#Ant's going to go mental when he realises no one else likes his brother | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

gwoongi · 5 years ago

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(abandoned) all i want for christmas is woohoo

kim seokjin / kim namjoon genre: uni au, fluff, crack rating: general words: 4.9k warnings: clownery, i knew nothing about uni, character dynamics based off a fic none of u have read a/n: incomplete prequel to the yoonmin fanfic i wrote three thousand years ago. i will never finish this so here’s what i started and left behind for the dogs to have at

The stranger makes a noise of voiced agreement. “Mood.”

September 8th.

One thing they never tell you before going to Uni, is that it’s fucking mental on Move In Day.

Obviously, he had some idea that the student digs would be fairly busy with students moving in, but he never expected to be waiting in a thick line of tired and excited first years for around fifteen minutes, only to then wait another twenty just for the student- who, by the way, was way too busy picking at her purple nail varnish to give two damns about Namjoon’s clearly very important moving in schedule- to find his key on the board barely 50 centimetres away from where she was sitting.

So, yeah- when his sister comes to Uni after him, he’s definitely going to warn her about the madness that is Move In Day, because clearly nobody else had cared if Namjoon was stuck waiting like a doormat for one student who thinks she’s something to hand him a key. I mean, how hard can it be? He doesn’t get it.

“Sorry about the wait,” another male student, who noticed the lack of enthusiasm from second year student apparently named Jisoo, says as he moves from behind the desk to give Namjoon a silver key on a chain, with two other keys present. “Here are your keys- one’s for the front door of your flat, second is for the main building in-case you’re late after hours and the third is for your pigeon box.” He pauses: “no help from your parents?”

Namjoon shrugs politely, “Just me. My parents are back in Ilsang, couldn’t make it.”

“Bummer,” the student replies. Along with the keys, he shoves a brown paper bag into Namjoon’s hands with a toothy smile. “Your complimentary moving in gifts, from the students who moved out! Thanks for picking Blossom Island as your student accomodation!”

Although Namjoon wants to tell him that Blossom Island was the only cheap option out of three absurdly priced accomodations for first years, he doesn’t; instead, he smiles, lips closed and dimples on display, nodding his head and turning all within the same second. The student moves away after, so he doesn’t feel bad about ending the conversation so abruptly.

Blossom Island is located smack bang outside of campus, across a small stream that Namjoon thought would be filled with blossom, but instead is littered with algae and tinfoil. It’s large, tall like a regular apartment complex, with a courtyard out the front with a bouncy castle that Namjoon can already see some people jumping on with what he assumes is their new roommates.

Namjoon leaves the lobby- should he call it a lobby? It was more of a downstairs kitchen and living room, with two small sofas and a mounted flat-screen, a pool table pushed weirdly in the middle of the colourful boxed room and a door near the back wandering into the community study area, another door for what he guesses is for laundry. Hauling his suitcase and big, cardboard box in his arms across the courtyard, he follows the number on the key- number 8, floor 6, Kyoto Building and barely makes it five steps without almost dropping the box entirely, all thanks to some jerk wearing Thrasher and a beanie.

“That’s what you get for not tying your shoelaces.”

Mid-crouch, Namjoon looks over his shoulder and spots Min Yoongi stepping out of the building, followed by a rather proud looking set of parents, preening at the fact that their son is going into Nursing. Due to that, he bites back a curse word he figures would be impolite for the elders, and manages a smile in the sun.

“What? He clearly pushed into me,” Namjoon reasons, standing upright and saying a hasty hello to Yoongi’s parents, who, in all honesty, have never really liked him much. He laughs breathily, waiting for a few seconds before asking, “where are you?”

Yoongi checks his key. “Number 13, Floor 0, Juko Building. What kind of name is Juko, anyway?”

“Beats me,” Namjoon scoffs. “I think Juko’s close to Kyoto. I’ll come visit when you’re all settled and moved in, yeah?”

Yoongi nods, already beginning to walk away. “Yeah, I’ll get your mug out ready.”

That’s the thing with Yoongi, Namjoon thinks as he walks away; he’s always been about the little things in life. In the many, many years that Namjoon has known Yoongi, he’s never really changed- Yoongi has always been compassionate and cutely caring, buying two mugs instead of one and making pasta for two when he knew Namjoon was due to visit on days his parents were working late. And he feels bad, because Yoongi is a giving guy, not a receiving one.

He watches as Yoongi leaves with his parents, and he feels weirdly sad. It’s none of his business, too, as he watches the three Min’s enter the Juko Building, painted a pastel pink with mint compliments, swirling patterns dancing as the leaves on the trees move in the whisper of wind.

Namjoon now has the urge to paint.

In Number 8, Floor 6, Kyoto Building, Kim Seokjin finally sets down the last potted plant on the sparse looking shelf above his desk, and he steps back with his hands on his hips to admire the minimal effort. Although it definitely took some struggle, what with his Dad accidentally dropping his bag with his Nintendo inside and his Mother judging his absurd amount of pink bath-towels, Seokjin has a feeling in his stomach- the feeling where you know that everything is going perfectly.

There’s a smell in the air; blossom from the large tree outside his window, propped open on the hatch to allow a breeze air out the room. Since his roomie hasn’t arrived yet, the least he can do is get rid of the stuffy smell, something strangely similar to pool chlorine. He inhales it deeply, a smile tugging at his lips. Seoul weather amazes him- even though Gwacheon is a blink away, Seokjin is already starting to feel like a new person.

Maybe it’s just University excitement. Maybe it’s University nerves. But, maybe it’s also because he really needs a wee and can’t think properly.

He waits nicely for his parents to finish up straightening every single crease in his bedsheets before saying goodbye. Although he might tease to their faces that he won’t miss them, and they won’t miss him, Seokjin knows from the minute they open the door to head back out to the corridor that it’s going to take a while to adjust to life without the nagging, but endearing, guidance of his family.

Because Seokjin has always sort of been the baby boy of the Kim’s from Gwacheon- his older brother inherited a type of broodiness that Seokjin is thankful he hasn’t got yet, and so Seokjin’s always been the favourite. The favourite crawler, the favourite footballer, the favourite baker and painter- in honesty, Seokjung never wanted any of that. Seokjin’s proud of who he is- he’s so fucking proud of his family. So he sort of takes pride in being the baby boy of the Kim family. He wears it like armour, glistening armour that represents him in front of a whole army of potential threats and friends.

Jinyoung, an old friend, used to say it was embarrassing- as if Jinyoung doesn’t have a comfortable enough life with parents who would murder for him, but Seokjin doesn’t care. Why should he be ashamed of being loved? Most families aren’t as close as the Kim’s, so he takes extra care in making sure his family know that he loves them. That’s the sort of guy he is- giving, occasionally receiving, but giving, giving his whole heart and soul to everybody else in order to make others happy.

Seokjin pinches the bridge of his nose as the door closes with a sickening click, the noise muting around the faint buzz of traffic across campus and the baby birds in the nest a few floors down on a branch, fluttering in the wind like wings. He’s so lost in the way the small twigs are woven together, like the way a spider builds a web, or an ant a colony, that he doesn’t realise three minutes have passed.

Now he really needs a wee.

When Namjoon opens the door to room 8, he’s surprised.

Not shocked, but surprised. Because there’s a difference between shock and surprise- shock is entering a room and finding a serial killer, but surprise is walking into a room and finding a party. The difference is in the level of reaction, and Namjoon hadn’t walked in and been completely thrown off by a wall of cute posters and the obvious collection of DS games and a cool looking computer. If anything, he’s intrigued. Surprised. Pleasantly surprised, perhaps.

To the right, Namjoon hears the toilet flush and he knows that he has a couple seconds to look around the room and plonk his bags and box on the plain bed before his roommate emerges from the bathroom. As he sets them down, he casts a gaze towards the right side of the room where his roomie has claimed a bed, a desk and a small looking wardrobe near the door. On the wall next to his bed, a collection of posters have been washi taped to the boring blank canvas- although, as an artist, Namjoon considers anything blank and white to be inviting and anything but boring, because a canvas holds endless opportunities- and his bed covers are a washed out blue, a colour that now, actually, as he’s looking at it, is becoming more chiffon coloured.

It’s evident his roommate likes video games- half the posters on the wall are related to games he knows that they must like; Animal Crossing, a small Stardew Valley postcard and a commissioned drawing of Jinx from LoL, taped next to a large artwork of Mario Kart and more postcard art of games Namjoon thinks he’s heard of but isn’t sure- The Last of Us, Tekken, Zelda. He pretends not to notice the small Minecraft postcard in the corner of the mural but weirdly enough, he finds it endearing knowing that someone at University still plays Minecraft.

Most of all, Namjoon notices the strange obsession with The Sims, as seen through multiple artworks and the fantastic collection of Sims3 Expansion packs sitting on the shelf above his bed, next to pop figures and a photo frame of a group of friends.

He wonders if his roommate will let him use the expansion packs when he’s bored.

“Oh, hey.”

Clearly having not heard the bathroom door open, Namjoon spins on the spot to look back at the bathroom, where his roommate stands with his hand animatedly raised in a wave, a smile lifting his cheekbones. They look pale, almost watery, but Namjoon doesn’t say anything. He knows why.

“Hey. Namjoon,” he says, leaning forward to shake his hand. For a moment, his roommate stares at the hand, as if wondering what to do with it. “What?”

His roomie shakes his head, moving to shake his hand once, up and down, before letting it drop. “Nothing. It’s just, well, how many people give handshakes nowadays?”

Namjoon thinks it over in his head. “Well, a lot of people. Useful in business, and stuff. A manager might want to shake your hand at a job interview.”

As he says the words, Namjoon can tell by the passing look on his roommates face that he wasn’t expected to give an answer. He stops talking after that, looking back to his bed with a feeling similar to embarrassment, while his roommate moves towards the window and clears his throat awkwardly.

“Seokjin.” He finally introduces himself. Seokjin- it has a ring to it. Namjoon says it over in his head, growing familiar with it. Now that he’s mentioned it, Namjoon looks back over his shoulder and realises that he looks like a Seokjin. The name suits him. “What’re you studying here?”

“Art and Design,” Namjoon replies with a brief smile over his shoulder. Seokjin isn’t looking, anyway. “Nothing too crazy.” He looks at the wall of posters- “Are you studying graphics?”

“Yeah. I’m studying Digital Art,” Seokjin replies, and it’s clear in the way his whole body moves as he says it that he’s passionate about his subject. He laughs shortly, “Isn’t it funny how we’re both doing art and we got pushed together? Do you think that’s intentional?”

Namjoon shrugs, taking out his clothes first from one of his suitcases. “Maybe. I’m glad you’re Digital Art and not Performing Arts. One, this room is not big enough to dance and sing and two, I don’t want to be woken up by a classical alarm clock. You know?”

Seokjin laughs and it suffices as a reply.

As Namjoon sifts around his bag and pulls out the remainder of his clothes, Seokjin turns around and watches for a swift three seconds, and then moves back towards his desk and absent-mindedly moves around his keyboard, straightening it up.

“Do you need any help?” he asks, and as Namjoon turns to catch his eye, he notices he means it genuinely.

“Uh, I’m alright,” Namjoon replies, and even though Seokjin can clearly see the amount of work he has left to do to his half of the bedroom, he doesn’t pry and decidedly drops it. He shrugs.

“Alright then. I’m gonna head out,” Seokjin says. He gestures with his head to the hallway. “Out on campus, they’re doing that thing. What do they call it- Wildflower? I think I just wanna go meet some people. I can wait for you, and we can go together, if you want?”

Namjoon does want. He really wants to. But he takes several glances back at his boxes and frowns deeply. And anyways, he’ll have plenty of time to hang out with Seokjin later, won’t he?

“I’ll pass,” Namjoon rejects him softly, a smile on his lips as if to say, I do want to come but I’m way too busy. Seokjin’s lips twitch into a pursed mouth and he nods. “I’ve just got a lot to do. We could hang out later, if you want?”

“Sure,” Seokjin replies, already inching towards the door. “Yeah, alright. If you need help, just text me. I’ve got my number on the pinboard above my desk- just incase, you know?”

Namjoon glances over; surely enough, on a corkboard pinned to the wall above his desk and beneath the shelf, he can see the sleek black letters printed with “emergency number” written next to it in messy handwriting. He smiles, mostly because he’s never seen someone have their own phone number hung up in their room before, and nods without looking in Seokjin’s direction. “Okay, thanks, Seokjin-ssi.”

Seokjin makes a sound similar to a laugh, air through his nose, a small intake of high pitched breath afterwards. Out the corner of his eye, Namjoon can see him hovering his hand over the handle and to be polite, he finally looks over. Something tells him he was waiting for that.

“Seokjin should be fine,” Seokjin replies with a smile.

By the time Namjoon finishes sorting out his things (and by sorting out, he means that he’s hung up his clothes and kicked the cardboard box towards his desk out of the way), Seokjin’s still not back from Wildflower, and quite frankly, he’s bored.

As if by a magnetic pull, he finds himself leaving Kyoto building to trudge in the mid-move-in-manic, across the small courtyard where the bouncy-castle has deflated thanks to someone jumping on it wearing shoes, and towards Juko building, a big clump of pastel next to the white blossom tree that Namjoon is jealous of. Yoongi’s room, even back at his home in Daegu- where Namjoon had lived throughout his entire high-school life before his parents moved back to Ilsang during his final year-, was somewhere Namjoon had felt completely and utterly accepted. At home.

He always found it funny how Yoongi said the same thing for him- his bedroom back home was small, smaller than the dorm room he has now. It was an average room, with small bold letters spelling out his name on the front of his door, and his walls were painted a navy blue with dark wood floors that went through the entire house, with thrown around covers and three pillows to sleep with and furniture which didn’t match the colours. But Yoongi’s room was different. Yoongi’s room was Yoongi.

Slanted ceilings and an off-white coloured paint-job on the walls, with grey curtains and white sheets and an electric piano pushed up against the window-wall, overlooking a small line of houses out the front of the street Yoongi lived on, a tree that turned orange in October. On his walls, Yoongi liked to keep it minimal, minus the posters of his favourite artists and a little area above his desk for pictures of him and Namjoon, his first family pet, a ticket to his first family vacation when he was thirteen, dried flowers from a tiny bundle he was given on a Valentine’s Day. His first Valentine’s gift. A memory. A wall of memories, stuck with shimmery tape and dried blue-tac on the white, unremovable, stuck like glue. It was everything Namjoon wanted in a room. It was everything Namjoon needed in a place to feel completely and utterly safe.

Namjoon wasn’t surprised that Yoongi had stuck with the bland style of dorm room, compared to the bed next to him which his roommate- a kid studying Music with an incredible obsession with BoA and Michael Jackson- who, even though he was an amazing artist, Namjoon always felt weirded out by.

He stands by the doorframe as Yoongi shuffles to straighten his blanket at the end of his bed, simply looking at the decor, taking it all in with a deep breath. His roommate stared at Namjoon waiting in the doorway and pulled his lips to a frown, excusing himself, “...heading to Wildflower, bye,” being the only words he ever said to Namjoon.

“Namjoon, I hate it.”

“You’ve been here for two hours,” Namjoon frowns, sitting on his roommate’s bed. He won’t mind (only he does, and he notices the imprint of Namjoon’s arse left behind which he thought would disappear after five minutes.) “It’s not that bad, surely?”

Yoongi shakes his head adamantly. “I wanna go home, Joon. I don’t wanna do nursing.”

“You might really like it, though,” Namjoon sighs. “You never know!”

“I don’t want to study nursing,” Yoongi repeats himself through pouted lips that Namjoon can hear. “I wanted to do art, or music like my stupid roommate. I don’t know why I’m here, Namjoon, I really don’t know why I’m doing this to myself.”

Namjoon knows it’s hard for Yoongi. His family expect too much- like most parents, actually, Yoongi knows they want the best for him. But, the best isn’t forcing him into a nursing degree.

Toying with the frays on Yoongi’s roommate’s blanket, Namjoon says, “hey, hey, calm down. It’s fine- if you don’t like the first three classes, you can’t be expected to stay. You’ve got to do what you want to do.”

Yoongi bites his lip before replying. “I have nowhere to go if I drop out. I’ll do a year, maybe. Maybe half a year. Oh, I don’t fucking know. I don’t wanna give up and let down my family, you know?”

Namjoon does know. His parents had wanted him to be a lawyer. His sister, Kyungmin, wanted Namjoon to do something with his music. But, like the delinquent he is, Namjoon always knew he had a passion for art. Drawing made him happiest- letting his thoughts draw something on a blank canvas was the closest thing to real magic. Singing your feelings is one pleasure, but capturing the colours and movements onto paper was something Namjoon found absolutely rewarding. Thankfully, his parents knew there was no point in forcing him into doing something he wouldn’t enjoy. He was lucky.

“Yeah, I know.”

Yoongi knows Namjoon knows, and he also knows Namjoon doesn’t know what to say. He pulls at the bridge of his nose and lets out a low grunt. “Anyway. How’s your roomie? A weirdo?”

Namjoon shakes his head. “No, not really. I mean, he’s really into video games but it’s not overbearing. Kinda endearing. He’s fun. Seokjin.”

“Oh, cool,” Yoongi replies, nodding slowly. “You get all the good stuff, you know that?”

“What’s mine is yours,” Namjoon says with a frown.

At that, Yoongi smiles. “Yeah. I know, Joon.”

Wildflower lives up to the frantic Google search that Seokjin did moments before heading down to check it out. Even before arriving, he could smell the variety of foods on rickety stalls, and hear the experimental strum of a live band getting ready to play near the main building to the University campus.

Ducking his head underneath the waving arm of another female first-year, Seokjin took a stroll around the small section of Wildflower, politely looking at the bits and bobs he could purchase, like complimentary University flags and tapestries for walls, or a coffee where the change went to a local suicide-prevention charity. He bought one, a tea that was too milky for his taste, and continued walking.

He hadn’t bought much change with him. After the rather awkward first meeting with Namjoon, Seokjin had let it slip his mind. Regardless, he wasn’t willing to let the lack of coins and a credit card spoil his First Day mood. Inhaling the smell of a nearby Jjinmandu stand, he let his stomach steer him towards it, collecting the spare change in his pocket- luckily for him, he had around 4,000 in his jacket pocket which more than comfortably paid for a portion of Mandu.

“Here you go,” the server hands Seokjin his small paper dish of Jjinmandu with a smile, a smile that reminded Seokjin of his third-year teacher back when he was a child. Warm, inviting, kind, a mother’s smile. She smiled toothily when Seokjin handed her more than he was being charged, saying it was a tip, first day luck, or something. She bowed her head meekly.

Without wanting to hold up the slightly growing line, Seokjin moves out of the way and towards a small cluster of metal tables and chairs, shivering as the umbrellas moved in the wind, passing the sauces with a thoughtful pause. He has time to kill; he puts his dish on the small counter and puts a tiny blob of sauce in the corner, and he dips his finger in to taste it. He recoils visibly, finding the taste too bitter.

From somewhere behind him, Seokjin hears what sounds like laughter and he turns, surprised, and finds another student with a bright orange lanyard hung around his neck. He’s a total stranger, with hair pushed into a black beanie and a denim jacket covering a brown shirt, with some black jeans with the knees cut out. On his feet, worn out Converse. Seokjin does a double take.

“You know that’s spicy BBQ, right?”

Weirdly enough, Seokjin finds that he sounds exactly like what he thought he would. He stares at his glasses, first, and the way they slide down his nose, slightly oily because of the heat.

“Don’t you usually have teriyaki with Mandu?” he continues, wandering over to glance at the bottles of sauce, before pushing a slightly stained bottle towards Seokjin with a smile. “There. Honestly, scrape off the BBQ, this will taste so much better.”

Seokjin feels dumb. “I only usually have the tomato chilli. “

“Yeah, and BBQ?”

“No,” he replies, and then he laughs quietly, “no, never BBQ. Let’s call that...first day experimenting.”

The stranger nods along, shoving a mouthful of his own Mandu. Seokjin wants to point out that he has sauce on the corner of his mouth, but it feels rude. He barely knows him.

Glancing at the lanyard around his neck, Seokjin finishes his mouthful- “Are you staff?”

“What?” the stranger asks, caught off guard. Then, he looks down at the lanyard and smiles, politely, not in mockery, and shakes his head, disturbing feathery hairs that were once tucked up into the beanie. “Oh, no. No, I’m a first year.” He chortles at Seokjin’s stunned expression. “What, do I look really old?”

“No,” Seokjin replies. “I was just...surprised. I don’t know- today’s been weird for me. I’m all over the place.”

The stranger makes a noise of voiced agreement. “Mood.”

They stand in silence for a couple moments after that, eating, staring off at the little stream that ran around the perimeter of the small square, listening to the sound of the live band kicking off their setlist with a slow song appropriate for the weather.

The stranger swallows his Mandu, pointing at Seokjin with his spork without really realising, “oh, I’m Hoseok by the way.”

Hoseok. A name to the face.

“Seokjin,” he replies. Now he’s finished his Jjinmandu. “Digital Art.”

Hoseok makes a noise. “Woah, no way.” Gesturing to himself, “Art and Music.”

Seokjin wants to laugh. “That’s so weird. My roomie also does art. It’s like I’ve been thrown into a pool full of art students.”

“Yeah. Well, we are in the Arts Square. Wouldn’t it be weird if I was doing Chinese studies and I hung around in the Arts Square on my first day?”

“True,” Seokjin nods.

Talking to Hoseok is easy. It’s so fucking easy- it’s as if Hoseok has been a friend for years. They walk together, along the small path that barely fits them both, weaving around the stream. Seokjin learns that Hoseok is from Gwangju, and has a sister who designs clothing in the city. Hoseok, in return, learns that Seokjin barely escaped being a lawyer and comes from a family inheriting endless zeros. It doesn’t bother him. It usually bothers people.

“It’s cool that you got to do what you wanted to,” Hoseok says as they walk further along campus. Now, they’ve reach the on-campus convenience store, the artificial lighting making Hoseok squint, even though daylight still pushed on. “Most kids don’t when they’re in your kind of position.”

Hoseok quickly looks over, “I don’t mean that in a bad way, I only-”

“No,” Seokjin agrees, nodding and thrusting his hands into his pockets. He dips his head upwards, inhaling the smell of the sunshine, before looking at Hoseok with a friendly smile. “No, you’re right. Most kids don’t. I’m lucky.”

Hoseok’s grateful Seokjin didn’t misunderstand. “Hm, maybe we’ll be in each-other’s classes.”

He says it with a hopeful tone, lightly nudging Seokjin’s shoulder with a small smile, that caused dimples to spread across his lower cheeks.

“I hope so,” Seokjin replies, but the sound of the stream covers it. Hoseok keeps walking, not making it known if he heard. He probably hadn’t.

Namjoon rolls over the next morning, not quite remembering how he got home and when, and squints at the Sepia screen of his phone. It reads 6:45am, too fucking early to be awake on a Saturday.

did you get home ok yoongi

dont think i care about you or anything yoongi

Namjoon snorts quietly, wincing when he thinks he’s woken up Seokjin across the room. But, when he looks over towards Seokjin’s side of the dorm, he notices that he’s not even in bed. His sheets are tucked in tightly, and his jacket is absent on the coat hangers on the back of the door.

Holy shit, Seokjin gets up early.

yeah. hows minjoon, the name robber joonie

seriously fuck off he’s playing fred videos yoongi

it’s fucking 7am yoongi

Namjoon scoffs, mostly to himself- because who else is he going to scoff too?-, and rolls over flatly to press his feet onto the flattened out carpet of his room. The sun barely peeks through the shitty curtains, and he yawns loudly, feeling the euphoria of a morning stretch. Namjoon sighs with pleasure at the feeling of his body stretching out, letting his arms drop and grabbing his phone to reply to Yoongi, who Namjoon’s surprised is awake, even when Fred is involved.

i thought fred had died, fr joonie

bitch me too but here we have his channel, still screeching away about rubber sharks in his tiny swimming pool yoongi

im really not joking joon. i wanna quit so bad i’ve been here less than 24 hours and i’m already fantasising about drinking the bathroom bleach yoongi

He’s about to reply when the door to their dormitory room swings open, and the hostility of the swing almost makes him drop his phone on the floor. Namjoon scrambles to catch it, staring up with surprise at the sight of Seokjin carrying two mugs of what appears to be tea. Namjoon smells the cranberry as Seokjin comes closer with a sheepish, yet almost smug, smile. Bare in mind, Namjoon hates cranberry tea; at the smell he smiles and fakes joy.

“Saw your post-it saying you had to set an alarm for seven,” Seokjin said casually. “Figured you’d be up by the time I came back with this...hope you like cranberry.”

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amysgiantbees · 6 years ago

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Avengers: Endgame Spoilers

Much like Avengers Infinity War, my feelings on this film can most succinctly be put that overall I found it average to infuriating but there were some truly wonderful parts in between that I’ll always enjoy. I’ll come to this later but here are some notes on my feelings on Avengers Endgame...

THE GOOD

Wanda and Captain Marvel (but I still needed more of them)

Wanda and Captain Marvel fighting Thanos

Steve wielding Mjölnir

Valkyrie on a pegasus

King Valkyrie

Carol’s haircut

Rhodney and Nebula bonding!

Nebula and Tony playing paper football!

Pepper fighting in an iron suit

Sam is Captain America! (He better be Cap in the films, not just this new show, I know the MCU has a history of keeping the TV shows and films separate but please not in this case!)

THE BAD

Bruce dabs. I just can’t.

Clint’s hair and tattoos

Thanos’ ecofascism being justified by the narrative in certain ways like with Cap’s look on the bright side about the environment line.

The time travel plotholes. I do not understand time travel at all in this, feel free to explain if you do. Also, Thanos not having knowledge of anyone due to time travel really took a lot of impact out of the climax for me. My biggest issue with the time travel logic in this though is how can Nebula kill her past self?

The limited time given to emotional character arcs is a real issue for me. For a movie that goes on for so long, I felt like more attention would be given to this and less to action. Like having characters that had rivalries with members of Thano’s Children never confronting against them again.

Thor never mentions Loki. He never grieves him. He was meant to actually legitimately be dead in this one so it would have been nice if not only there was more emotion and time spent on the scene with his mother but if he said goodbye to Loki during it too. Or told Freya to check in on Loki for him, make sure to tell him he loves him form him. I know she is destined to die but if they’d come earlier in the day and let there be time to do all of this it would have been more emotionally satisfying I think at least.

I HATE fatsuits. The fat jokes and the jokes at the expense of Thor’s panic attacks and mental health are REVOLTING. It’s just sad and frustrating that they decided to throw out all of Thor’s character development from Ragnorok for a few cheap laughs. His fat suit doesn’t even look real. It doesn’t match his neck and face and he doesn’t move right. Shockingly enough you move easier when it’s your own skin. This article and the author sum up my thoughts on all of this really well: https://medium.com/@kivabay/the-centr-of-controversy-cba6f23c692e. Also, Bay has a really great quote unrelated to Thor but also sums up another issue I have with the film and I just want to highlight it here, “ I also couldn’t help but view the movie with the knowledge we pick up on the internet about who is leaving the MCU, making the character deaths feel melodramatically goofy and like executive-level calculations.“

Also, somewhat silly critique but doesn’t Thor need special Asgardian beer to get drunk not “mortal” beer in a can. Damn, Thor was just poorly thought through. And I could almost find him fighting against Thanos with zero weight loss aspiring if the whole idea of Chris Hemsworth portraying him and every other way he was handled wasn’t disgustingly terrible. Fat Thor as an idea is amazing. I’d love to see him portrayed as such in the comics as long as he’s treated with respect.

They can’t just have the film be cathartically separate and contained they have to hint at more film’s with the “Where’s Gamora” mystery ready to go and Thor joining the Guardians. They have been advertising Homecoming for months and have the next few years of movies already planned, people aren’t under any illusions that there won’t be sequels. Just let it be self-contained. Especially since it’s already so long.

Just personal taste thing here but the “Avengers Assemble” bit was too cheesy and the ruin of the Avengers mansion was a boring background for the battle.

Dr. Strange was wasted stopping that tsunami. Did they need that? It was such a boring use for him in the battle. This battle had so many heroes but it felt like it really used their powers significantly less creatively together than any other battle previously.

Why weren't Fury, Carol and Maria all standing together at Tony’s funeral with their arms around each other like everyone else? It was really strange and took some of the emotion out of the scene, they’re close to each other. It could have been such a beautiful moment and tied the whole Captain Marvel “Where’s Fury?” scene together if they had them beside each other with her smiling sadly at him or leaning against him. They’re friends and it would be nice to see Fury further fleshed out and more three dimensional.

I don’t mind that Loki is dead but it does make me retroactively annoyed that “You... will never be... a god” was seriously his last line. He had nothing nice to say to his brother before he dies? So he really did die trying to use a knife on someone who can take on the Hulk. I hope that at least in his show that’s coming soon he’s genderqueer and given the opportunity to properly show off his magic. I feel like his magic has never been displayed properly or used in particularly interesting ways so far.

I would have rewritten the scene where Banner and Rocket look for Thor. Banner, Thor and Valkyrie’s interactions are stale and strange. It would have been better (so as not to erase all of his character development) if he was still dealing with his PTSD or the loss of his people poorly but was at least trying to help the Asgardians. But then show Valkyrie having to help him and being the clearly stronger leader due to being able to deal with this grief better after having experience working through grief from losing her Valkyries. She could also be helping him with his alcoholism instead of judging him since she has been there! It would have shown her mentor abilities and kingly traits. You could still have him join the Guardians in the end but now he’s just less negligent. Then he isn’t passing a burden for convenience but because he recognizes Valkyrie was there for his people when he couldn’t be and is the better, more loved leader. Instead of what should be a great moment for Valkyrie that she’s shown as earnt and is deserving of it just seems like Thor was like “Well it turns out ruling was too hard for me I’m going to f*ck off to space now look after them for me.” Still, love that she gets to be king.

Did I mishear her name or is Clint’s daughter not called Kate? Why aren’t we getting Kate Bishop? I know she isn’t Clint’s daughter in the comics but they’ve changed people’s backstories before and after seeing Clint training with a young girl in the trailer I was just really excited for her. I love her character in the comics, but maybe she has a name change here?

Also, why does Clint go overseas to fight people? I’m sure there are more than enough bad people in America for him to fight for YEARS. There are Neo-Nazis for F*CKS SAKE. It just seems racist to imply he’d have to look in places predominantly occupied by POC to find bad people. Also, that Sword scene was strange. It felt really unnatural and fake like it belonged in a completely different movie.

Also, little nitpick but I just found it to be a weird moment when that kid Ant-Man talks to didn’t say “What do you mean?” or “How do you not know?” I get not wanting to talk about the snap but how could he not be mildly curious or confused as to how someone seems to be ignorant to the biggest tragedy in world history.

Also, I really would have loved if the final battle had more consequences. More deaths and injuries. I think it would have been more realistic and added more to it. I especially really would have loved it if they had shown Clint getting injured in such a way that his hearing was permanently damaged. It would be nice to finally have him have that important comic book trait.

Also, that scene where Joe Russo, a straight man, plays a gay man is bullshit. Let us have gay superheroes. That is such a pathetic attempt at representation. Make Loki Genderfluid, make Carol a wLw, Give Okoye and Valkyrie a girlfriend or acknowledge they’re wLw.

Furthermore, I understand that the shot of all the women at the final battle was probably foreshadowing A-Team but I don’t think the creators realised that, One: it makes it look like they’re trying to hide that they killed the only original female member of the Avengers while giving all the men satisfying endings. Two: that there are A LOT fewer women than men but also that there’s enough of them that more of them really should have been featured before then and had more time spent on them. Just so many women yet so few films focussed on them. Furthermore, for those people who don’t know about A-Team it also just feels like a moment of pandering.

Look, Black Widow has never been one of my favorite characters but she deserved better. As soon as she was proclaimed infertile in Age of Ultron it was a death sentence because what use is a woman who can’t reproduce. She didn’t even get a funeral. Clint should have died. The snap forced Natasha to fully commit to her found family and lead the Avengers for years. The snap sent Clint into a debatably racist murder rampage. Natasha did something good after the snap it gave her more purpose. Clint’s purpose was to bring his family back and he could still do that by sacrificing himself. It’s honestly far more satisfying to see Natasha get her happy ending than Clint because Clint’s ending is just far too similar to his story in Age of Ultron. It is just hilariously underwhelming when everyone else has an emotional ending just to have Clint’s be a regurgitated version of him retiring with his family in Ultron. Also, Natasha dying for guilt over some vague bad that’s she’s done in her past that we know nothing about is so unsatisfying. This video I feel also sums up a lot of my feelings on this https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=A81p1N2gnNY&t=649s. Also from a monetary standpoint, not that Disney needs more money, but there’s way more demand for Black Widow films than Hawkeye. Just why Hawkeye, no one gives a sh*t.

More so I’m not against Tony using the gauntlet but I think it got in the way of Nebula having a fully satisfying conclusion to her arc. At least one woman should have had a satisfying, fully realised arc. It would have been great if Nebula got to finally kill Thanos but honestly, I wouldn’t be as mad at it if she hadn’t got wrongfully blamed for doing it by Thanos or had her arc conclude in an otherwise satisfying way. She gets abused further by Thanos for something she never did and never gets an opportunity to even just face him and confront him about ANYTHING.

Also, Vision is barely mentioned in the film. Which wouldn’t be so frustrating if he wasn’t the reason why an ENTIRE ARMY of predominantly black people was sacrificed in Infinity War. They had to save him because they all apparently cared so much about him but can’t remember to mention him more than once afterward.

I really hate that they were so scared of spoilers that they didn’t let all of the actors read their scripts ahead of time and cut out massive chunks of their scripts and didn’t tell them who they were playing against. I would rather spoilers than poor acting that ruins the timelessness of a film. This is meant to be epic!

#avengers spoilers #avengers #avengers endgame #my analysis #myanalysis #anti endgame #endgame #marvel #marvel endgame #endgame spoilers

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historyrepeatsitself-phff · 8 years ago

Text

Chapter Sixty-Three

A/N: Here we are, another chapter. It’s quite big, with quite a few different things happening. Very engagement-centred, but I hope you enjoy it. If any of you don’t know who Ant and Dec are when you reach that part, please do Google them. They are the funniest and nicest guys, literally the whole of the UK loves them.

That said, I hope you enjoy. Please do let me know what you think, your feedback means a lot more to me than you probably realise 😊💖

Emmy didn’t speak to Taylor or Chris for the next week. She didn’t hear from them at all, and their silence was getting her down. She didn’t mean to upset them, but the truth was that she didn’t know who to trust anymore. And so it was best not to provoke them, not to anger or offend them even further.

However she was worried, for she hadn’t heard from any of Harry’s friends either, and she prayed that Taylor hadn’t told them what she’d done. She had a feeling they would take it a lot worse than Taylor had. Although she suspected that Skippy already knew he’d been lied to, even though Emmy had specifically asked them all not to tell anyone the names until she’d told them herself. She didn’t realise Taylor and Skippy spoke so much.

A day in Newcastle was on the cards for Emmy, where the mental health charity Mind had worked with Heads Together to set up a day full of activities in the city centre to raise awareness for mental health. She was going with William and Kate, and she was dreading seeing them both. She didn’t know whether William knew about Taylor finding out, but she expected he did. With Edward and Harry in Brazil, Claire needed someone else to discuss everything with, and ever since she’d found out that William knew all about their plan she’d taken to talking to Miguel, William’s secretary. And, in turn, Miguel told William everything.

So she wasn’t surprised when, as soon as she met William and Kate outside Kensington Palace ready to leave for the day, William pulled her into a big hug.

“How you holding up?” he asked gently, and once he’d released her Kate gave her a cuddle too.

“Um, okay,” Emmy said. “I guess you heard about Taylor?”

“Yeah,” William said, smiling sadly. “But she’ll come round. Hopefully someone will leak something and then she’ll see why you had to lie to her.”

“Let’s hope,” she said, almost dryly. She thought it was awful that she was hoping someone would betray her trust, just so that it would make the whole thing worthwhile.

“Anyway,” Kate said, smiling her dazzling smile at the two of them. “Let’s put all these problems to the back of our mind and focus on today. Heads Together! Come on, it’ll be a good day.”

Emmy managed a smile, and William gave her a reassuring wink. He’d told Kate to do whatever it took to cheer Emmy up today, and he and his wife were determined to give her a fun day, even if it was an engagement.

William and Kate actually kept the conversation going for the entire journey up to Newcastle. They showed Emmy funny pictures of George and Charlotte, they asked her what she’d done so far to prepare for her little baby and they discussed everything that they did in preparation for their little own ones. Emmy had a smile on her face by the time they arrived at the Mental Health event in Newcastle, and her smile only widened as she emerged from the car to see hundreds of people gathered around the venue, just to see them. The entry was five pounds to the general public, but so many people had been invited there specifically for the event that the actual park where all the activities were taking place was heaving. Emmy straightened up from the car, her dress fluttering lightly in the breeze, and she smiled at them all. William and Kate walked ahead, greeting the head of Heads Together and the head of Mind, and Emmy followed them, more interested in what there was to do today than in meeting officials.

She was given her designated tour guide, a girl called Ashley, and Ashley showed Emmy to one of the nearest games. Emmy had to try and create a coherent poem using the words on the screen.

“Oh no,” Emmy said. “I never was very good at poetry at school.” She made a nervous face, looking around, trying to find someone else to focus on. She saw a teenage girl stood nearby, watching. “Hey, do you think you could help me?”

The girl’s face lit up in surprise and delight, and she hurried over. “I’m not very good at poetry either, though,” she said nervously.

“Oh don’t worry, we can muddle through together then,” Emmy laughed. “What’s your name?”

“Lucy.”

“Hi Lucy, I’m Emmy,” Emmy said. “Okay, now where do we start? Does it have to rhyme?”

The lady in charge of the activity shook her head. “No, it’s a poem, it can be whatever you want it to be. The idea is to just let your mind speak. Don’t overthink it.”

Emmy had fun making a poem with Lucy – Lucy was actually very good at it, and Emmy reminded her of that at the end, before Ashley led her on to another stall. William was already stood there, hands on hips, frowning.

“I’m not very good at this,” he said to Emmy, as she joined him. The photographers and press that had been allowed into the venue were frantically snapping pictures of the two of them, eager to see the brother and sister-in-law interact together.

“What do you have to do?”

“You have to draw the first thing that comes to mind when you hear a certain word,” he said. “I overthink it. And I can’t draw.”

Emmy laughed lightly. “I feel like I’m going to have the same problems here. Can I have a go?”

“Of course,” the man running the game, Charlie, said. He picked up a pile of cards, and handed Emmy a whiteboard and pen. “Okay, I’m going to say a word and you have to draw the first thing that comes to mind. The first. Don’t think about it, like William.” He threw William a grin, and William chuckled. “Okay, you ready?”

“I’m more nervous than I should be,” she said, making William laugh. “Yep.”

“Football.”

Emmy drew a football.

“Bumblebees.”

Emmy drew a picture of Winnie the Pooh, then grinned. “That might be a strenuous link,” she said. “But I thought of honey, and then Winnie the Pooh, and I didn’t know how to draw honey.”

“Strawberries.”

Emmy hesitated, and Charlie laughed. “You’re overthinking it,” he said.

“Actually, I’m thinking about how much I want some strawberries right now,” she said, giggling. William laughed with her. “I see what you mean though, it’s so easy to think about it too much.”

“It’s a good way to let people just let out what’s in their head,” Charlie said. “And it can be quite a fun game too.”

Emmy moved on, her and William parting, and eventually Emmy found herself at the same activity as Kate. It was a sports one, and the group was just throwing a ball to each other.

“I don’t think I should join in,” Emmy said. “I’m not at my fittest right now.” She gestured to her baby bump, and everyone laughed lightly. “You can just tell me what this is about.”

She watched Kate effortlessly catching and tossing the ball back and forth, as Ashley spoke to her about how this activity helps people work as a team, while the exercise, although little, releases endorphins which improve someone’s mood.

About an hour into the day, Emmy was led over to another stall where two very familiar faces were stood. The presenters Ant and Dec were stood there, and they broke into smiles at the sight of Emmy. She felt her face getting hot – she was a huge fan of them both, she found them hilarious, but she had never met them, despite them having interviewed so many of her royal in-laws.

“Your royal highness!” Ant said, hurrying forward and bowing slightly as he shook her hand. Dec bowed also.

“This is a nice surprise,” she said shyly, as she shook Dec’s hand. “I wasn’t expecting to see you here. Although, I suppose I should’ve known – Newcastle.”

They laughed. “Yep, we were invited to show our faces here today,” Dec said. “Raise awareness for it, that sort of thing. We’ve been looking around, it’s pretty good.”

“It is, I’ve been having a lot of fun,” Emmy said. “Although it’s such a shame I can’t take part in any of the sports.” Her voice got slightly dry as she patted her bump.

Dec chuckled. “Now why does it sound like you’re making excuses?”

The three of them laughed together. “I’m sorry to never have met you,” she said. “Harry’s mentioned you before, of course.”

“Yeah, we’ve interviewed him a few times,” Ant said. “We work mainly with his father, with the Prince’s Trust, you know.”

“I know, Charles loves you,” she said.

“Aw, I feel like you’re being paid to say that,” Dec teased.

“No, I think he was able to put up with us by the end of us making the documentary about the trust,” Ant said. “Although it did take a while.”

Emmy laughed lightly. “Don’t worry, that’s just Charles. It took him a while to put up with me, too.”

“Meant to say, congratulations on the pregnancy,” Ant said, smiling as Dec nodded. “To you and Harry. We were delighted when we heard the news. Harry’s made it no secret that he’s excited to have children.”

“No, he made it no secret to me either,” she said. “But thank you.”

“He’s still in Brazil, isn’t he?” Dec asked. “I think I saw on the news he’s trekking through the Amazon, or something?”

“Yes, that’s right. Yeah, he’s still there,” she said, then sighed. “It’s very difficult without him here.”

“I’m sure it is,” Ant said gently. “Well, if you’re ever bored and you want to have a laugh, please don’t hesitate in calling us up. We’d love to get to know you. I feel like you and Ka- The Duchess of Cambridge are the only royals that we don’t know yet.”

“We’d like to expand our CVs,” Dec joked.

Emmy giggled lightly. “Well, as long as you don’t make a documentary out of it, I’d love to meet up with you. Maybe we should make it for when Harry’s back, though. He might get jealous that I got to spend time with you and he didn’t.”

They all laughed again.

“Oh god, it’s you two,” said a voice, and Emmy turned to see William and Kate coming towards them. William shook their hands. “They’re not boring you, are they?” he said to Emmy.

“Oh, because they’re such boring people,” she replied sarcastically.

“Don’t make a documentary out of this,” William teased lightly. Ant held up his hands innocently.

“Hey, this isn’t an interview,” he replied. “Unless you want to make it one…?” He added playfully, raising an eyebrow, and they all laughed.

“Guys, this is my wife, Kate,” William said, gently urging Kate forward.

“We were just saying to Emmy that we’ve never really met you both,” Dec said.

“I think we should meet up some time,” Emmy said, looking at Kate.

Kate’s eyes widened slightly in surprise, but she smiled. “Yes,” she said. “Perhaps.”

Later that day, when the three of them were in the car on their way home, Emmy was babbling about how good a day she’d had.

“And you got to meet Ant and Dec,” William said, grinning. “They’re a right laugh, they are.”

“They’re so nice,” Emmy agreed.

“I can’t believe you said you’d meet up with them though,” Kate said. “You need to be careful, Emmy. They’re members of the press after all.”

“So? They’re nice?”

“You can’t be friends with people who will try and make money out of you,” Kate said.

“They’re TV presenters, not journalists,” Emmy argued.

“All the same,” Kate replied with a shrug.

Emmy opened her mouth to retort, but she bit back her reply. Why was Kate being like this? Maybe this was why the press didn’t like her and William much, because they just didn’t trust anyone. Emmy frowned, and turned her attention out the window.

William was silent through the exchange, but now he spoke. “Kate’s right, Emmy. You just need to be careful and make sure they want to be friends with you, in case they just want to interview you.”

Emmy huffed slightly, now glaring out the window. She was famous, who else was she meant to make friends with if it wasn’t other famous people? She didn’t speak much for the rest of the journey home.

Maybe that was why Emmy was in this situation, forced to marry a man and have his child just because the Duke and Duchess of Cambridge were too self-involved to allow anyone else into their lives.

Nonetheless, Emmy smiled at them both once they arrived back at Kensington, before slowly making her way round to Nottingham Cottage, both hands placed lazily on her bump.

Harry laid back in the tent and sighed, puffing air up onto his face. He couldn’t remember a time when he didn’t feel sweaty, and he pulled his t-shirt off before looking over at Luke, whom he was sharing the tent with.

“You alright?”

“Just exhausted.”

“Only…what, another twelve days to go?”

“Ugh, don’t remind me,” Harry said, then grinned. “No one said it would be this hard.”

Luke smirked. “I thought you were meant to be a soldier.”

“Piss off,” Harry chuckled. “Actually, I’m a veteran now.”

“Same. Not by choice.” Luke looked down at his left arm, at the stump that had replaced his wrist. “Anyway, just think about how happy everyone is going to be when we get back.”

“Everyone’s going to be so proud of you,” Harry said gently, then grinned. “Especially Julie.” Julie was Luke’s wife.

“Hell, maybe I’ll get lucky for once,” Luke said dryly, then laughed. “What about Emmy? She’ll be proud of you, surely.”

“Unless she’s too hormonal to care,” Harry said, closing his eyes. “Actually, she’s probably got her charity gala any day now, so she may already have replaced me with Tom Hiddleston.”

“Loki? Shit, how you going to compete?” Luke teased.

“By being the father of her child,” Harry replied, laughing.

“You excited?”

“So excited,” he answered, smiling. “I’ve wanted children for so long, I’m so excited.”

“You know what it’s going to be yet?”

“No,” Harry said, then hesitated and added, “Okay, we do, but you can’t tell anyone, alright?”

“Of course. Although I can’t promise not to bet on the sex when the time comes,” Luke said.

“It’s a little girl.”

“Oh, sweet. Congratulations, man.”

“Thanks, Luke,” Harry said. “My little princess. I was so happy, you know.”

“I bet.”

“Time to sleep, guys!” came from outside the tent. “Got a long day ahead tomorrow!”

Harry groaned, rolling onto his side and covering his eyes with his arm. “Hopefully we’ll be able to actually get some sleep tonight.”

“Yeah, if the rain lets up,” Luke said. “Alright, night.”

“Night,” Harry said, yawning.

There was silence for a little bit, then Luke added, “Don’t worry, H. Tom Hiddleston’s got nothing on you.”

Harry chuckled in response.

There was a knock on the door. Emmy looked round instinctively, causing Hannah – who was finishing pulling her hair into an intricate updo – to tut, irritated. Claire was frowning.

“Who the hell is that?” she asked, then looked at Emmy. “You expecting someone?”

“Nope,” Emmy said, looking towards the doorway in the mirror.

“I’ll go find out,” Claire said. “Hannah, you nearly done?”

“Yeah, then you just need to get into your dress,” she said to Emmy, smiling, as Claire left them.

Emmy sighed. “I’m going to look like a balloon.”

“Oh, don’t say that-”

“I will though, look at me.”

Hannah smiled. “You look glowing.”

“Everyone always says that about pregnant women, yet I have no idea what that means,” Emmy said, pushing herself to her feet as Hannah moved away. “I wonder who’s here.”

“Better get you dressed before they come up,” Hannah said.

Emmy was stood, glaring at her enormous reflection, when Claire returned to them. “It’s Skippy,” she said. “Okay, Hannah, time for you to straighten my hair, lovely.”

Emmy frowned. “Skippy?”

“Yep.”

Her stomach dropped. Shit. She hadn’t seen Skippy since she’d told him their chosen baby names, and she hadn’t heard from him at all after her argument with Taylor. She didn’t know how he or Harry’s other friends had taken being lied to, because it was obvious that the names were just that – lies. Ploys.

“Did he say what he wants?” Emmy asked nervously.

“Just to talk to you,” Claire said. “He’s waiting down in the lounge.”

Emmy’s heart was hammering as she carefully made her way downstairs, worried about tripping in her long dress or her high heels. The carpet muffled her footsteps as she entered the lounge. Skippy was on his phone.

She took a deep breath. “Hey.”

“Shit!” he said, startled, then laughed lightly. “You crept up on me, sorry.”

“Sorry,” she said too, perching on the arm of the armchair. “Everything…okay?”

“Yeah, I didn’t realise you were going out, I would’ve come over another time,” he said apologetically.

“It’s okay, what do you need?”

He sighed. “I know you lied about the names,” he said.

Emmy gulped.

“Don’t worry, I’m not angry. We all know. To be honest, we wondered why you’d decided on baby names so early anyway. Jake gave me a bollocking when I said I’d accidentally told Taylor that we’d been told different names. He said that he and Zoe suspected from the start that they were fake names to try and figure out who the rat is.” He rolled his eyes. “They’re so smart, eh?”

She managed a nervous laugh. “Yeah.”

“I’m sorry, you know,” he said. “For telling Taylor.”

“Well you said it was an accident-”

“It was,” he said immediately. “You know what I’m like, I say stuff without thinking, I’m really sorry!”

She smiled. “It’s okay. But you’re…you’re not mad? For being lied to?”

“Eh.” He shrugged. “Harry’s lied to me many times to make sure I’m trustworthy, I wasn’t really surprised that I needed a retest. Especially with the leak and all that.”

“I’m glad you’re not mad,” she said. “I felt really bad.”

“Nah, don’t worry yourself,” he said, grinning.

“Taylor’s mad though,” Emmy said, in a small voice, and she avoided his gaze.

Skippy sighed. “Yeah, I know. I heard.”

“Have you spoken to her?”

“Only once since your argument,” he said. “She’s really upset, but we’re going out to dinner tonight and I’m going to try and explain to her why you did it.”

“Thanks,” Emmy said, surprised that he was basically doing her job for her. “I appreciate it. I want to talk to her but…I just don’t know where to start.”

“I know, it’s okay,” he said, then grinned. “You missing Harry at all?”

“At all? Just, you know, every second of every day,” she said, laughing. “I can’t wait for him to come home.”

“Me neither. I need someone to come and watch football with me. Jake and Guy are too busy with all their children.”

“Children? Guy?” Emmy raised an eyebrow.

“They’re busy painting the nursery and going to those pre-baby classes and all that.” Skippy rolled his eyes. “Guess you’ll have to start that soon.”

“Ugh, don’t remind me, the thought of the birth stresses me out,” she said. “I just try not to think about it.”

He chuckled lightly. “Just wait for Harry to get home, I guess.”

“Exactly,” she said.

“I better be going,” he said, straightening up. “You probably need to leave soon.”

“Yeah,” she said, sighing and brushing her hair out of her eyes. “HeForShe gala.”

“Very nice,” he said. “And here I thought that dress was for spending the evening in.”

She rolled her eyes at him, getting to her feet as he did the same. “Thanks for coming to talk to me about this,” she said. “And thanks for talking to Taylor. I…really appreciate it.”

He threw her a smile. “I just don’t want you to worry about it all. Harry told me to take care of you, and I haven’t really been doing that this last week.”

“You don’t need to take care of me,” she said, laughing. “That’s just Harry being overprotective.”

“That’s also true,” Skippy agreed, as they both laughed. “I’ll let myself out. You have a good night tonight.”

“Thanks, you too,” she said, then added more loudly as he approached the front door, “Good luck with Taylor.”

“I’m gonna need it,” he called back, then she heard the door close and she sighed. So Taylor was still mad, but at least Harry’s friends weren’t. That was one less thing to worry about.

As soon as Emmy stepped from the car she was blinded by the flashes from the watching paparazzi and deafened by the shouting and cheering of the crowds who had gathered outside The Goring Hotel to see the arrival of all the celebrities attending. Of course, not everyone there was going to be famous. Emmy knew several people were going who run charities that do everything from supporting vulnerable women to campaigning for equal rights all over the world. HeForShe was an organization that promoted everything in-between, while focusing on convincing men that the word ‘feminist’ was not equal to man-hating.

Emmy smiled at the cameras and waved to the public, receiving some cries and whoops in return. Then she turned to Claire, who was attending with her, before spotting Margaret, the head of the UK branch of HeForShe. She was stood by the entrance, waiting, and she broke into a smile at the sight of Emmy.

“Your royal highness,” she said, dipping into a curtsey.

“Oh, Margaret, nice to see you again,” Emmy said, pulling the lady into a hug. “You must be very excited about tonight.”

“More stressed than excited right now,” Margaret admitted, and they shared a laugh.

“I know exactly how you feel,” Emmy said, cupping her baby bump. “You remember Claire, right?”

Claire and Margaret shook hands, and then Margaret said, “Shall we go inside?”

Emmy followed her into the beautiful hotel lobby, which was full of people mingling. “It’s so pretty here,” she breathed, looking around. “Kate was telling me about it the other day. She said it’s exquisite.”

“It truly is, we were very lucky that they wanted us to hold the gala here,” Margaret said. “Now, Emmy, there are photographers here tonight. I did ask Claire to tell you in case it was a problem-”

“Oh no, that’s fine,” Emmy said, waving a hand dismissively. “I’ll just have to put up with them. Besides, there’s people here who are far more interesting than I am. I don’t think they’ll pay much attention to me.”

“Of course,” Margaret said, not agreeing with Emmy in the slightest. She was married to Prince Harry, her wedding had been watched by billions of people all over the globe. She was by far the most famous person there tonight.

“Emmy!” said a delighted voice, just as they entered the dining hall where the gala was taking place. Emmy turned to see her friend Emma Watson approaching. Emma made an awkward face. “Sorry, I mean, your royal highness,” she said, dipping into a curtsey.

“Oh don’t be silly,” Emmy said, pulling her into a hug. “How are you?”

“I’m good, I’m good,” Emma said. “I’ve actually just started filming Beauty and The Beast.”

“Oh my goodness, how is it?” Emmy asked excitedly. “Do you love it? Do you get to wear pretty princess dresses?”

She laughed. “I do, actually. It is so much fun. And I get to sing all the songs as well. Anyway, we’ll catch up later, I think Margaret wants to show you around.”

Margaret, who was stood to the side watching the two young women greet each other, stepped forward and smiled. “I just need to show you round the charities that are here tonight, so that you can meet them. Introduce you to a few people.”

“Of course,” Emmy said, smiling, as they started to make their way round the room. “I’m excited to meet them.”

“Well, they’re all very excited to meet you too,” Margaret said, laughing.

People were mingling throughout the room. Some had already taken their seats at their tables, while others were greeting old friends or getting to know some of the people there. Emmy spotted the actress Carey Mulligan, the TV presenters Holly Willoughby and Fearne Cotton and – her heart stopped excitedly – the actor Tom Hiddleston. But Emmy kept her cool, and she forced herself to focus on the people she was meeting as Margaret introduced her to the creator of a charity which encourages girls to go into science fields.

Sarah was the lady in charge of GirlGeeks, and Emmy spoke to her animatedly. She had never thought about the science and mathematics areas as places of inequality for women, and she was intrigued by everything that Sarah had to say.

“We work closely with Stemettes,” Sarah was saying. “They’re another organisation that promotes girls getting involved with STEM. They organise a lot of events for young girls, trying to encourage them. And for some of the bigger events we partner with them and try and get even more girls to attend.”

“Wow,” Emmy said. “I’d love to come to one of these events.”

Sarah’s face lit up. “Really?! Oh, we’d love for you to come, Ma’am.”

“I’m sure we can arrange something,” Emmy said, turning to Claire and smiling. Claire rolled her eyes as her mouth tugged up at the corners.

“Good job I brought my phone, huh?’ Claire teased lightly, getting up Emmy’s schedule, and Emmy giggled sheepishly. “Let me take your details, Sarah, and I’ll be in touch to arrange a date.”

By the end of the first half hour, Emmy had been introduced to six people who run six different charities, and Claire had had to take down six different people’s contact details with the promise of organising a royal visit. By the time Margaret led Emmy over to her seat beside her, Emmy was desperate for a drink after talking so much. She’d had some truly fascinating conversations, and they’d all succeeded in taking her mind off the rest of the evening – and her first speech.

“You okay?” Claire asked, as Emmy gulped down some water.

“Yeah,” Emmy said, smiling. “Just thirsty.”

There was a starter, and then some presentations by a few charities that Emmy had already met, and after the main course even more charities spoke about what they do. By dessert, however, Emmy had lost her appetite. Her speech was approaching, and the thought was starting to make her feel sick. Oh god, she fainted when she last tried to give a speech, she hoped she wouldn’t vomit while trying to give this one.

Eventually Margaret went up on the stage to give a speech about the evening, HeForShe and thanking the amazing charities for attending that night. Then she smiled down at Emmy, and Emmy felt her heart stop.

“And now, I would like to welcome to the stage, HeForShe’s first ever royal patron, The Duchess of Clarence.”

Applause echoed throughout the room, and Emmy took a deep breath before heading up onto the stage. She felt huge up there, with her bump pushing out the lace of her dress, and she stroked it nervously, before flattening out her speech on the podium in front of her and leaning towards the microphone.

“Thank you, Margaret,” she said nervously, as she threw her a smile. “Thank you for both that welcoming introduction and for inviting me to this event. This evening has been an eye opener in so many ways for me. To most people, gender equality was obtained when women were given the vote. To others, they think the problems with sexism can be solved by simply giving women equal pay. But there is truly so much more to feminism than that. Feminism is women being allowed to say what they want and do what they want the same way a man can. Feminism is women being able to be what they want to be, whether it be a doctor, or a teacher, or a model, or a politician, without anyone telling them they can’t. Feminism is not equivalent to saying that women are better than men, because that is just as sexist as everything that feminism campaigns against. Feminism is supporting women, encouraging women, loving women and caring for them, not because they are women but because they are people. And I am honoured to patron an organisation that does this selflessly every day.

“Now, as a mother-to-be, the word feminism has a whole new meaning to me. I want my son or daughter to grow up in a world where the word isn’t needed, where gender inequality is a thing of the past and where strong, powerful women are shown in the media every day, not because they are women but because they have achieved great things. I want my daughter to be able to become whatever she puts her mind to, I want my son to expect to see women in power, not to be surprised by it. As women it is our duty not to be suppressed by people who do not believe in gender equality, and as men it is your duty to fight against those who insist on living in the past. Over half of the people on this planet are women, we are your mothers, your sisters, your doctors, your teachers. We love you and raise you and care for you and protect you. So why should we be the inferior sex? Why should we be paid less, why should we receive raised eyebrows whenever we try to do something good, something unusual, something that is usually done by a man? We shouldn’t.”

Emmy stared out over the room for a moment, then smiled and blushed, shuffling her papers and stepping away from the podium. Applause rung through the room, and she felt her heart pounding somewhere behind her uvula. She swallowed, ducking her head as the clapping went on, and she could see camera flashes capturing this moment. It was her first full public speech, and she had done it. She had finally got the first one out of the way, and she was so relieved that she had delivered it well, without a hesitation or a stutter. She twiddled her engagement ring shyly as Margaret came back onto the stage to announce that the meal was over and it was time to go around and meet people once more.

“You were amazing,” Margaret said, beaming at her once they were off the stage. Emmy held her cold hands to her burning cheeks, her eyes wide and fixed on Margaret’s face.

“You think?”

“Oh, definitely!” she said. “You spoke so well, too. I can’t believe that was your first speech!”

“I’m just glad I finished it that time,” Emmy said lightly.

“Emmy!” someone called, and she turned to see Claire hurrying over. “I’m so proud of you, you did it!”

Emmy laughed with relief, letting herself be pulled into Claire’s open arms and hugging her tightly. “I got through it.”

“You did, and you got through it well!” Claire said, ecstatic. “Oh, you were so so so good!”

Emmy was so touched by Claire’s excitement, and she wanted to just go home now, to go home and celebrate that her first speech was over. But she had people to meet.

“Emmy,” Margaret said twenty minutes later, after they’d already greeted a few other charities. “This is Tom Hiddleston, he’s an avid supporter of HeForShe, especially in Hollywood.”

Emmy’s heart, which had only just recovered from the terrifying ordeal of giving a speech, sped up again. She felt star struck, as she looked up into the actor’s face that she knew so well.

“Your royal highness,” Tom said, bowing his head slightly as she shook his hand. “It’s an honour to meet you.”

“You too,” Emmy said breathlessly. “I’m a huge fan, do call me Emmy.”

“Emmy,” Tom said, grinning. “Your speech was amazing. And can I say, congratulations on the pregnancy. I know I’m a few months late.”

“It’s okay, I’m still pregnant,” she said, shrugging and they shared a laugh. “So, Tom, how do you find the gender inequality problem in America? Is it worse than here?”

“It certainly is,” Tom said. “Especially within the film industry. Whether it comes to the pay for actresses, or the amount of women who work in the crew of films, there is a huge difference in the numbers for males and females. Often I work with this charity…”

Eventually Emmy had to move on, and she bid goodbye to Tom, who was sure he would see her at another HeForShe event at some point in the future. By the end of the evening, Emmy found herself taking a break, sipping her glass of water at her table with Claire beside her. The guests were starting to leave, and Emmy wanted to rehydrate herself before copying.

“Emmy,” Emma said, coming over and taking the seat opposite her. “Your speech was so good!”

“Aw, thanks,” Emmy said, smiling gratefully. “By the way, I love your dress! Where did you get it?!”

“It’s by Stella McCartney,” Emma said, then made a face. “Imagine if you wore it somewhere! Imagine the comparisons, oh my goodness!”

They laughed together. “We really must meet up again,” Emmy said shyly. She loved spending time with Emma, but their busy schedules rarely permitted it.

“Definitely,” Emma said. “Even if it’s just for lunch, we must.”

“I need to see you again before I have this little one,” Emmy said, rubbing her bump affectionately.

“Of course, I need to try and convince you to name it Emma,” Emma said, winking.

Emmy barked a laugh. “Emmy and Emma? Somehow I don’t think that’s going to work.”

“Give me a chance and I’ll convince you otherwise,” Emma said. “Anyway, I’m leaving now so I will see you soon.”

The girls hugged in farewell, and Claire smiled as her and Emmy watched her depart.

“It’s so good that you surround yourself with girls like her,” Claire said. “You’ve come a long way since I joined your office last year.”

Emmy smiled, tired now, and she leant her head on Claire’s shoulder. “Can we go now? I’m sleepy.”

Claire laughed lightly. “Let’s go, you just need to say goodbye to Margaret and the other HeForShe guys.”

Emmy groaned as she got to her feet. “This being a royal is really quite tedious,” she mumbled.

Claire chuckled. “Well you’re doing it very well.”

#historyrepeatsitself-phff #Prince Harry #prince harry fanfic #prince harry fanfiction #royalfanficcentral

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howinteresting · 7 years ago

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There's a scene in Ghost Dog: The Way of the Samurai where mobster daughter Louise Vargo (Tricia Vessey, with amazing marabou heels and bob hair cut) is lounging in a motel watching black and white cartoons. In this image, Betty Boop - stylistically appropriate- is slapdash added to the screenshot, but the point is all the same: this is an adult who watches cartoons, old ones, is mimicking the screen attire and appears cool doing so.

The film truly drags on, but in scenes where little black and white squares of animation flicker on the screen remind me of, well cartoons in general, and that they made up a core of my early life and that I have reached ‘Adulthood’. The end of VHS, basically, meant my interest waxed and waned and then I moved on. But there is much appeal: enchanting and technicolour-me-beautiful, easily digestible in short time blocks and there is always moral punch line. Are retro cartoons the antidote for Modern Life dissatisfaction?

The other day I was thinking about Donkey Island, as I call it, from Pinocchio. A maunder of boys are barricaded in a mad amusement park and grow, Animorph style, into donkeys, a horrific fate. This was unsettling to me as a child. All that high-pitched bucolic shrieking and disobedience, the message was uncontested: it is a fine line between boy and donkey.

Oddly, but not surprising knowing how my synapses work, another one I can remember vividly from a four-in-one video collection we had, presented a similar moral dilemma. In Educated Fish (1937!) a young fish -Tommy Cod- is causing mischief at the A.B.Sea School for Fish, but in the most charming way. Frankly I don’t know what his issue is considering how wonderful every element of aquatic education appears to be.

Ignoring the OH&S speech of his teacher, Tommy glides out of classroom library carefree and uneducated until he runs into trouble, hook line and sinker. Actually just watching this on Youtube I’ve realised this is not the animation I was thinking of. Similar yes. Still, what an ogre-sized fisherman would want with a diminutive cod leaves much to the imagination. Also, being an Adult, I immediately catch onto the worm on hook entendre. Tsk, tsk Paramount.

What I was thinking of was Small Fry (1939), also about a young smarmy fish- Junior Catfish- who skips school to join the Big Fry in the local pub, mastering pool better than I could and huffing and puffing to impress the layabouts and local bums. Big ambitions. Yes there is a Donkey Island vibe; everything I watch seems to fit into this type of niche. He swaggers back home, his sassy Mother says her two cents, and unimpressed with reality Jonah goes back. The Big Fry push him into a deep sea Ghost Train with the jingle “you’re not the biggest catfish in the sea” playing in time with the neon outlines of monster fish jumping around Jonah. The song also has the line about “practicing the law” so I assume Jonah goes on to become a lawyer and is routinely loathed by the rest of the population.

Is it a good thing to admit that I could watch these all day?

The point of this post was to actually upload a video of a favourite Silly Symphony and mention how humorous it is that when I need a mental kick up the arse this cartoon plays in my background of brain, and has done so for at least a decade. Nike slogans don’t cut it, this does.

The Grasshopper and the Ants (1934) is a Disney re-telling of the Aesop classic, not the expensive hand wash but the Greek melodrama. The fable describes how a carefree Grasshopper that sounds like Goofy in the animation, sings all summer and is ever so slightly condescending to the ants that methodically gather and stockpile food, like a parent going to Costco before the Christmas period begins. As well as spitting out a lot of saliva, the line that the Grasshopper sings is “the world owes us a living”. Foreboding. It is winter now in real life and in the Youtube video, and I am mildly distressed. The snow settles and the wind howls over the landscape, the grasshopper is feeble, cold and struggling. He finds the ant kingdom, food abounds and central heating and they take him in. Put his legs into tubs of hot water and ask him for a song, which is a re-worked version of the summer hit, “I owe the world a living”. I’m not sure how communist this ploy is, but it worked for me then and it works for me now.

Had work brings rewards. Growing up with migrant parents this was an ethos that was embedded in everything. My Dad is the kind of man who used to say ‘Why are you reading? You could be working’ and my school holidays since primary school consisted of my brother and I sitting on upturned buckets cleaning bricks because my entire life is in the process of renovation. Some people claim their ideal holiday is to ‘do nothing’, to lie on a beach in South East Asia corpse-like and idle. This is my idea of hell. To ‘do nothing’, to literally watch minute by minute disappear forever, and then return from two weeks away with nothing gained, partly because of Bali Belly, nothing accomplished. This is also why I am obsessed with ‘self-initiated creative projects’ because I am so acutely aware that there is not enough time and there never will be. It has to be done NOW.

But more than that, The Grasshopper and the Ants presents a myriad of interpretations for someone like me, who is so obsessed with what I call ‘The Monday Morning’. The implication being that Monday is a new start, a new blank rectangle in the weekly diary; it is an erasure of the past. It is already over; it was over a minute ago. Forget about it. Move on. Watching the cartoon I can see liberal versus conservative, creative industry versus economic industry, spend or save, buy (ha ha ha) a house or go overseas, apply the retinols now before skin turns into a cracked leather handbag, do the project or read the book. Trainspotting monologue aside; you can see the appeal in this and such animations. The bottomless well of meaning, a single message that like a band-aid, can be ripped off and reapplied to whatever the context and situation.

Disturbingly, this entire post has been an expansion of what I initially posted, a quote from Nora Ephron’s Heartburn, specifically:

“And then the dreams break into a million tiny pieces. The dream dies. Which leaves you with a choice: you can settle for reality, or you can go off, like a fool, and dream another dream”.

In the film adaptation Meryl Streep utters this as she plants a cream pie in Jack Nicholson’s face, and pie in the face was the sensation I experienced recently as I came to the realisation that something I had planned on doing will never ever happen. Sad, like anything else in life.

So watching all of this what have I learnt? That I should consider an asymmetrical bob? That I should visit Luna Park, that I can’t play pool, that I have always hated fishing and am now remembering the time I went to a trout farm, paid money to fish in a stagnant pond and whatever was caught had to be clubbed with a wooden pole. The trout tasted like mud. I’m surprised that event didn’t lead me on the path to vegetarianism.

No wonder I stopped watching cartoons when I grew up.

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