assumed parents were just sort of supposed to reach a certain plateau of lame at some point – dad jokes for actual dads and official paperwork and she kept wondering if it was possible to smile too much.

She didn’t think so.

The secret ingredient needed to be something good. She would scream if it was festive.

“I know, I know,” Emma mumbled, resting both her hands on the front of his shirt and neither one of them had changed yet. They were, actually, almost early.

“But?” “But it’s...big.” “We’ve covered the size of the studio several times now, love,” Killian grinned. His whole face did something absolutely absurd when Emma made a noise in the back of her throat, a scoff and a groan and something Henry had picked up at some point as well. “You worried about stacking up against the competition?” Emma’s jaw dropped, air rushing out of her and she dimly wondered where their kid was, but that thought only lasted as long as it took to come up with a slightly scathing retort and both Ruby and Regina would be frustrated they weren’t filming this.

They were really, really good at flirting in studios.

“That sounds awfully presumptuous, Lieutenant,” Emma muttered, tugging on the shirt she’d never actually let go of and she had no idea how she was expected to cope with seeing her husband cook in a jacket that said Iron Chef on it. It would be a miracle if she didn’t fall over herself at some point.

“Not presumptuous. Just historic.” “Oh, God, that’s even worse.” “Track records or something.” “And far too much confidence. I’ve beaten you several times in cooking competitions before.” Killian’s eyebrows jumped and twisted, tongue pressed into the corner of his mouth as his hands found her hips and his thumb started tracing idle patterns against the hem of her shirt. Emma’s breath hitched, lips tugged back behind her teeth so she wouldn’t make any more noise or say anything decidedly sentimental.

They’d done enough of that in the last few days – muttered conversations in their bedroom and the kitchen, tucked against each other in the corner of the couch and everything seemed like a chance and an opportunity and Emma was certain they’d both set a record for consistent and constant happiness.

“I can hear you thinking, Swan,” Killian said. His thumb was a menace.

“I’m just considering how nice it’s going to be to take you down a few pegs this afternoon.” He chuckled, letting his forehead rest against hers and it was a miracle no one had found them yet. Emma assumed that had something to do with wherever Henry was. He was getting very good at running interference and being just as happy and excited and several other incredibly positive adjectives.

There was a color-coded countdown in the corner of the kitchen.

“I think your trash talk is out of date, love,” Killian mumbled. His thumb still hadn’t stopped moving. “I’ve got home stadium advantage here.” “I can’t believe you just said that.” “That’s a fact. One loss in several years is impressive.” “Yeah, so says you.” “So says several legions of very impressed fans.”

“Really think very highly of yourself and your fans, don’t you?” Emma asked, leaning back to smile or do something vaguely flirtatious because she knew he had a difficult time forming coherent sentences when she bit her lower lip. She grinned when he practically growled in response, eyes somehow getting sharper and bluer and possibly just evolving into a whole different level of trash talk, and Emma was only a little frustrated her plan had kind of blown up in her face.

Metaphorically.

She’d like to avoid anything blowing up while she was competing in Kitchen Stadium.

God, she hated that name.

“You don’t have a cookbook though,” Emma pointed out. She really could not think when he did that thing with his tongue. This whole thing was going to be a disaster.

It’d probably set viewership records or something.

“True,” Killian admitted. “But I did help come up with some of the recipes in the cookbook, so I’d like to imagine that some of it has to do with me.” “Nah, that’s not how that works at all.” “No?” “No,” Emma echoed. “And, you know, if we’re going to point out things you don’t have, you don’t have a very popular cooking show and your own legion of fans who, and I’m quoting Rubes here, totally lost their shit when you showed up with a different name on screen.” Killian threw his head back when he laughed, body shaking against Emma’s because, at some point, they’d decided to start occupying the same space and she hadn’t felt nauseous in awhile, but her stomach seemed to have different ideas in the moment and if he’d just move his thumb a few inches to the--

“Ah, yeah, right there,” Emma hissed, scowling when Killian grinned triumphantly at her. “God, did you just know that?” “Of course not, Swan.” “Why’d you move then?” “I had an assumption about your back,” Killian answered. “And your hips, honestly, because you’ve been complaining about them for the last few days--” “--I have not!” “No one is actually upset about the complaints, love, I promise.” “No one meaning you,” Emma corrected lightly, but her heart didn’t appear to get the memo about normal and they hadn’t said anything yet because there hadn’t really been time. There were character witnesses and worrying about paperwork and payments and they hadn’t even filmed the holiday special yet.

Emma should ask Killian to be on the holiday special.

That was, like, a thing now.

Killian nodded. “Yes, meaning me exactly. And probably Henry too, but I’d also assume he doesn’t want to talk much about your hips, so…” “Do you want to talk about my hips?” He laughed again, although the sound was a bit more strangled than it had been a few minutes before and Emma silently congratulated herself on that. They were seriously going to set records for Iron Chef. “I would love to talk about your hips at all times,” Killian said, sounding far more serious than those words should have allowed.

Emma was going to sprain her face muscles.

“Just my hips?” “I’m open to other options too, honestly.”

She burrowed her head into shoulder, an arm moving around her waist and her sneakers squeaked when she tried to find a few inches of space they weren’t both occupying. “I’d really like to beat you at your home stadium,” Emma mumbled, but the words lost a bit of their threat when spoken mostly into Killian’s collarbone.

“I’d really love to see you try, Swan.” “I’ve got some plans.” That gave him pause – quite literally. Killian tensed, like he’d been turn to stone or frozen and Emma wondered where the blast chiller was on that set. She should probably look around before they started cooking. Or after they took whatever promotional pictures she was sure both Regina and Ruby had demanded.

She hadn’t really been listening to the plans, had kind of tuned out anything that was her newly official family and she hadn’t been lying. It wouldn’t have mattered if the judge said no. It would still be theirs and them and some kind of collective unit that regularly cooked things on the weekend with color-coded schedules and matching looks of terror on their parental-type faces when Henry got hurt.

But, well, it was nice.

It was more than nice, but Emma’s hips were honestly killing her and it was only a matter of time until someone found them flirting in the studio.

“Are you guys kidding me?” Ruby asked, a lack of any real frustration in her voice. She almost sounded amused. Emma figured she also looked amused, but she wasn’t entirely willing to move away from Killian yet.

He didn’t let go of her either.

“You know we have a schedule,” Ruby continued. “It’s like...official.” Killian scoffed, and Emma still didn’t need to turn around to know that Ruby was glaring at him. “Sounds incredibly official, Ruby,” he said, fingers dancing along the ridge of Emma’s spine. “Where’s Gina?” “Talking to your kid.” “Aw, you did that on purpose,” Emma muttered, twisting despite Killian’s quiet objections and incredibly agile fingers and Ruby lifted her eyebrows in unspoken challenge.

“Did it work?” “I mean obviously. It got me to turn around, right?” “Is it going to get you to stop flirting with your husband and the father of your kids?” “Possibly, if you promise---”

Emma cut herself off, nearly biting her tongue in half in the process and she’d never seen that look on Ruby’s face before. Like she was torn somewhere between joy and euphoria and it was a feeling Emma understood in the pit of her stomach and the ache of her hips and Killian was never going to move again.

They were never going to be able to film.

“How did you know that?” Killian asked softly, and that was probably how it was supposed to sound when a person was trying to be threatening.

Ruby laughed. “I didn’t.” “What?” “I had several assumptions and thoughts based solely on what I know from sitcoms and, you know, high school health classes and kind of Mary Margaret, but--” “--The point, Lucas.”

Ruby’s eyebrows shifted again, some of that joy falling off her face and crashing onto the ground. She crossed her arms, twisting the fabric of her dress under her elbows and her eyes all but disappeared when she glared at Killian. He glared back. The secret ingredient was totally going to be something seasonal.

That’s how Iron Chef worked. “You won’t be able to cook like that,” Emma said. She turned on the spot, running her hands over Killian’s arm and the top of his prosthetic and he blinked, exactly, six times before he met her gaze. “I mean...that’ll make it easier for me to win and I’d like this to be an even fight.” He exhaled, tongue darting between his lips and eventually Emma would learn enough words to describe what color his eyes actually were. She hoped she figured it out before the kid they hadn’t actually told anyone except Henry about actually showed up.

“Definitely an even fight, Swan,” Killian said. “And I’m better at cooking when I’m slightly frustrated anyway. Something about using that emotion to my advantage.” “No one has ever said that.” “Several TV critics have said that and probably Eric.” “Yeah, but Eric is not a good source. He’s just nervous you’re going to put a shit ton of holiday themed items on the menu in Gowanus.” “No, love, that’s you.” “No!” “Eh,” Killian said, clicking his tongue at the same time Ruby made an almost identical noise. Emma gaped at them both, head on a swivel and something that felt like betrayal festering in her gut.

“That is absolutely untrue,” she shouted. Ruby scrunched her nose. “Aw, c’mon, don’t look at me like that! It is!” “How many times have you tried to change the dinner special in the last week?” Ruby asked knowingly.

“It’s a special! It’s supposed to change every week. That’s what the name implies!” “Once a night, Swan,” Killian muttered, dropping his mouth to the side of her neck and that one spot behind her ear that made everything else in several different universes entirely pointless. Ruby’s nose was going to sustain permanent damage. “You change specials on a daily basis. Not on an hour basis.”

“It has not been that bad.” “I hate to repeat Jones here, but eh,” Ruby laughed. “Ariel said Eric is legitimately worried you’re going to move to Gowanus.” “I am not moving to Gowanus.” “Just trying to put the previously discussed shit ton of holiday items on the menu.” Emma huffed, frustration and acceptance in the sound and Ruby grinned triumphantly. “Do you know what the secret ingredient is?” she asked. “Is it holiday themed?” “Why would I tell you that?” “Because you want me to win.” “You can’t cheat like that, Swan,” Killian chastised. His arm had moved again, wrapped around her middle with fingers that kept tracing patterns she was positive only he could see.

“You’re standing right here. If Rubes tells us what the secret ingredient is, then we’d both find out. Unless she wants to tell me in code.” “Do we have a code?” Ruby asked.

“Nah, but we probably should.” “Mary Margaret would really get mad if we came up with a secret code and didn’t include her. That’d almost be as shitty as force feeding the patrons in Gowanus holiday-themed food.” “Oh my God, no one is force feeding anyone anything,” Emma sighed. “Least of all holiday-themed food. That’s so aggressive.” “Fa la la la, la la la la.” “And,” Killian said sharply. “Speaking of Mary Margaret and your apparent knowledge of things that previously included her…” Ruby didn’t quite cackle, but it was pretty close, rocking back on her heels when the smile practically slid across her face. She hadn’t ever uncrossed her arms, but it didn’t look like a battle pose anymore. It kind of looked like she was trying to stop herself from jumping up and down or, possibly, crying.

They really needed to find Henry.

“Man, you are cranky when parenthood is impending, aren’t you?” Ruby asked, ignoring Emma’s muttered curses as she moved to the closest cooking station and promptly sat on top of it. Killian’s eyes widened slightly.

“It has nothing to do with that at all.” “Aw, that’s nice.” “Rubes, you are going to get whiplash from jumping through these emotions,” Emma said, swinging her legs out and she’d done it entirely for Killian’s reaction. Maybe cerulean was the right color? She’d ask Mary Margaret. Mary Margaret saw more Crayola crayon names than Emma did.

“Because no one has actually confirmed anything to me yet,” Ruby pointed out. “Why was it a secret? Is it still a secret?” “Why were you making assumptions?” “Because Will made a drink after your husband officially adopted your kid and you tried very hard to make sure that no one noticed you handing it to Killian.” “Maybe I just wasn’t thirsty.” “Oh, that was really bad, Em,” Ruby said, shaking her head. “Killian, wasn’t that really bad?” He didn’t answer, just pressed his lips together and did something entirely unfair with his eyebrows and Ruby sighed as if this were actually the end of the world and not some kind of best news ever in a way that led Emma to thoughts about snow globes. “Ok, whatever,” Ruby continued. “It was really bad. Also you got sick on set one time.” “What?” Killian asked sharply.

Emma rolled her eyes. “Ok, that didn’t happen.” “She’s lying,” Ruby whispered.

“I’m not! I didn’t actually get sick, I just thought I was going to and that’s like...it’s a thing. That’s how bodies work at that point.” Ruby nodded seriously, lips pursed together and the whole thing felt a little patronizing, but Emma could also see what might have been actual tears in her eyes. “I really don’t think anyone else knows. Does Henry know?” “Yeah.” She was absolutely crying. “God, I hate that.” “What?” Emma croaked, eyebrows pulled low and this could not have been part of the filming schedule. “Were those the words you were looking for?” “They absolutely were not,” Ruby admitted. “But I’m, like, kind of losing my mind and you guys are...I hate your stupid, emotional familial emotions. It’s just super nice and super something else that’s nice and picturesque and only kind of threatens to rot my teeth. And also how obviously flirting you were when I walked in on you.” “You’d think at this point you’d know not to walk onto set without announcing yourself,” Killian muttered. He pulled Emma against his side, wrapping an arm around her shoulders and they’d have to stop trying to touch each other when they started filming.

“I’m doing you guys a favor. It could have been Gina and she would not have been nearly as receptive to totally messing up the schedule as I am.”

“Ah, that’s probably true, actually.” “See, you’re welcome.” “What is the schedule, exactly?” Emma asked.

“Besides the flirting and the ever-growing family?” “You need to go back to school or something. Your sentence structure is all off. There’s Henry and,” Emma waved her hands in front of her, not quite an explanation or confirmation and Ruby clasped both her hands over her mouth so her squeal wouldn’t ricochet off the studio walls.

“Ok, ok, ok,” Ruby stammered. “Can I just ask a question? Jones, are you going to kill me if I ask a question? Also, remember that we are literally on set so you can’t kill me.” “Well, that answered that question, didn’t it?” Killian said.

“Ok, but that doesn’t actually make me feel any better.” “I’m not going to kill you, Lucas. Ask your question.”

“How long have you known?’ Killian tensed again, and Emma took a sharp breath through her nose, trying to keep her footing when she hadn’t actually moved at all. Ruby grimaced. “Remember the no killing promise,” she mumbled.

Emma clicked her tongue, glancing at Killian over her shoulder and it wasn’t like it was a complete secret, but it had been so different the last time she’d done this. And they hadn’t really been trying, weren’t actively not trying, but it was a surprise and in the middle of everything else and a lot and everything, again, and she desperately needed to expand her vocabulary.

So they’d told Henry – partially because he’d found Emma on the bathroom floor and partially because they were a them in a family kind of way that didn’t include secrets regarding the expansion of said family – but they hadn’t said anything to anyone else. They might have been a little selfish about that.

Killian shrugged.

And Emma was glad she’d taken that deep breath before, all the air seemingly rushing out of her lungs in one great, big huff of feeling and pre-show jitters and she was totally going to eat all of Killian’s food after it got judged.

“You can’t yell too loudly,” Emma warned. Ruby’s hands were still over her mouth, moving with her head when she nodded. “Uh, almost three months.” Ruby’s eyes bugged and the noise she made sounded strangled and a little desperate and she got some pretty good height on her jump. “Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God, oh my God. Are you kidding me? Are you guys kidding me?” “Why would we joke about that?” Killian asked, and Emma swatted at his thigh. He caught her around the wrist, lacing his fingers through hers, and they didn’t have time for this.

“I have no idea, but seriously, you guys aren’t kidding?” Emma shook her head. “Not kidding. And you’re not really supposed to say anything before three months, so if you could--” “--Of course,” Ruby shouted. “Shit, yeah, I just…” She exhaled like she’d just run a marathon, finally moving her hands away from her mouth so she could wipe away tears that would only draw more questions and the clack of Regina’s heels at the other end of the studio sounded impossibly loud. “You guys going to flirt the entire time you’re on camera, right?” “Probably,” Killian nodded. “If Swan ever decides she’s going to get changed.” She turned, mouth hanging open and it couldn't have been very attractive, but Killian – her husband and father of her kids, plural and officially – didn’t seem to mind all that much. He ducked his head, catching Emma’s lips with his and putting his tongue to totally different use until she was threatening to melt on the floor and that would make it difficult to cook.

Emma figured she needed to be a corporal body to grip things. Or chop them. She wanted to change the dinner special at The Jolly later.

“Are you two honestly not dressed yet?” Regina asked sharply, Henry a few feet behind her with a smile on his face and excitement radiating off him. Emma glanced at Killian again.

“What were you doing, kid?”

He ran his hand through his hair – a move that had been growing more and more frequent recently, but Emma couldn't think about that if she was actually going to try and win this stupid thing. It was distracting. “Nothing,” Henry said quickly.

“Didn’t even try,” Killian murmured.

“That’s not true at all. I tried very hard.” “That’s disappointing, honestly.”

Henry laughed, jumping onto a counter as well and Ruby had taken her phone out at some point, explanations of stuff for the site that Emma was only half listening to while Regina made very attempt to turn them to stone with her mind. “Should be advocating for better lying?” Emma asked. “That seems very unparental.”

Ruby dropped her phone.

“You know what else is unparental?” Regina asked. “Not being on time to a set that is very scheduled and requires its talent to be wearing specific clothing with makeup so their skin isn’t shiny under camera.” “I really don’t think those are part of the rules, Gina,” Killian grinned.

“Put your jacket on. Get your face fixed and then cook something.” “Get my face fixed.” “You heard me the first time, I’m not sure why you need me to repeat it again. Also, your kid is not a very good distraction. So next time try harder when you want to make out on set, ok?” Emma wasn’t sure what sound any of them made – several gasps and one gag that definitely came from Henry and Killian’s fingers tightened around hers like he was trying to make sure his knees didn’t immediately give out.

“I feel like that’s kind of an insult to me,” Henry muttered. “I thought I was a pretty good distraction. And I helped, Gina.”

Her face softened slightly, not a full glare as she reached up to brush Henry’s hair away from his eyes and that should be studied because it always seemed too long no matter what kind of parental thing Emma or Killian did. “You did,” she agreed. “But I think you might have been playing favorites, a little bit.” “No, that’s not true at all,” Henry argued, trying to sit up straighter and jump off the counter and his gaze darted to Emma and Killian like they were going to ground him right there in Kitchen Stadium. That wasn’t really their game.

They desperately needed to change.

“What were you two doing?” Killian asked. Henry squeezed one eye closed.

“Making food decisions.” The door opened again, more crew and techs and Elsa mumbled a handful of questions because everyone’s skin was far too shiny to be camera-ready. They were probably going to be there for days. “Alright,” Regina snapped, tapping her right heel and Killian laughed in Emma’s ear when she jumped to attention. “Faces. Jackets. Cooking ready...ness.” “It’s not your best work, Gina.” “Get changed or I will fire you.” “Ah, no you won’t,” Killian said, saluting anyway and that should not have been as attractive as it was. “We’re going to pull record numbers with this, aren’t we, Swan?” “Definitely. But only because people are going to tune in to see the very impressive Iron Chef Killian Jones get defeated on his home turf.” “Home stadium, love, we’ve been over this.” “And I wasn’t listening,” she smiled, pressing up on her toes to kiss the edge of his mouth. He chased after her. She was winning. “I’ll see you back on set in a couple minutes, Lieutenant.”

She still wasn’t entirely sure what possessed her to agree to any of this – Regina had been trying for years, as soon as Killian moved a few boxes to the apartment three blocks away from The Jolly, but Emma had always waved her hands and shook her head and she didn’t really have a restaurant to represent anyway.

But then she did.

She had a joint partnership and something less clinical than that and Killian agreed to all that paperwork and official titles and other titles and he smiled every single time she tried to change the menu.

So, when Regina had asked, again, Emma was sure something in her brain had just short-circuited and she heard herself saying yes and she knew Henry would be thrilled.

She knew Killian would be thrilled to, but that was neither here nor there.

Because Emma was absolutely, positively counting on that very specific emotion to give her a bit of a leg up on her competition.

The lights were, somehow, even brighter when she stepped back onto set, any threat of shiny face defeated by several pounds of makeup and Ruby laughed softly when she and Emma moved towards her side of the Stadium.

“You’re playing games, Em,” Ruby accused. Emma shrugged, mostly because she couldn’t disagree and she was so goddamn happy she was only a little worried she’d explode with the feeling at some point during filming.

“Isn’t that part of the fun?” “You guys have a twisted way of flirting.”

“You know what the secret ingredient is. And don’t act like the flirting isn’t good for the numbers. I bet Zelena nearly had a coronary when she found out I agreed to this based solely on the potential for flirting that you guaranteed.” “That’s my job.” “Eh.” “Henry asked,” Ruby muttered, like that explained it and it absolutely did. “No one’s been more excited to get parented in their life, you know that?” Emma nodded. “Yeah, I do.”

“You better win.” “No pressure or anything.” “Nah,” Ruby promised. “You’re an incredible chef. And he’s...ah, there it is. The game within the game or something. Maybe that should be our tagline.” Emma’s head snapped up, teeth finding her lower lip on instinct and that couldn’t have been good for Killian’s jaw. He was frozen mid-step, feet not quite even when he came to a stop halfway towards his station and his own Iron Chef jacket was, admittedly, pretty impressive, but Emma had stolen hers from the back corner of The Jolly kitchen and Mary Margaret knew someone who did embroidery in Chelsea because of course she did and Emma Swan-Jones looked pretty damn good underneath the name of their restaurant.

“Oh, that’s not even playing fair, Swan,” Killian mumbled, taking those last few steps and someone yelled about crossing the line when he nearly stepped into Emma’s station.

She smiled. “I think I heard someone talking about mind games on a show like this once before.”

“Must have been the world’s biggest idiot.” “Nah, he’s got a very impressive history degree.” “Oh my God, it’s started,” Elsa called from behind the camera and Emma swore the lights got stronger. Like they knew or something.

“It’s not going to work, love,” Killian said. He leaned forward, ignoring lines and rules and Emma only kind of hoped he did that while they were cooking.

“Isn’t it? You just accused me of cheating, I think it’s working already.” “Nope. Not at all.” “Were you upset about Henry’s bad lying because you knew he got it from you?” Killian blinked, licking his lips and Emma’s mind drifted to several things it shouldn’t have while they were still on set and he was still wearing that jacket, but that jacket did something absolutely unfair to his biceps when he crossed his arms. “He picked the secret ingredient, you know. Gina told me while she was yelling about my face.”

“I kind of figured that out on my own, actually. Context clues.” “Maybe you’re the smart one in this competition. And relationship.” “Flattery will get you everywhere,” Emma whispered. “You going to be able to remember borders once we starting cooking?” “Depends.” “On?” “On what you start cooking.” She laughed before she could stop herself, the noise bubbling from the center of her soul or something equally absurd and each of them had a small platoon of sous chefs who were supposed to help them – they all looked equally and incredibly uncomfortable. “That wasn’t even clever,” Emma said. “I’m not even sure what it meant.” “Ah, but it got you thinking didn’t it, love? Pondering. Questioning. Possibly distracted.” “Was that your goal? To distract me?” “Wasn’t it yours?”

Someone sighed. It sounded like Regina. It honestly might have been Archie. Elsa was shouting about places and marks and those lights must have been industrial-grade. Emma was very warm. She didn’t think it actually had much to do with the lights.

Navy blue. That was another color in a Crayola 64-crayon box. “You should know,” Emma muttered, twisting her well-styled hair over her shoulder. “Something about battle plans and seizing the vessel.” “I honestly can’t take you seriously when you compare yourself to a ship, love.” “Was I doing that?” “Certainly what it sounded like.” “Weird. Something, something, capturing things, pillaging and plundering.” “The Navy generally frowns on that.” Emma hummed, a smile on her face still and always and possibly indefinitely and she jumped back when Archie moved into the middle of the set. “You two realize this whole thing has been filmed, right?” he asked, Emma shrugging and Killian nodding. He laughed. “Well, this is going to be interesting. Your kid picked the secret ingredient, was very adamant about eating all of the food and I need to do the intro now, so if you could…” He waved his hands, directing them back towards their stations and a bit more personal space and Emma let her tongue trail over the front of her teeth before she moved. Killian smirked.

“Mind games,” he muttered, and maybe she’d be able to cook with the butterflies in her stomach.

There were more staging directions and Emma tried not to move – far too aware of the gaze boring into the side of her head and he was probably worried she was standing too much because he was an idiot and read too many things and thought about everything and her cooking crew still looked a little nervous.

“Chairman, if you’d be so kind as to introduce our secret ingredient,” Archie said, already back behind his podium and there were, frankly, a shit ton of screens there. Emma jerked her head towards the table, a man in a suit that was only kind of intimidating to look at staring at both her and Killian and the cover flew into the ceiling when he threw his hands into the air.

“Good production value,” Emma mumbled. She wasn’t sure if she imagined Killian’s answering laugh, or how he’d been able to hear her, but she didn’t care about specifics and he smiled when her eyes darted his direction.

“Today’s secret ingredient,” the chairman yelled. “Is…. peanut buuuuuuuuter.”

Emma’s eyes bugged, mind immediately racing and trying desperately to come up with food ideas that weren’t just seventeen different forms of cookies and it took her half a second to remember she needed to move. The sound of Killian’s shoes moving by her helped.

“You got a plan yet?” Emma asked, skidding to a stop next to him and using his body to stop herself from colliding with the table.

“Swan, you can’t run like that.” “That is not an answer to my question at all. Compete with me.” “I’m more than willing to compete with you, I just would like to avoid injury if at all possible. And also I’m not going to tell you.” “Aw, that’s not fun at all.” “It’s a show, love,” Killian said, but he was still kind of laughing and throwing jars of peanut butter to the closest sous chef.

“Should I also be throwing things? Is that part of your plan? Impress the judges with your hand-eye coordination? Because that’s not fair at all.”

He chuckled, tossing another three containers and shouting about make sure we get some of the honey kind before turning back towards Emma and kissing her quick. “Try not to make too many cookies, Swan,” Killian grinned. “And as long as you’re impressed by my hand-eye coordination, I really don’t care.” “Idiot,” Emma grumbled.

“I love you, too.”

“Well, that’s kiss one,” Archie called from his station. “Who had a kiss within the first five minutes of competition?” He pointed towards Ruby just out of camera when she raised her hand, a wry smile on his face and Emma knew there’d be a graphic for this. She grabbed a container of honey peanut butter.

“Alright,” she said brusquely, addressing a team she hadn’t really been introduced to because she’d been too busy flirting. “We’re going to do a cookie. I know, I know, but this recipe is way better than anything Killian make--” “--That’s rude, Swan!” “Focus on your own food.” She smiled at the group around her, jackets that were far too white and far too crisp and she reached behind her back to turn on one of the half a dozen ovens she got to use. “The cookie’s our centerpiece, but we’ve got to do some other stuff too, obviously. You,” Emma pointed to a guy she thought might be named Rob, “start on a peanut sauce and I want us to start making noodles too. Udon because it’ll hold the sauce better. Then, uh...what about wings? Is that too obvious?” Maybe-Rob shook his head. “No, that sounds good actually.” “Well, thanks for the vote of confidence. Ok, ok, so wings and maybe a slaw? Something to go with the wings. Something with Sriracha!” “You may not want to yell that,” another guy who Emma was, like, ninety-two percent positive was named Devon.

“You’re going to give away secrets, love,” Killian called, and something dinged in the background. “What the hell is that?”

“A nickname counter,” Archie explained. Killian made a noise that was not entirely human. “The Iron Chef does enjoy his endearments doesn’t he?” “This is absolutely ridiculous,” Emma mumbled. “And if you take my Sriracha idea, you can walk home later.” “It’s Manhattan, Swan, I don’t think that threat holds much water.”

“Speaking of water,” Archie said pointedly. “The Iron Chef’s got a good amount of the secret ingredient at his station now. He appears to be boiling something, getting ready to make, maybe...a caramel? And it looks like that’s...what is that Iron Chef?” “If you can’t tell already, then we’ve got problems,” Killian answered, not looking up from the bowl he was mixing.

“Thoughts from our challenger?”

“He’s stress baking,” Emma said. She flashed a smile at the camera when one of the several thousand moved her direction. “And we need to make some Thai dressing for the dumplings we’re going to do. I’m going to start on that dough now.”

“That’s all sounding a little Asian influenced, love,” Killian yelled, cursing loudly when the counter or dinger or whatever it was called did it what it was supposed to do. “Can someone turn that off? It’s distracting.” “Stop flirting with your wife then,” Archie suggested. He’d left his station at some point, moving into Emma’s space when she grabbed ingredients she hoped would make acceptable dumplings. There was already flour under her nails. “Long time, no see, Emma,” he said, resting against the side of the counter. “What are you making?” “Dumplings,” she explained.

“Pork?” “Well, we’re doing chicken wings as well, so I didn’t want to double up too much.” “A worthy idea. You hear that, Iron Chef? Emma’s not going to double up on ingredients.” “That’s incredibly judgmental, Archie,” Killian groused. “And not entirely true. This show, by its very nature, requires us to double and triple and quadruple up on ingredients. You going to put some peanut butter in the dumplings, Swan?” Another ding.

“That sounds disgusting,” Emma said, shuddering for extra effect. “And stop trying to steal my ideas! You are cheating.” “It’s because I’m so annoyed with that sound.” “Archie’s right. Stop flirting then. Where’s the soy sauce in this kitchen?” Killian shook his head, a different bowl propped on his hip and Emma wondered if they’d get in a lot of trouble if she crossed Kitchen Stadium borders, tugged on the lapels of his chef’s jacket and kissed him for several prolonged and uninterrupted minutes.

Probably enough that it’d be as annoying as the dinging thing.

“No insider information,” Killian said.

“Here, Chef,” possibly-Devon said, handing Emma an unopened bottle. She dumped the whole thing in the closest bowl. It was way too big for what she was making. “And we’re heating up the oil for the wings too.” “You guys are the best,” she said. “You hear that, Lieutenant? My staff is so much better.” Another ding.

“Aw, c’mon,” Emma groaned. “That’s not an endearment! It’s a rank!” Archie clicked his tongue. “Ah, but you say it like an endearment, Emma. It counts.” “Wasn’t this just to distract Killian?” “No we’re equal opportunity distraction in Kitchen Stadium. What are you going to do to make your peanut butter cookies not quite so boring?” Emma gaped, and Killian laughed, working with his own deep fryer and she hadn’t been kidding about the Sriracha threat. “Watch and then eat them,” she seethed, pushing lightly on Archie’s shoulder like that would get him to move or get a camera out of her face. “Seriously, though, what are you baking over there? You know you have to make actual food, you can’t just make desserts?” “Yes, I’m aware of how the show works,” Killian nodded, clearly trying to avoid another ding and Emma could smell the chicken wings already. “It’s almost as if I’ve been on it before.” “If that’s supposed to be intimidating, it’s not going to work.” “I’m just looking to get a leg up since this secret ingredient was clearly chosen to favor you.” “That’s not true,” Henry called from the side, and whoever was in charge of post was going to have a hell of a time fixing all of this. “Someone better make me peanut butter chip pancakes.”

“Aw, shit, I didn’t even think of pancakes,” Emma muttered, sticking her tongue out when Archie clicked his again. “Seriously, that is what post is for.” Archie lifted his eyebrows. “They haven’t had to do this much work in years.” “God, you are rude when you’re on this show! Don’t you have to go ask Killian what he’s baking? Or at least guess? Do your hosting job.”

“You seem stressed, Emma.” “Because you won’t get out of my station.” “Those emotions hindering your cooking ability, love?” Killian asked, and he’d tried to get the ding on purpose that time. “And what do you think about banana and peanut butter pancakes, Henry? With cornflakes for crunch?” Henry perked up, Archie’s head falling into his hands because all of them refused to follow any of the rules. He was standing on something when he answered – a crate or something that probably had another camera in it and Emma was only a little worried about that because she’d been very worried about his ankle and Killian had been worse.

“Yeah, make that,” Henry nodded.

Killian beamed. “Deal! And they’re brownies, Swan. With peanut butter icing. You can try ‘em after I win again.” They got to sixteen dings before Emma threw a ladle across Kitchen Stadium.

They’d probably use that in whatever commercial was going to run to promo this whole, stupid thing and time was, suddenly, not her friend.

The key, in her head at least, to the perfect peanut butter cookie was to make the cookie the ends of an ice cream sandwich and because this was the Network and they thrived on stressing out their chefs, there was only one ice cream maker on set.

And it was being used when Emma ran towards it.

“What the hell is this?”

“I’d imagine it’s an ice cream maker making fantastic ice cream,” Killian muttered, coming up behind her and his fingers moved again and that really was the worst kind of mind game. She didn’t try to lean against his chest, but there were magnets or something and more sound effects and Archie’s voice sounded like white noise when she felt Killian’s chin hook over her shoulder.

“You used the same words far too many times in that sentence.”

He laughed against her, a breath of warm air that ruffled her hair and any attempt at styling had been pointless because she was a sweaty mess, covered in flour and something that might have been vinegar and oil if the smell was anything to go by. “Why do you smell like Easter?” Killian asked, Emma still holding a bowl of liquid that she really needed to become ice cream.

“I honestly have no idea,” she admitted. “You make your pancakes?” “Mmmhm.” “What else did you make?” “More insider trading. And several things involving peanut butter.” “You’re a food tease.” “Yes, absolutely,” he said, and Emma didn’t have to turn around to hear the smile in his voice. “You alright though? Not tired or dealing with aching hips or anything?” Emma twisted, eyebrows pulled low and she almost, kind of expected that look – like several suns and moons and she really wanted to eat those pancakes. “Is this a mind game?” “No. The opposite of that.” “That is stupid,” she sighed. “I can’t believe you got to the ice cream machine before I did. Why is there only one? Should we start a petition against that?”

“You know I love it when you get indignant over cooking supplies, Swan.” Ding.

Killian groaned, head falling forward and lips brushing over Emma’s forehead and there were several other dings and sound effects, one of which might have actually been the goddamn ice cream maker. “That shouldn’t count as an endearment either,” he muttered into her hair. “It’s your name.” “Eh,” Emma objected, leaning back to tap on the embroidery that Mary Margaret had actually paid for. “Not what the jacket says. So, you know, if you want to get--”

She didn’t finish. And the sound effects machine was going to self combust, several shouts from the metaphorical peanut gallery and both of their staffs and Emma hoped her dumplings didn’t burn because she was making out in the middle of Kitchen Stadium.

She slung her arms around Killian’s neck, standing on tip toes to reach him and his hands held steady on her hips, like he was trying to keep her there or preserve the moment or distract her from her frustrations regarding kitchen appliances. Emma didn’t actually get her fingers on his jacket, which was kind of disappointing, but she put them to much better use carding them through Killian’s hair and she gasped when his tongue darted across her lower lip.

“We’re going to scandalize an entire audience,” Emma said, but she didn’t pull herself away from his mouth, so she wasn’t really helping her own cause.

“I certainly hope so.” “Maybe the petition will be about us.” “That’d be entertaining at least.” “Are you not entertained?” Killian laughed, another kiss and a squeeze to her hip, thumb brushing over the front of her stomach quick enough that Emma was sure even the most advanced camera wouldn’t have caught it. “I have to get my ice cream out of the machine,” he said. “That’s why I came over here in the first place.” “So it wasn’t to make out?” “That was a benefit.” “High praise.” “I’m willing to share some of that praise before we get judged, love.” “Far too confident for your own food.”

“If you two are done being adorable,” Archie started, back with the screens and the notebook that Emma wasn’t sure he actually used and she’d been so wrapped up in the moment she hadn’t noticed the other person standing there with a camera half an inch away from them.

She hoped he hadn’t seen the thumb swipe.

It probably wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world if he’d seen the thumb swipe.

“Get your ice cream out of my way,” Emma said, doing her best to sound like she was even remotely annoyed by anything in the entire world.

“That’s the least threatening thing I’ve ever head, Swan.” “My cookies are going to be better than yours.” “I didn’t make cookies. Did you make soup?”

She shook her head, eyes falling on Killian’s back and the twist of his shoulders when he cranked the machine, and his ice cream really did look good when it fell into the bowl he’d gotten from somewhere. “Salad. Peanut soup? That sounds awful.” “It’s a colonial delicacy.” “Why do you know that?” “I know everything.” Emma made a contrary noise, sticking her tongue out for good measure, but that just earned her another smirk and twist of eyebrows and she barely finished putting together her ice cream sandwiches before someone called time. She exhaled, wiping the back of her palm across her forehead and looking at her dishes with something that almost felt like pride.

“Looks good,” Killian muttered, still on his side of the Stadium with his own food and--

“You made a hotdog?” “Gourmet.” “God.”

He grinned, all teeth and eyes and periwinkle wasn’t the right word either, but Emma was forgetting the English language quicker than she entirely appreciated. And she had to get judged. Killian had to get judged.

She explained her dishes, watching as plates were brought in and out and several prominent network personalities nodded and hummed and Emma kind of knew it was coming because Killian had only ever lost once and he’d gotten to the ice cream maker first.

“Congratulations on your win,” Emma said, and Killian rolled his eyes like he wasn’t a giant, competitive weirdo who didn’t desperately want to impress Henry every time he cooked.

“Ah, your cookies were the best thing either one of us made, Swan.” “You didn’t try them.” “Yet. And call it a very strong assumption.” “Eat ‘em first and then tell me.”

He mumbled something, words, probably, but the sound got caught in the air when his head tilted and someone hit the ding again. “The show is over,” Killian growled, pulling away long enough to curse a shadow that, upon closer inspection, looked very familiar.

“I know it is,” Henry said, jogging onto set and blinking under the lights. “God, it’s rough under here isn’t it? How do you see? Also, can I eat the food now?” “What do you want?” “Like...all of it.” “We feed you at home, don’t we?” Emma asked, Henry shrugged, making his way to the judging table and taking the seat the chairman had used during filming. He grabbed the pancakes first. Killian’s ears went red.

“It’s almost like you guys are good at cooking or something.” “Almost,” Killian repeated. “C’mon, Swan, I want a cookie before the ice cream melts.”

The three of them put a fairly big dent in the food by the time Ruby came back and demanded their presence for talking heads and a rather pointed reminder that Emma still had to film her holiday special and Henry’s smile could have powered the entire Tri-State area and some of Westchester when she asked both him and Killian to help her cook.

“I’d love to, Swan,” Killian said, arm back around her waist and fingers moving and confirming things and he made the pancakes when the episode aired a little over two weeks later.

And they made things even more official – more announcements and another drink Emma couldn’t actually drink later that night, an entire family that seemed to keep growing packed into the restaurant three blocks away from their apartment with smiles on their faces and tears in their eyes. Killian barely moved out of her space, but Emma’s smile seemed permanent and Henry kept talking about names and ideas and he used the phrase parents more than once, so she figured official wasn’t really all that bad.

It was the best.

#cs ff #captain swan #captain swan ff #captain swan fic #cs fic #WHY DO ALL FOOD NETWORK SHOWS ONLY HAVE ONE ICE CREAM MAKER #also #macy's absolutely sells snow globes at chirstmas

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polyxreader · 6 years

Text

Trunks x Female!Reader x Android 17

So this is gonna be the first part of two request about Trunks x Female Reader x Android 17

Firstly, I need to say that I'm gonna be writing these request on our normal universe 7 timeline (Dragon Ball Z and Dragon Ball Super timelines). Obviously, this is going to be far from the current DBS plot, because Trunks must grow (and suppose that 17, being the super-android human that he is, ages slowly, so it would just be in the perfect time).

And of course, this is an AU: There is no Mai, there is no C17 wife. Fine? Fine.

Okay. For this point I must say that there are probabilities while writing Trunks, I take some traits of the Dragon Ball GT Trunks. I'm sorry if you do not like this series or that version of the character. Personally, it seems to me like a possibility that shows one Trunks that lives in a real world where there are no battles anymore. The reason, why some nuances of that version of Trunks could interfere in my writing, is mainly because it is a Trunks that I read and wrote for many years. Even if I want to get away, that's the personality that for so many years (before DBS) I conceived. So I hope it's not so bad.

Okay! And the last point to clarify is that the reader in this story will be human (you have not indicated me otherwise).

But if you want to order something else, do not hesitate to send it! And if what you wanted was this scenario to be in the mirai timeline, do not hesitate to tell me and I'll do that version (it will be quite interesting and angsty)

Trunks X Female!Reader X Android 17

PART 1

Request:

❤ ❤ ❤ ❤ ❤

Let’s go!

❤ You met Trunks at the Capsule Corp. You were doing an internship in your main career interest ;) and you were also very interested in ecology and all the problems that the earth was facing.

❤ So when your mainly project (relationated with your career and with your ecology passion) (to which you had dedicated your soul) resulted very successful, your reward was the opportunity (and responsibility) to present it to the Capsule Corp CEO: Trunks Brief.

❤ Was it an instant crush? Maybe, If you wanna call it like that.

❤ But the truth was that Trunks was simply amazed by your genuinity and by the passion that you show in every detail of your work. You had the spark of life! And Trunks was someone with such a vitality that was being represed by his current enviroment and by his lack of sense.

❤ Trunks not only realized that you were not like the majority of the girls who were chasing his money; He also realized that he was heartly happy when he was with you: his smile became truly bright, and the ache in his chest (sometimes caused by a blood that needed to fight, but that no longer did; and other times caused by the darkness of a future that although it no longer existed, it still weighed) diminished, being replaced by a conforting warmth.

❤ For your part, you realized that you could notice a change in Trunks. Every day that you spent together working on your project, he felt better: more alive. And that was something that you just wanted to treasure forever: the happiness of Trunks.

❤ By the time both of you realized, the feeling was already mutual: both of you were already in love. Each of you only wanted the protection and the happiness of the other.

❤ Trunks and you started a relationship. And you were more than welcome to the family of the Z warriors.

------------------------

❤ On your second year of relationship, you were working on an environment project, and searching for an adequate ecosystem. That's when Goten (of course being Trunks' girlfriend meant that you became the new female bestfriend of Goten) suggested you to work on the island that he and Trunks protected years ago.

❤ Was it the best or the worst idea ever? Probably THE BEST.

❤ Being only a scientist (one of the best, in fact, because Bulma being Bulma adopted you as her apprentice first and as her second daughter later) you unexpectedly met with the protector of the island.

❤ (An Android with unlimited energy?!?!? what the hell, Goten!?!? Can't you just remember a detail like this?!?!?)

❤ But of course said Android was not (anymore) a killer, he was just working and protecting the island! Moreover, you recognized him as Android 18's brother!

❤ He offered himself to help you with your work... that was more like a kind of silent threat: little scientist, I do not care if you come from the Capsule Corp, you will not do what you want on this island while I stay alive.

❤ Holy shit! His presence was just overwhelming. And even though you wanted to just call Trunks at that time, there was something fascinating about him that made you stay and follow his silent commands.

❤ By the end of the day, the Android had realized that you not only did not intend to harm the island or the nature, but that you were in fact a very noble human being.

❤ You spent the next weeks working on the island accompanied by 17.

❤ And he discovered two things. One: the island had twice as much life if you were in it! And two: He, who had managed to understand compassion and pain by projecting those feelings into nature and animals, could not help but feeling something similar for the first time for a human being.

❤ The android had believed in the past that humanity was something he could play with. But now, he could not help but feel that your humanity, that your kindness and that your fragility were something that should be protected. And that he would protect.

❤ On your part: You had met Trunks and you were in a relationship with him. Trunks was the man you loved. And precisely because of that, it was that you knew there was a moment in his life, when Trunks's eyes were lifeless.

If there was something that made your heart ache, it was precisely the fact that the eyes of Android 17 had much less life than those of Trunks had had in their worst moments.

❤ You knew there could be something that hurt 17. And although you did not understand why, you knew that it hurt you and that if it were for you, you would do anything to avoid that pain.

❤ It was precisely on one of those days of research on the island that Trunks went to pick you up! (Normally you spent the night together, but after work)

❤ That was the moment when both men met again.

❤ "He looks good." Trunks thought.

❤ "Is that TRUNKS?!" The Android thought.

❤ After that moment and with the constant visits of your boyfriend to your work, Android 17 (feeling a special affection for you and a nascent attraction for Trunks) could not help but know that although Trunks did not bother him precisely, he just did not want to lose the attention you gave him.

❤ And picking up that playful and rebellious personality so of him, but that sometimes he left aside by the calm that gave him the natural environment in which he worked, he began to challenge Trunks!

❤ Trunks took your eyes off for a while: he would take advantage to get close to you a little!

❤ Trunks returned his sight to you: he would take advantage to approach the double to you!

❤ Flirting and compliments? He was neither as refined Trunks nor as presumptuous as his sister, but for you (and for fucking Trunks) he could become a gentleman.

❤ Sweet nicknames related to your ecology studies: YEP (only because of you)!

Kitten, beautiful bird, little fish, baby lion, tigress.

❤ The nicknames become sweeter (or hotter) if Trunks was closer: DEFINITIVELY.

❤ But most important of all: The three of you know that there was something playful and not threatening in all that? YES!

❤ The android enjoyed teasing Trunks. (And if with that he could made you laugh, he enjoyed it twice!)

❤ On the other hand, Trunks sometimes felt a tick in the eye when that happened. But there was something so absurd in all that flirting, that he could not help but felt fun and fake a false annoyance.

❤ And you: well, you had not smiled or laughed so much in years! Both the foolish flirtation and the even more foolish fights between that pair made you feel alive.

❤ The three of you surrounded by nature; smiling and... living.

❤ The two of them knowing that they could (both for their dumb game and for real interest) fight and not have to hold back. Both were worthy rivals for each other.

❤ You almost died of a heart attack the first time you saw a fight between a saiyan and an android with unlimited energy.

But immediately you thought that it was the most fascinating thing you had ever saw. With that vision your legs failed you and you stayed reclined in the softness of the sand, with your eyes bright and your lips wet. With something intense vibrating strongly in your chest.

❤ Trunks and 17 fought with a force that had been repressed for many years. And the moment they saw you ... oh god.

You were the most dazzling beauty that both had ever seen.

And best of all: the sublime expression you had had been caused by both. Together.

❤ That night, 17 could not but think selfishly that he no longer wanted a life without the two of you.

❤ And you and Trunks, could not help but feel (for the first time in many years) incomplete.

Under the moonlight, while you and your boyfriend made love, you both understood what was missing.

❤ And although there was very little left for your investigation on the island to end, neither you nor Trunks were going to let go of the person who made both of you happy.

That person was not going to let you go either.

*To be continued*

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recentanimenews · 4 years

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Sing “Yesterday” for Me – 07 – Video Games

Rikuo! Taking Haru Out! For DINNER! To celebrate his new job at a photography studio! Not just dismissing her as a convenience store clerk groupie in the alley, but treating her like…well, a lady! Hell, if I was Haru, I’d order a couple beers too, in hopes the universe wouldn’t card me.

With a third of the show in the books, we’re officially done with the introductions of the characters and their issues. The pieces are all arranged; all past and present love intersts accounted for…it’s officially time to play the game. And, well…as much as I love her, I fear it may be the beginning of Game Over for Haru…despite Rikuo’s newfound manners.

If Rikuo taking Haru out is meant to be both an olive branch after the business with his ex-girlfriend and a sign he’s finally taking her feelings seriously, an impatient Rou has decided to undermine Haru’s progress by essentially pushing Shinako closer to Rikuo.

Shinako has never had anything like boyfriend, but she knows she has no interest in Rou. She loved Yuu, but even that wasn’t necessarily romantic love. She loves Rou too, but as family member. Rou is simply barking up the wrong tree. He can wait and hope and try a “change of attitude” all he wants; Shinako ain’t interested!

It’s Rikuo Shinako goes to for council, wondering what she could or should be doing regarding Rou. Ironically, she states her believe Rou is “falling for an illusion”, while Haru has stated that all romantic love is is illusion (all while being hopelessly vulnerable to it all the same).

Rikuo’s advice doesn’t come from a place of moral superiority or jealousy or even lingering bitterness from being previously rejected by Shinako. He simply reminds Shinako that Rou isn’t a little kid anymore, that he knows life doesn’t always go the way you want, and if he wants to stress himself out, she should let him.

In not so many words, and regardless of whether it’s intentional, Rikuo is telling Shinako not to try to spare Rou the full force of Life Not Going Your Way. For whom does life always go right anyway? Rou has decided he’s rapidly approaching adulthood, and wants nothing else but to “catch up” to Shinako.

So Shinako tells him: she’s watching him; watching who he’ll become. It’s not a forceful rejection, but it still mostly sounds like one to Rou, who as Rikuo said is world-weary enough to read between the lines. Even so, it’s too gentle a gesture on Shinako’s part—as we’ll find out later.

Rikuo’s friend Fukuda visits him, and is happy to hear his progress in pursuing his interest in photography professionally. He even gives Rikuo a major boost by hiring him to photograph his upcoming nuptuals. Rikuo discusses it with a supervisor at lunch, and then after work, Haru is waiting outside the studio.

Haru wants to be someone Haru can confide his problems in and seek advice and help. At first Rikuo is dubious, but eventually comes out and remarks how it almost feels like the “universe is nagging” him, asking “what do you want to become?” after a period of not asking, and him not caring or trying. It’s kind of stressful, but Haru tells him to keep stressing out…”it’s how everyone gets to be who they are.” She’s such a gift…

Haru doesn’t realize the universe isn’t just nagging Rikuo about his career or calling. Fukuda knows how terrible Shinako is at dating and romance, and all but assures Rikuo that he can’t assume she’ll make the next move.

Fukuda’s wedding comes, and Rikuo snaps photos…including candids of Shinako, who was also invited after all. He tries to take both Fukuda and Haru’s advice, but chickens out at the last moment, using the need to return his boss’ camera to take his leave.

His hesitation doesn’t really matter, as without trying Rou once again causes memories of Yuu to surface in Shinako. She tries to leave his place, but he can sense the tears welling in her face before he sees it, and follows her as she flees. When he bared his arm in front of her, it looked just like Yuu when he’d receive shots. Shinako never looked away from Yuu’s arm, thinking if he was being so strong, she’d have to be strong too.

Rou takes this opportunity to wrap his arms around Shinako’s, but her impulse isn’t to sink into that embrace, but to ask—clearly and more than once—for him to let her go. Rou being “the only one who knows how important” his bro was to her isn’t the secret weapon he thinks it is. It is, in fact, anathema, as Rou is a constant reminder of that which Shinako knows she has to move past.

Shinako knows she’s being selfish and presumptuous, but waits for Rikuo anyway. After a calming soft drink at a family restaurant, he walks her home, but she’s frustrated that all they’re talking about is her and Rou, when the thing she can’t deal with she really wants to talk about goes unsaid. She proceeds to explain why she initially rejected him, citing an inability to forget Yuu and a fear of being alone.

Rikuo then reiterates that he was willing to wait for her, to which she replies that maybe she was waiting too. Maybe she can’t move on until somebody—somebody not Rou—pulls her. When they’re briefly interrupted by her neighbor, Rikuo suggests they find a place to talk more in private.

Then Shinako invites him into her apartment…“although it’s messy.”

And now for a bizarre tangent!

There’s a new ED for Yesterday this week, one that builds on Fukuda playing old video games at Rikuo’s place. The ED depicts an arcade game featuring and 8-bit Haru and her crow flying around town defeating enemies and launching relentless love attacks at Rikuo. It ends with a Game Over as Rikuo ends up walking offscreen with Shinako, while Haru is surrounded and pelted by foes.

Not only is it potentially devastating foreshadowing, the video game motif reminded me of Lana Del Rey’s song “Video Games”…specifically, her 2012 SNL performance, which was the first time most of the country had ever seen or heard her, including myself. The performance gained infamy, and could be charitably described as … “messy”.

When I first heard it, the lyrics seemed banal and Lana sounded extremely nervous, and while her band’s accompaniment is impeccable, her vocal performance is far from it—and yet that’s precisely why I love it so much. Sometimes it isn’t what you sing OR how you sing it that’s important, but how singing it makes one feel.

And I felt a lot of things! It was a raw, different, beautiful, perplexing, and yes, messy thing to behold. I’m not a Lana Del Rey fan (or an SNL fan for that matter), but I consider it one of the most arresting SNL performances of all time. Your mileage, of course, may vary!

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ecotone99 · 4 years

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[RF] Just Another Usual Day

Don had a good life. He was happily married to the woman who first captured his heart before they were graduated from high school. When he met Tonya, they were both sophomores. Don had a perfect grade point average and therefore was offered to serve as a tutor for students struggling with subjects. His teacher assigned him a new peer that he was to meet in the library after school. When the final bell rang, he gathered his belongings and promptly headed to the library a few minutes ahead of the appointed time. He always wanted to cast the impression of being prepared so that his peers may take him seriously. He wasn’t fond of the students who regarded being tutored as an opportunity to just fuck off with a fellow classmate. He never failed to make it clear that he was not their drinking buddy, or their smoking buddy, or their TV buddy. He was their tutor and the only reason he was seeing them was to help them study and get their grades up.

So, when he walked into the library and saw Tonya already there before him waiting at the designated table he was impressed. He moved austerely over to her and introduced himself.

“Hi, I am Don. I have been appointed as your tutor. You must be Tonya?”

When she stood up to return his greeting, he was stunned by her beauty. Trying to remain formal and objective was going to be exceedingly difficult. Her lustrous auburn hair cascaded over a pair of very symmetrical shoulders and framed the delicate contours of her facial structure. She had eyes like iridescent jewels that bespoke of immeasurable depths as if the soul was peering out from behind them. The complexion of her skin was melted ivory and bore an apparent softness that made you just want to hold her against you. She was only of medium stature and had a narrow frame slightly accentuated by subtle curves. But it was enough to send his mind reeling and stir a pool of latent emotions he had once always been very disciplined about keeping dormant. He felt a weakness and vulnerability when he looked at her. He felt like all his assiduously structured defenses would crumble into absolute ruin.

“How the fuck am I going to pull this off,” he thought to himself? He wasn’t going to. He had been rehearsing a script in his mind for the last several weeks, meticulously handpicking each word and turning them over in careful consideration, deciding how he was going to address his feelings towards her. Nothing materialized. At least nothing coherent. He wasn’t adept at articulating affection. He said, fuck it, he would just run with the moment and say what come to his mind first. After almost a month of tutoring at her house, he put the books down on her parent’s coffee table, turned sideways to face her, and with his guts in a coiled knot he said, “Enough of the pretense. I see the way you look at me, how you nudge up against me until our knees are touching and you know how I look at you. I think we have carried this out long enough. Do you want to get together on an informal basis and maybe see a movie or get a bite to eat?”

She sat there mute and expressionless and for a second Don thought he may have been presumptuous and fucked everything up, making a fool of himself. But then, without any indication, she leaned forward and kissed him with an urgency that said if she didn’t do it now, she would forever lose the opportunity. And he kissed her back with the same urgency. They collapsed into each other’s embrace and just lied there silently holding one another’s body against themselves in the weightlessness of great relief.

The years would progress and see them through the end of high school, into the world as adults, and staying in love strong as ever. They would get their first apartment together at nineteen years old. Don was employed as a mechanic at the dealership whereas Tonya was just starting her lifelong career in real estate. Both their families were sorely disappointed that neither of them fulfilled the college ambitions they had for them. One night, not too long ago, everyone was out for dinner, though in hindsight it is evident that the dinner was an orchestrated ruse for the conversation, but their parents said it was an egregious error in judgement to not pursue higher education. Don argued that he was following what they taught him as a youth; to do what you love. His passion was in mechanics and he was being paid handsomely for an entry level position with full benefits. He said he could always go back to school later, but for now this is what he enjoyed. What he didn’t tell his parents was that he was disillusioned with the idea of furthering his education. He just wanted his freedom and not have to recommit to another four years of institutional servitude. Hell, people with master’s degrees were flipping burgers because an absence of jobs in their fields. Instead they will have to pay off student loans for the rest of their lives. Not interested.

By the time they were both twenty-four they had managed to save enough money to put a down payment on their first home through the real estate agency Tonya was employed with. Don had become the head mechanic at the dealership and was earning a 70k salary while Tonya had moved up the ranks and became her own agent. She received some very remunerative commissions off her sales. The house they bought was a three-bedroom ranch style located in the country on two acres of wooded land. Now that they were financially stable the time arose when they would discuss having children. Neither of them was opposed and they decided they would start trying.

In the next five years they would have one boy and one girl, Jonathan and Sylvia. Their domestic life was upper middle-class and underneath the surface everything was how it appeared. There wasn’t any window dressing to conceal a behind-closed doors tension. They were a genuinely happy family with both Don and Tonya serving as members on the local PTA board. They were respected in their community and had established a reputation as people entirely willing to help others in need.

The years went by. Don’s son Jonathan was turning seven and little Sylvia had just turned five. He had taken the responsibility for ensuring they got to school every day. His work was just a few blocks down the road, so it was on his way.

The sun was shining without a cloud in the sky on this mid-September day. Their SUV pulled alongside the curb, Don opened his door, got out and walked around the vehicle to open the doors for his kids. They sprung out with the usual excitement, flashing animated smiles, and giving him hugs before they ran wildly into school. But Don held them a little tighter this morning, a little longer, and told both that he loved them and to be good for Mom. They pulled back a little and said playfully, “Dad, you’re being weird.” He smiled then told them to get their butts in school. For a moment, after the kids had gone inside, he remained standing there like a man lost in reverie trying to savor a moment.

Tonya was already at work. She had a showing early this morning and was hoping to broker a sale. This was going to be a very lucrative commission if she succeeds. They were planning to put the money towards a family vacation. Disney World, ocean-front hotel on a white sandy beach, deep sea fishing, and whatever else they could put on their itinerary. It’s kind of why Don did not want to bother her this morning. He had to hear her voice though. If only for the fraction of a second. These things mattered. The feel of his children in his arms, the sound of their voices, their sweet “I love yous’”, the innocence of their disarming smiles, and now to hear his wife’s mellifluous voice. He was storing all these last impressions like someone about to say goodbye.

Still sitting outside the school, he dials her number. On third ring she answers. “Honey, I’m with the client right now.”

“I know babe,” he says. “I just wanted to wish you luck and tell you that I love you very much,” he says.

“I love you, too,” she replies.

“Okay, goodbye and good luck again,” he says. After he hangs up, Tonya is a little bewildered. That wasn’t like Don. It was a little out of character for him. He never interrupts her during a sale. It bounces around in her head and stays there.

Don pulls the SUV away from the curb and begins to drive. But he doesn’t go to work. He drives right past the dealership and proceeds to the highway exit out of town. He picks up speed on the ramp, merges into traffic, and continues to accelerate. He begins to perspire as he reaches 90 mph. He knows what he is going to do. It has been on his mind for a long time. He has entertained the idea many times, going over all the scenarios with great attention to detail. For the last several years, every time he drove, he would imagine it, replaying it in his mind, how it would be, how it would feel. He finally summoned the courage and his mind was set, there would be no reversing his decision.

He was up to almost 100 mph now. His hands were clammy, gripping the steering wheel with a tenacity that turned his knuckles white. Half a mile up the road he saw what he was looking for. A semi-truck was in the oncoming traffic lane. He swerved across the median, pressed harder upon the gas pedal, and aimed his SUV at the massive vehicle. His entire body was tense with anticipation. He looked down at the picture of Tonya and the kids he kept next to the speedometer one last time. He said I love you guys out loud. This was it. He wouldn’t even feel it he told himself. The semi blared its air horn and tried to move over into the opposite lane. So did Don. The front grill came at him fast and all the sudden he heard the high-pitch squeal of the semi applying its emergency braking and then the deafening explosion of thousands of pounds of steel crushing together at the same instant everything went black. He died at the moment of impact.

Don didn’t feel any pain. His SUV folded into a capsule smaller than a Prius and was pushed another one-hundred yards until the semi came to a complete stop. First responders arrived no more than five minutes later. When they assessed the situation and examined the remains of Don’s SUV, they knew he was dead. They were going to have cut his body out. Clouds were rolling in from the west blotting out the mid-morning sun. A gray pall was permeating the sky. The first raindrop fell upon the plastic face cover of a firefighter’s hat like a small teardrop. It was going to be a very long day.

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cinephiled-com · 6 years

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New Post has been published on Cinephiled

New Post has been published on http://www.cinephiled.com/interview-adam-michael-james-writes-definitive-finale-tv-series-bewitched/

Interview: Adam-Michael James Writes the Definitive Finale for the TV Series ‘Bewitched’

A few years ago, I spoke to author and Bewitched expert Adam-Michael James about his deliciously comprehensive book, The Bewitched Continuum, an encyclopedic tome packed with everything you ever wanted to know about the classic TV series including synopses of every episode and a brief description of James’ wonderful wished-for series finale. Now, 45 years after the show went off the air, Adam-Michael James is back with an insanely fun and perfect wrap-up to television’s most beloved supernatural sitcom

Cover art by Dan Parent

In the show’s original 1964-1972 run, the tale of witch Samantha Stephens and her mortal husband Darrin ended on what might be called a “regular” episode, since series finales were not commonplace back then and they likely didn’t know yet that they wouldn’t be coming back the following year. With his new book I, Samantha, Take This Mortal, Darrin, Adam-Michael James gives Bewitched fans of all ages the closure they’ve always wanted. This two-part “episode,” presented in novel form, takes place a week after the show’s final first-run installment in 1972, bringing back all our favorite characters, creating backstories for Samantha and Darrin, and building on the show’s always strong message of equality and acceptance.

In the story, McMann & Tate advertising executive Darrin gets a long-awaited promotion to full partner. But things get a little crazy during a party that Samantha throws for her husband when she is forced to out herself as a witch to her mortal guests to explain a magical mishap involving one of her children. This leads Samantha into a full-on battle with the almighty Witches Council in a high-stakes fight for her marriage and her family. Both wildly entertaining and surprisingly moving, I, Samantha, Take This Mortal, Darrin brings the series full circle and brings the characters, so wonderfully played by Elizabeth Montgomery, Agnes Moorehead, Dick Sargent, Maurice Evans, Alice Ghostley, Paul Lynde, and many others back to life in an almost startling realistic way. James is so well-versed in the nuances of the show that after reading the novel, I felt as if I’d actually seen the imagined final episodes. The book, available on Amazon, is a must for fans of the show. I talked to Adam-Michael James about why he chose to put this out there now.

Danny Miller: It’s pretty astounding how you were able to perfectly recreate the speech patterns, syntax, and style of dialogue for every single character on the show. from Samantha and Endora all the way down to Gladys Kravitz and Louise Tate. Was that just because of your insane encyclopedic knowledge of this world, or did you go back and study how each character talked?

Adam-Michael James: I didn’t really have to go back and study them. As you say, I’ve lived with the show for 40 years and you know, it was weird — I felt like I could almost hear them in my head as I was writing. It’s almost as if they were telling me what to write!

I loved the synopsis you included of this hoped-for finale in your last book, but there are so many other details here that are so fun. How did you go about fleshing it out?

I followed the basic storyline that I had already written, but as I started going I found myself adding many other connections that I hadn’t even thought of. To be honest, it all started one night about a year ago when I was taking a bath! I started thinking about Darrin looking out of the window from his office down on Madison Avenue and all of a sudden, all these details about his history popped into my head. It was all I could do to jump out of the tub and start writing it all down before I forgot! And it went on from there. I felt like something was guiding me along.

We talked last time about the eternal debate regarding the two Darrins — played by Dick York and then by Dick Sargent who took over the role after Dick York left the show because of illness. Did you ever consider restoring Dick York to the role of Darrin in your book?

I didn’t. With no offense to the legion of Dick York fans (and I am one of them!), I never thought of that simply because Dick Sargent was part of the last season and if you were gong to continue on with an episode the following week in 1972, you just couldn’t switch Darrins. But, of course, you do see a few little references in my book of characters talking about how Darrin seemed to look different than he used to.

I loved that stuff — you even had his daughter Tabitha making such a reference. But you did make a few exceptions to what would have been possible to do in 1972. I’m thinking of the wonderful material about Aunt Clara.

Yes. I was always frustrated by the show never addressing what had happened to Aunt Clara. She was an important character who suddenly disappeared, obviously because actress Marion Lorne had died. I thought it was weird that the show never mentioned her again and just brought in Esmerelda to take over her babysitting duties. I’m sure they had their reasons for not addressing it — I mean, they couldn’t really say that Aunt Clara had died.

Although some shows of that era did, like when Will Geer who played Grandpa on The Waltons died, they dealt with it head-on and had his character die.

Sure, but rarely on sitcoms, especially a show about witches who were supposed to live for thousands of years! So I was happy to get the opportunity to explain where Aunt Clara had been.

Love it. I was also glad to see Serena, Samantha’s “identical cousin,” pop back in towards the end of the book. I was always so impressed how well Elizabeth Montgomery pulled that off. I’m not sure I even realized as a kid that she was playing both parts.

I know! Especially with the fake credit at the end: “Pandora Sparks as Serena!”

And your writing for her was perfect, you totally captured her hippie persona that I’m sure Montgomery had a blast playing. It’s crazy how many references you were able to layer in to past episodes without it ever seeming heavy-handed.

That was really fun. You saw the gazillion endnotes I included in the book. I wanted people to be able to go back and reference an episode and say, “Oh yeah, that’s where that came from!” And, of course, I wanted to give full credit to what I came up with and what was created by the writers of the show back in the 60s and 70s.

The scenes at the Witches’ Council where Samantha is defending her marriage were beautifully written. As a fan, I expected to enjoy this book which I did, and I laughed a lot, but a few scenes were so moving they made me burst into tears which I never anticipated.

Oh wow, I’m happy to hear that!

We talked last time about how the show grappled with some very real issues of the day — issues that are all-too-important in our current climate — despite the fact that some people viewed Bewitched as just a frivolous magic show.

It was only a frivolous magic show on the surface. From the very first episode, the show was about overcoming prejudice and living in a way to be true to yourself even when people didn’t understand it. And, of course, being in the middle of the civil rights movement, it was pretty bold for Elizabeth Montgomery and her then-husband and producer Bill Asher to layer these messages into the show. A lot of times they were very subtle, but then there were times when it was very direct like the Thanksgiving episode where Darrin is put on trial in old Salem for being a witch and Samantha talks about how the hope for this world lies in our acceptance of all our differences and a recognition of our common humanity.

Which was an important message of the entire series.

Right. And then the Christmas episode where Tabitha has an African American friend, Lisa, and uses witchcraft to make them both polka-dotted. I always thought it was a shame that they didn’t bring Lisa back which is why she shows up in my finale. These were all very important messages back then, and, as you well know, we’re in a place right now, spurred on by a particular person and certain groups, where we’re being dragged back to a time where there was more intolerance and inequality and the idea that some groups are superior to others.

Is that why you wanted this book to come out now?

Yes. I wasn’t going to do anything with that synopsis of my imagined finale that I wrote for The Bewitched Continuum, but when all of this started going on, I felt the need to speak out since those messages were such an important part of the show.

Even the whole notion of Darrin’s lack of acceptance of Samantha’s powers, I thought you resolved that so beautifully. And the scenes were Tabitha is upset because she hears about how worried Darrin was that she’d be a witch, I can see that resonating with every family who has ever grappled with having an LGBTQ kid, for example, or families were are dealing with any differences. Speaking of which, I thought the brief reference to Uncle Arthur’s preference was a lot of fun. Did you ever think of going further with that?

For the most part, I decided to write the book as if the dialogue were being spoken on a TV show in 1972 with the social mores and the network limitations in place, but there were a few times when I pushed it just a hair. (Laughs.) I think mentioning Uncle Arthur in that way was pushing it just a bit!

I’m glad you did, I’m sure Paul Lynde would have loved it! I’m sorry most of the actors are no longer with us, I’m sure they would have so enjoyed this book, especially Elizabeth Montgomery.

I think if Elizabeth Montgomery were here now and if Bewitched were back on the air, you would see Samantha once again talking about these same things that our country is still grappling with. I don’t want to be presumptuous about it but I hope Elizabeth Montgomery would be proud of the book.

Oh, I’m sure she was part of your writing in some way. You perfectly captured everything she was about on and off the screen. I think you’ve honored her memory very well.

Click here to order Adam-Michael James’ book, I, Samantha, Take This Mortal, Darrin. You can visit his Bewitched Facebook page here.

#Adam-Michael James #Agnes Moorehead #Bewitched #Dick Sargent #Dick York #Elizabeth Montgomery #I Samantha Take This Mortal Darrin #Interviews #What's Hot

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