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drabbles-mc · 1 year ago

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i have been slacking on my screaming reblogs this month as i've been reading fics and adding them to the discord blog. but i have cleared my schedule for the morning. only thing on the docket??? yelling about this 🫡

It wasn’t a life, but a cheap imitation, and after all, wasn’t that justice? -> the fact that this is punctuating the first paragraph. i have a feeling that by the end of this here 3.2k the answer to that question is NOT going to be what she expects sksksk

Andrea used to have an easy answer to that question -> WHAT DID I SAY?? 😂

Justice always the destination; truth, the means. The most erroneous misconception of all: that one could not exist without the other. -> don't mind me i'm simply just. salivating over this. so absolutely normal over it honestly. can you not tell??? can you not tell that i'm Totally Fine and Completely Hinged about it?????

socks stuffed in his dress shoes, dress shoes in hand, walking through the sand on the beach -> i don't know if you ever watched the show On My Block but there is something about this image that just gives me SUCHHHH big OMB vibes and i mean that in the most complimentary way known to mankind. i'm in love

And though, she condemned his actions, what he’d done, she was reckoning with the difference between deeds and intentions and how the two become misaligned when you’re part of a bigger system. -> god. your mind. her mind. THE MELDING OF YOUR MINDS TOGETHER. like this is stressing me out (complimentary) and i can just. i can feel the struggle in her head.

She used to think that last part didn't matter. But then, she’d been wrong about a lot of things. -> the way my knee-jerk response during these Loving Andrea Hours is to be like, 'she's never been wrong about anything ever in her entire life' but i know that that is categorically untrue sksksksk

people are hard to hate up close -> she's so right for this and i'm sweating about it because i know that this is Foreshadowing. i know that we are In A Narrative rn

Polite, but with the trademark frankness of a kid moonlighting as a career criminal. The authenticity of criminals as a rule never ceased to surprise her -> i need you to know that i will be gnawing on this for the rest of the day like a dog with a new stick. just gnoshing away in my little office.

He only got out for the funeral. The last one he’ll attend maybe ever; a statement, in isolation, that sounds like a good thing, if you don't think about the fact that it’s only because no one’s around left to die. -> hey???? um?????? next time could you maybe?????? FIRE OFF A GODDAMN WARNING SHOT BEFORE GOING STRAGHT THROUGH MY RIBCAGE WITH YOUR BARE HANDS AND RIPPING OUT MY HEART????????????????

Julian orders black coffee and chocolate chip pancakes with a side of French fries instead of hash browns because though they’re both potato-based, he doesn’t like the texture of hash browns. Or at least, that’s the answer he gives when her brows furrow, questioning the distinction. -> hiiiiii helloooooooo as someone who just loves everything about ocs and the creation process of them, i need you to know how much this little detail means to me. hugging my laptop tightly to my chest about it

“Okay, Julian,” she goes with his given name. Because now she knows Bugsy’s a family name, it feels improper to use it, being a total stranger. Like she hasn’t earned it. -> what i'm about to say will come as a shock to many, i'm sure, but: i'm in love with her. i'm so so stupidly in love with her.

rather than copy/pasting like 4 whole paragraphs, i just want to say, that i love how much you emphasize the differences with name usage and the weight that it always carries depending on which one you use. it's so fucking true and to see the way that you navigate it in this makes my heart soar

There were estimates, people tried keeping track, but those were just numbers. Too far away from what mattered. -> this reminds me of that quote about tragedies and statistics etc. it makes my heart hurt how fucking real it is

Her whole monologue to Julian. I'm thrashing about in my office. 😭

NOT THEM HOLDING HANDS AT THE TABLE!!!!!!!!!!!!! I AM INCONSOLABLE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

| Hard to hate up close |

⁂

Pairing: Andrea Nuñez & OC!Julian "Bugsy" Barrón Corona

For @narcosfandomdiscordNarcOctober - Day 24 - Day of Monsters

Prompt: "The world isn’t made up of heroes and monsters. Just broken people balancing between the two.”

Word count: ≈ 3.2K

TWs: Canon-consistent violence, references to trauma/domestic abuse

There’s always the power of choice, insofar as you believe that you have one. The fucked part about it all was the system they were in was built to give most people the false impression that they didn’t have any. After the failed assassination attempt on her boss, Jesús Blancornelas, Andrea Nuñez meets with the little brother of the sicario who did the deed, Julian Barrón Corona aka Bugsy, to understand the man behind the monster.

⁂

She’d always heard a few decades in an American prison left people looking much older than they were. The confinement, the stress, the lack of sun, the terrible food, the boundless future of the same old day-to-day nothing, for some, with no end in sight. Nothing to look forward to and no one to look up to. It wasn’t a life, but a cheap imitation, and after all, wasn’t that justice?

Andrea used to have an easy answer to that question: of course, it was. For a lot of these pinshe pendejos, mercy even. Justice was something she’d believed she had an innate understanding of. Even her father said so. Since she was five, he’d said so. That’s why he encouraged her to be a reporter. But at some point, the concept of justice and the truth became intertwined and simplified in a way that seemed comically obtuse now. You seek the truth and justice will follow. Justice always the destination; truth, the means. The most erroneous misconception of all: that one could not exist without the other.

But the news about Rebollo changed the game, and now, as she watches Julian Barrón Corona – heretofore known to her only by his gang alias, Bugsy – socks stuffed in his dress shoes, dress shoes in hand, walking through the sand on the beach until he reaches the front door of the café, she’s taken aback because he looks younger than his 33 years, even though he hadn’t been in the free world in over a decade, and then she realizes all that racket about truth and justice is a fairy tale. More fit for the panels of a comic book, than the pages of a newspaper. More fiction than nonfiction.

He hasn’t seen her yet, at one of the patio tables outside, and she doesn’t flag him down immediately, preferring to study him from afar instead. He seemingly preoccupied investigating, reading something on the front door. Perhaps trying to figure out if it was absolutely necessary to put his shoes back on. Through the tinted glass of the windows, he finally spots her on the patio, and doesn’t bother going inside, so as not to trouble himself with the shoes. There’s something of herself in that. She hates dress shoes. Glancing at her boots, wiggling her toes inside against the well-worn leather that stretches to accommodate them, yeah, she wouldn’t have wanted to put those foot prisons back on either.

And it all worked out since she hadn’t bothered to dress up for the funeral. Only because she didn’t know she was going until her foot hit the too-green, carefully manicured lawn that blanketed the hills of the cemetery. Her legs did the rest in spite of her – left, right, left, right – bringing her to the edge of the monochromatic crowd of mourners, in varying shades of black and gray. She could barely see the opening of the grave over the flowers piled atop the casket. She hadn’t a clue why she was there. She knew no one, and no one knew her.

The deceased she only knew by reputation, and had seen only twice in person. Once, when she snuck behind the police barrier to sit outside the cathedral and wait for unsuspecting Arellano/Vasquez wedding attendees to exit, spill a little chisme, maybe put her onto a new lead. He’d been standing on the side of the building, probably there to ferry the family to the car from the private entrance of the rectory, once the ceremony ended. Since she was not where she was supposed to be, she hid behind a corner, trying to draw as little attention to herself as possible and didn’t get a good look at him.

The second time was in her car, staking out the hipódromo with Isaac. She was so focused on Benjamín, she didn’t pay the guy at his side much mind, except to mentally note that he looked vaguely familiar. But after visiting Jesús at the hospital, when she went back to the office to write her story, she pulled out Isaac’s pictures again to get a better look. See what he was like not covered in blood, slumped over in the street, with a bullet in one eye. Popeye with one eye. However, tasteless it was, she found that detail darkly hilarious. Until she finally saw him in the pictures Isaac took. His face was expressionless to the point of unsettling, except for his eyes, inky black with an almost ascetic countenance and an unforeseen depth, heavy with the weight of his life and the whole world, bits and pieces that she could only speculate about and that would torture her curiosity forever.

Before that, she’d believed that she hated him. Even though Jesús walked away from that intersection with his life and this man didn’t, she was angry. Pissed. She hated him. Except she didn’t. No, in reality, all she hated was what he symbolized. And though, she condemned his actions, what he’d done, she was reckoning with the difference between deeds and intentions and how the two become misaligned when you’re part of a bigger system. There’s always the power of choice, insofar as you believe that you have one. The fucked part about it all was the system they were in was built to give most people the false impression that they didn’t have any. It wasn’t an excuse, but it was the universal explanation.

Over time, she'd come to understand that the reasons people do the things they do can be conflicted and strange, at times baffling and inexplicable. Sometimes they hadn’t thought about the reasons at all, just spent their entire lives reacting. The way she saw it, yes, actions are worthy of condemnation and should be the basis by which a person’s character is divined but her own estimations now required further analysis. That’s where the reasons and intentions come in. Not important in the formation of a person’s character, but crucial in her conception of them. She used to think that last part didn't matter. But then, she’d been wrong about a lot of things.

She doesn’t hate him. Because you can’t really hate someone you don’t know. And when you do know it’s still hard. If she’d learned anything in her career, time and time again, it shakes out this way: people are hard to hate up close.

So, why go to the funeral, if not to curse the man's grave? Seated across from Julian now, while he loosens the collar of his shirt, rolls the sleeves up to his elbows, then places them on the table, flipping through the menu like a magazine, that’s what she’s hoping to find out.

“Has pedido ya?” All she sees are a pair of inquiring eyes over the brim of the menu and it’s a sight so strange she almost laughs. But the eyes give her pause. Dark and filled with the mysteries of a life lived too fast and hard to make sense of. Just like his brother’s, only less so. A little freer somehow.

“O, no. Estaba esperándote. No voy a comer probablemente.”

“Ah,” Julian nods. “Pues, yo sí, porque comida en la carcél sabe a puta mierda, perdóname por decirlo.”

Andrea looks down, a tight smile on her face. He's disarming immediately. Polite, but with the trademark frankness of a kid moonlighting as a career criminal. The authenticity of criminals as a rule never ceased to surprise her, so accustomed she was to the dance of obfuscation, a never-ending cycle of Two Truths and a Lie played by political officials, businessmen, spokespersons, strategists, law enforcement, feds, the PJF, the PGR, Cisen, Disen, DEA, CIA, and on and on. Or the dance of silence from the narcos at the top, black-hat politicos themselves who’d finally amassed enough of something to lose by talking.

When truth was unattainable, she’d take silence over lies any day. But criminals, particularly low level ones, usually had little, if anything to lose. So honesty was usually attainable. To a point, anyway.

On the heels of that, it turns her gut with pity to realize Julian, who started off with little himself, now has nothing. Mother on hospice, both brothers dead, and set to go right back to Calipatria prison in the States. He only got out for the funeral. The last one he’ll attend maybe ever; a statement, in isolation, that sounds like a good thing, if you don't think about the fact that it’s only because no one’s around left to die.

The waiter comes around to take their order, and she opts for a latte to kill the caffeine heading brewing behind her eyes, her usual morning coffee but another casualty in her whiplash decision to go to the funeral. Julian orders black coffee and chocolate chip pancakes with a side of French fries instead of hash browns because though they’re both potato-based, he doesn’t like the texture of hash browns. Or at least, that’s the answer he gives when her brows furrow, questioning the distinction.

The menus are cleared, their coffees brought, and Andrea taps the rim of hers after taking a long sip, not sure how to begin.

Julian seems to pick up on this “Mira,” and opens the conversation with an air of lending a hand, an attempt to help that surprises her, “voy a contestar a toda tus preguntas, porque me diste una excusa para quedarme aquí en Tijauna un poquito más. Así qué tómate tú mejor tiro.”

“Hmmm,” Andrea turns this over. That’s the best thing a reporter can hear, “I’m an open book.” It rarely happens with any real transparency and but this time it is. And of course, this time she has no idea what the fuck to ask. So, she starts off easy, “Prefieres que te llamo Julian o el alias de pandilla, Bugsy?”

“A mí, tampoco no importa. Prefieres que hablamos en espańol o inglés?”

Andrea responds in English, “I don’t mind either, either.”

Mid-sip, Julian chuckles into the edge of his mug, splashing a bit of coffee back onto his nose and cheeks. Mopping it up with a napkin on the table, he takes the opportunity to set things straight. “Bugsy’s not my gang name, by the way.”

“Qué?”

“No me lo dieron la pandilla. Fue un apodo de mi hermano, Matteo.”

Andrea’s eyebrows shoot up in surprise. An seemingly mundane detail, its significance betrayed only by the fact that he wanted to set the misconception straight in the first place. That, and the mention of the other Corona brother, Matteo. Who she knew a little bit about. Shot and killed by police more than fifteen years ago for allegedly breaking out of a mental health facility. Along with his obituary, she’d read the only two or three existing, very short news articles about the incident, nothing more than a paragraph in the dailies.

“Okay, Julian,” she goes with his given name. Because now she knows Bugsy’s a family name, it feels improper to use it, being a total stranger. Like she hasn’t earned it. “I don’t–“ Unable to continue, she looks off to the side at the ocean lapping at the shore, trying to gather concoctions of words and images into some semblance of form and thought.

“It’s okay,” Julian shrugs. “I know who you are.”

Her head snaps back at attention. “Sorry?”

“I know you work at La Voz and that your boss is Jesús Blancornelas.”

Andrea leans back in her chair, massaging her temples, and looking up at the red and mint green stripes of the umbrella shading their table.

“Lo siento,” Julian offers, like he’s speaking to a stray cat he’s got cornered but is trying not to spook. “I didn’t mean that in any typa way. S’ not a threat or nothing.”

The front two legs of her chair come down hard, shaking their table. He’s so earnest and she can’t figure out if she wants to punch him for it or cry. She can’t figure out fucking anything anymore. The only thing she can begin to ask to make some sense of any of the bullshit she’s been through in the last six months is, “Why. I just wanna know why.”

And like that, there they are. The words, out of her mouth, spilling onto the table now for both of them to deal with.

“Why David did it?”

David. So foreign. It was always his full name, David Barrón Corona, or just Barrón Corona. One of the Corona brothers. Sicario for the AFO. Not David. But instead of saying any of that, she just nods for him to continue.

“Well, I don’t know much. Everything we get– y’know on the inside, is piecemeal. But last I talked to him, I know things were going in a direction he didn’t like, y’know. Bystanders, priests,” he motioned with an open hand at her across the table, “journalists, people not in the game. Just wasn’t down for all that, chu’know. That ain't how we came up.”

His English is accented with that Chicano lilt she’s heard in movies and she wonders if his brothers sounded the same. Again with the mundane details, but she needs them. She’s using them. He scratches the corner of his mouth, waiting patiently for her to take her turn in the conversational volley, but she’s too busy deconstructing monsters in her head with mundane details. Harder to hate up close.

So, after another sip of his coffee, he continues, “Y’know where we come up,” he shrugs, looking behind him as if where he came up is right behind him, and in a way it is, “where we come up, options are hard to see your way to when all you’re trying to do is catch your breath. Our dad–“ Pausing to look at the ocean, Julian crosses his arms and clears his throat. Dad is clearly a sticky subject. “Our dad tried to prepare us for the world, in his way. My brothers got it worse than me but I saw enough. And as we got older, everyone around us was turning to the clickas, pandillas como las llamas aquí. Y’know most’d tell you it was to make a buck but it was prolly more to belong.”

Andrea seizes that. “Is that why you guys did?”

Caught in a memory, Julian smiles wryly, “Well, Matteo? Matteo didn’t really belong anywhere, even where he did. But I guess in his own way, yeah. To belong but also as a means to an end. 'Cause we wouldn’t have got the old man out the house without the Red Steps.” He takes a sip of his coffee, like that’s that.

She has the urge to poke holes in that declaration, but something stops her. What he said about options. Choices. How they’re hard to see when you’re just trying to catch your breath. So, instead of arguing, she follows his lead, getting caught up in a memory that’s not hers and doesn't need to be. “So … Matteo was the first domino to fall?”

“Correcto. Y despues de eso, David se une a Matteo, eso fue todo. But the thing is … and,” he shrugs, “this might disappoint you,” looking at her with a sorrow that might look like pity if he had an ounce of condescension in his body, before he breaks the news gently. “It wasn’t a tragedy. For them, for any of us. 'Cause guess what never happened after that? No one surprised us in the middle of the night with military drills, no one got drunk and pushed us into crowded streets with traffic, claiming it was ‘a test’ to see if we’d flinch, ‘cause 'only pussies flinch and get fucked over by life.' No one yelled at me to finish my peas ‘til I puked at the dinner table. Shoplifting travel bottles of Yukon Jack when the punishment was six months in YA if we got caught. White-knuckling it in the passenger’s seat, drunk driving ninety miles an hour on the 101 freeway at three in the morning. All that? Over.”

Now Andrea's looking down at the table, itemizing that harrowing list in her head that’s left Julian nearly breathless. Hearing it out loud, one after another, she can’t help but feel for him. For them, their family. But just as she’s about to give way to too much compassion, the fire in her chest erupts, back to a roar, thinking of all the kids on the streets of Tijuana with no fathers. Fathers taken from them too soon. Like Jesús almost was. Like her own was. More fathers than she could keep track of. There were estimates, people tried keeping track, but those were just numbers. Too far away from what mattered.

It’s like he can see the fury building in her right there but if he can't, he addresses it. “I’m not saying it was the right thing– fuck, I’m not even saying it was the only thing to do. There were a lotta options. But no one told us. So, we were never keeping track. Now? In prison? I got nothing but time to keep track. I know exactly what me, Matty, David could’ve done different. But I can’t change what we did. Just try to remember that choice is the only control I have.” He laughs but it doesn’t reach his eyes, “And you best believe that’s a near impossible task where I’m at,” the first sign of bitterness he’s exhibited this whole time but it’s gone as fast as it comes. “But in a lotta ways, prison took away the noise real early for me. The distractions. The expectations of others, of life. What a man’s s’posed to be, s’posed to do. I can’t think in ‘supposed to’ anymore, only what ‘is,' what I can do with that. If anything.”

He stops mid-thought, exhaling energetically and Andrea gets the impression that this is the most he’s said out loud in a long time. To anyone. Or maybe it’s just a heavy topic and a long day and he’s tired. She doesn’t know this kid that well, Julian. But she has to give it to him. He knows how to close. She purses her lips, digesting what he’s said, deciding to match his transparency with her own.

“Well, Julian. I hear a lot of bullshit in my line of work. And I wasn’t certain what I’d find here, but of course, you have to understand I always prepare myself for that inevitability.” He chuckles at that and the muscles in her temples soften, eyes cast down to look at her hands, as she picks her cuticles nervously. “But you've laid out your truth, so I’ll lay out mine. I came here ready for it. Ready to hate him. Wanting it even. I’d hate you if you’d given me the slightest justification. I came here expecting all the things I’d read and heard to be confirmed, that the monsters I’d made in my head were real because it’s so much easier–“ she trails off. Easier to what?

She doesn’t know, all she knows is, "it’s easier to–“ she huffs, frustrated. Where are the words? Why can't she find the right ones? Oh, fuck it. “Eas– ugh, because it’s just fucking easier. And all I want is for this to be easy because everything else is hard. But you met me with nothing but you and the truth. And all I feel is guilty that I can’t hate either of you.” She throws her hands up in defeat, letting them land on the table. The contact rattles the table and their cups. “But I can’t. I can't, I can't. Because the more I learn, the more it becomes clear that nothing is simple. And that the world isn’t made up of heroes and monsters. Just broken people balancing between the two.”

He laughs, “Yeah, well,” like none of that surprises him. Although given everything he’d been through, there were probably precious few things that surprised him. He surprises her though with what he next, less because it happens and more because he didn’t lose a tooth to her fist for doing it. “My mother used to tell us the only certain thing is absurdity and uncertainty,” he says, reaching across the table for one of her hands, then bringing it on the table to hold in both of his, dark eyes pleading with her own. “And the best way to deal with it is to say the things out loud. Call it what the fuck it is.”

An honest-to-goodness, real and genuine smile smile breaks out across Andrea's face and deepens as she’s filled with relief that she’s still capable of forming is still in working order. She was scared the mechanism would be broken forever. Squeezing his hand like she can telegraph gratitude through her fingertips, she gives a nod, “Thanks.”

He beams back at her like the sun.

About to let go of his hand, she remembers what she’d thought about earlier – how he started off with little and has nothing to lose because he has nothing now – and grips it tighter still, “Hey, Bugsy,” drawing a puzzled look from him. “About your brother. I’m j– I’m so sorry.”

“For what?”

“Just ... for everything.”

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taglist: @narcosfandomdiscord, @narcolini, @ashlingnarcos, @drabbles-mc, @artemiseamoon

#andrea nuñez #oc julian barron corona

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peterparkers-bad-youtube-apology · 4 years ago

Note

45 and 46 with tom please? 💗

You've got it! I just went to the fair so I felt like it was the perfect time to write this lol. I hope you enjoy it love! Feedback is appreciated, love you guys xx

Reminder that you can keep sending in requests for the Summer of Love until September 22nd!

Penguins and Popsicles

45 - Trying to win a prize at the fair

46 - Your mouths getting dyed different colors from popsicles

Pairing: Tom x Reader

Summary: You and Tom spend the day at the fair

Taglist

Summer of Love

Masterlist

⭒☆━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━☆⭒

“I think this is the last of the big rides,” (y/n) peaked around as they joined the line for the tilt-a-whirl.

Tom sighed in relief, “Good, I don’t know how much more my stomach can take.”

“We don’t have to go on this one,” she frowned.

“No, no, I’ll be fine darling,” he assured, “I’m sure I’ll still be able to handle the ferris wheel tonight.”

“Alright,” she smiled and kissed his cheek, “After this we should go play some games, I wanna try and win that cute penguin we saw.”

“Oh you’re getting the penguin, I’m gonna get you the fucking huge one too darling,” he beamed.

“Well considering all the games are totally rigged, I’ll be happy with just the small one.”

“No way, my peach deserves the best, I don’t care how much I have to spend, I’m winning you that penguin.”

“Will it be the pink one too?”

“Of course it’ll be the pink one! And we’re gonna put it right in the living room so everyone can see how much I love you.”

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆　　｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆

“The tilt-a-whirl was a bad idea,” Tom groaned as they got off the ride, holding onto (y/n) for stability.

She frowned, “If you throw up on me I’m ditching you.” “I’m not gonna throw up,” he rolled his eyes, “And I’d at least be able to make it to the trash can if I did.”

“As long as it doesn’t end up on me I’m happy,” she squeezed his hand as she weaved them through the crowd, “Drink some water, it’ll settle your stomach.”

“Thanks peach,” he chuckled as he sipped at her water bottle, “Alright, where’d you see that penguin?”

“Are you sure you don’t want to sit down for a little while first?”

“Of course not, a little tummy ache isn’t going to stop me from winning you that prize. Now, where is the penguin?”

“Up this way, it was at the balloon dart throw thing. You know those games are totally rigged though.”

“Well my love can overcome any obstacles,” he wrapped her arms around his waist and pressed a loud kiss to her cheek.

She laughed as she pushed him off of her, “Knock it off.”

“Don’t fight my love darling,” he kissed her again.

“You’re such a dork,” she rolled her eyes as they approached the booth, “Alright lover boy, give it a go.”

“You two playing?” the girl running the booth smacked her gum before motioning for them to pass them their ticket cards.

“Oh no, just him,” (y/n) pushed Tom up.

He offered his wrist with a smile, “How much for the big penguin?”

“Three balloons, two balloons gets you a small prize, one gets you nothing,” she slammed three darts down in front of him and sighed, “Go ahead.”

“Can I get a good luck kiss?” he smirked, wiggling his brow suggestively.

(y/n) rolled her eyes and kissed his cheek, “There, you better win now.”

“I will, I will,” he assured. He took his time aiming and missed all three shots. (y/n) laughed behind him while he flushed, “Yeah I was warming up, let me go again.”

The woman scanned his card and Tom went again, managing to pop a single balloon. He didn't manage to hit even two of the balloons until his fifth turn, winning (y/n) a small stuffed dog. But it wasn’t enough for Tom, he kept going, burning through their tickets without ever managing to win the big prize. He’d collected a small fish and snake in addition to the dog, but the penguin remained elusive.

“One more time,” Tom insisted.

“Tom we only have enough tickets left for the ferris wheel,” (y/n) whined, “And I’ve already got these three little prizes, there’s no more room in my purse.”

He looked between her and the booth before sighing, “Okay, I guess we can forget about the penguin…”

She nodded, “Yes, let's just go ride the ferris wheel instead,” she pulled him away from the booth as he flashed his sad puppy eyes.

“I’m sorry I couldn’t win you the penguin peach.”

“Tommy I don’t need a penguin, I’ve got a dog, and a fish, and a snake,” she emphasized each animal as dramatically as she could, “And the best boyfriend in the world. I'm more than happy with all of that.”

He smiled and wrapped his arm around her shoulders, “And I’d be happy with a nice, romantic kiss at the top of the ferris wheel.”

“That sounds perfect to me.”

Their walk to the ferris wheel ended up taking a detour to a popsicle stand, Tom picked cherry while (y/n) opted for blue raspberry. It was (y/n)’s suggestion, she insisted they’d need something to keep them cool while they waited to reach the top of the ride. Which was good because Tom couldn’t stand how slow the ferris wheel moved once they were actually on it.

“This sucks,” Tom whined, “I mean can’t they just let us go?”

“You get sick on the fast rides, but then the slow rides are too slow?” (y/n) rolled her eyes, “Are you ever satisfied?”

He nodded, “Yeah, I like the thrill rides, they just make me sick. And this one just sucks while they’re loading people on, which is taking them forever. I could load these carts in like two seconds.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, just open the little gates and shove the fuckers in there, it’s not that hard.”

“I like how slow it is, you get to enjoy the view for longer.”

“Oh yeah, like I really care about a view when I spend all day looking at you,” he rolled his eyes.

Her cheeks flushed and she turned her attention back to the popsicle, “You’re so cheesy.”

“I think you like it,” he teased.

“In your dreams,” she stuck her tongue out, making him laugh.

“Tongue’s blue lovie.”

She giggled, “Yeah, your lips are like, bright red.”

“Red huh?” he smirked before pulling her towards him, “You know what my favorite color is peach?”

“You’re gonna say blue and then kiss me aren’t you?” she smiled smugly, “Cheesy and predictable.”

“No, I was gonna say purple and then I was gonna french you,” he corrected before pecking her lips, “But you ruined it.”

“I didn’t ruin it, we’ve still got a whole half of a ferris wheel ride to make out,” she reminded, wrapping her arms around his neck and kissing him once again.

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆　　｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆

(y/n) peaked around curiously as she left the bathroom, she’d sprinted there straight after the ferris wheel, expecting her boyfriend would be right behind her. Now she was worried he’d gotten lost in the crowds somewhere, taking her purse and phone with him. She couldn’t imagine how impossibly embarrassing it would be to have to go to the missing kids booth because she lost her boyfriend. Luckily she spotted him wiggling his way through the crowd, attempting not to hit anyone with the giant pink penguin in his arms.

“Tom!” her jaw fell, “How the hell did you get that?!”

“I won it,” he beamed.

“How? I was only in the bathroom for like, a minute!”

“By giving the girl at the booth twenty bucks,” he shoved the penguin into her arms with a smile.

She bit her bottom lip as she hugged the penguin against her chest, “You didn’t have to do that Tom.”

“No, but I told you I’d get you that penguin, no matter how much I had to spend,” he paused to kiss her forehead, “Plus just look how happy you are now. You know I’d do anything to see that pretty smile of yours.”

She sighed before throwing her arms around him, “I really do have the best boyfriend in the world.”

He laughed and squeezed her against him, “And I’ve got the best girlfriend in the world. This beautiful, perfect, amazing girl who I’ve just had the best day with, and now I’d like to have the best night curled up in bed with.”

“Now that sounds absolutely wonderful,” she agreed, “You, me, the penguin, and Tessa.”

“Nothing better than a night with my three favorite girls.”

⭒☆━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━☆⭒

Taglist:

@niallberry @spideyssunshine @namoreno @thevery-firstpage @outshineallthestars @roseke @zspideyy @emistrash @andreagf956 @tomsirishgirlx @peachyafshawn @agbspidey

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turtlegirlave · 4 years ago

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So this has a ton of opinions which I usually stray away from but i really let all my opinions out here. Also there is definitely fact mistakes, probably name mistakes and some incorrect singing terms in here, I wrote this at 2 A.M. with a limited knowledge of theater I’m just trying to get a point across.

Why s2 of hsm the series should have been newsies instead of beauty and the beast:

They say straight up in the show “we need a real Alan Menkhen musical” and they pick beauty and the beast instead of newsies, a literal Broadway stage production???

At first I assumed it was because the cast was primarily male, but that isn’t even a reasonable argument. 1)as shown by s1 when a boy played sharpay, gender doesn’t matter when being considered for a role. 2), a cast with multiple male leads would give the gay men in the show a chance to shine, instead of shoving them to background roles like Chip. Not to mention Carlos is a dancer, and newsies is a musical driven by choreography. 3), since nini moved there are only like 2 lead females anyway, which works for the 2 female roles in newsies.

Casting Wise, the play works SO MUCH better!

Ricky: jack kelley is a much better role for him than the beast for many reasons. First, their personalities are very similar with the mischievous main teen vibe, so the role would be like Troy where Ricky can slip into it easier. Second, it fits him better vocally. It is very clear from listening to Joshua basset sing that he has a relatively high vocal range, and singing low notes or in a deep voice doesn’t come as naturally to him. Jeremy Jordan has a similar vocal range, where he stays in higher octaves and more rarely uses a deep, monotone voice (at least never to the beast’s extent). Ricky would sound perfect singing in Jack’s vocal range. The beast, however, sings almost exclusively in an extremely deep, monotone voice that Joshua cannot easily perform.

Ashlyn: not only does she look quite similar to Katherine, but they have similar personalities as well. Also, katherine’s high and bubbly singing voice would sound lovely with Ash’s, which is also high and bubbly but often softer. This would allow her to push herself to sing louder and more confidently. And she still gets to play a smart bookworm lead female role.

Kourtney: she was born to play miss medda larken. Mrs. Potts’ debut song “beauty and the beast” is a soft romance ballad, which does not match kourt’s stadium reach, strong, powerful voice. “That’s rich” not only shows off her vocals better, but matches her personality and voice much better with the grit and power behind it. Also, Mrs Potts as a character is the soft, motherly type. Miss medda is a rambunctious, empowered, “I got men if I want em but I don’t need em” kinda woman. Which role better fits the girl power, loud, activist, personal cheer squad type person that Kourtney is?

Carlos and Sebastian: not only would this stop shoving the gays and only interesting men other than Ricky to background roles (sorry big red), but it would show off their talents. Seb would make a wonderful crutchy, with his innocent nature and likeness to the character. It would also give him a chance to flex his vocals and sing a duet with Ricky in Santa Fe, further developing the friendships in the show. Carlos could play really any of the main boys, I mostly think he would kill in this due to his dance and choreography skills, which newsies really emphasizes.

Big red: PLEASE this boy would be perfect as Ben Cook’s role (can’t remember the newsie’s name). They’re both the kinda dumb but endearing friend type, and he leads “king of New York”, a song with a killer tap dancing break, which is the whole reason big red wanted to try out! His chemistry with Ricky as crutchy would make that a fine role for him too, but since Sebastian has stronger vocals I think it’s better for him to take a more prominent role while big red relies on his dancing skills over singing.

Gina: though there’s no more lead girl roles, I think she would kill it as mr. Pulitzer. They could add some spice to the character through her insane dance skills, and she would play a great “cunning yet intelligent buisinesswoman” type. This dude also gets 2 or 3 songs, and honestly I don’t remember who she plays in Beauty and the beast so idk.

EJ: I admit Gaston is a perfect role for him and I can’t fit him into newsies well. He would play a good spot conlin, though it is a significantly smaller role. No one really cares about ej though so small loss.

Plot valuability:

doing newsies makes literally way more sense. Firstly, they are kinda planning entering this show last-minute compared to the competition, so to pick a show already written and choreographed for stage production would really save time. (Even though it would still need work to be condensed for a high school production). Second, miss Jen is so determined to stand out from the crowd and win the contest so she picks... beauty and the beast? One of the most popular Disney movies (and honestly with one of Alan’s weaker soundtracks compared to tangled, Aladdin, and the little mermaid imo). Having them do newsies, especially when switching up gender roles like casting Gina as Pulitzer, would actually make them stand apart from the dozens of schools performing Disney movies. It would also give a significantly more impressive vocal and dance performance, since the songs were written for Broadway singers rather than actors. The set is also more cheap and condensed, while still looking professional, which would help with their “we’re too poor and late to afford a straight-up aquarium so let’s do the most with what we’ve got.” Putting the characters in these roles would also not alter their development or main story plots much, besides strengthening certain friendships and pushing aside less popular characters (ej). It would also give more rep for the gays as well as switching up gender roles. Imagine, the gay guys get actual things to do in the show and aren’t defined by the sole plot of “my boyfriend rich” relationship drama! (I love these two but I am a tired ace). Also jerjor performs in both this and tangled the series, so it’s a double whammy for Alan menkhen representation.

Marketability: I know the musical has to be widely known and appealing to viewers. People watched s1 because they love hsm. People also love beauty and the beast, so viewership may raise with fans of the movie. Newsies doesn’t die here, though. It is a very widely popular play among theatre people, and existed first as a movie musical so it isn’t exclusive to theater kids. Also, fans of Newsies are generally between their tweens and early twenties, the exact age demographic for the show. Beauty and the beast is a classic and more widely known, but also doesn’t draw in large numbers of the exact age group you want. Also, the fact that newsies is a little less mainstream only helps the plot point of them choosing it to still have something well known while also standing out from the competition. Doing beauty and the beast is not only an awful choice for casting that limits the actors vocals or is completely out of their range, but it also makes them blend in with the crowd.

Final notes: beauty and the beast was IMO the worst choice for the play this season. Movies like Aladdin and tangled both have very energetic and loud soundtracks that allow these characters to belt their hearts out. Beauty and the beast has a very folksy, quiet, ballad type of track that limits the actors. The only actor that I think sings ballads better than big booming tracks is Nini, who isn’t even in the play this year. Ricky also sings great ballads, which is why ballads that are still slow but also emotional and powerful like “Santa fe” or “something to believe in” (which would sound AMAZING in his and Ashlyn’s voices) fit much better than the deep voice of the beast that he can not comfortably sing in. Also, the beast has very few songs whereas newsies would allow him to belt his heart out in nearly every song with that lovely voice he has. The age range of the newsies cast (that characters are supposed to be 17) fits better with these very teen actors than a movie about old fashioned French young adults. Really newsies was the best musical choice for this season, but I also believe beauty and the beast was the last one they should have chosen.

(After reading comments I rescind my statement that beauty and the beast was the worst choice, but it’s still second to newsies imo)

Feel free to debate me in the comments or point out my mistakes, I’m very open to other points of view

#newsies #hsmtmts #hsm the series #beauty and the beast #Disney #disney+#disney plus #jeremy jordan

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lettrespromises · 5 years ago

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PLAN À TROIS.— TODOROKI, BAKUGOU.

A.N:

❝ dear reader,

why hello it is i, nikki, back at it again. this post was specifically written thanks to @sasukelore’s big brain, meaning that this one is for the boys with the booming system, top down, AC with the cooler system😔✊🏻. it’s my first attempt at writing smut (which means it’s a direct ticket to hell) so please bare with me, i hope you’ll like it! if you have any feedback, please feel free to send it to me! also, my requests are open for business hehe.

sincerely yours,

nikki.

P.S: “plan à trois” has a double meaning— it means “threesome” in french but it also literally means “a plan involving three people” which is the core of the story, both literally and figuratively. ❞

Genre: Smut. (All three of the characters have been aged up.)

Warnings: Cursing, mentions of drugs (but no actual use of drugs), unprotected sex (please use a condom), nudity, spanking, choking, cunnilingus, blow-job, temperature play, threesome, dirty things.

Word count: 6.5k (she’s a big girl, don’t be shy.)

Letter object: One hotel. One gala. One mission. One person to take down. Three heroes. You and Shoto have to play the perfect fake couple to gain your enemy’s trust, the only thing is, Shoto has no clue how to behave as a couple. The unexpected help comes from Ground Zero who seems a bit too impatient and eager to show Shoto how to really treat a lady.

Metaphorically speaking, the heroes are seen as the predators and the villains as the preys, it’s always been that way— an eternal game of hide and seek, which only ends in binary results, either victory or loss. The latest news concerning the hero world had put this little game to a halt: the hushed rise of the anti-quirks drugs were concerning. The enemy was everywhere and nowhere, it was all whispers, a thread of ‘who said what’, mere illusions replaced authentic clues. The rules of the game had been changed into a paradox where the villains became the predators and the heroes were deemed as the preys.

The rule of silence, which could have easily been personified as the ringleader of this dystopic scenario, was cruel— anyone could be suspected of being a link of the drug chain. But fret not, if you were suspected and voices started to echo around louder and louder, a little bit of hush money was the price to pay to reinstate the rule of silence. Anyone could be a culprit, even (or mostly) into the highest spheres of society. Those who are worshipped in an agnostic way, they were on top of the social food chain and, perhaps even, on top of the drug chain. These elites have been very vocal about their will to suppress the almighty authority pro-heroes possess— feeling threatened for their own sake and their own inferiority complex, they were willing to play dirty to be able to rule the country with an iron fist.

The corrupted elites still remained as elites and enjoyed their mondane occupations— galas being one of them. It was a dream opportunity for you as a pro-hero, a room crowded with highly potential culprits served on a silver plate with a cup of champagne to serve as the cherry on the cake.

Stealth missions were highly dangerous if you didn’t have a cover good enough, and treading on the playground of influential people could possibly cost you your career as a pro-hero, but if you managed to succeed, you were bound to bask in glory. Keeping a realistic cover is the number one check on the list entitled “how not to blow up your whole mission and be hated by the rest of the country.” Luckily enough, your agence had already done all the dirty work for you and sent you everything you needed— a flawlessly cut evening attire, a shockingly well-done fake ID and a full file regarding the background of your character, all down to the tiniest details. And I cannot emphasize enough “all” the details...

“Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me…” Amongst the myriad of details (and some of them were completely unnecessary, I mean, was your favorite fruit really important?), one of them was impossible to ignore. “Shoto Todoroki, really?” His name rolled off your tongue for a reason, you were supposed to play his pseudo fiancée for the night. Your thumb brushed the surface inked with his name, unconsciously wishing that if you were brushing hard enough, his name would disappear and so would your almost wilted high school crush on him.

Your silent complains were cut short, the sound of someone knocking on your door stirred you from the invasion of your thoughts. Then the knocking sound echoed once more. “Just a second!” Has anyone heard of the concept of patience? Waiting a few seconds for someone to open the door isn’t a inhuman task. Eventually (although it could’ve have been funny to let this mysterious person fume because you purposefully took too long), you opened the door to your hotel room and it just felt like you had welcomed a storm in. Much to your surprise, there were two surprise guests, two U.A alumnis just like you— Shoto and Ground Zero.

“Well, shit, were you planning on letting us fucking die in the hallways, woman?! What the fuck took you so goddamn long, ha?” When I mentioned a storm earlier on today, I meant Bakugou Katuski— his annoyance was transcripted upon his face through the frowning of his eyebrows and the wrinkle sitting between them. “It’s good to see you too Bakugou, glad to see you missed me after all this time.” His hands were shoved in his pockets, clearly not keen on listening to your sarcastic remarks nor wearing a tuxedo for the night. “Tch. Keep your smart ass talk to yourself, dumbass.”

You had indeed let a storm invade your hotel room. But unbeknownst to you, you had also welcomed a hypotizing breeze, the polar opposite of Bakugou, and apparently future fiancé for the night: Shoto Todoroki. His facial expression reflected nothing but pure serinity, a signature stoic face which radically clashed with Bakugo’s scowl. Todoroki was so discreet, almost blending his presence with the newfound silence. He was wearing an evening suit of his own, aquamarine was his color after all, it was a known fact since your high school years.

“Y/N, as you may be aware, I am here for the stealth mission. Bakugou is going to accompany us just in case something goes wrong. It was a last minute change, but considering the household names who are going to attend this gala, too much precaution is better than not enough.” Ohh, so that was the reason why the angry gremlin was here. Although, you wondered how Shoto felt about the two of you acting as a fake engaged couple, was he still serene about that? “Yeah, while you two fake lovebirds will be busy eating each other’s faces off, I’m gonna be around to check if there is any intell on these anti-quirk selling bastards.” Each of his word was accompanied by a hand gesture pivoting between you and Shoto and, of course, the same old look of annoyance plastered upon his face. You and Shoto, on the other one hand, appeared a bit surprised at the use of “fake lovebirds”, it just hasn’t sunk in yet... Denial, perhaps?

“Speaking of kissing and shit— you, half and half bastard, do you still have a fucking stick up your ass or do you know how to act in a relationship?!” His interrogation was accompanied with a daring glance thrown in Todoroki’s direction and an eyebrow lifted just to emphasize the characteristic of his question a bit more. A bold question which immediately found its answer from the mouth of Todoroki, needless to say, you felt this remark coming. “Bakugou, you’re the last person here who could pretend having the knowledge necessary to provide relationship advices.” You couldn’t help but let a laugh escape at Todoroki’s remark highlighted by its bluntness, although you quickly changed your mind once you felt Bakugou’s stare landing on you with such rage causing you to hush your laugh by biting your thumb.

“Ha?! What the fuck did you just say, half and half bastard? Use that fucking mouth for yours for good measure and let’s see if you can kiss Y/N correctly. I won’t let this mission be blown up by your stupid ass.” This time, there was a hint of amusement in Bakugou’s voice, it was hard to distinct if he asked that because he truly cared about the mission or if he just wanted to push Todoroki out of his comfort zone. But the ghost of a smirk drawn upon his face seemed to support the second hypothesis.

“Guys, just a second here. I understand why we have to take care of our cover but it’s not like Todoroki and I are going to kiss all night long.” Your gaze alterned between Todoroki and Bakugou, it became impossible to hold your gaze on a fix structure due to how flustered you felt, and soon enough, your cheeks were quick to adopt a rosy tone. “Y/N, are you scared of kissing me by any chance?” You secretly hated the obvious tone of concern in Todoroki’s voice, he was willing to do anything to make this mission a success but also make sure you were comfortable around him. “N-No! It’s just… I don’t mind it.” What a miracle, you finally managed to look at him in the eyes but the blush on your cheeks was as lively as ever. “Then damn, if you don’t mind it just fucking kiss already we don’t have all night, dumbass.” You could tell by Bakugou’s body language that he was growing more and more impatient by the second, his arms were crossed over his chest— he was getting pissed.

Todoroki captured your attention once more when his index brushed the surface of your skin right below your chin while his thumb was carefully set upon your jawline. His orbs shone by their gleam of reassureance, his eyes met yours, as a silent way to ask your for permission and you fluttered your lids shut as an answer. As if it was some kind of second nature to him, his other arm compassed your waist in order to bring you close to him. His lips finally touched yours. Each one of his actions was so soft, you could barely feel them yet, you felt like you were floating on a cloud. His lips were melting ever so perfectly with yours, as if your lips were the sole one which could fit is, you couldn’t help but to hum as the carefulness of his lips overwhelmed you. The kiss was shy, experimental, and yet so agonizing. He was temptingly and agonizingly slow, which only made you crave for more. However, given the lack of oxygen, you had no choice but to (relanctutly) break the kiss. You opened your eyes and basked in Todoroki’s beauty, still in awe at what just happ—… “Oi! Have you ever kissed anyone before, Icyhot? Fucking hell, what was that?!”

Of course this was bound to be expected— the angry gremlin in his natural behavior. You and Todoroki exchanged a look which held a thousand questions before you felt your wrist being caught by a much warmer palm, and eventually, you were yanked straight into Bakugou’s chest (not that you were complaining.) “Open your damn eyes and look, this how you fucking kiss a woman, dipshit.” The sound of his voice roaring against your eardrum made you flinch in the nicest way possible. Bakugou naturally made himself at ease all while maintaining his gaze upon Todoroki who was looking at him in return with a noticeable disdain in his eyes.

Bakugou was challenging him in a way, he perfectly knew that Todoroki was observing his every move, hence why he took the liberty to let his palm roam over the curve of your derrière as a way to taunt him. However, the taunt didn’t last too long not to make you feel uncomfortable. He quickly settled one of his hand on the small of your back (to maintain you as close to him as humanly possible) whilst his other hand was set upon your neck. He didn’t waste any more time and went straight to business.

Bakugou’s kiss was, as expected, a vivid contrast compared to Todoroki’s kiss. While Todoroki’s felt hesitant, caring, sweet… Bakugou’s kiss was rough around the edges and his sole purpose was to make your knees weak. Once he crashed his lips upon yours, he immediately swiped his tongue over the surface of your bottom lip, demanding immediate access to your mouth. You knew better than to upset Bakugou so you pleased and allowed his tongue to explore your mouth— your tongue was at his mercy for a few instants before finding a steady rhythm for you two. His presence was overwhelming— his smell, how close you were to him with nowhere to escape, his mouth, his tongue, everything caused you to rightfully let a moan escape into the kiss. At the sound of it, Todoroki’s eyes widened while Bakugou smirked into the kiss, he knew he made a point. You, in return, started to tug at his blonde hair— the rough atmosphere of the kiss affected your actions as well. Just prior to breaking the kiss, Bakugou’s teeth dug into your bottom lip and applied a few pressures while you were looking at him with pleading eyes to continue. Once he got what we wanted, he ended the kiss with a surprisingly soft peck upon your lips.

With his hand still settled on the small of your back, Bakugou turned to Todoroki’s direction and offered him his biggest smirk to show his secret victory. You were left breathless by the kiss, a series of uneven hot breaths crashed down onto Bakugou’s skin.

If anyone were to walk in your hotel room, they would be able to feel and even touch the graduating tension in the air which almost felt agonizing. The tension was mostly radiating off of the two men, a silent battle for dominance had been declared through glances, holders of pure will to outbest the other.

Todoroki observed the scene on his chair, and unbeknownst to him, Bakugou had indirectly offered him the best seat in the room to watch the manifestation of his talents. An almost inaudible sigh left Todoroki’s lips which translated into a sign of discontentment. “Y/N, come here.” The tone was strict, cold even, and you felt obligated to do as told.

Detaching yourself from Bakugou’s embrace (you could tell he didn’t want to let you go judging from how his palm lingered on your back), you stepped away and made your way to Todoroki, a quizzical look noticeable in the reflect of your eyes. “What now?” You asked. Todoroki gestured to his lap and you knew what it meant, it was a speech without any word necessary.

Paradoxically enough, Bakugou stared at the scenery in front of him in pure silence, and although it was very unlike him, he was mimicking Todoroki’s actions earlier on- he wanted to witness how Shoto was going to respond to his own deeds.

You placed your hands over Todoroki’s shoulders to gain stability before sitting on his lap, it was a foreign feeling, but goodness, it was already addicting as hell and you were not interested in finding a cure. Both of Shoto’s hands crawled on the same spot where Bakugou’s hands used to linger just a few moments ago, you understood rather quickly that he was using his own methods against him. You were the center of Todoroki’s attention, his gaze graced your frame and he was loving the sound of your uneven breath, he wondered if he could make your respiration even more irregular.

He paid no mind to mind to the silent Bakugou who was already fuming in his corner as Shoto delivered a succession of pecks on the delicate flesh of your neck, and you tilted your head just enough to let him play on a wider surface. He traded the pecks for a few daring bites on certain areas, he needed to find your weak spot. “A-Ah... Shoto!” the sound of his name rolling off your tongue coated in such bliss was enough for him to curve his lips into a smirk.

It was a brief moment of peace before he dug his teeth on the same spot and you failed to prevent any whimpers from coming out by biting your lower lip. He knew you were restricting yourself, prisoning these beautiful sounds of ecstasy, and he didn’t like any of it. He focused on your lower lip and rubbed the oh so soft surface with the pad of his thumb to prevent your from biting it, and thus, keeping your sounds of pleasure to yourself.

“Don’t be shy, love. I’m pretty sure both Bakugou and I can agree on the fact that the little sounds you’re making are too divine to be hushed. Will you be a good girl and let us hear the sounds you’re making?” It was as if his voice was coated with honey, just his voice alone was enough to make you feel weak, and if you paid enough attention, you were pretty sure he purposefully blew a fit of cold air onto the skin of your neck. “Yes, please... I’ll be good, so good.” From that moment you knew you were at his mercy and he enjoyed every second of it. “You’re such a good girl for us.”

And so he continued, but it was rougher this time, a harsh contrast compared to his hesitant kiss from just a few moments ago. His teeth dug into the flesh of your skin harder this time, the sole purpose of leaving a mark on your crimson colored flesh was haunting his mind. To accomplish said purpose, Todoroki alternated between biting motions and a few swipes of his tongue on the newly bruised skin. The whimpers coming out of your mouth shamelessly only added fuel to his fire. He knew what he was doing, and you knew just how sensitive this particular area could get.

Once he judged it was enough, he delivered a few pecks on the love bites, a way to kiss his art into your skin. “You’re so perfect, love, so perfect with my name written over your skin.” He whispered between kisses. Your head was thrown back, fingers grasping at the roots of his hair, your mouth agape- your whole body language testified of the addictive effect he had on you.

Such bliss couldn’t last for long, and quickly enough, another voice was being heard, a roar even. “Oi, oi, oi! Don’t even think for a single fucking second that you can have her all to yourself, half and half bastard.” It was almost a miracle that Bakugou had observed you in silence, but as expected, patience was nowhere near his forte. He had already crossed his limit long before you sat on Todoroki’s laps. Bakugou’s eyes were strictly focused on your frame, he was completely under your spell after observing how your chest would rise and fall unevenly to grasp any ounce of oxygen.

Your knees felt weak already, you could only stare at Bakugou and silently ask him to continue, to make you feel even weaker, to make you experience pure bliss. You wanted to say his name, it was right on the tip of your tongue, but as you observed his figure reducing more and more the space between the two of you, you just admired him in silence.

“Hah? What’re you looking at, brat? You want more? Is that it? You want fucking more? Say no more.” You should’ve known that the wicked smirk plastered upon his face was a pre-indicator of what was bound to happen. He lifted you off of Todoroki’s lap, the latter frowned a bit at the lack of your presence on him, and carried you to the bed before dropping you on the mattress. Todoroki was quick to follow from behind and stood right next to Bakugou, his hands already busy taking off his jacket and unbuttoning the first button of his evening shirt. “I’m sure that Bakugou and I can find a little agreement. After all, we can share, correct?” Todoroki’s rhetorical question found its answer once Bakugou let a discreet chuckle escape from his mouth after throwing his jacket God knows where and messily undoing his tie. “We’re gonna take real fucking good take care of you, baby girl.”

You were refraining yourself from already touching you, it took all the strength in the world not to give in to the most passionate temptations. But deep down, you already knew you were bound to be overwhelmed by pure bliss judging by how they were looking at you. You could only hum in response, unsure of how your voice would have sounded under the heavy influence of desire.

Bakugou made the first move, after all, his poor soul felt left alone when Todoroki overwhelmed you with pecks and bites. He crawled over you, his knees were on each side of your waist, his hands however, assured total domination- his right hand clutched your wrists now pinned above your hand while his left palm settled by force on your throat, needless to say, the pressure was already applied on your windpipe. “You wanna’ play that game with me, hah?! Let Icyhot have all of you to himself and I got fucking nothing in return? Babygirl, I don’t watch, I fucking play.” It was too ferocious to be qualified as a whisper, and yet, when Bakugou pronounced the last bits of his sentence right in the shell of your ear, you felt like you were floating in pure bliss. “Answer me.” His grip on your throat felt a bit tighter. “P-Please... Ju-Just do whatever you want... With my body.” The lack of oxygen felt agonizing, you were deprived of fresh air and you were laying on the bed while Bakugou exuded pure confidence and domination, an aura so thick, you wished you could’ve touched it. “That’s my babygirl.”

As Bakugou’s lips crashed onto yours, forcing its tongue into your mouth while maintaining the right amount of pressure on your throat to offer you a panorama of new sensations, Todoroki had already gotten rid of his shirt. If you paid close attention, you could see shy flames on his shoulders, he was absolutely adoring the scenery unfolding before him. Everything about you filled his senses, the sight of you giving in to Bakugou was nothing short of divine, the whimpers leaving your mouth in cascade whether the reason was the lack of air or the fierceness of Bakugou’s intentions was the sweetest melody he had ever heard. Everything was perfect.

You felt the oxygen become one with your body again once Bakugou broke the kiss and allowed his hand to travel from your neck down to your chest, but his eyes were never leaving yours. He wanted to watch you come undone under his touch, he swore it to himself.

“I’ll take the bottom half. Icyhot, I don’t give a damn about what you do, just don’t fucking interrupt me.” His eyes were already set on the prize, your heat in all its glory. Shoto said nothing in response, you were the holder of all his undivided attention. As Bakugou took a firm grasp of your thighs, opening the way to his newfound purpose, Todoroki took over the top half of your body- he started by planting a succession of pecks from your lips down to your collarbone, passing by your neck, and each kiss was amplified by the cold air he was blowing on the surface of your skin. The contrast in temperature cause you to allow a few whimpers to escape, you already knew you craved for more, it was a way of manifesting it.

“You won’t need that, will you, love?” He said while pointing at your shirt, as his index was already hooking the fabric. It was a rhetorical question of course, you simply answered by humming. Your silent response was the only thing necessary for Shoto to send your shirt flying somewhere in the room. He continued his trail of kisses down to the valley of your breasts, the same cold air following him as he went.

Bakugou, on the other one hand, had already gotten rid off your skirt, but not before letting his palms explore the generous cheeks hidden underneath it, and eventually, leaving a slap right on this area which caused you to yelp in surprise. The pad of his thumb was already brushing against the surface of the fabric, oh what a pleasure it was when he felt the sensation of humidity coming through your underwear. A sensation so good, so addicting, so divine that it brought a sly grin to his face. “Already so wet for us, babygirl? You’re not wasting your damn time, hah?” Your skin was burning under his touch, you could already feel the chills running down your spine and he hadn’t even taken off your underwear yet.

Todoroki took the strap of your bra between his thumb and index, and much to your suprise, he used the right amount of his quirk to burn the fabric and applied the same treatment to the other strap. Before you could even protest about the poor outcome of your bra, he planted his lips on your own to keep you quiet. Now, he focused his attention to your breasts and the bits of clothing left which prevented the upper half of your body from being fully exposed. He took the opportunity given by Bakugou who had gotten rid of your underwear which made you arch your back to unclip your bra. There was nothing stopping him now. He let his gaze fell on you, so full of adoration, while he leaned down and caught the last piece of fabric remaining of your bra between his teeth. His eyes held so much envy, so much desires which reciprocated in the reflect of your own orbs.

Shoto threw your bra out of his mouth, and there you were- your body bare in all its glory. “Fuck, you’re so perfect...” He whispered right against your chest, causing you to let out a sigh you didn’t even know you were holding. He used his mother’s inherited side to trace the contour of your breasts, he knew he was going to earn a moan in return and he was so please to hear such a sinful melody at the clash of his cold fingers against your burning skin. His thumb and his index worked in harmony to twist the bud of your nipple and overwhelm it by Shoto’s cold touch while his tongue delivering hot saliva on your skin was already doing wonders on your other breast, a perfect balance between cold and hot which made your arousal erupt even more and someone was quick to notice...

“Oi, doll face, focus on me, not on this goddamn fucker. Don’t you feel so fucking good when I touch you like that, hah?” His burning jealousy amplified the voracity of his deeds. Every single one of his touch served the purpose of pleasuring you, but also outdo Todoroki’s touches. He needed to be the best at everything, including making you melt under his touch. You struggled to keep your eyes open, the desire to close your eyes and let your body attract all the attention while basking in pure bliss was too strong and yet, Bakugou’s voice roared into your mind, you couldn’t help but lay your eyes on him through half-closed lids.

Once he knew he was the bearer of all your attention, he put his body and mind to work. Both of his hands planted your thighs on each side of his body, you felt too weak to move under his touch and did not dare resist the pressure. You whined in advance because you knew what was coming- and boy, did he look good with his face buried between your thighs.

One long, sharp, vertical lick was all it took to let yet another moan escape your lips once more, and to Bakugou, it was the best reward. The heat of his tongue responded to the heat of your core, it was pure harmony. He licked the your core over and over again, tasting you, loving you, worshipping you even. One time he left lingering kisses to the side of your core, another time he was left licking motions all over your folds because your taste was the best thing he had ever felt. His motions echoed to your whines and moans, he was sure of hearing a sinful melody each time his tongue entered in contact with your skin.

“Keep making these noises for me, don’t be fucking shy.” His hot breath on the center of your heat embraced perfectly the succession of his actions, “Y-Yes... P-Please, I want... I need more.” Bakugou couldn’t help but let a low chuckle leave his lips, in response to your needy attitude, he left a harsh slap on the surface of your butt, to which you whined loudly in response. “Such a fucking filthy mouth you have there, hah?” He smiled to himself, knowing perfectly that what he was about to do was bound to leave you as a whimpering mess. Without any warning, he slid two of his fingers inside your core, and fuck, you were tight. His thumb was brushing against your sweet bundle of nerves which had already been cherished by Bakugou’s tongue earlier.

You clutched the sheets of the bed to release some of the buildup pressure inside, it was as if a tornado, a volcano and a firework were exploding at the same time in your stomach, each of them resulting in a series of whimpers and moans at the overstimulation. Your lids were shut close already, yet, they kept fluttering over the invisible crimson touches left by both Todoroki and Bakugou.

Speaking over Todoroki, he was tasting you in such a different way as he started to get the grip of Bakugou’s mechanic. His mind kept roaming and roaming, he knew that just one mark on your neck was not quite enough and he needed to beat Bakugou at his own game- he positioned himself right over your right breast and blew a fit of fresh air, causing him to smile at himself for being the reason of such a reaction, and dug his teeth into your flesh. Motivated by the the way you kept tugging at his hair, he kept biting the same area over and over again until sucking your flesh just enough to create yet another love bite over your breast, such an intimate area, isn’t it? And now his whole name was written on it.

“B-Bakugou... I can’t take it... Ahh! Anymore, please, please...” His fingers weren’t enough anymore, you were pleading his name, begging him to become one with you because you were unsure as to how you were going to keep the unleashed pressure within you ruin you. “So eager for my fucking cock, aren’t you?! You’re gonna count with me each inch entering your fucking cunt, got it?” You were willing to do anything at this point- Todoroki’s bites and his cold touch, Bakugou’s fingers and tongue, it made you fill dizzy but you knew, deep down, you were slowly approaching a pure state of bliss. “Yes... Yes I will.”

For his own purpose, Bakugou took his fingers off your core and flipped you on your stomach so you could be on all fours. You were giving him the view of worthy of a masterpiece: the crimson colored marks on your butt cheeks, the vivid rosy tone of your dripping core, oh he wanted all of you. “Love, don’t you forget that I’m here too, right? Open your pretty mouth for me.” You did as Todoroki preached, opening your mouth for him to stick his index in there. “Suck.” he commanded, to which you obliged by creating hollows in your cheeks and embrace his finger around your tongue, this feeling was beyond perfect, beyond the wildest fantasies his imagination had to offer. He could only let his subconsciousness roam about how his cock would feel around your perfectly pouted lips.

Bakugou’s hands gripped your hips tightly, his fingers turning white in the process while your flesh adopted a reddish tone in response. With the use of the pad of his thumb, he spread the pre-cum leaking all over his length, and so it began: the first inch. “One.”, it sounded more like an order than a statement, “...One.” you echoed, your response didn’t come quick enough to Bakugou’s liking, making you earn a harsh slap on your cheeks in return. Then another inch “Two.” , another faint sound coming from your lips “T-Two...”, yet another slap on your abused flesh. And so it went on, the process remained the same- another inch, another whisper escaping your mouth between sobs, another spank.

On the other side of the bed, Todoroki was stroking his own length at the sight before him. You were on the brim of tears, and Bakugou didn’t show any mercy regarding your current state. “I’m sorry, her mouth is going to be full soon, she won’t have room to count out for you.” Bakugou grunted in response to Todoroki’s taunt. His strokes became gradually faster, like a crescendo if you will. His other hand, however, was placed right underneath your jaw to give you some support and your mouth was already open in anticipation for what was bound to happen.

With his hand to keep your jaw steady, you welcomed Todoroki’s lenght into your mouth and he automatically let a groan as the tip of your tongue caressed his sensitive tip. You imagined how rewarding it must have felt for them to hear your own moans and whimpers because hearing Todoroki’s moan felt like a blessing to your eardrums.

Your tongue circled around his cock, your hand was pumping his length, and Todoroki wondered if this is what heaven looked and felt like. Your whimpers were hushed by the presence of his member in your mouth, but somehow, even these half silenced sounds of pleasure sounded even better to his ears. He felt his lids shut close under the miracle work of your tongue while his hand lingered in your hair to motivate you to keep going.

Bakugou, frustrated by this change of plans due to Todoroki’s own personal pleasure, slid the entirety of his phallus into you abruptly. The shock caused you to remove Shoto’s member from your mouth momentarily to catch your breath and release yet another whine before pleasuring Todoroki again. That came as a surprise to no one, not even Shoto himself, but Bakugou’s pace was rough and almost animalistic.

The sound of his testicles clapping against your flesh testified of the pace and yet, it felt so enticing. Bakugou was not so vocal, but he did leave his fair share of grunts as he buried himself into you more and more until reaching your cervix. It was too much, your core was burning, hell your whole body was on fire. The tears that threatened to fall had put their threat to execution, you knew you were close, the overstimulation was getting the best of you leaving you in a whimpering, trembling mess.

You continued to stroke Shoto’s length with your tongue, but his need to take control took over him. The same hand that rested in your hair suddenly took a firm grasp of your hair and he thrusted himself into your mouth and from there, his grunts became more repetitive. Truthfully, it was the only push he needed to bring him over the edge, the previous work of your tongue had put him under a spell. A spell he never wanted to wake up from. He knew what was coming, you felt it too but how the tip of his phallus was tickling your throat deeper and deeper.

Shoto didn’t even notice the small flames making their apparition on the blades of his collarbone, meaning that it was finally time for him to cum. He set your mouth free and hinted his length towards your chest, letting the drips of cum color your skin, and allowed the most magical moan to leave his already parted lips in satisfaction. “Love, look what you fucking did to me. You’re so beautiful, so beautiful with my cum all over you.” Your first instinct was to fill your lungs with oxygen, something so common yet it was cruelly needed. You looked through your lashes at Shoto with pleading eyes while he looked at you with a glimpse of adoration in his. His digit was carefully wiping the excess of cum leaking down your chin to place it right into your mouth. He could only stare in awe at the sight of you tasting him. He felt so full, and fulfilled. He was finally at peace, soaking in pure bliss.

The grasp Bakugou was holding over your hips became even harsher, which you though was impossible just a few seconds before. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.” He grunted, trying to keep his volume at bay by digging his teeth into his lower lip but it was all too much to be contained. He knew his climax was close, so close that he could picture it if he closed his eyes just for a second. Bakugou’s name fell on your lips like a forbidden prayer, his name had turned into the only thing you were able to say. “I-...Ah! Inside, inside, fuck, please...”, you felt a wave of pleasure taking over your body, a pleasure so intense, no word could have done it justice. Oh well, that was the sole indication he needed to hear before digging his nails into your sides, causing you to arch your back and bite the sheets, already preventing the cascade of whimpers from echoing in the room. “Fucking hell... Cum with me, now.”

With one last thrust, Bakugou came within you, his face was facing the ceiling as he came undone with you. His cum slid within you and in return, your body thanked him by letting your own juice flow all over his length.

Silence invaded the room. No more grunts, no more moans, no more cries. Pure silence inhabited by the uneven breaths of three protagonists who had just touched heaven by the tip of their fingers. Three victims of passion.

Bakugou pulled out of you, earning a whimper in return at the sudden feeling of vacuity. Your legs were shaking, and you secretly thanked every God for allowing you to stay relatively steady on all fours for this long and be able to endure the bestial-like pace of Bakugou. Needless to say, you were panting, you mouth was agape and you were crying for air. Your body immediately crashed onto the mattress, the soft feeling of the sheets enveloping your skin after reaching heaven made you feel as if you were floating on a cloud.

Bakugou and Todoroki shared a look, a small grin even, before crashing down onto the mattress next to you. You were unable to move, your mind was comparable to a wild blur as a result of your orgasm. A rush of words flew through your air but absolutely none of them was powerful and meaningful enough to qualify how you were feeling. At peace? No, not strong enough. Full? Nope, did not carry enough meaning. It was a unique feeling, worthy of all the praises in the world.

Todoroki draped an arm over your waist and left a trail of kisses upon the flesh of your shoulder, a silent way to thank you for allowing him to experience heaven in a rush. Bakugou, on the other one hand, was facing your back and allowed his index to draw invisible patterns on the skin of your back. Paradoxically enough, the silence carried more words and emotions than an actual speech. Until...

“So... Um, about the mission?”

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postmodernmulticoloredcloak · 4 years ago

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I would love for you to talk more indepth about the montage. To me it feels so off and weird. Almost like a parody? So many scenes in it are "funny" moments that just don't make sense in the context of an emotional overview of the road so far... (Like all the scenes where Dean is eating, Donna with donut dust on her face, Sam getting hit during the game show.) I don't know. Isn't the montage supposed to make me nostalgic, teary-eyed? This one definitely doesn't do it for me!

Here I am! Yes, I absolutely agree. The montage is Weird(TM). It’s kind of a tone rollercoaster. It’s very full of funny/silly moments, with some serious moments smacked in. And it definitely looks like... there’s something about it.

For an easier consultation I will reference the gifs I have made of the montage sequence here.

[Gif 1] It starts pretty much like I’d expect a Supernatural goodbye montage to start. The two brothers meeting for the first time in the pilot, a reminder of their childhood with John, their banter still from the pilot, a couple moments of them driving in the car in the first seasons, Dean saving Lucas in 1x03 which is the first Dean-heavy episode and also an extremely symbolic moment for Dean’s entire journey - just think at how Lucas as a mirror was still relevent during the “drowning” Michael possession arc. Everything feels normal so far. We’re starting from the beginning! Now--

[Gif 2] Interesting and weird choices start here. Them pretending to be high school teachers from After School Special 4x13 - actually a very iconic moment for the fandom, remember that post of Dean in shorts from that episode that you had to reblog when it came on your dash? (Actually I’m not sure if I ever reblogged it lol.) Dean celebrating getting young again from The Curious Case of Dean Winchester 5x07 (and Jensen showing off his agility). The two of them showing their FBI badges to Jesse Turner’s biological mother in 5x06. Dean mowing the lawn of Mary’s house in the Djinn dream and immediately after Jess and Sam kissing also in the Djinn dream, from What Is And What Should Never Be 2x20. Then Dean after killing the witch when he was under the memory loss spell, in Regarding Dean 12x11. Sam happy when they celebrate Christmas in A Very Supernatural Christmas 3x08. Them being “lucky” under the effect of the rabbit’s foot in Bad Day At Black Rock 3x03. Sam also happy in Baby 11x04.

Again the present, then the montage starts again with the water-related ghost from Red Sky At Morning 3x06, a Bela episode, and then Bela herself from her first episode, 3x03 again.

What do these moments have in common? Not all of them, but for many of them I’d say reality being manipulated. The Djinn dream, the rabbit foot, Dean’s aging, the Antichrist... and it’s not over yet. Also, them pretending to be teachers, agents etc - not “real”.

[Gif 3] The tone suddenly gets more serious and relevant to current events: Chuck in The Monster at the End of This Book 4x18 (eh). Death in Two Minutes to Midnight 5x21 (the first appearance of Death, while now we’ve had Billie’s last and a very short-lived new one), and then two major moments from Lazarus Rising - Dean emerging from the grave and finding the handprint on his shoulder. Crowley’s first episode, Abandon All Hope 5x10. Zachariah’s death in Point Of No Return 5x18. Anna from The Song Remains The Same 5x13, where she is the antagonist having been brainwashed successfully by heaven. Michael burning and Sam jumping in the cage with Michael in 5x22, then another moment from 4x01 (the brothers hugging after reuniting). A moment from The French Mistake 6x15 (reality fuckery again!). Sam in Frontierland 6x18.

[Gif 4] Reality fuckery continues with Becky marrying Sam in 7x08. Funnily enough, this is the peak of Becky’s obsessive behavior which she went to therapy for and grew away of - it definitely emphasizes how far Becky has come. Donna’s first appeance in 9x13. That iconic shot of Dean in Bloodlust 2x03 because he’s pretty. Charlie’s first appearance in 7x20 while she dances to Walking On Sunshine (relevant?), Kevin’s first appearance in 7x21 when he becomes a prophet (lots of firsts). Abaddon’s first appearance in As Time Goes By 8x12. Then there’s the first appearance of the bunker, in the next episode, a couple shots in fact. Then more 4x01, Ruby pretending to mistake Dean for the pizza man (eh). Then more present...

This section seems to be mostly “first appearances” - including Ruby’s s4 meatsuit, i.e. Genevieve’s first appearance.

[Gif 5] We suddenly jump to more recent events with Kelly and Jack in heaven in Byzanthium 4x08. Jack’s iconic hello from 4x16 Don’t Go In The Woods. Dean teaching Jack how to drive in 14x07 Unhuman Nature. But then we suddenly go from Jack things to something completely different on the surface: two consecutive moments from Changing Channels 5x08, including the iconic Nutcracker scene, and Sully from Just My Imagination. We are actually back to the previous theme: reality fuckery. Gabriel’s episode was about placing them in “television shows”, Sully, while real, is literally a child’s “imaginary friend”. And then... a moment from the cartoon part of Scoobynatural! It doesn’t get more reality fuckery than that. Oh, wait! Charlie and Dorothy going to Oz in 9x04. That’s a pretty strong contender. Dean being hit in the face by a fairy in 6x09 - also about a realm Dean briefly went to. And, in case we felt like we hadn’t gotten enough 4x01 yet, Pamela’s first appearance (her last, albeit a hallucination, was about the whole “How come you only want what you can't have?” thing).

[Gif 6] We continue again with a mixture of firsts and weird things. Ellen’s first appearance in 2x02, Dean and Cas in 4x18 (we saw Chuck from that episode earlier), Jody’s first appearance in 5x15 Dead Men Don’t Wear Plaid. Rufus in 6x04 Weekend At Bobby’s (not his first but a good episode...), Garth in 9x12 Sharp Teeth (not his first but the first in which he is a werewolf and is married... relevant to recent lamp events??), Missouri in 1x09 (her first appearance).

Then Gabriel from 13x21 Beat The Devil (an episode where he plays a trick on Lucifer) and Rowena from the same scene (in fact a scene where they’re flirting). Then Eileen coming back to life in 15x06 and smiling at Sam. Jo flirting with Dean in 2x02 - her first appearance, again. Funnily enough, she had been introduced as a love interest, but ended up being repurposed as a sisterly figure. Tempted to say it’s relevant in an ironic way. Mary in 14x11 Damaged Goods, when Dean has a goodbye mother-son moment with her. Amara in 11x09 Oh Brother Where Art Thou when she was looking for her brother. Then Lucifer in two different vessels (12x07 Rock Never Dies and 12x21, when Lucifer regains control over the vessel).

Then Metatron doing the find a wife make babies speech to Cas in 8x23! Relevant??? Dun dun dun. Then Ketch for some reason (the first episode where we see his face, 12x08 LOTUS).

[Gif 7] Then Jo/Anael in 13x13, another first appearance. (I cropped these horribly I should have cut them when the present happens lol.)

Sandwiched between two shots from the present, Dean Sam Mary and John having dinner together in 14x13 Lebanon.

Then we start again with Dean riding Larry in 12x11, Dean and Cas dressed as cowboys in 13x06 (mini pattern here...), Asmodeus with the archangel blade in 13x13 (insert meta about Asmodeus in Christian lore here), and the really intriguing “Intermission” shot from the play in 10x05.

[Gif 8] To continue a certain pattern we might be tempted to see, Dean eating piecake from 14x06 Optimism (an episode about a distorted version of romantic love), then Dean eating noodles from 10x13 Halt & Catch Fire (the ghost is a husband that passes on thanks to his wife). Dean after his dentistry session with Garth in 15x10. Meg from 6x10 Caged Heat (the episode with the pizza man porn). Dean and Sam investigating in 4x12 Criss Angel Is a Douchebag (an episode about growing old poorly). Crowley in 10x16 Paint It Black (that episode). Dean playing that game in 14x17 Game Night (the episode Cas calls for God, and when Mary dies - the one playing the game was God...). Sam and Dean getting out of the car in 13x05 when they visit the traumatized kid (peak mourning Dean episode...). Then we go into reality fuckery territory again with 14x15 Peace of Mind, Sam under the psychic’s control and Cas disgruntled about it.

[Gif 9] Mick Davies from 12x16 Ladies Drink Free, when he learnt a lesson about monsters. Dean geeking out about the Hatchet Man - so heavy with mirror significances - in 14x04 Mint Condition. Belphegor - Jack’s dark mirror - in 15x03 The Rupture, the break-up episode. Donna’s first episode again, this time Dean and she eating donuts. Dean, Sam and Mary hugging in 12x22 after the confrontation in Mary’s head. Kaia in 13x09 The Bad Place, when Jack uses her to find the way to where Mary is (Mary pattern?). Claire&co rescuing Jody and Donna in 13x10 Wayward Sisters. Dean in 1944 dresses as a sailor in 11x14 The Vessel. Baby nyooming in 15x11 The Gamblers...

Aaand more Changing Channels, the genital herpes ad. It’s almost like reality fuckery is a theme. Followed by Sam drinking the anti-cold concoction at Garth’s in 15x10 and the two of them outside the monster fighting pit in the same episode. Then Cas, Dean, Sam and Jack on a video call with Ketch in 14x09 The Spear when they talk about the egg to trap Michael.

[Gif 10] We stay in the same episode with the four of them heading to Michael. Then the four of them celebrating Jack’s return to life (after Cas’ deal with the Empty). More present, and then the iconic “we’ve got work to do” [trunk closes] moment from the pilot.

So: some of these moments seem like genuine moments you’ll want to put in a montage, but there’s a weird predominance of characters smiling and looking happy or goofy. It’s kind of... not exactly representative of the show as a whole, you know? There are moments that fit as, you know, iconic steps in the story, but surprisingly few, and many moments you’d expect to be in a “final” montage are blatantly not there. Several moments with, let’s put it like this, suspicious meta connotations. Moments that, well, we don’t know what happens in the finale yet, but smell like they might be relevant to future developments. (Metatron’s speech to newly human Cas anyone?)

What really strikes me is the amount of moments connected to reality being manipulated or distorted in some way. Lots of Changing Channels, fantasy elements of various kinds (the Djinn dream, Scoobynatural, Oz, the imaginary friend Becky’s wedding to Sam, the fairy, ...), them acquiring luck (s3) or losing it (s15), and so on. It’s almost like the sequence is telling us something...

Thoughts?

#anon #my spn thoughts #spn meta #spn 15x19 #spn

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anjuschiffer · 5 years ago

Text

Another One?

Feel in love with this idea and want to thank @chocolate1721 for letting me write it :D

Hope you enjoy it <3

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P.Taglist: @theatreandcomicfreak @damianette-is-life

Tags: @thestressmademedoit @purplejade24 @dreamykitty25 @mer-mel @maribat-is-lifeblood

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Heads up: Lian makes an appearance :D

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AO3

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“I’m being serious Bruce.” Tim said, rubbing his temples. “There’s a five-year old girl in the Batcave, right now, and I need to know where the hell you grabbed her from.”

“Tim,” Bruce softly said, placing his hands onto Tim’s shoulders. “When was the last time you took a break?”

He sure didn’t take another child in. After all, he would’ve remembered signing adoption papers.

With a scoff, Tim pushed Bruce’s hands away from him.

“I’m not hallucinating.”

Tim knew he wasn’t. He literally spent a whole half hour speaking to this child, finding out that she had magically teleported specifically to the Batcave, landing on his lap. He learned that her name was Marinette and that she was from Paris. Pa-ris!

“Sure you weren’t.” Jason said with a roll of his eyes. “So the coffee fairy from last week was totally real, wasn’t it?” Tim groaned, pulling his hands down his face.

“Why don’t you take a nap, Tim.” Dick suggested, guiding Tim to the library. “I’ll take-”

Small heavy footsteps caused the four men to turn towards the direction they heard them, seeing a fuming Damian sport a scowl, something being held away from him in disgust.

“Why is this small child in the Batcave and why is she playing with Batcow?” Damian roared, stomping a bit as he made his way to Bruce, a five year old girl hanging from his hand.

“Damian! That’s no way to hold her!” Dick scolded, taking the small child from Damian, cradling her in his arms, realizing that Tim was right.

There was another child in the manor.

“Father,” Damian snarled, Bruce taking a step back. “Did you take in another lion minion?”

Did he? He never remembered bringing in another child, nonetheless this beautiful tiny child that could easily pass for another one of his- was this becoming a problem?

“Damian, there has to be-”

“What made you believe that you needed another one?” Jabbing a finger to himself, Damian continued. “I am better than all of your other minions combined. I am enough. You. Do. Not. Need. Another.” Damian emphasized, letting out a growl.

“Seems like someone feels threatened.” Jason grinned, watching Damian point his katana towards him.

“Am. Not.”

“Sure you aren’t.”

“Damian, katana down. Now.” Bruce said sternly, waiting for him to put the weapon down.

“Not until he puts that sentence back into his mouth.”

Bruce sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose, watching as Jason kept taunting Damian, noticing that Tim was nowhere to be found and Dick was busy talking to the child, watching as her smile caused something to blossom inside of him.

He really hopes he did indeed adopt his ray of sunshine.

Walking past his bickering boys, who now are at each other’s throats, Bruce crouched down to the girl’s level, observing her features. He knew he said it once, but upon seeing her up close, Bruce really felt like he could easily pass this child as his newest addition to his family.

“Mari, this is Bruce. He’s my father, along with the other guys’ as well.” Dick introduced, Bruce noticing that Dick was speaking in French.

“Hello Mari. It’s a pleasure to meet you.” Bruce spoke, hoping his French was understandable. “Like my son Richard said, my name is Bruce. Bruce Wayne. What is yours?”

“Hello Monsieur.” Marinette spoke, fidgeting with the ends of her pigtail braids. “I’m Marinette.” Bruce watched as she frowned, lowering her head a bit. “I’m sorry about playing with your cow. I won’t do it again. It’s just that-”

“Don’t worry about it.” Bruce said, patting her head, feeling his mouth curve even more when she giggled. “You can play with her any time.” Bruce assured, ignoring Damian’s protest.

“So when did you adopt another child? Usually I would be the first one to know.” Alfred spoke up, Bruce wondering why everyone thought he actually adopted another child.

“She’s not,” a sigh. “I didn’t bring her. I didn’t know she was even in the manor. Tim had found her -not sure how- but he di-”

A growl interrupted Bruce’s explanation, the three adults turning to see a flushed Marinette.

“Why don’t we get something for Miss Marinette while we discuss how you-”

“I didn’t adopt another child Alfred.”

------

After munching on cookies and happily sipping milk, Marinette looked at everyone with sad eyes, pursing her lips.

“What’s wrong, Nettie?” Dick asked, Bruce thanking him for being the one to ask.

“I need to head home. Monsieur Fu is probably worried about me.”

“If that’s the case, allow me to take you-” Bruce started, stopping when Marinette shook her head.

Did she not want him to drop her off? Did she prefer Dick or Alfred? Did she not like him? What did he do wrong?

“No thank you. I can go by myself.” With a grin and hopping off the kitchen counter, Marinette bowed. “Thank you very much for the cookies Grandpere Alfred.”

“Glad you enjoyed it.”

With that, Marinette walked out the kitchen, a bright light seeping through the cracks of the door before it disappeared, everyone blinking at her disappearance before returning to eating the leftover cookies.

“Wonder if she got home safely.” Dick murmured, wondering how a child of her age got hold of a magical item that allowed her to teleport herself back home.

Bruce could only ponder, knowing that if he tried to search for answers, he wouldn’t rest until he found one. Although, something told him that he shouldn’t, allowing him to push the magical factors of this encounter to the back of his mind.

He only hoped to see the child again…

-----

And they all did, exactly a week later.

The boys were busy teasing Dick as he prepared for his date with Starfire, leaving Bruce and Alfred in the library. Bruce was finishing up his latest paperwork when shrieks and screams came from down the hall.

Forgetting his papers, Bruce marched down to find out what was going on, his eyes widening at the scene before him.

Damian was hiding behind Tim, Tim holding a clothing hanger as a weapon while Jason was fumbling to put his gun away. Meanwhile, Dick was on the floor, his suit wrinkled and his hair was out of its desired style. There, in front of him was Mari, her tongue sticking out as she adjusted Dick’s tie. She placed her hands on her waist once she finished adjusting the tie.

“See? Told you your tie was crooked.” Marinette grinned, finally realizing that Bruce and Alfred were at the doorway. “Grandpere Alfred! M. Bruce!” Marinette made her way to the older men, hugging the two of them.

“Marinette. What are you doing here?” Bruce asked, picking up the child. She was as light as a feather and was thin as one as well… did she not eat properly?

“I came to visit!” Marinette proclaimed, throwing her hands into the air, the Waynes knowing that this was the first to many visits of the tiny fairy.

-----

“Did you have to bring Lian with you?” Jason asked, eyeing the five year old girl who was currently running around the shop, Roy not moving a muscle as he finished up some final touches on the passenger seat he was working on.

“Her nanny needed the day off and I didn’t feel like looking for another one so I brought her with me.” Roy reasoned. “Also, I did promise her that we would go get some ice cream after this.”

Jason shook his head, smiling that Roy would forever have a soft spot for his daughter.

Taking the finished seat, Jason screwed it on, Roy hopping onto the finished bike to test it out.

As Jason put away some of the tools, he heard a crash, turning to see Roy and the bike on its side, Lian standing in front of Roy.

“Roy! We just-”

“Did Richard have a child around the same time I found out about Lian?”

“What? No! No, he didn’t.” Jason provided. “Isn’t that Lian that’s-”

“Lian doesn’t have blue eyes, nor navy hair.”

“Jay-Jay, who’s that?” The child asked, pointing to Roy. Roy looked at the mysterious child and then at Jason.

“Pixie?” Jason ran up to Marinette, kneeling to her level. “What are you doing here?”

“I got bored at home so I came here!” Marinette said with a chirp, her pigtails bouncing in unison with her voice. “Let’s play!”

“Pixie, I can’t right now.” Jason looked at Roy, frowning when he saw him recording him and sporting a grin.

“Why not?” Oh shit. There were the magical eyes and tears that Jason couldn’t afford to say no to.

“I-” Jason watched as Lian came into view, the girl blinked when their eyes locked.. “Why don’t you play with Lian? Lian, come meet Marinette.”

As soon as the two saw each other, smiles blossomed onto the two girls, quickly chasing each other around the workshop before disappearing into the manor, their giggles echoing through the halls.

“So she’s your kid?” Roy asked, laughing when Jason elbowed him.

“She’s my sister, you idiot.”

-----

Tim dragged his hands down his face, tilting his head back before facing forward again.

Just a few more minutes and then it’s off to doing the next thing.

He needed to hurry up and finish this stupid workload before the deadline.

After this, maybe he can do a quick patrol around the city before dawn… or at least hoping before dawn… when was the last time he checked the clock?

Fishing for his phone, Tim struggled to make out the large numbers in front of him. Was it a 3 or was it a 4? He couldn’t tell, nor did he care. It was still early. He can make the deadline and the patrol… right?

Become the new CEO, Bruce said. It’s going to be worth it, he said.

Tim doesn’t even remember the last time he stepped out of WE or the manor that wasn’t work related.

Tim reached out for his mug of coffee, taking a sip. But instead of being welcomed by the aroma of freshly made instant coffee, he was hit by the smell of cinnamon, Tim looking down at his mug, realizing that it wasn’t the one he had a few minutes ago.

A tug was soon felt at the sleeve of his sweater, Tim looking to see if it was Titus, knowing that the dog would come to him for late night pats. However, he was met with doe blue eyes.

“Come.” She spoke, pulling at his sweater.

“I need to finish this.”

“Come.” With a sigh, Tim followed her, trying to grab his things, but she didn’t let him.

She continued to drag him until they got to her room, Tim wondering how long they even had this room in the manor. He didn’t remember them having another sibling, nonetheless a girl.

He was guided into the small bed, having to curl himself a bit to fit. A mistake he would greatly regret.

He was now curled into a comfortable position, still feeling warm from the cinnamon tea and having a heavy blanket on top of him wasn’t helping. He didn’t know how -nor did he want to know how- but he soon drifted into sleep, vaguely remembering seeing the child also climb into bed, making sure Tim went to sleep.

Tim stirred, quickly sitting up when he felt pairs of eyes on him, grabbing a nearby book to throw, only to find everyone in the room, either grinning like madmen or sporting a smile.

“What?”

“You’re finally away Master Tim.”

“Finally?”

“It’s three in the afternoon.” Jason said, patting someone’s head, Tim noticing that it was the small child from last night. “Why are you looking at Pixie like you’ve seen a ghost.”

“You can see her?”

“What?”

Tim looked at everyone before placing a hand at his head.

“I thought she was just a hallucination.” Tim admitted.

“Tim, where have you been for the last two months?”

------

Everyone tried to catch up with each other as they made their way to their seats, Diana and Clark attempting to discuss their latest missions, Barry and Cyborg trying to talk about their latest interest, but everyone knew it was futile.

Rumors spread fast and everyone wanted to know the truth.

Did Batman really adopt another child? Did he have another ward?

Yes, they’ve seen the video that Roy sent everyone, but showing Jason softly speak to a girl that looked identical to Lian wasn’t going to cut it.

They wanted proof. Solid. Evidence.

Everyone went quiet when they saw Batman already seated, awaiting for everyone to join him.

“I thank you all for coming here.” Batman started, getting up from his seat, seeing that Aquaman and even Zatanna were able to make it. “I want to start with asking everyone to- what’s going on?”

Only two minutes into the meeting and he already lost everyone. As subtle as they tried to be, Batman could see various phones peeking over the meeting table.

“Say Batman,” Hal decided to start, using himself as tribute. “Already introducing your new ward to the business?”

Everyone watched as Batman stiffened, watching as he began to slightly panic, looking to his sides until he saw the person everyone else had seen, but him.

There stood Marinette, using his cape to try and hide herself.

He quickly got up and took the child, guiding her to the farthest corner of the room, away from prying ears (all but Clark’s that is).

“Marinette, what are you doing here?” Bruce asked, taking her hands into his, being reminded how small she was.

“I went to the manor, but no one was home, not even Grandpere Alfred so I decided to join you.” Marinette said, rubbing her eyes as she let out a yawn.

“What time is it in Paris?”

“Last time I checked it was 19:00.” Marinette said, another yawn being let out.

“Past your bedtime.” Bruce stated, scooping up the child. “Go ahead and take a nap. I’ll wake you up when it’s time to go.” Marinette modded, resting her head against his shoulder.

Batman continued the meeting without batting an eye, everyone wondering how he wasn’t getting tired from holding the little girl and where he even managed to find her.

They couldn’t focus on the meeting, their eyes on the small child that drooled on Batman, her sudden smiles distracting them.

Where did he even find her?

Then again, this was Batman. If he wanted something, he made it his goal to get it. Even if it meant having a new ward that was the epitome of pureness.

——-

Daiman frowned as he threw another stick for Titus to fetch, trying to push down his anger.

“Marinette this, Marinette that. Pixie Pop did this and Nettie did that!” Damian yelled, grabbing the stick Titus had brought back.

“Why are they so enthralled by that little lion minion?” Damian huffed, watching as Titus happily chased after the stick.

“She can’t do anything but lighten up the manor with her stupid giggles.”

Ever since Dupain-Cheng barged into the manor, everyone has been baby-proofing the manor, Bruce and Jason making sure to tightly secure the locks to the weaponry and vehicles. Alfred always had cookies at the ready (though Damian didn’t mind) while Richard made sure to have more toys and coloring books stocked up whenever Marinette would drop in.

It didn’t help that whenever Damian would join his father to the Watch Tower that people deflated to see him there, hearing the whispers that asked when Marinette was coming back.

Attempting to forget about it all, and focus on Titus, Damian frowned upon seeing his beloved dog holding the one behind his annoyance.

Holding her by the collar of her shirt, Titus had brought his owner Marinette. She was in the garden by herself, so Titus thought he should bring her to Damian.

After all, two humans means more hands that would pet him and shower him for being a ‘good boy.’

“What are you doing here Dupain-Cheng?” Damian asked, telling Titus to drop her.

“I made a flower crown for you.” Marinette said, offering him the object, ignoring Damian’s question which caused him to snarl.

“I don’t want your stupid crown.” Damian said through gritted teeth, throwing the crown to the floor, freezing when he saw tears slip down her face.

“Why don’t you like me?” Marinette asked, looking at Damian with glazed eyes.

Why didn’t he like her?

No, he didn’t like her, but he also didn’t hate her.

He just found her annoying, a pest, just like the rest of his siblings.

Siblings…

Damian looked at the tiny girl, crouching to help her wipe her tears.

“It’s not that I don’t like you.” Damian admitted, grabbing her hand as he rose. “I’m just getting used to having another sibling.”

Another sibling.

That’s why Damian was annoyed.

He was no longer the new addition, she was.

She was the center of attention, just like he was when he had first come to the manor.

Now it was his turn to help her get adjusted to the manor, although it seems like she was already adjusted to their lifestyle. It was him who needed to change,

“So you don’t hate me?” Damian shook his head, watching Mari give him a small smile. “Then… are we friends?”

“No.” He said, quickly regretting it as he saw her smile drop. “We’re family.” Her smile returned, twice as big, a giggle even escaping her.

They were family now, whether he liked it or not. Whether she was directly adopted or not.

She was another Wayne, whether everyone liked it or not.

Damian, for one, didn’t mind.

He had a sister now, someone to teach. Possibly his own student.

“Come now Mari, I think Alfred had made some cookies earlier.”

Another one who he can happily say was his family.

#maribat #maribat batfam #maribat little!marinette dupain-cheng #anju writes #damian acts like a child

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nagia-pronounced-neijia · 4 years ago

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w(h)ip wednesday

It's a surprisingly quaint little farm, the kind of thing some traveller from the far-away west might paint into his little journal and tell all the Belgians and Austrians and French about. Green hills rise up in a gentle roll, with occasional stones that must have tumbled down from God-knows-where, looking pushed up through the grass and the barley like crooked teeth. Sheep meander among the gray rocks, bleating occasionally to each other and munching on the plants.

As they step past the low wooden fence, Trevor spots a goat chewing cud in a pen. It stares disinterestedly at them, eyes gleaming with that peculiar mix of cunning and stupidity native to goats. If it was ever a person, their mind seems long gone, he thinks, replaced by a goat's determination to be the biggest pain in the arse it possibly can.

They keep going and find a yard full of chickens. Here chickens, there chickens, everywhere fucking chickens. Mostly roosters, judging by the wattles, which he finds odd, and when Sypha steps too close to a hen, one of the stupid cockerels jumps at her. His wings flutter, feathers flying further than he can, and he seems determined to murder her with talon, beak, or both. He makes the most insane noises as he does it, like metal screaming.

It's instinct to try and put himself between her and something trying to hurt her. Even something as small and stupid and surprisingly vicious as a pissed-off chicken. He raises his arms to block the pecks and scratches, glad of the fur-and-leather vambraces, thick enough that he feels nothing.

"Calm the hell down," Trevor says, and puts a boot to the bird, which doesn't improve his disposition, exactly, but does manage to make him reconsider attacking. "I'll do it again," Trevor warns him, and immediately feels like an idiot.

But the rooster subsides, sulky, glaring at them both with beady eyes.

And the cabin door swings open. The woman who steps outside isn't quite pretty, but she's striking. He thinks her nose might have been broken, once, and her hair falls loose around her shoulders in a riot of deep red that catches in the sun.

But it's her hands he's most interested in, and, just like every family book always said, they tell the real story to him immediately.

Her face may look youngish -- certainly only of middle years -- but her hands, too pale, have wrinkles and liver spots, a sure sign of a witch. The deep, nearly black bruising that extends from the nail to the second knuckle of her littlest fingers, however, is the mark of a witch who has embraced questionable magic, if not outright reveled in the foulest and blackest of workings.

Beside him, Sypha moves to wave one arm. "You must be Sârșe," she says, and he can hear that she's smiling.

The woman inclines her head. "I am. And who might you be?"

"I"m Sypha, and this is Trevor." She jabs at him with an elbow. He doesn't jab back, but mostly because he's trying to figure Sârșe out.

"Hello," he says, about a second after Sypha's pointy elbow makes contact a second time.

Sârșe watches them both. Absolutely no emotion colors her face. Even her eyes look flat and lifeless, no more interested in them as people than the goat had been. "What have you come to find?"

He sighs. "Oh, we found it already."

"Trevor," Sypha hisses.

But Trevor ignores her. "Look, we know you're a witch. Well, Sypha suspects. But I know. And I don't care about the whole," here, he makes a sort of quotation mark with the fingers of both hands, "'demons into chickens' thing. Not sure anybody should be eating those, but it's not my business."

The very furthest corner of Sârșe's mouth curls up for about a second before smoothing back down. Her gaze remains flat. "And what is your business?"

"I'm not saying I expect you to turn them all back, mind, because I know that's not how it works. But how many of your sheep used to be people?"

He's a little relieved when, rather than hotly deny it, Sârșe licks her lips. "All of them," she says, calmly, like she doesn't care at all.

Well, that explains at least one of her fingers. Hell, he's a little surprised it hasn't spread further.

Sypha's the one to step forward and ask, "Do you have any plans to stop?"

Sârșe stares between them for what feels like several minutes. It's probably not even a whole minute of its own, but it sinks its teeth into him and drags. Her eyes look like empty wells, endless and awful.

"No," she says, still very calm.

"Told you," he mutters to Sypha. "When they're this far gone, they don't really listen to reason."

That draws Sârșe's attention. She snaps her head to look at him. Something even darker stirs in her dark eyes, moving and shifting, and they bite into him. He doesn't look away, but he wants to, because eyes like those see, and the brain behind them judges, and men are always found wanting in a gaze like that.

Found wanting and then turned into farm animals. And then potentially sold at fucking market day, to be slaughtered and eaten. Christ.

"Do you think yourself such a hero, Trevor Belmont?"`

He lets out a short bark of a laugh. "I helped kill fucking Dracula, sure. But what I was really doing was helping a man kill his own father. What kind of hero is that?"

She repeats the question back at him, emphasizing it. "What kind of hero is that, Trevor Belmont?"

"No kind at all," he replies.

And, for the first time, she smiles. It's terrible and pitying. "Will you kill fucking Sârșe? And if you do, what will you really have done?"

Sypha fields this one. "We'll have stopped animals that used to be people being sold and eaten by those who once knew them. You have to admit that's grotesque."

"I admit no such thing. They know who I am. They know the consequence of crossing me. They know what I bring to market day. They choose to buy from me regardless. Their business is no business of mine."

God, witch logic. It's all perfectly factual, but frustratingly circular in a way he can't put words to. A sort of pure, unfeeling truth that leaves no room for honesty or humanity. Infuriating.

"Yeah, done with you, now," Trevor says, and draws the Vampire Killer. Consecration is little good against witches except in their hands, but the Morningstar would be worse than useless.

Where's a rowan branch when you need one? Not that there would be a single rowan tree on this property; they would have all died the first time she took a piss here. Hell, if he were half the Belmont that Sypha thinks he is, he'd have a fucking pouch of salt on him, and he doesn't. Their salt is in the wagon with their goddamned cooking supplies.

Sypha conjures a ring of fire, driving away all the chickens and other animals from the farm, and Sârșe's eyes widen for a moment. She looks between them again, gaze darting from Sypha to Trevor, trying to determine if the Belmont or the fellow magician is the bigger threat.

She apparently decides on him, because she flings an arm out and tries to drag him toward her.

Trevor, more used to this sort of thing by now than he likes, drops forward. He lets himself fall, and feels the grip of the spell break as his weight pulls him away from it. His hands hit the ground first, and he pulls himself into a roll, coming up on one knee.

He lashes out with the whip, half-turning to improve its force as he lets his arm flow then jerks his wrist. The line sings out, tip whistling, and the metal end bites into her hand.

Her finger flies away, landing with a sort of wet, useless noise in the dirt.

Sârșe doesn't even scream. She just looks between her now maimed hand and the finger on the ground.

"That was very stupid," she says, somehow wholly unbothered by the fact that he just tore off part of her hand, a part she probably uses pretty often. She raises the same hand, even as it bleeds, and makes a curling gesture with her remaining fingers.

Once again something grips him, trying to pull him closer.

When she raises her other hand, Sypha slides sideways, colliding with one of the wooden fences. It cracks with the force she hits it at, splintering.

He's not thinking when he sends the whip out again. It's anger that drives him to it, and this time, he gets her in one of those tainted, blackened littlest fingers, and Sârșe screams. At first it's just a gurgling sound of pain, thin and high, like any woman might make when a man reached out and hurt her because he could.

But then it turns to something else. Something thick and strange sounding, that scratches at his ears and the air around him.

"I name you worm, that crawls in the dust," Sârșe says. "I name you dog, that licks his master's hand. I name you cock, that lords himself over nothing. I name you buck-goat, that ruts and farts, and I name you pig, that wallows in shit."

Absolutely no imagination on the woman. He supposes whatever demon she serves, or made a deal with, or whatever, has probably long eaten it. "People have really got to find worse things to call me."

Sârșe laughs. "What a strange worry," she says casually. "But needless. You'll call yourself all those things, in the end, and worse." And she raises both hands, and this time, she really does manage to pull him in, mostly because he lets her.

Once he's close, she smears her blood on his cheek and smiles that terrible, pitying, dark-eyed smile, and the empty wells of her eyes stare at him, judgmental, even as he sinks one of his knives into her throat.

He pays no attention to the witch's body after that. Instead, he runs for Sypha. She'd fallen among the splinters, and he doesn't even think about kneeling, about passing his hands over her to feel for blood, for anything sticking out or misplaced.

"Are you alright? That was some hit." And fuck him, his job is to be the one taking the hits. He still hasn't forgiven himself for the scars on her upper arm from their fight with Dracula.

"I'm fine, I'm fine," she grumbles. "Help me up."

He does, splaying one hand under her back and supporting her under the elbow with his other hand. He hefts her up, taking most of her weight, and she stumbles a little as she rises. She leans heavily against him, and he lets her, wrapping one arm loosely around her shoulders. "You're sure you're alright?"

"I'm fine," she snaps, predictably irritated, and waves a hand at him. "Leave it be."

"Alright, alright, if you say so. And, well, she's dead. If we're lucky, some of these people might start turning back. Do we want to be here for that?" They probably should. He thinks his uncle would have. His father certainly would have.

#netflix castlevania #castlevania fic #wip wednesday #whip wednesday #trephacard #trevor belmont #sypha belnades #witchbottle

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aellynera · 4 years ago

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Calavera (Santiago Garcia x Reader)

(ok, so, it’s been a while since i posted my writing. it’s not that i haven’t been writing, but i’ve started like eight things and nothing felt completely right. so, yeah. then tonight, boom.)

CALAVERA (Santiago Garcia x Reader)

Word Count: 2120(ish)

Summary: It’s a day of celebration, in more ways than one.

Warnings: A naughty innuendo but nothing else, not even a language warning, I’m not sure what got into me. It’s all fluffy.

“Baby, hold still,” Santiago commanded, his hand lightly slapping your knee to emphasize his point.

“Sorry,” you muttered. You straightened your back, let out a deep breath, and tried to comply.

Your eyes were closed so all you saw was dancing blackness. The wet, pasty feeling on your face almost made you jump but you held your reaction down as best you could and hoped Santiago didn’t notice.

He had asked to paint you. Your first response, with a laugh, had been, “Like one of your French girls?” and Santiago swore if you ever made a joke like that again, he wouldn’t be painting you with paint. Then you had asked, completely (not) innocently, what the problem with that was and how exactly was that even a threat, which led to a half-hour delay in the original mission and another half-hour of showering and grabbing some clean clothes.

None of which you were sorry for, by the way. Not at all.

So, then Santiago asked if he could paint you for real. Your face, specifically, as a calavera. A sugar skull. Today was November 1, and for him it held special significance. It was Day of the Dead, Día de Muertos. And although Santiago was neither Mexican nor particularly Catholic, at least not in a practicing sense any more, he could hardly deny the day was especially significant for him, both in his past and, possibly, more meaningful now in his adulthood.

In his past, because of the memories associated with his parents’ celebrating every year. The altars and the food and all the magical colors that flowed through the air. And the skeletons. As a kid, those were always cool.

In his present, to remember all the family and friends and comrades he had lost. Those he had loved and cherished and would never be forgotten.

You were also neither Mexican nor particularly religious, especially not Catholic, but you could appreciate the meaning behind the holiday and were happy to celebrate with him.

So when Santiago asked, a second time, if he could paint your face, you immediately said yes.

Which is now how you found yourself in your home office, the one you shared with your boyfriend, with every single light in the room flipped on - we need proper lighting conditions, Santiago had insisted. You were perched in a swivel chair, your eyes closed and your boyfriend, perched in his own chair across from you, humming a merry tune and occasionally singing a lyric in Spanish as he did, in fact, paint your face with actual paint this time.

Quite a few minutes had passed since he brought a brush laden with wet goop to your face. “Santi? What are you doing, can I please open my eyes?” you asked, anxious to find out exactly what he was doing.

“Mmm, not yet, cariño,” Santiago replied. You felt a brush land on your nose, the tickle immediately taking hold of your senses as he began to paint again. “Keep ‘em closed until I say so.”

“Santiiiiii,” you whined, annoyed with both the feeling and his sentiment. A centipede crawling across your toes would be more welcome than the intense prickling under the bristles of his paintbrush.

You heard the amusement in his voice as he repeated, “Baby. Just sit still.”

‘Fine,” a huff escaped your lips. “I just don’t...why is there like an hour between what you paint on me, it’s not like we have mirrors in here so I don’t understand why I can’t open my eyes, and what the hell are you doing when you’re not doing things to my face?”

His brush continued its work as he considered your questions and answered them in turn. “Well, one, it’s not an hour, it’s like 10 minutes so I can let the paint dry before working on the next part. Two, because if you keep your eyes closed, your face stays in the same position and it makes this a lot easier and the end result much better.”

You made a small grunt of reluctant understanding at that.

“And three, I actually do have a small mirror in here, so I can work on my face while the paint on yours sets.”

“Wait. You’ve been painting your own face this whole time?”

“Of course I have,” Santiago replied with a genuine laugh. “It’s an important day. I’m not gonna paint yours and not have one to match.”

“I don’t even get how you can paint your own face, and why have we never done this before?”

“I’ve been doing this for years, honey. Well, I mean, I haven’t actually done it for a while, but it seemed like a good time to start again. Painting my own face isn’t that hard since I’ve done it so much, and I have done my own camo before.”

“I imagine this is a little different than camo.”

“Different, yes, but not necessarily easier. Just different. Now will you please stop talking and stay still, I need to work on your lips and cheeks,” Santiago said sternly.

Your breath snaked out of your lungs and you used every ounce of self-control to stop moving, but before you let your body go lax and still, you asked quickly, “Can you tell me the meaning behind the calavera again? I know I’ve heard it before, but...can you just keep talking? If I focus on your voice, it’ll help me stop squirming.”

“That’s not what happened earlier,” Santiago smirked.

“Santi,” you giggled, then tried to act as stern as he had been a few moments ago. “You’re not helping.”

“Sorry, mi amor,” he replied quietly, the brush now painting lines on your lips. He continued in a warm, slow voice that nearly put you under, but you fought off the insistent call of sleep.

“Okay, so Día de Muertos is when we remember and pray for family and friends who have passed on. The calaveras, or sugar skulls, represent those people. The large one are for adults, and the small ones are for children. They can be decorative, or edible, or artistic like the ones I’m painting on our faces. It’s a huge holiday in Mexico, and my family always celebrated it since we were Catholic, and I’ve always just really liked the artistry in the face-painting so I learned how to do it. Now let that dry and then I’ll do the rest of the design.”

You sighed and sat back. You heard him humming to himself again, presumably as he worked on his own face, and waited.

A warm vestige of sleep did take you under this time, and when you felt wet paint hit your forehead, you nearly went through the ceiling, almost springing out of your chair. You probably would have made an actual hole above you, but Santiago’s strong hands pressed you to the leather beneath you.

You briefly considered that hole wouldn’t have been a total loss. You wanted to put a ceiling fan in that room anyway. You tried your best to clear your sleepy cobwebs without actually shaking your head.

“Baby,” he chided.

“I know, I know, stay still,” you muttered, returning to upright.

Santiago shook his head, even though you couldn’t see him. “You’re lucky I love you.”

“You’re lucky I love you,” your voice remained a mutter.

“You know,” he replied, “I could paint, like, all of you. That would be really sexy.”

This time, you chose not to verbally respond and you kicked his foot instead.

“Ow,” he grumbled. “Party pooper.”

“Just finish the job, Santiago.”

“Yes ma’am.”

He worked in silence for a few minutes more, adding...dots?...around your eyes - as far as you could tell with them still closed - and what felt like teardrop shapes on your forehead, and swirly shapes on your cheeks.

Santiago finally made a noise, humming in satisfaction. “Okay, baby, you’re done. Now, just hang out like that for a few more minutes while I finish mine, yeah?”

“No,” you whined under your breath, making Santiago laugh. You laughed with him. He knew for all the trouble of making you sit still for so long, you were kidding, and he was grateful for it.

As you pushed your chair back slightly, you turned slow circles. You may still have to sit there, but at least you could do something other than just sit there now.

Mostly, you really wondered what Santiago was up to. You could hear him get out of his chair. You could hear vague rustling out in the living room, and then in your bedroom. You felt the change in air current when he came back into the office and hear several soft *fwick* sounds. You could hear his once-again humming voice, and noticed that his song had changed to…

That song. Your song. The song that was playing the first time you both said I love you.

“You can open your eyes now, mi amor,” Santiago called, a gentle whisper.

Gentle, flickering candlelight met your gaze first, the small mirror and your reflection in front of you second.

White paint was the backdrop on your face, with your eyes, nose, and lower cheeks blacked out, and black lines representing teeth painted over your lips. Purple dots ringed your eyes. A red flower and blue teardrop shapes graced your forehead, and various swirl patterns came down from your forehead and lined your cheeks. A red heart sat on your chin.

You had no idea your boyfriend was this creative and this talented. Another of Santiago Garcia’s hidden gifts.

“Santi, I lov---” you started, but then you noticed the third thing.

Santiago’s face.

Hovering directly above the small mirror, Santiago’s face looked mostly the same as yours. Same colors, minus the flower, more teardrops, and the dots surrounding his eyes were green, but otherwise, the same patterns. Except for the words.

Except for the words.

Above his right eyebrow, will.

Above his left eyebrow, you.

On his right cheek, marry.

On his left cheek, me.

You were pretty sure your eyes would pop out of your now-sugar-skull if they got any wider. Your lips parted but nothing came out.

Santiago lowered the mirror, tossing it onto the nearby desk. He sat back down on his office chair and took both of your hands in his. An eyebrow cocked and the corner of his mouth curled up before he pulled his bottom lip nervously with his teeth.

After a good minute, your brain reactivated. “Santi,” you started, “not that I have to think about my answer, but I do have my own question.”

“Okay?” his voice was still soft, and you could hear the slight waver in it. He really was nervous.

“Something tells me that’s not traditional Día de Muertos calavera design, so…?” you trailed off, cocking an eyebrow back at him.

He nodded. “You would be correct,” he smiled fully now, “but one of the really old meanings behind calaveras was rebirth into the next stage of life. And that’s what I felt when I met you and got to know you. I got to leave all the bad things I did in my past behind and spend all the good times in the present with you. And I want to spend them with you in the future, forever. You’re my rebirth, my next stage, my forever. So...what do you say?”

You didn’t stop the springing out of your chair this time. You pounced into Santiago’s lap, nearly knocking you both off his chair as you cupped the sides of his face. Part of your brain hazily registered that you were smearing his face paint, and your own with your tears running down your cheeks, but you couldn’t bring yourself to care.

Not even a little bit, not about that.

“Yes!” you cried. “Of course I’ll marry you.”

Santiago responded by pulling your closer and pressing his lips to yours, over and over, while his hands held your face.

After a few minutes, you both separated for air, and you couldn’t help the small groan that left your mouth.

“What’s wrong, baby?” Santiago whispered, pressing his forehead to yours.

You motioned between the two of you, and grabbed the mirror so he could see what you were talking about. The beautiful paint job he had done was now completely destroyed, colors mixing and smearing, like an artist’s palette that had been dropped on the floor and then stepped on.

Or a clown with very dubious make-up application skills.

“The paint. You’re going to have to redo all this paint.”

Santiago laughed. You were right. The initial beauty was gone, but something even more magnificent had taken its place.

“Worth it.”

~end~

Tagging: @anetteaneta @darksideofclarke @girlwiththemostcake @deeandbobbymcgee @itspdameronthings @rosemarysbaby13 @writefightandflightclub @spider-starry @yourbucky084 @iamthe-shadow-on-the-wall @veuliee2 (tag list always open - inbox me or comment if you’d like to be tagged)

#santiago pope garcia x reader #santiago garcia #oscar isaac characters #writing #fanfic

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rebeccatherine · 4 years ago

Text

Reconnaissance

Fandom: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Marvel Rating: Mature Characters: Sharon Carter (Marvel), Sam Wilson (Marvel), Arthur Parks Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Espionage Summary: Sam Wilson accompanies Sharon Carter on an undercover SHIELD mission.

Read on AO3 under the pseud rebeccavis or below.

Sam had offered to sleep on the floor. He said he was used to it from his days in the military, which Sharon understood; Steve had mentioned to her offhandedly before that his bed never felt quite right. However, on this occasion the bed was probably the safest place for both of them. As she had pointed out to Sam, they had a clear view of the window from there should they need it and, if anyone decided to check in on them, it would look a little strange for a doting wife to be alone in a king-size bed. Sam, after looking horrified by the notion of someone spying on him while he was asleep, eventually conceded.

“Sorry.” Sam’s whisper had been preceded by the sound of something soft hitting the floor. “Why do they give you so many dang pillows?”

Sharon chuckled. “I don’t know,” she admitted, “Rich people shit?”

Their backs were turned to each other and, even if they hadn’t been, Sharon doubted she’d be able to see much of anything in the darkness of their isolated cabin. She heard a soft rumble from next to her, though, and could see Sam smiling in her head. “Rich people shit,” he agreed.

Sharon supposed she was meant to go to sleep now. While she hadn’t served in the military, she’d had her fair share of sleeping in strange places as a SHIELD agent, many of which had been far less comfortable than where she was at the moment. Even so, this was maybe the first time she was worried about having trouble drifting off. Her mind was usually where she felt it should be: focused on the job and what steps she needed to take to ensure its success, including getting a good night’s sleep. Tonight, her mind was for some reason lingering on terms of endearment, unexpected compliments and arms wrapped tenderly around her waist.

She felt Sam’s weight shift slowly next to her and suspected he was turning over onto his other side. It was something she had been thinking about, too, although now it meant they’d be face to face, which would be weird. Or would it? She settled for rolling over onto her back instead to stare at the ceiling. Her eyes were starting to adjust to the darkness, and she could just about trace the outline of the wooden beams above her head.

“Hey, Shar?” Sam’s voice was soft, but so unexpected that she froze for a split second. “Can we talk?”

“Sam? Is my purse out there?” Sharon had raised her voice a little, hoping she’d be heard from outside the bathroom where she was putting on her makeup.

“Uh...yeah, I see it, baby,” she heard Sam reply, emphasizing his last word significantly more than was necessary, “Do you need it?”

“Oh, I think I left something in there, but I can…” Sharon trailed off as she heard footsteps in her direction and then a gentle rap on the door she hadn’t bothered to lock. “You can come in. I’m almost done.”

The door opened with a click and Sam stepped in, offering up a smile as his eyes met hers. She could tell there was a slight nervousness to his expression, at odds with how comfortably the bespoke dark suit he was wearing fit him.

“Almost, huh?” he said, his tone playful.

“Wouldn’t want to forget my lipstick,” Sharon explained, reaching over to take her small silver clutch from his hand, “Thanks.”

“Yeah, you’d look terrible without it,” Sam teased, to which Sharon chuckled.

Having reclaimed the missing item from her purse, Sharon turned back towards the mirror to apply the deep red shade to her lips. It reminded her of the colors her aunt had always been fond of wearing, perhaps even more so because, like her aunt once had, she was currently sporting brunette shoulder-length curls. Her dress, on the other hand - red, full-length, with a front slit and a mostly open back - was probably something Peggy would not have opted for unless she had also been undercover.

“Just to be clear - you look amazing, Shar.” She glanced over her shoulder at the sound of Sam’s words, then directed a grin at him.

“So we’re not going with ‘baby’?” she asked.

Sam’s brow furrowed. “Damn it.”

“It’s OK, you don’t have to worry. While you were out I put a bug killer in one of the lamps by the bed, so nobody’s listening in on us,” Sharon assured him as she turned around, “It’s good to get some practice, though.”

“I just thought ‘baby’ would be easier,” Sam explained, “I’m worried I’m going to forget to call you by your cover name.”

“‘Baby’ works great. I’ll go with it, too.” Sharon gave a nod to indicate she was ready to go, then emerged with Sam into the bedroom. “Look, I know this undercover stuff isn’t exactly your thing, but I promise you’re in safe hands,” she added, “Besides, it’s not like you have to put on a British accent or anything.”

“Thank God,” Sam noted, “I bet you can do a great British accent. You have family from there, right?”

“Yeah, that’s an easy one for me. My grandfather’s whole side of the family is British.”

“Did they teach you any fun British slang?”

“Plenty, but I’m pretty sure it’s all from the fifties so I’m totally out of date.” Sharon gave a small shrug of her shoulders. “You know my aunt used to call me ‘Shaz’ sometimes?”

“Shaz?” Sam echoed. His eyebrows raised as he shot an endearing glance at her, clearly entertained by the idea. “That’s amazing. Can I call you ‘Shaz’?”

“Absolutely not,” Sharon replied, though she kept her tone light.

“Noted. Although I make no promises after this mission is over and I’ve found the nearest place where I can get a daiquiri,” Sam noted, “You don’t have to join me, though.”

“Maybe I’d be OK with it under those circumstances,” Sharon conceded with a smile, “I do like ‘Shar’, though.”

Sam looked pleased with himself. He made his way over to the bed to pick up Sharon’s coat, which he offered to her. “Trust me, I’ve worked with you enough and heard enough to know I’m in the safest of hands,” he affirmed, “I just don’t want to get in your way. Do the photos look good?”

“Oh, yeah, they’re perfect. All you need to do is distract Parks and I know exactly where I need to go,” Sharon slipped her arms into the outstretched garment, shrugging it over her shoulders and gently tugging her hair out from underneath it. “Tell Redwing I said thanks.”

“I will,” Sam replied after a small pause, “So we’re in, we talk to the party guests for a bit, you go download the files, and we’re out. Pretty straightforward apart from the fact that our ride isn’t coming until tomorrow morning.”

“So unlike Maria to not come pick up her friends after a party, but what can you do?” Sharon joked, “I think we’ll be OK to spend the night in our luxury log cabin.”

“I can always take the floor,” Sam said.

“We can talk about that later. Let me give you your comm.” Sharon’s purse didn’t have room for much besides her lipstick and some cash, but the communication devices - one of which she handed to Sam - barely took up any space at all. “Is there anything else we need to go over?”

“I don’t think so. I’m glad we have these,” Sam admitted, then something seemed to occur to him, “Oh, I was going to ask you about ground rules. I wouldn’t want you to be uncomfortable, but I know we’re supposed to be married...I guess I don’t know how this usually works.”

“When we’re in the field pretending to be a couple we tend not to go overboard on public displays of affection unless the intention is to make someone else feel uncomfortable. Honestly, though, I wouldn’t worry too much about it. I trust you.” Sharon exchanged a small smile with him, and was glad to see he looked a little relieved.

“Alright, then, Mrs. Dixon. Let’s go.” Sam offered up his arm, which Sharon took as they made their way down the wooden staircase to the living room. “This is some really weird rich people shit, you know. What kind of person owns what looks like an English mansion in upstate New York and makes his friends hire out nearby log cabins with no cellphone service just to attend his party?”

Sharon laughed, partly because it sounded a lot like something Tony Stark might do. “I’m glad you got that off your chest,” she commented, “And you’re right. Unfortunately, tonight I think we’re going to have to deal with a lot of rich people shit.”

“Name?” The man at the entrance to the mansion was dressed as a butler and peering at Sam as if he was a curiosity, which gave Sharon a strong urge to kick him in the face with one of her high heels.

“Dixon. Sean Dixon,” Sam told him with a confidence that meant Sharon didn’t have to force a smile. She gave his arm an affectionate squeeze, having kept her own wrapped around it for most of the drive over.

“Ah, yes, and you must be the lovely Cherie Dixon.” The butler pronounced her name with a perfect French accent, so Sharon naturally had to correct him.

“Oh, it’s ‘Sherry’, but believe me, if I could say it your way I would,” she declared. The giggle she gave along with her words was fake but well-practiced, unlike the smile the butler gave her in return which was simply fake.

“If you would be so kind as to step into our testing area,” the butler instructed them.

Sharon gave a small nod which Sam mirrored, and the two of them made their way inside. Out of the corner of her eye, Sharon noticed that their ride - a chauffeured limousine that had been provided by the owner of the mansion - was still waiting in the extended driveway. She wondered what instructions the chauffeur had been given should she and/or Sam turn out to be mutants.

They had both been briefed early on that the party had a strict policy against mutants attending. It wasn’t a particularly new development; there were many, particularly those in power, who didn’t like that mutants could often hide in plain sight unlike most of the Avengers. What wasn’t clear, however, was how such policies were being enforced, and that was one of the things she and Sam had been tasked with finding out.

“Please give me your left index finger.” Sharon had been ushered along with Sam through the first door on the left, where a line of men and women dressed as old-fashioned footmen and maids were holding anachronistic devices that were roughly the same shape as a large calculator. She glanced at Sam, who just barely raised his eyebrows, then turned to the woman who had addressed her.

“Here you go,” she said, letting go of her companion’s arm to present her left hand to what she assumed was a lab technician-turned-maid. The woman clearly didn’t have much in the way of bedside manner, as she pricked Sharon’s finger with a needle without so much as a warning. She then instructed her to press the small drop of blood to a pad on the device she was holding, where a bright light shone behind Sharon’s finger before she received a reading.

“NO X-GENE DETECTED,” the screen flashed.

“Is that good?” Sharon asked, her eyes wide.

The woman who had tested her all but rolled her eyes. “Yeah. That’s good,” she said, then turning to Sam, “You’re up next.”

Sharon’s eyes darted around to the other would-be house staff while Sam was similarly tested for his lack of a mutant gene. The devices they were using were unfamiliar to her, and she could almost make out a logo on the back of them but not quite. For now, she just made a mental note to try to steal one of the devices before they left the mansion for the night.

“NO X-GENE DETECTED,” the screen flashed again, and Sam was also cleared to go out the door and back into the foyer.

“I feel like she drew way more blood than she needed to,” Sharon remarked, shaking her head. The needle prick didn’t really bother her at all and she’d had far worse injuries in the field, but Sam had been very quiet so far and it was starting to unnerve her how differently he was acting compared to his usual self. She hoped that she might be able to help him relax by drawing him into a conversation.

“Oh, yeah?” Sam’s response wasn’t very encouraging but he did offer her his hand, which she took.

“Maybe she was just jealous,” Sharon mused playfully. Sam had taken her hand in both of his and gently turned it over. “What are you doing?”

“Just surveying the damage,” Sam said with a hint of a smile, “You think she was jealous of your ring?”

Sharon had managed to almost forget about the 2 carat, heart-shaped engagement ring and matching wedding ring on her left finger. Sam clearly hadn’t, though, and she was glad he seemed to be settling into his role. “I think she was jealous of my gorgeous husband,” she replied, “You do look very good in that suit, baby.”

“Well, you look good in pretty much everything, baby,” Sam replied. Something about the way he was looking at her took Sharon off guard, and she was surprised to feel the back of her neck grow hot. Sam was apparently a better actor than she had given him credit for.

“Thank you,” she said, her voice coming out quieter than she intended at first. She cleared her throat and then added: “You’ve always known how to compliment a girl.”

“Isn’t that why you married me?” Sam teased. He let go of her hand and offered his arm to her again.

“One of many reasons,” Sharon replied with a grin. She accepted his offer and then nodded towards an open doorway that led into what appeared to be the living room. “Everyone seems to be heading in there and it looks like they have drinks, so I vote we go check my coat and then we follow,” she suggested.

“Lead the way, Cherie.” Sam managed a pretty decent impersonation of the butler from earlier, and Sharon laughed.

“Shut up.”

“Sher-ee.”

“Sher-ee,” Sharon repeated, butchering the French guttural ‘R’ sound as if she hadn’t had plenty of practice speaking French in her line of work.

“Eh, close enough.” The woman seated in a small, cream-colored armchair across from Sharon and Sam shrugged her shoulders with a smile, tossing her shoulder-length blonde bob. Sharon didn’t know too much about her yet but she did know that her name was Marie, she seemed to speak better French than Sharon did even when she wasn’t pretending, and - most importantly - she was their ticket to the person they were looking for. She seemed younger than Sharon, maybe twenty at most, and eager to make conversation. Sharon had spotted her chatting with the host of the party earlier, and all they needed to do now was get her to lead them to him.

“Didn’t you tell me your name means ‘darling’?” Sam asked, glancing at Sharon. They were sitting on a powder blue couch, his arm resting gently around her shoulders.

Sharon all but batted her eyelashes. “That’s what my mom always said.”

“Yes, she was correct,” Marie said enthusiastically, “From chérir, to cherish.”

“Like the Madonna song,” Sharon joked. Sam chuckled, but Marie’s blank expression suggested to Sharon she’d been right about the other woman’s age.

“Clearly your mother chose well,” Marie continued, “You make a wonderful couple.”

“Thank you. I feel like I can barely remember what life was like before Sean,” Sharon said, all smiles, “We’re a good team. He makes up for all the things I’m missing.”

“Come on, baby, there isn’t anything you’re missing,” Sam insisted.

“It’s OK, I know I’m not the smartest cookie in the cookie jar,” Sharon retorted, “But you, on the other hand...I’m telling you, Marie, you’re looking at the world’s next Tony Stark.”

“My wife likes to brag about me,” Sam told Marie, “I also love to hear it, though, so it all works out.”

“So you are interested in technology?” Marie asked.

“I’m working on starting up my own tech company,” Sam explained, “Cherie’s father is an investor and I’m looking for a few more.”

“In that case, you should definitely talk to Arthur if you haven’t yet. I know he’s always looking for new collaborators,” Marie said, “You know the mutant detectors that scanned your blood when you first arrived?”

“So that’s what they were?” Sharon mused out loud.

“Wait, did Parks provide the lasers they use in those?” Sam piped up.

Marie grinned. “Yes. He and Trask are hoping they’ll be able to make them available to the mass market soon.”

“That’s impressive,” Sam said with a nod, “Do you work with him?”

“Oh, no.” Despite Marie’s reply, Sharon could tell she was flattered by the notion that she might be involved in Arthur Parks’s company. Nice going, Sam. “I’ve just known him since I was very young. Arthur’s wife, Lucy, knew my father and when I was growing up he wasn’t around very much...the Parks practically raised me.”

“Well, clearly you’ve picked up a lot from them. I’m around Sean all the time and I still don’t really understand his work,” Sharon said with a laugh.

“I actually had been hoping to get a chance to talk to Mr. Parks. I’ve never met him directly but from talking to friends of his I really think we’d have a lot to offer each other,” Sam affirmed.

“Then allow me to introduce you,” Marie offered, “Trust me, it would be my pleasure.”

“Alright, Sam, I’m in the study. Clear your throat if our friend is suitably distracted.”

Sharon soon heard Sam’s subtle assurance over her comm, although she almost didn’t need it because she could also hear Arthur Parks droning on in the background. She felt relieved that she had only had to stand next to Sam and pretend to be interested in the man’s work for a relatively short time before, as she had expected him to, Parks had invited ‘Sean’ to join him and a couple of other men for a cigar. Sharon had then spent a few minutes in Marie’s company before excusing herself to use the powder room. Her companion had offered to go with her, but Sharon had managed to convince her that she needed some privacy when she implied that she might be taking a pregnancy test.

“I’ll be as fast as I can and keep you updated. Sorry this has to be a one-way conversation,” Sharon told Sam.

When she thought about it, there were quite a few things she felt as though she wanted to apologize to Sam for. This wasn’t supposed to be his mission in the first place, for one. The original plan had been for Steve to accompany her, until the discovery that more than a few guests at the party had ties to HYDRA had made it impossible for Steve to go incognito. Sam had the technical expertise to both help in the field and impress Parks, so he had been the natural choice. The world of espionage was far from Sam’s natural environment, though, and even though he’d been doing well so far, Sharon felt a sense of responsibility in making sure nothing happened to him. That feeling was coupled with a decent-sized amount of guilt that she would actually rather be on a mission with Sam than Steve at the moment.

“I’ve got to admit I’m a little envious of you, Dixon. It sounds like your story’s just starting and you have a world of opportunities ahead of you. I remember when it felt that way for me.”

Sharon rolled her eyes as she took her lipstick out of her purse and popped a concealed flash drive out of the bottom of it. She had little to no sympathy for the plight of someone like Arthur Parks.

“I do feel very lucky,” Sharon heard Sam’s voice say, “Now, don’t get me wrong, I’ve definitely had to hustle, but the hustle was worth it.”

“Hacking in now,” she informed Sam quietly, the flash drive now inserted into Parks’s personal laptop.

“Mmmm, and I’m sure having a rich wife can’t have hurt. I wasn’t so lucky.”

Arthur Parks’s use of the word ‘wasn’t’ gave Sharon pause. They hadn’t been given any intel on his marriage having recently fallen apart, although it was a little odd that his wife Lucy didn’t seem to be in attendance at the party.

“A word of advice, Dixon, although it’s probably too late,” Parks continued unprompted, “Always sign a prenup.”

Sam gave what sounded like a slightly nervous laugh. “I don’t think I need to worry about my wife.” Sharon was about to tell him not to be afraid to throw his wife under the metaphorical bus if he needed to, but a third person with an English accent spoke up before she had a chance.

“I think this one’s a lost cause, Arthur.” Sharon had heard the man introduce himself as Jonathan Wilson a little bit earlier. “You and your wife seem very much in love.”

“I really think it’d be hard not to fall in love with Cher,” Sam declared. Sharon noticed his ‘Cher’ sounded a little close to ‘Shar’, but hopefully nobody else would pick up on it. “I mean, you’ve all seen how beautiful she is but on top of that she’s so...brave, and talented, and just so competent…”

Sharon couldn’t help the smile that crossed her features for a moment, even if it quickly vanished as she realized she was listening to a bout of silence. Either something had gone wrong with the comms or Sam had paused awkwardly mid-sentence and although the latter was preferable, it still wasn’t ideal.

“...at making me happy, you know what I’m saying?” Sharon heard a few ripples of laughter following Sam’s joke, and she breathed an inaudible sigh of relief.

“Nice recovery,” she told him, “Alright, I’m in. Just keep doing your thing, but maybe don’t lean into the doting husband role too much. I don’t see so much as a picture of Athur’s wife in his study and it sounds like things got ugly.”

The conversation took more of a business slant again and Sharon was able to relax ever so slightly, continuing to listen while she went through the files on Arthur Parks’s laptop. She had always found it a little ironic that the objective of any given mission, like this, tended to be the easiest part. Getting in and getting out were usually the parts that you had to worry about.

“Looks like the intel we got was solid. Parks is definitely trying to build himself some kind of team, but I think SHIELD will have to dig deeper to find out what for,” Sharon informed Sam, “I’m copying the list of contacts and his correspondence. Lots of familiar names here, several associated with HYDRA...and Georges Batroc. Interesting.”

“Anyway, I’m sure you’re tired of listening to me by now. Maybe I can get my laptop and show you some photos of all the places Parks lasers have been used. Who knows, I might even give you some ideas about where they haven’t.”

Sharon stiffened as she glanced at the progress bar in the corner of the computer screen. “I’m not done,” she said after hearing Arthur Parks’s words, “Sam, can you stall him?”

“I...think I already have some ideas, actually,” Sharon heard Sam say, “Marie mentioned you were interested in music, and I…”

“Marie thinks she knows a lot more than she actually does,” Parks interrupted, “My wife is the music lover. Not that her taste in music is any good.”

“Marie’s just a kid,” Sam noted softly, “They always think they know a lot.”

“Not that much of a kid.” Arthur Parks’s voice was quieter than before and Sharon was having a hard time hearing him. “It’d be nice if she acted like more of an adult every once in a while.”

“Almost there,” Sharon said to Sam. Her fingers were hovering over the flash drive, ready to retrieve it the moment it was finished copying the files. “Just keep him talking.”

“Well, she has nothing but nice things to say about you and your wife, so it seems like you taught her something,” Sam said, managing to keep his tone jovial, “She said you practically raised her?”

“You seem to be very interested in Marie,” Parks commented. Sharon thought she might have heard the sound of a clinking glass. “Wilson?”

“Yeah?” Sam answered at the exact same time as another voice that Sharon presumed belonged to Jonathan Wilson did.

Shit. Sharon watched the progress bar creep towards the end far too slowly for her taste as Arthur Parks offered Jonathan Wilson a drink.

“Sorry. I thought you said Dixon,” Sam said sheepishly.

“Well, I was also going to ask you a different question,” Parks said, “You a Scotch drinker?”

“Sometimes,” Sam answered.

“Sometimes,” Parks echoed with a chuckle, “Where are you from again?”

“New York,” Sam replied, “City. The City. Harlem.” He clearly remembered his cover story but seemed to be having trouble keeping his nerves under control.

“Right, right.”

“Got it,” Sharon declared, “I’m going to close up here and I’ll come knock on the door looking for you.”

“There’s something about your accent, though…” she heard Parks muse while she stowed the flash drive away back in her lipstick tube, “Sometimes it sounds a little off to me.”

“I can’t pick up on anything...but then, I don’t suppose I’d be able to,” Jonathan Wilson commented with a chortle.

Sharon stood up after closing Parks’s laptop, making sure it looked just as it did when she had first found it. She felt as though she could practically hear Sam’s heart beating faster, or perhaps it was just her own. “Hey, don’t be afraid to change your backstory a little if you need to,” she encouraged him, “The easiest lies to tell are the ones with a bit of truth.”

“How did you know?” Sam said, feigning being impressed, “My dad is from Louisiana. I don’t even notice it most of the time but Cher tells me sometimes the occasional word slips out.”

Sharon smiled to herself. The door to the study was closed behind her and from there it was only a quick trip across the hallway to where she needed to be. Granted, it was quite a large hallway.

“I knew it,” Parks declared, “I’ve been to Louisiana a couple of times. New Orleans is a great…”

Sharon knocked loudly at the door. When Arthur Parks pulled it open, he was greeted with the sight of her with her hair slightly dishevelled and grinning from ear to ear.

“Can I help you, Mrs. Dixon?” he asked.

“I just thought I’d stop by to rescue my husband,” Sharon answered.

It was getting in and getting out that you had to worry about. Getting to the party had required a lot of planning, from SHIELD providing Sharon and Sam with aliases and a mission briefing to their conversations on the flight to New York. During that time they had also planned how they’d be getting out, but that plan hinged on everyone perceiving them as nothing more than party guests. To that end, what they couldn’t do was leave the party at the nearest opportunity. Rather than make more small talk, Sharon had suggested they head to the ballroom and she didn’t think she’d ever seen Sam look more relieved.

“So do you think I thoroughly destroyed your chances at entering into a business deal with Arthur Parks?” Sharon wondered playfully. She had to lean in close to him to be heard over the music, but that was easy to do when they were dancing.

“Oh, I think those chances are pretty much roadkill by now,” Sam replied, making her chuckle, “That’s alright. I think if I’d had to listen to him for another half hour I’d have lost my mind.”

“I wouldn’t blame you. It’s his loss, at any rate.”

“Sure is. For a successful businessman, he seems pretty good at losing things.” Sam lifted his arm and gently twirled her around while she barely hid a grin.

“You can spin me more than that,” she said, “I used to be a figure skater, you know.”

“Wait, really?” Sam closed the small distance between them as the song changed to one with a slower tempo, his hands coming to her waist.

“Oh, yeah. My mom taught me to ice skate when I was a kid,” Sharon explained, “Have you ever tried it?”

“No, I haven’t, but I always thought it looked fun,” Sam replied, “I guess it’s probably a bit like flying.”

“Well, I’ve never flown, but to me it feels a lot like flying.” Sharon let her arms rest around Sam’s shoulders almost without thinking about it. “I’m a little out of practice, but I still go sometimes. I’ll take you - maybe before rather than after we go to a bar for that daiquiri.”

Sam seemed to like that idea if his grin was any indication. “You’ve got yourself a deal.” He glanced over his shoulder momentarily and then leant in so that he could lower his voice even more, speaking softly close to her ear. “You just need to go on a few more ops with me if you ever want to try flying.”

Sharon was surprised not by Sam’s gesture but her own reaction to it. She’d seen him harmlessly flirt with other people before, especially Natasha, and she enjoyed flirting herself when the occasion called for it. The unusual part was feeling her neck grow hot and letting her gaze linger on his lips when he pulled back. “I’d like that,” she admitted, “You’re a good partner.”

Sam smiled again.

Sharon swiftly decided that she should keep talking, mostly because she wasn’t sure what she’d do if she didn’t. “Hopefully next time you’ll get to have a little more fun,” she told him.

“Hey, I’m having fun,” Sam insisted, to which Sharon raised her eyebrows. “I am now, at least.” Sharon laughed. “I do wish the music was a little better.”

“Mmm, some Marvin Gaye, maybe?” Sharon suggested.

“For starters,” Sam replied, a hint of suspicion in his smile.

“You know who probably would’ve picked better music?” Sharon said. She was struggling to keep a straight face before the punchline of her own joke, which she decided to attribute to a combination of both the high and relief from having completed a large part of their mission. “Arthur Parks’s wife,” she just about managed to get out before she burst into laughter, hiding her face in Sam’s shoulder. She heard him laughing as well, which only made it more difficult for her to compose herself, but at least she figured the other party guests wouldn’t think much of it.

“You’re a great partner,” Sam declared, then adding, “We’re good to stay here for the rest of the party, right?”

Sharon nodded, pressing her lips together to suppress any remnants of her giggles. “I did just tell you that I’m pregnant, after all.” Sam’s eyes widened almost comically for a moment before he seemed to remember the excuse Sharon had used to get rid of Marie.

“Of course,” Sam joined in, “We can name the kid Laser.”

Sharon had to cover her mouth with one of her hands to muffle a guffaw.

“Hey, Shar? Can we talk?”

Somehow, Sharon had a feeling Sam didn’t want to talk about the mission, which had gone remarkably smoothly, all things considered. The intel they needed was stored on the flash drive in Sharon’s purse, which was sitting on the nightstand next to something else they had also managed to bring back. Just before they left the mansion, they had returned to the testing room with an excuse about Sharon having misplaced her wedding ring. While Sam distracted the woman who had tested Sharon earlier, Sharon had managed to grab one of the mutant detectors and the staff seemed none the wiser. The only real concern now was the fact that they had to spend the rest of the night in their cabin, which meant if Arthur Parks or anyone else did suspect them, they would know where to find them. Sam was aware of all of that, though, and she would be very surprised if he wanted to go over what to do if they caught a glimpse of someone staring at them through the window.

“Sure,” she replied, her eyes still on the ceiling. She let out a small exhale before she rolled over onto her side to face Sam, barely able to make out his expression in the darkness. “Is everything OK?”

“Yeah. I just...I’m not even sure I should be saying anything, but...y’know, aside from almost forgetting New York was both a state and a city and being called ‘entertaining’ by some weird British folks, I actually had a really good time tonight.”

Sharon couldn’t help a small smile. “I kind of meant it when I told Marie we made a good team.”

“Did you mean it when you said we should go ice skating and then for drinks?” That question caught Sharon off guard, particularly in how hopeful Sam sounded when he said it. “It’s OK if you didn’t,” he added quickly, before she had a chance to respond, “We’ve known each other for a while, but we’ve never…” Sam paused. “Tonight, when we were dancing, I just felt like…”

“I felt it, too,” Sharon said quietly.

“OK.” She was starting to be able to see his face better as her eyes continued to adjust to the light, and she realized a smile was slowly spreading across it. “OK,” he repeated with a nod, “I’m kind of getting the feeling there’s a ‘but’ coming, though.”

“There’s a ‘but’,” Sharon admitted. His delight at the notion that they both felt similarly was already making her reconsider what she was about to say, but she wanted to be honest with him. “I’m not ready, Sam.”

“Ah. There it is,” Sam said. His grin vanished, as she expected, and he gave a small nod. “I understand. You did break up with Captain America. That had to have been pretty crazy.”

“Or, as my extended family likes to tell me, I’m the crazy one.” Sharon flashed a humorless smile. “I don’t...I’m not in love with Steve anymore, but that breakup wasn’t easy. It wasn’t even anyone’s fault, really, it was just...well, I’m sure the last thing you want to hear is gossip about your best friend.”

“I did just kind of admit to having a crush on my best friend’s ex-girlfriend, though,” Sam noted.

“I guess you did.” Sharon’s smile was genuine this time. “God, I wish we’d figured this out sooner.”

“I’ll take some of the blame for that. I was too busy staring at redheads.”

“And I was too busy thinking if I stuck around long enough Steve might fall in love with me.”

“Shar…” Sam’s voice was soft, and Sharon suddenly felt like she might have said too much.

“If you were just a hot stranger this would be a whole lot easier,” she joked, trying to lighten the mood.

“I’ll take that as a compliment, I think,” Sam teased back, “It’s OK, Sharon. Sometimes the timing just isn’t right.”

“I just meant that if it was someone I didn’t really care about, maybe I’d go on a date or two and it wouldn’t end well but it wouldn’t be a big deal. If it was you, though...I wouldn’t want to mess it up.”

“If it was you, I wouldn’t want to mess it up, either.” Sharon’s breath caught in her throat. “Can I...can I ask you a favor, though? If you do feel like you’re ready someday, and assuming you haven’t met anyone even hotter, can you let me know?”

“What if you’re dating Natasha Romanoff by then?” Sharon asked, not entirely unseriously.

“In that case I would like everyone to please give us as much privacy as possible,” Sam replied with a smirk.

“Wow, OK. She’s really your type?”

“Are you jealous, Shaz?”

Sharon couldn’t help but laugh. “Maybe a little. Is that OK?”

“Yeah. That’s OK.” Sam’s eyes had what could only be described as a twinkle in them. “You still haven’t answered me.”

“You’ll be the first to know.”

#SamSharon #Sharon x Sam #Sam x Sharon #Sam Wilson #Sharon Carter #MCU #Marvel #One Shots #Shasam

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seostudios · 5 years ago

Text

GEEK CHARMING: MARK LEE

pairing: mark lee x fem!reader genre: rom-com, fluff, angst, comedy info: high school!au, film-club-kid!mark, diva!reader, non-idol!au, mentions of other members (principle!sicheng, car!jeno, student-body-president!doyoung, film-club-kid!johnny, film-club-kid!jungwoo) synopsis: You are Yonsei Academy's peachy princess, having the best boyfriend, the most fashionable friends of mos, always updated with the latest trends in fashion. But you come face-to-face with your own personal creature-self-professed film nerd, Mark Lee, when you scratch your Holli crystal-embellished ROSANTICA purse. In exchange for her purse repair she let Mark film her for his high school popularity documentary. Reluctantly, you let low-class Mark into your A-list universe, and you are stunned to discover that nerds can be pretty awesome at times. However when your pro-claimed, boyfriend charming prince dumps you flat, your life and social status drops. Would you still win Spring Formal Queen at Yonsei Academy now? Will Mark win the Annual Film Festival? Could even you put together the pieces to bring back your happy-ever-after, with Mark 's help? warnings: swearing, mention of alcohol word count: 7.5k tag-list: @count-your-shadows @jimjamjaemin @minaczennie @renjunvinates @pervieve @rjoonie @marksrainbow@commentgirl @rarestgrace @08skrr @bangtanismylifw @traashytae @superheros-and-others @johnnysnipple @00-baejin-05

a/n: this is the longest writing piece i’ve written yet on this blog and it’s inspired by a disney movie?! behold geek charming starring mark lee. your local film club nerd entering the school’s prissy princess’s life but did that make her finally turn back from her arogant ways or did it make her more of a bitch!! >_< i’m actually so happy

"I'm proud to announce this year's Annual Yonsei Spring Formal Queen Kang-"

"Hello? Y/n? Snap out of it." Your train of thought quickly crashed as you direct your attention to the student body president, Kim Doyoung. "Y-Yes?" You ask, straightening your posture. "I asked if you are applying for Spring Formal Queen?" He put a question to, waiting for a response. Viewing as you turn to Sooyoung, who delivers you a pen, jerking it out her hand, you grab the clipboard from the plastic table in front of you, signing your signature on to the paper. Making sure your sign was large enough to cover most slots of the page.

"Toodles," You sang to Doyoung before you and the girls walk away. “Next!”

The three of you strut down the narrow hallway, Sooyoung and Yuna trailing behind you, "This year is going to be our year ladies," you look over on both sides to see them smiling wide grins enveloping onto their lips, as they stopped to walk at your pace, "Once I'm crowned Queen of the Spring Formal, it's guaranteed I'm the well-liked, prettiest and just overall the best here at Yonsei," you finish halting your steps at the door frame of the cafeteria. Looking over your shoulder, you make a gagging motion with your finger to the pack of hungry students. In front of you three, you decide to walk through the tables showing the two lingering behind how you'd win the students' heart if you already haven't.

Walking by a table with miniature stage set-ups, you see three students huddled together revising a script "Drama kids," You start "They'll be an easy vote seeing how they just adore my dramatic gestures," Making your way down a couple more tables "Film club nerds..." You start to roll your eyes coming up with a reason why they would vote for you. "You're like a movie star to them," Sooyoung quickly interjected watching as your flip your head to pose.

You stride down some more, "I can't believe you used to be friends with Shin Ryunjin." Yuna throws in as you walk by the stage crew table. "I know right," Sooyoung agrees. "It's a burden I carry, but at least I traded up to you two." You say earning beaming smiles on both sides.

"Y/n!" Someone called, skipping happily towards you. It was Jisoo. "I got bangs since you said they would suit me! I couldn't agree more, thanks!" She beams, "Of course, just want the best for you!" You smile, reciprocating the energy she gave off until she walks off to her friends. "See? People know I care. This will be a piece of cake." You said before stopping in your tracks to see, Jung Wonyoung; your biggest competition at Yonsei Academy. Yuna and Sooyoung see you as someone superior to them (right?). As a higher-ranked princess here at Yonsei you shouldn't let such a wretched thing like Jung Wonyoung get to you, especially with that tacky head-band she decided to pair with her uniform. But what good candidate for Spring Formal Queen would you be without a little competition, winning was a given but winning unopposed is an embarrassment. The girls notice your stink-eye towards the table and rather than letting yourself get angered in front of your girls, you oppose chatting in the most unaffected way you could muster up. "Whatever, we all understand who's gonna be crowned Queen, why let someone who pairs blue polka-dot headbands with navy plaid uniforms get in my way?" They hum in response as you two make your way to the popular table.

Yuna and Sooyoung took their seats in front of Jihoon, your lovely, amazing, perfect boyfriend, as you walked around to sit next to him. "Hi baby," He said, which sounded scripted but, you paid no attention to since he was your prince charming! His looks over-looking his flaws, you leave a small kiss on his cheek before digging into your meal.

You are finished your meal, getting up and walking to the bin to throw. On your way back you- BAM! Right on the chest, you are greeted with the expired milk the canteen provides having it spill all over your chest, drenched. "Ugh!" You cry, a boy in front of you with his lunch tray now on the floor, his hair scruffed up with a school-provided bow-tie. "You- You geek!" You bark as he is taken aback with his words, but he isn't afraid. "You are so gro-oss!" You shout emphasizing the word gross he's already tired of your shit and it hasn't even been a minute since your first encounter. Without hesitating he relates "Actually gross is one syllable-", "I don't care just go- just go read a book or something, you nerd!" You argue not wanting to hear what he has to say before marching away out the cafeteria.

The boy watches as you make your way out the commissary. He kicks his tray to the side, walking back to his table with a glint of annoyance struck onto him.

"Dark Victory of course. It stars Bette Davis, George Brent and most importantly Humphrey Bogart from Casablanca." Jungwoo said swiftly to the two geeks in front of him. Johnny, the only one of the three who could properly score a date with the popular kids started a debate on which film from the late 1930s to the early '50s was le Meilleur which is French for 'the best'. "Did you forget The Great Lie? Probably one of Bette Davis's only good films since she has co-starred with the one and only Mary Astor" He argues speedily. "Hello??" Nayeon says budding in between, "A Stolen Life will remain the best film from the 40s, 50s, and possibly forever I will and could go on about-", "Looks like Film Club's assistant president finally showed up," Johnny says cutting off whatever nonsense Nayeon probably had to add to their already ridiculous conversation. "Sorry, I got stuck in traffic with Yonsei's little princess," Mark says with an obvious eye-roll.

"Watch your words Markie," Jungwoo quickly told him. "Her dad-"

"Who funds 75% of the school!" Johnny added, Jungwoo turned to his side giving an annoyed stare before looking back in front of him to Mark. "Her dad who funds 75% of the school. Will ruin you if he gets notice of his daughter's uniform being spoiled with the cafeteria's milk from a film geek." He finishes sipping on his water. Nayeon turned to him, "He can get our club shut down within minutes Mark, watch how you talk to her."

"So what? Like they'll even come close to us." Mark scoffs, "They're like a whole new alien species." The two in front of them nod, but Nayeon is a little too distracted with the tuna sandwich her mom packed her. "You guys is it just me or is the tuna moving..." Nayeon says slapping Marks forearm softly to grab his, then everyone else's attention. Just before she did Mark's attention was already taken by something- or should I say someone else. "Hey Ryunjin," He quickly says waving towards the girl walking by towards the exit, she turns around to wave before heading out. That's where Johnny inquired, "Face it. You and Ryunjin" He brings his hands up and around to make an 'x' with it, "Never gonna happen." He says watching his shoulders sag slightly, "You've been crushing on her since what? 8th grade, and having numerous occasions to ask her out and not doing so. You missed your shot awhile back unless we had a time machine you and name are a no-go." He finished now invested in what Nayeon's sandwich was up to.

"I-I'd go out with you!" Nayeon says dropping the sandwich into Johnny's hands. "Look, I don't even have time for dating why would I even ask Ryunjin out? I'm cool with being known by her. Plus there's no way I'd do it now, the school board's Annual Film festival is only a little over a month away, I'm our school's candidate how do I mess up because I was distracted by some girl with purple highlights" He said flat-out ignoring Nayeon. "That's true," Johnny says leaning in, "And you are our school best shot at bringing home that huge ass trophy, what's the other prize again?" Jungwoo said agreeing before taking a bite of his pasta. "It's a summer getaway to a Hollywood film camp, I gotta win," Mark said signing the application forms he had in his pocket. "I'm supposed to be a cinematic genius, so what better to do than murder the competition and bring home a trophy after going on a getaway trip to Hollywood to better my knowledge I'm gonna be like the Frank Capra or Victor Fleming around here!"

Johnny grabs Marks's application form to read the requirements, "You have to document something and make it worthwhile..." He read aloud, "What's the documentary about?" Jungwoo asked, "I have no idea." Mark said before snatching the paper. "He has no idea...." Jungwoo whispered almost inaudible in disappointment. Mark writes down ideas on the back of the paper while discussing it with Jungwoo, "So," Johnny starts, "Wanna go out with me?" He said. "No." Nayeon answers strictly as if she was waiting to reject the boy who's attention was back onto her tuna sandwich.

"Anyway, I gotta go hand this into Principle Dong." Mark said witnessing the awkward interaction before getting up and leaving the vicinity

He was playing with the hourglass on his office desk when a knock on the door was heard. "Come in!" He chirped and in came a student. "Ah, Mark." He sang motioning the boy to sit down while he took his legs off the desk. "Came to finally hand me those application forms I've been begging your little club to hand over I see." He said noticing the paper in hand. "Haha, Yea," Mark said avoiding eye contact as he brought his hand up to hand the paper. "Can't wait to see what one of my star students has prepared for the Festival." He said opening the folded paper reading aloud, "A documentary about how lunch ladies keep old food fresh, and our bellies full," His voice started off strong going quieter word by word, looking up at him. "Yeah, you know how the lunch ladies always give us the same green looking sauce every day, or the same batch of oatmeal cookies from months back, every time we sink our teeth into it. It tastes fresh! I've always wanted to know and I think it'd be a cool thing to find out" Mark your blabbering, Is what Principle Dong wanted to tell him so he'd shut up. He didn't want a lame documentary about something to make his school look bad in to be put out in front of dozens of other schools. "Mark." He stops the boy, "Your artistic vision is lunch ladies?" He asked. "Yes, NO! But yes? I'm struggling I can't come up with a good topic that's not gonna bore students and teachers." Mark said. Mr.Dong could see how strongly Mark expressed his struggles with a mere school contest, he probably wants that prize more than anything. He knows he shouldn't help him, since it'd be unfair but he wasn't gonna let him put out something that can ruin his reputation. "Stop playing safe Mark. Challenge yourself by widening your perspective maybe instead of documenting lunch and stuff that you know will bore people and try going after something to catch their attention." Mark's eyes slowly open as he looks up to Principle Dong nodding understandingly "Alright I get it, I get it" He says before clasping his hands together. Mr.Dong sees his improvement and instead of picking another student to compete he can rely on Mark who's now being ushered out the room by him, "Now don't forget I need a new proposal by tomorrow." He said before shutting his door.

"Dude I know exactly what Mr.Dong was getting at," Jungwoo tells him. Their school day was over about two hours ago and now they were at their part-time job, at Yong's, a popular little cafe in the middle of a jam-packed shopping mall. "Something challenging...like I don't know maybe a certain diva you encountered during lunch?" His eyes lit up, looking over his shoulder to look at a grinning Jungwoo who flipped his non-existent long flocks of hair like he was the diva. "You're a genius!" Mark said now ecstatic, but quickly going back to his little stressed self, "No, but then how am I gonna convince her?" He said placing his hand up under his chin.

The bell rings by the entrance, which meant there was a costumer quickly brushing off crumbs from a cupcake he snuck in he turns around to see his proposal for the Film Festival itself. You looked different, you were wearing a pair of plaid pants with a tightly fitted black turtleneck, accessorized by dangling earrings, a heart pendant necklace and a simple gold chain. Your face was quick to cringe after seeing who was about to take your order, "Ugh It's you." You spit looking him up and down, he doesn't look too bad out of school you thought before handing one of the many many bags of clothes to your father's butler. "Here Minho, get a seat for us, please," You tell him watching him rush to one of the many empty seats. "Hi, Welcome to Yong's what can I get for you today?" Mark asked, tone sounding uninterested. "Shouldn't you be happy to see me? I am a miraculous sight for sore eyes," You said getting a half-suppressed laugh from Mark. "Anyway, I would like a grande green tea latte. one pump classic, nonfat, 6 enormous scoops of matcha, 195 degrees, and ABSOLUTELY NO FOAM." You finish, right before starting back up again, "And, I would like a venti caramel frappe with extra caramel drizzle." You finish finally reaching into your purse to pull out your (dad's) card. When you go to hand the card you see not only Mark but also Jungwoo looking at you, mouths open, jaws almost touching the floor. "Did you not get it? Do I have to repeat my order or something?" You say with a hint of irritation, "Ah- No. Sorry it'll be 15.50" Mark said averting his gaze from you.

After paying you, tell Mark, "bring it to my table will you?" before walking off to Minho.

"Dude go," Now's Mark's time to actually shine. He makes sure the drinks are perfect knowing ruining them could ruin his entire attempt. He strides along between the tables finally towards your booth handing you both your drinks. But Mark just stood there, you motioned with your hand as you would to stray animals. "Why are you just standing there, go do your job?" You said already bothered, "Nope, I have a proposal for you.", "Whatever it is, No." You said not even wanting to hear what he's got to say, "I'm gonna ask anyway." He said towering over you and you seated butler. "I want you to star in my movie for the Film Festival this year," You look up, surprised an obvious smile dancing over your lips. "What's it about?" You asked still not sure, "You! I'll have to document your lifestyle til the Spring Formal." Mark said. You bit your lip not knowing to go through or not, but it was a nice ego boost, having someone film your daily life, letting everyone know you got the best friends and most fashionable friends, a prince-charming and a purse worth more than your teacher's salary. Jung Wonyoung, who's also a runner up for Spring Formal Queen having the football team paint her posters and make pins but what's that compared to a freaking movie documenting your life...Winning this year is gonna be easier than expected. "Deal," You said, Mark, cheers a little too loud before bringing his hand out to shake, you reject kindly before letting him know "Don't look like a freaking weirdo at school though. We can start tomorrow at lunch," You finish before seeing him run off to Jungwoo.

Finally home being able to rest from begin outrageously gorgeous today you skip down to your bedroom, hoping into the shower then changing into a more comfortable attire. As of now you were in the middle of your bed doing some homework before the phone went off, it was a notification from Ryunjin, she tagged you in an Instagram post of you and her when you were younger. Your mom took that photo on the first day of grade school back when you and Ryunjin were inseparable. Mom died later that same year and it was heartbreaking but you were stronger than that you knew you shouldn't pity yourself, or have others pity you simply because she passed away, she wouldn't want you to be like that.

It was a brand new day and Mark was in the principle's office, don't worry this star is nowhere near in trouble when Mark hands in his proposal. "This is marvellous, I can see the growth Mark. Please keep me updated," Mr.Dong said watching Mark skip away cheerfully to lunch, where he'd meet you. Fridays at Yonsei were known as the only days of the week students didn't have to wear uniforms to school which often made them pull together a swagger (Johnny's words not mine) outfit for the rest of the school to see. Mark wasn't one to dress up on these days so today he decided to wear his black and blue striped t-shirt paired with black denim jeans, his black hair parted in the middle this time. He did not look like a film kid. He looked like he belonged to sit beside you, "Hey" you were busy opening up your lunch when he stood behind you with his camera. "Oh-" In all honesty, you thought he'd be wearing baggy trousers and a worn-out shirt but you were filled with joy to see him looking presentable to you. "Hey, sit." You said to him, "I'm gonna just cut to the chase and record..." He said fiddling with the camera for a minute too long, "A few rules before you point that thing in my face," you started as he lifted his face to see you, "Absolutely no filming my left side, no hanging a minute later after filming I need you out of my sight when I hear you say cut." You were strict but not so sure if you meant it. He gave you a thumbs up before clicking record.

"So, Y/n why are you so determined to be Queen at the annual Spring Formal" Mark asked zooming in and out for a few seconds finally focusing, "Because it ensures permanent popularity and I can't fall from my throne can I?" You ask, "Aren't you already popular?" He asked looking up from the camera confused, "Companies at the top of the list don't need to advertise but they do it because..?" , "They need to stay at the top of the list," Mark says understanding where you were getting at. "Exactly, it's not easy to be popular like me nowadays," You say placing your hair behind your ear, "So not easy being like Y/n" Yuna said, Sooyoung agreeing. "Girls not now, this is my time-" , "Actually if they wanna add something they-", "Being popular isn't something you can just fool around with, it's like royalty to us hormonal teens. It's not easy, I gotta live up to these beauty standards, and be on my A-Game whenever." You finish. Not knowing what to say next you smile at the camera hoping Mark would do something- anything but suddenly your knight in shining armor is here- Jihoon takes a seat next to you. "Oh Babe!" You say kissing his cheek; making sure it was on camera. "Only 10's can get date 10's like Jihoon, we're perfect for each other!" You express, but Mark snickers to the scene unfolding behind you watching Yuna and Sooyoung roll their eyes at that certain sentence. "Are you coming to my game today?" Jihoon asked, before noticing Mark. "Why is there a fucking geek near us," He barks but you quickly come to the save. "Ji, we went through this. Mark here is going to be making a movie on how I win Spring Formal Queen." You say, gripping his hand slightly so he could get the memo. "He better not show up to my games", "Never, just eat." You said as he glares at the boy. "Alright, and cut." Mark said before getting up, "Thank you."

"So...you don't have a job?" Mark asked filming you going through a bunch of clothes, you shake your head no. "You just shop til' you drop huh?" He asked amused at your simple lifestyle, "Of course, now don't come in here this is a school film." You said going into the change room. "Here she comes," You cheered (for yourself) minutes after changing into a short black skirt which was most definitely breaking dress code and a tight white long sleeve which had a deep cut in the back. Mark's mouth is slightly agape seeing you, you were gorgeous indeed he thought. "So tell me what it's like to be...." He trails off trying to find a synonym for the popular " Amazing? Well, there are levels of popularity, at the top moi, and at the bottom..you." You said giving him a grisly glare."Ou! Love these!" You acclaim to a pair of black heels, "Hate these." You say to a set of hot pink ones beside them. "I have two of these!" You declare cheerfully at a pair of white heels which shimmered with sparkles; definitely your style. "How do people get popular?" Mark asked, ignoring your admiration over ridiculously cruel footwear. "Well some are just born with it," You say then go in closer, covering your mouth in a whisper action, "But some gotta follow the diva's around for it." You said, clearly talking about Sooyoung and Yuna.

"Gonna try these on, out Geek," you said to Mark who was almost walking in there with you. "Oh- right sorry!" He said now moving over to your two (deemed) friends. "So, since she's not here... " Mark started getting the camera up to focus on the two, "Do you have anything about Y/n you can spill?" He asked, "Like, does your popularity only come from following her around," Yuna was quick to fire back, "We may not be as popular as Y/n, but we do know some secrets..." She trails off letting Sooyoung start. "Like when Y/n doesn't get her way, she has the biggest hissy fit,", "And Jihoon is only with her cause he likes the attention, you know to she makes him feel better about himself," Mark couldn't understand how your two announced friends were fundamentally spilling everything about you to an insignificant camera and film nerd. "Behold!" You squeal opening the curtains, to reveal your outfit (which admittedly, had Mark's jaw drop). You were some-what dress shopping for the Spring Formal and you saw this magnificent dress, a silk orchid dress which fell all the way down to your knees frilling at the bottom. The right amount of skin and the right about of puff! You thought; pairing it up with black heels, "God, I look fantastic. What do you think?" You ask the three in front of you, "You-I think you look great!" Mark said the camera to his side, "Film!" You shouted suddenly, as he ponderously brought the camera back up. "Ladies?" You ask the two behind Mark, "You look so good!", "Agreed." They say. The four of you voted to get smoothies before departing and you were ever so willing to pay for all four, "So popular people can't hang out with... nerds?" He asked filming you sip on the mango smoothie, "Of course we don't," He moved on, placing the camera down to take a sip out of his smoothie thinking there wasn't too much to embellish on, although you continue. "It's better that way, no interference. Why would a dime like me hang out with a nickel?" You asked oh so wisely which made Mark mumble a WTF. "See, if you two were to go out... The school would go mad as a hatter and it's not gonna end well on both ends." Yuna adds you look to her in the seat beside you, giving her a warning look to 'not talk this is my movie' as she sinks in her seat. Mark sees the silence as an opportunity to ask a question from his cue cards filled with questions that would have something engaging, after finding something to grab not only your attention but the audience about to watch this's attention, he springs the question on you. What if you don't win Spring Formal Queen? "What if I don't? That's not a question, of course, I will? If I don't my life will be over!" You said sliding your drink aside stressing the word over.

It was in the late hours of the evening and Mark was confined inside his bedroom, editing and stressing. How was this a high school documentary? She only cares about herself, 'fashionable' friends, and prince charming, in which two out of the three didn't even care about her. Maybe she's like this because of what it's like at home? He thought questioning about your at-home life was. Does she have a deep heart-aching past which makes her act like such a nuisance? Nah who am I kidding this isn't some movie. His night was mostly spent, under his blanket with a laptop screen shining into his eyes (probably the reason why he has contacts).

Saturdays were beach days. That's what Jihoon always said. You'd meet him at the beach where all the (popular) kids from school would go on Saturday mornings, not to sun-bathe but to attend the main volleyball matches would be held. The teams were unauthorized, but for the student's entertainment, our Yonsei's official volleyball team would pick Saturday mornings for a friendly event against Joongdong High. You texted Mark beforehand to meet you there which took him a minute to agree on, but only if he brought his friends, Johnny and Jungwoo. "Hey, you're late!" You tell the boy who's jogging towards you with his tiny camera, you look behind him to see a taller fellow, "And you brought friends..." You said uninterested and rather irritated, "I'm gonna help Mark, so you look extra beautiful today Y/n!" He quickly said chiming in; his effort in pleasing you was extraordinary. You give him a small smile before nodding. You look beside Mark to see a familiar face, "Johnny!" You cheer before embracing the boy, "Hey Queen Bee" He joked, as you slap his arm jokingly. You and Johnny's dads are business partners, which often made you two spend time together growing up so, in your world, Johnny was your only nerd. Mark just awkwardly stands the before Johnny scatters away with Jungwoo for soda cans, but Mark follows you. Mark was busy filming your little interactions with Jihoon before catching a glimpse of his Ryunjin. He thinks to himself, I can put the camera down for a second, before jogging to Ryunjin, who was getting a soda from the vending machine. "Hey," He said awkwardly. "Hi Mark, didn't come across to you being a beach guy..." She responded laughing at his getup in the hot climate. "OH, I'm just filming for Y/n." He stated catching 'O' shape form on her lips before they start talking casually. You back away, momentarily from the crowd to give yourself a little break, being gorgeous is a workout, you thought, before snickering. You look to your right to see Mark in the distance talking to a brown-haired girl, noticing the purple highlights, hidden between her locks, you realize it's not some rando, it's Ryunjin. I have to get him out of there. You don't really think before grabbing a spare volleyball to flinging it over the crowd to Mark's head. Running over you ignore the girl aiding Mark, "Are you okay? You look okay. We don't have time for breaks." You said sternly before grabbing his arm and sprinting as fast as you could in a pencil skirt and orange stilettos.

"God, your so lucky I was your knight in shining armour out there. Saved you from your utterly wretched flirting." You tell Mark posing for the camera he set. "Flirting? What, no. Why would I flirt with Ryunjin?" He demanded panicked that you might do something knowing you. "Oh please, your crush on Ryunjin is way more obvious than Wonyoung's fake gold." You said adjusting the skirt you had on. "Can't believe I used to be her friend," You mutter, which he caught onto quickly, "Wait, what?", "Yea, in elementary but look at us now, way out of her league, she's almost at the bottom of the list with her, 'I'm in a rock band' getup." You spit before posing dramatically.

You sit at the bench in front of the now, empty parking lot. Jihoon ditched you for 'pizza with the boys' to celebrate their victory along with the two friends who just needed to tag along for the sole purpose to tell everyone they hang out with the volleyball team during their free time. "Hey," Mark said sitting down beside you, "They left me and took my car." You say recalling Jihoon asking for your keys to drive to the pizza place. "Now I'm stuck here, do you have a car Mark, let's go somewhere." You whined quietly watching as Mark put his camera away, grabbing your hand to bring you away. "This is Jeno." Mark says, pointing to his Silver 1965 Oldsmobile, "He's getting old but isn't vintage a style you princesses adore?" He asked, chuckling before telling you to get in. "Spot on Film Geek!" You praise, before hopping in. You notice from the corner of your eye a group of kids from Yonsei walking by, you duck down, hiding from them "What are you doing now?" Mark asked confused, before noticing the batch walking down and taking a turn. "Okay Miss Popular, they're gone." He said a little insecure this time giving you a dry laugh. You notice from the corner of your eye a group of kids from Yonsei walking by, you duck down, hiding from them "What are you doing now?" Mark asked confused, before noticing the batch walking down and taking a turn. "Okay Miss Popular, they're gone." He said a little insecure this time giving you a dry laugh. The car failed Mark this time, and not wanting to break the already broken car he tells you "Let's bus it, this car isn't going to start anytime soon,", "What? No way I'm going inside a jam-packed van just for it to stop a block away from my place!" You argue. "God why don't you quit this diva act and just face were gonna walk back which is probably a little over two hours I know you won't ever do or take a thirty-minute bus ride which you should consider knowing your so-called prince took.", "What did you just call me? A diva? Hello?? I'm a star in your film!" You bark, now furious at the boy, "No. You are a stuck-up, arrogant, annoying brat who's in my film." He fired-back. No remorse at all. "You're-You're fired!" You shout. "No, this is my film you don't do the firing!" He said back, "Don't care, I'm the star here and I say you're fired!" You finish before he grabs your wrist, "Oh please I'm the only one who demands are going to be valid and I say you're fired." Mark finished walking away from the bus-stop down the street, leaving you alone and forced to call a cab.

Mark thinks he hit jack-pot, finally getting rid of you. "It's not too late to change projects right?" He tells himself on that gloomy Monday morning, combing his hair with his fingers in the mirror before going downstairs to eat breakfast. Here he was, eating a bagel in Principle Dong's office. "I'm afraid you can't Mark," He said towards the boy.

"Hello! Yonsei!! It's me your future Spring Queen! Y/n! You want to better the halls of Yonsei? Vote for me, I'm sweet just like candy!!" You shout, the crowd you have in front of you, this was your way of campaigning. "Out of my way," Wonyoung says, grabbing the mic, to advertise and get people to vote for her. As per usual, she one-ups her opponent; you. "Oh my god, Y/n thanks for the advice on flirting, I finally got Wooseok to go with me for Spring Formal," Jisoo said, from behind making you turn with a happy smile, "So I can count on your vote?" Her smile faded quick, she mumbles a little something, before stuffing her face with the homemade cookie's Wonyoung provided, quick to run away.

It was almost the end of the school day and you were stuck in literature recapping on how to write proper paragraphs before your end of the year essay. You notice a semi-familiar face, Nayeon. You know she and Johnny are friends, so she must be close to Mark, you thought. You were gonna ask her to ask Mark to meet you but you'd rather not bring more geeks into your already geek-filled life. You read her phone screen that illuminated brightly in the dim-lit classroom. 'The Fifth Element is having a showing tonight,' A group chat called 'Hollywood's Trash' sent in, Mark would definitely be there. Writing down on a sticky note the address provided thankfully you slip it into your binder focusing your attention back on the lesson, this time with a smile.

You and probably the only other person you'd allow in your bedroom with you is Minho. He's been your family's butler for a little over 25 years now and has been with since day 1. Aiding since you unintentionally fell and cut a mark after attempting to bike without training wheels to strengthening you with your mother's passing. Minho was with you when he dropped you off at the very, very empty cinema. "They're probably inside, just wait until it's over which is..." He looks at his wrist, to his watch. "Another 10 minutes," He gives you an assuring smile before reaching over to open the door. "Knock em' dead," He tells you, before driving off. You sit on the sidewalk ledge with a soda in hand, sipping on it here and there until you began to see people walk out. Standing up, you pat down your skirt and look for anyone that resembles Mark. You see a short boy, black-parted hair and a graphic t-shirt paired with baggy trousers. "Mark!" You shout, he looks behind him to see your petite figure run up to him, "Hey," He said confused. "What are you doing right now?" you asked him eagerly, seeing him turn to Nayeon, Johnny and Jungwoo. "Yong's, we are totally digging sugar cookies," Jungwoo said before Mark could open his mouth, you smile leaning in a little closer to the odd trio, "Mind if I tag along?", "No! Feel free." Johnny said, grabbing your forearm to drag you along.

"God how can you guys drink those dreadful things," Nayeon said watching Johnny and Jungwoo gulp down smoothies. You and Mark already finished your drinks a while back, "Nayeon you do know, smoothies have a health glow about them? They’re often a fundamental part of cleanses, and they’re ubiquitous at health food stores and health-centric restaurants. And the smoothie trend is still going strong. Workout studios serve them up post-class, dietitians preach their powers and fit celebrities tout their nutritional prowess. The fruits used at Yong's are fresh and have antioxidant and anti-inflammatory benefits with low-sugar, employee's here have also learnt to provide fibre, calcium and vitamins A, C and K they add dark leafy greens like spinach or kale. "Y/n what the fuck??" Nayeon said. You stare at her dumbfounded... Have you said the wrong thing? Were you wrong?

It's still the early hours of twilight, and you are still wandering with Mark and his friends, roaming around the lit-up town. "So, since when did you get so smart?" Mark asked. The two of you were walking delayed to get a chance to talk after your dispute. "What do you mean I've always been like this," You said, a little offended he thought that low of your academic abilities. He mutters a 'wow' before continuing "Well I thought pretty diva's like you only cared about popularity and crowns," He said poking fun at our egotistic side. You gasp before laughing, "So you think I'm pretty?" You sneakily stated which made the boy stutter like crazy, he couldn't answer back without the rosy tint on his cheek growing so you continued on with a little heartfelt apology in hopes he'd continue the documentary. "Look I was hoping you'd let me hire you back to finish this stupid film," You started smiling eye-to-eye hopefully, "You mean, I could hire you back?" He said. "Yes, whatever. Just continuing this- whatever" you pointed at him, then back at you repeating his vigorously "whatever this is.", "Only under one condition, you being a little bossy duchess is not gonna be happening, I like the cool nerdy Y/n I saw at Yong's," He said, which you quickly fired back with 'I'm not a nerd!' You accept your mini defeat against Film Club boy, letting him know you need a ride home before anything. "Alright, get in."

"Wha-What are you doing?!" Mark asked, laughing so much he almost dropped to the floor. You invited him inside after he agreed to drop you off at home. "Making cookies duh!!" You cheer, grabbing all the chocolatey goods from the cabinet. He's quick to pull out his camera and hit record, "Welcome to my Y/n's baking show!" You sang, adding a trumpet noise (with your mouth). "So, what's the new with you and Ryu?" You ask, sitting beside Mark diving into a very, very unhealthy mess you call a cookie, with Mark. "Nothing really, how are you and Jihoon." You sigh to look over at the spacious living room, Mark understands your silence and understands your having trouble in paradise. "How about I ask some of her band mates- who worship me. If they can ask Ryu to go on a date with you" You suggest to Mark with a soft smile. He looks at you, thoughtfully, "I got someone else on my mind nowadays..." He tells you with a crimson red colour visible on his cheeks. "I-I should get going now it's nearly ten." He says going to grab his things, you nod and walk towards the front door. Maybe some nerds are cool, you thought, before Mark went out.

3 weeks. You've spent the last three weeks with Mark Lee. Getting to know him, documenting your- I mean our movie. He's been warming up to you, and you've been less of what he liked to call you; diva. You've started flaking out on some dates with the girls, just to film with Mark, you two have learnt more about him through the movie nights you spent over at your place after filming. He's really cool and you're grateful you stopped clowning around to know him. Today you went over to Mark's place extra early since you wanted to give him a makeover. His dorky striped tees were getting old and you'd like to see him rock the nice clothes in his closet you knew he had. "Wear this, this and OH! Make sure to put these to use." You say handing him a pair of khaki pants, a yellow shirt, patch denim jacket and a beanie to wear. It was beautiful to see him actually clean up for once, he almost made you fall for his looks. "If Ryunjin doesn't ask you out, don't mind if I do," You said laughing "Aren't you too busy with Jihoon to look after me?" He said bluntly laughing before stopping to look for a reaction which was nowhere to be found, "Jihoon broke up with me because apparently, I'm a part of the geek team now!" You said chuckling, a hidden sadness underneath. "Hey, don't worry I've been a member of the geek squad for about my whole life I think we roll far better than rich snobs-", "Hey! Take that back I was one of them" You said punching his arm. "Don't worry you're good," He said laughing it off. To be honest his feelings for Ryunjin over the past few weeks have now shifted into distant memories after getting to know the real you. I think Mark's really been feeling lucky he's got you and he knows you're aware who he's got his eyes on now. You're parting his hand, in between his legs as he sits on the stool, his hands were sneaky to make their way to rest on your hips; you hum unaffected, but proceed to part it nice and neatly before ripping his hands from somewhere it shouldn't be.

It was D-Day. Spring Formal was no longer weeks away, it's hours. You had just recently gotten news that Mark's little documentary he's been making about and with you has won first place in the Annual Film Festival, due to this he had won the summer getaway to Hollywood film camp, which by the way, was exclusive. He was lucky, and he aspired and reached his goal like no other, you on the other hand... Let's just say Spring Formal Queen wasn't something you were looking forward to nowadays. But it did feel nice to win something at a party you didn't even bother to attend, you were too busy telling mark farewell at the airport to be at a function that was still being supervised by faculty. "Don't forget to text me, Mark," You tell the boy in front of you. Today Mark is sporting a red and black striped tee with an In The Row Leather Jacket (gifted by who else other than you!) and some dark blue jeans. "Can't believe you missed the fricken' Spring Formal to hang out with the film geek! Ah You really have evolved," He said standing in front of your hands reaching to nothing when he stuffs them in his jean pockets. "You make me sound like those Digimon characters you collect," You say ultimately making him facepalm at your words Digimon? Really Y/n? he thought before going into a fit of giggles, oh why should he correct you anyways you seem so cute."But no, I won't forget." He assures hand reaching out to rub your side. This time spent with Mark is something the old you would've retched at, but the current you? The current you are thankful, Mark helped you go back to your regular self, showing you that you didn't have to be some type of Barbie doll for some; what Mark called rich slobs. You were better than that now, and you had Mark. You've come to realize that Mark Lee isn't just that geek from the film club. He's above that. His place in your hear is indescribable. Who knew he would be the one to make your heart run laps from simple gestures. It's hilarious in a way, you'd be aggravated if he even came into your vicinity but now you'd be anticipating his visit.

"Mark," You start, watching his eyes light up at you call him. Your eyes meet, looking into one another's dark coffee bean orbs. Your gaze was sharp as if lined with shards of glass around the edges, his eyes. God, when your eyes met, you could see the glow in them, it was irresistible. That is when you finally realize, this newly discovered desire you found in yourself, is in Mark. He foresees your next moves bringing a hand up to your cheek, caressing it. "God, you're so beautiful," He whispers watching both of your arms trail up his torso to rest firmly on his shoulder. Leaning in, you finally taste his peach lips. His heart was racing, once he dipped his face down to you. He knew that once he places his soft pink lips on you, he wouldn't want to stop. Breaking the kiss, you whisper, "Goodbye, Mark." Hand raising to ruffle his hair, "Make me proud out there," You tell him, leaving a less-heated peck on his lips. "Thank you, goodbye Y/n" He wanders off into his designated area before taking off almost immediately pulling his phone out. Is he really that addicted to elec- Oh, your phone rings. He's calling you, "I miss you already," he tells you the moment you answer. "I miss you too." You tell him. "I have to go, my Uber is here." you bit your lip, the words tangling up in the pit of your stomach, should you tell him the eight letters you've been longing to? "I love you, be safe." You look over the crowd to the seat to see him, looking for you. He brings the phone up back to his ear, "I love you too- Fuck so much," It looks like he's been waiting just as long.

Let's just say your happy ending took couple wrong turns but it looks like you finally reached your destination, in Mark's heart.

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passionate-reply · 4 years ago

Video

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In this installment of Great Albums, we’re back to talking about albums nobody’s ever heard of! You might not know who Zaine Griff is, but you’ve probably heard of a guy called Hans Zimmer, and Zimmer is the real mastermind of this record: a masterpiece of New Romantic synth-pop made long before he made his name composing for the big screen! Not to mention contributions from Ultravox’s Warren Cann, YMO’s Yukihiro Takahashi, and even Kate Bush. Find out all about it by watching this video, or reading the full transcript below the break!

Welcome to Passionate Reply, and welcome to Great Albums! Today’s installment is going to feature an album that is most definitely towards the obscure side--but, like most of the more obscure artists and albums I’ve talked about, I think this one is every bit as good as the classics. Zaine Griff’s Figures is not only a forgotten album that I think deserves more acclaim, but also an album that, in many ways, feels like it could have been a huge success in its own time.

Zaine Griff grew up in New Zealand, and moved to Great Britain in the 1970s in the hopes of pursuing a career in music. His debut LP, 1980’s Ashes & Diamonds, would mark him as one of the many artists straddling the musical landscape in the aftermath of glam, in the long shadow of David Bowie. With keen visual panache, a suave way of slurring when he sang, and the requisite killer cheekbones, Griff fit in perfectly with the so-called “New Romantics,” as stylish and sophisticated as Visage, Ultravox, or Japan.

Music: “Ashes & Diamonds”

The real turning point in Griff’s career was his being “discovered,” so to speak, by Hans Zimmer and Warren Cann. Cann had already become a figure of some renown, as the percussionist for the aforementioned Ultravox. Despite his tremendous fame today, Zimmer actually had much less to show for himself at this point, aside from a somewhat dodgy stint in the Buggles. While geniuses in their own ways, neither of them were necessarily natural frontmen, and Zaine Griff seemed like the perfect missing piece to fit into their pop ambitions.

Even setting aside Zimmer and Cann, Figures is actually full of recognizable talent, and I think it may have the single most stacked list of album credits I’ve ever seen in my life! You’ll also hear contributions from Yellow Magic Orchestra’s Yukihiro Takahashi, backing vocals from Linda Jardim, who was also the soprano on the Buggles’ famous “Video Killed the Radio Star,” and a guest appearance by none other than Kate Bush. That’s really a lot of clout going around, which is one of the reasons I’m so surprised this album went nowhere. Anyway, that aside, the most dominant sonic footprint on display here is certainly that of Hans Zimmer. Zimmer is credited with producing the album, and his dynamic, expressive, perhaps “cinematic” work with digital synthesisers is surely the driving force behind Figures’s sound.

Music: “Fahrenheit 451”

It’s easy to imagine “Fahrenheit 451” is the thumping theme to some delightfully 80s adaptation of Ray Bradbury’s classic novel. Its theme of lustful but dangerous romance is a constant throughout the album, most notably on tracks like “Hot” and the haunting closer, “The Beating of Wings.” The song’s tense and dramatic mood is well bolstered by those soaring synths, courtesy of the Fairlight CMI. One of the most distinctive sounds of mid-80s synth-pop, the soft, breathy tones of the Fairlight hadn’t yet reached full saturation when Figures was made--Zimmer was an early adopter of this particular musical revolution. You might be surprised to learn that “Fahrenheit 451” only saw minor distribution as a single, exclusively for the French and Belgian markets. I think that sort of mismanagement on behalf of Polydor really shafted this album. Its lead single was actually its title track.

Music: “Figures”

The title track of Figures isn’t the worst song I’ve ever heard, but I do think it just might be the worst song on this album. With a strident, stabbing synth riff and a somewhat sparse and anemic soundstage, the title track is not particularly exciting, and also not particularly representative of what the rest of the album sounds like, with no indication of the lush and vibrant textures that dominate tracks like “Fahrenheit 451.” It also has less lyrics than the other tracks, and offers Griff little opportunity to demonstrate his pipes. Thematically, though, its imagery of wispy and mysterious personas, flitting in and out of substance in a world where appearance and identity are trifling and ephemeral, is something that resonates strongly with the album as a whole, as one might surmise from its title also being used for the album. “The Vanishing Men,” another song that easily feels like a better single than “Figures,” handles the same sort of subject in a more playful and upbeat manner.

Music: “The Vanishing Men”

The titular “vanishing men” are quite clearly the life of the party here, and in the world of this track, the insignificance of true identity is portrayed as an invitation to experiment and have fun with it--though not without a slight hint of danger as well. Perhaps it’s a good metaphor for the curated aestheticism of the New Romantic movement, decried by some as “style over substance.” New Romanticism really didn’t have much time left by the time *Figures* came out, being so strongly associated with trends in fashion that were on their way out by this point. Even Ultravox would find themselves pivoting towards more of a pop rock-oriented sound for their final classic lineup LP, 1984’s Lament. I can’t help but think that the changing landscape of musical trends is part of the poor reception of Figures, which is such a consummate New Romantic album, which basks in the full flush of the movement’s prior penetration into the mainstream. As stated above, “The Vanishing Men” is all about the glamour of mutable identity, but other tracks on the album seem to assign this theme a bit more weight, as in “The Stranger.”

Music: “The Stranger”

The titular character of “The Stranger” is described as “a stranger to himself,” but also “no stranger to anyone else.” This track seems to be more focused on the negative aspects of fashionable persona-play: losing the dignity and security of a true form, the people around you seeing through your charades, and becoming trapped in an existence defined by arbitrariness and artificiality. I’d also be remiss not to mention this track’s winsome pentatonic synth riff, which helps create a mercurial and ambiguous mood. It might be interpreted as a nod towards the rampant Orientalism of New Romantic music, which ran with the early 80s verve for all things Asian, and wasn’t shy about appropriating “Asiatic” musical motives like pentatonic scales to evoke mystery and wonder. Griff and friends’ use of such here is relatively subtle, though, and perhaps a bit more tactful than how many of their contemporaries approached other musical ideas associated with the East.

The unforgettable cover of Figures is as dramatic and infused with capital-R Romantic sentiment as the music contained within. Above the text relating the artist and title, which uses a V for a U for a touch of the classical, we see Griff splayed dramatically in a pond of lilies. With sharp makeup that emphasizes his lips, and a diaphanous, blousy top that turns translucent in the water, he seems to be the perfect tragic hero of some lost work of Shakespeare’s--complete with another flower stylishly pinned to his chest. As I mentioned before, Figures is an album that rides the wave of New Romanticism particularly hard, and I think its cover is yet another symptom of those sensibilities.

Speaking of Shakespeare, I can’t help but want to compare this image with a famous painting of one of Shakespeare’s best-known characters: Ophelia, by Sir John Everett Millais. Painted in the early 1850s, Millais’s Ophelia depicts the moment where Ophelia, driven mad by Hamlet’s romantic rejection of her, drowns herself in a river. It’s exactly the kind of story of wild, passionate, and doomed love portrayed on tracks like “Fahrenheit 451.” Ophelia is also associated strongly with flowers in the text, and features in a particularly memorable scene where she doles out various symbolic blossoms to members of the royal court. Besides the affinity of subject matter, even the composition of Millais’s work resembles the cover of Figures, contrasting its subject’s pale skin with the dark and murky natural surrounds, and emphasizing the drapery of their wettened attire. Ophelia is often considered the definitive masterpiece of the short-lived art movement, the “Pre-Raphaelite Brotherhood,” who, as their name implies, sought to recapture the intuitive, colourful, and emotive power of art created prior to the High Renaissance. Not unlike New Romanticism, the Pre-Raphaelite movement would crumble after only a few years, but not without leaving behind a trail of masterpieces that would continue to inspire future artists and admirers, far removed from their own time.

After the release of Figures, Zaine Griff remained involved with Hans Zimmer and Warren Cann, and, as the supergroup “Helden,” they embarked on an even more ambitious musical opus together: Spies, a sort of synth-pop oratorio about immortal Nazi super-spies falling in love in a futuristic dystopia. Spies is about as out-there as it sounds, and brings the flamboyant musical excess of Figures into a suitably theatrical setting. It’s also got nearly as star-studded of a cast as Figures, featuring not only Zimmer, Cann, and Jardim again, but also Eddie Maelov of Eddie & Sunshine as a mad scientist, and the enigmatic French electro-cabaret chanteuse Ronny, in the role of a super-computer with a sultry female voice. Griff portrays one of the titular immortal spies, known only as “The Stranger”--which, of course, begs comparison to the track of the same name on Figures, and prompts the question, to what extent was Spies already in the works when *Figures* was being written and recorded?

Music: “The Ball”

We all know the rest of the story for Hans Zimmer, who began working with music for film in the mid-1980s, such as the queer cult classic My Beautiful Laundrette. But Zaine Griff obviously never became a household name. Despite being finished in 1983, Spies never got to see an official release, as it was a bit too out there for a label to take a chance on at the time, and it would probably be lost media today if it weren’t for a vinyl bootleg that’s thankfully fairly easy to find online. Griff decided to retire from music shortly after this, and recounts a story of having walked past an extremely talented street musician, and having a sort of epiphany about just how hard it was to make it in music. After all, if a true virtuoso could end up busking on the street, how fair and rewarding could the industry possibly be? Disillusioned with the world of pop, Griff returned to his native New Zealand and got a day job as a golf instructor. More recently, though, he’s also released several new solo albums in the 2010s, surprisingly enough, and attempted to push forward into some very contemporary-sounding pop rock. The world is, of course, a very different place nowadays than it was in the 20th Century, and particularly in the world of music distribution, so perhaps it makes sense that our brave new world has room in it for someone like Zaine Griff to return.

My overall favourite track on Figures is probably “Time Stands Still,” which I think is perhaps the most accessible, pop-friendly track to be had on the album, and the one I would’ve released as the lead single had I worked for Polydor. With a big hook and simple, repetitive lyrics, it’s a true pop song through and through--though, if an artist releases a commercial-sounding album in the woods, and nobody is around to buy it, is it still really “pop?” Anyway, I also love this track’s delightful outro, imitating a skipping record to represent a freeze in the flow of time...though I admit it’s a lot less harrowing to hear when listening digitally! That’s all I have for today--thanks for listening.

Music: “Time Stands Still”

#music #great albums #album review #album reviews #zaine griff #new romantic #ultravox #warren cann #hans zimmer

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pixieungerstories · 4 years ago

Text

The Captive - 13

The crafters were nervous. Elly had taken over the space that had been for spinning with crafting books. Not just yarn related crafts, which they would have understood, but sewing, quilting and cooking too. Lashandra had organized Posy and Cloe to bring over a gift basket for Elly in the most insulting way possible.

“I’m sorry business isn’t good dear. But don’t worry! The community will support you! The town may be too small to have much of a food bank, but here are some things to help out.”

Elly wanted to kick the women’s teeth in.

She put all the roving on sale at cost and reduced her hours to five days a week instead of six. And she hired workmen to come in the night and build the partition wall between the yarn shop and the bakery. The stairs made the perfect division point and the trust paid extra for them to come in on a Friday afternoon and be finished by Monday morning.

That also meant the crafters were there when the construction started.

Elly felt a little bad for stressing out the nice old ladies, but the bitches three were ruining it for everyone.

Ben was noticeably worried but forcing himself to remain calm, so Elly had him over for dinner that Friday. She showed him the architect's drawing and the planning permission from the town. Ben listened carefully and poured the wine. Then he asked the question she was not expecting.

“What does George think of all of this?”

“What do you mean? The partition wall still has double french doors and is in keeping with the style of the house. He isn’t involved in the business. What difference would it make?

Ben stared hard at his wine glass. “Elly. The workmen are going to be here almost around the clock for the next two days. How are you going to be able to smuggle food down there for him? Nevermind visiting! Is George in solitary lock up for the whole weekend?”

Elly opened her mouth to respond, then closed it again. “It will be fine,” she finally muttered.

“Really? Because how comfortable would you be locked in the basement, alone in the dark for three days? I would be pretty pissed off.”

Elly pressed her lips together and picked at the nail bed on her thumb for a moment.

“Fuck it!” Ben announced. “George likes spicy food. I’m ordering from that Indian place. I’ll take it and my laptop down there. We can have guys movie night if you aren’t going to do anything.”

Elly still didn’t know what to say. ‘Hey Ben, George is trying to seduce me,’ wasn’t going to fly. Except, was that even what this was? He said he desired her, then promptly went back to what was normal for them. He hadn’t brought it up again and it had been over a week. “Now there’s a thought,” was the best she could come up with.

“How territorial is he?” Ben asked. Elly choked. “It’s just,” he started again, “if he isn’t too freaked out about people in his space, I would bring over a sleeping bag and -”

“And have a slumber party?” Elly asked, raising an eyebrow. “Will you be having half naked pillow fights while you’re at it?”

“Only if you join in,” Ben replied without missing a beat.

Elly gritted her teeth. She didn’t really like the idea of Ben down there alone with George. And it pissed her off that she hadn’t thought about how the construction would affect them while it was happening. She had been focused on getting to the end and had lost track of the details.

Nyx decided that her person’s moment of stillness was the ideal time to jump into Elly’s lap and demand affection.

“I don’t think your cat is growing, Elly. Is she ok?”

“What? Oh! Yeah. She’s fine. She is getting heavier. I’ve been using my kitchen scale to make sure. I just don’t think she’s going to be a big cat. Probably just as well, since she thinks she’s a parrot.”

As if to prove her point, Nyx climbed Elly’s shirt, ignoring the wincing as her claws pricked and settled in to hide in Elly’s hair. Elly sighed and took another sip of her wine. Nyx hissed at Ben when he laughed at them.

“Yes, yes you are a ferocious and terrifying beast,” Elly muttered reaching up and making scritching motions for Nyx to lean against.

“What does she think of all of this?” Ben asked.

“Nothing as far as I can tell. She has been riding around in my pocket at work since I got her and no one has noticed. I’m going to end up getting her one of those cat wearing things at some point.”

Ben nodded, “They have ones that look like Pokémon balls.”

“I was thinking more the Baby Bjorn like in that comic strip.”

“Oh my god! You are joking, right?”

Elly just smirked.

----

Dragon and curry sleepover was more work to set up than they thought. First thing was to talk to George. He hesitantly agreed. Then Elly moved the cat box downstairs. Ben brought over some sleeping bags and air mattresses. Then Elly had to organize a 50 foot extension cord to run the pumps to inflate them. Fortunately, the workmen had one and didn’t ask too many questions.

Ben went for food, Elly brought down a cooler and a box of wine. Then she had to explain the concept to George and put up with his disdain at the very idea. He let it go when she pointed out it meant they could stay down there longer.

Next was her string of christmas lights. That only took a six foot extension cord under the door and they nicely lit up the stairs and brightened the tiny room at the bottom of them. Elly had been aware of the space being much bigger than just a table and chair underneath the heating ducts, but the light certainly emphasized that this was only one corner of a much bigger structure.

“It’s like the Mines of Moria down here,” she muttered.

To her surprise, George burst out laughing. “Fewer orcs and goblins, but there is a dragon so more like Erebor.”

Elly just stared at him. George stopped laughing and held out his hands. “My claws tear the paper, but many of your predecessors have been kind enough to read to me. I was quite fond of Tolkien, but I believe the Ents were written specifically to annoy Lewis.”

Elly squeaked, then coughed to clear her throat, “What, uh, what did you think of Lewis?”

George shrugged, “Not bad but his religion was showing.”

Elly just stood there, frozen on the spot. George sighed and pointed upwards. “Did you notice the arches? In the 1300’s they called that fornication.”

Elly looked up. She hadn’t noticed before, but the ceiling was vaulted and carefully covered in mosaic tiles. “Who rib vaults a basement?” she murmured.

George snorted, “People with money. Come, treasure, you can help me move the table.”

Elly was prepared to let that one slide, it was starting to grow on her.

She was not prepared to deal with the table. “I have a couple of questions. How many people are you expecting that you think we need a table that big and how the hell do you expect me to help move that monstrosity?”

George was suddenly absolutely still. Elly hadn’t really noticed how some part of him was always moving, even if it was just his tail twitching until it wasn’t.

“It is the table that I have. Based on Ben’s description of the food, you won’t be eating it sitting on the floor.”

“I’m sorry,” Elly said softly. “That was rude.”

George nodded.

“I have a card table we could use,” she suggested. “Or maybe … do you have a large footstool or a flat topped chest?”

He looked at her with narrowed eyes. “A treasure chest?”

“Well, I was thinking more like a steamer trunk.”

“That I have.”

----

Ben came back with enough food to feed an army, a second cooler, this one full of beer, two sleeping bags and a box full of random blankets. He also brought his laptop, a small projector and a roll of duct tape. The tape plus a white sheet made a good enough screen, and the workmen weren’t getting their extension cord back.

Ben was spreading the food out on the impromptu table when he asked, “Did you pick out a movie yet?”

“How about Lord of the Rings?” Elly suggested. “It’s long enough to keep us busy for most of the weekend.”

Ben laughed, “It is if we watch The Hobbit first.”

“I should save room for popcorn,” Elly mused.

“You should, but will you?”

“Not a chance,” she replied with a grin.

“I am not following this conversation,” George said flatly.

“You said you liked Tolkien. They made movies of The Hobbit and Lord of the Rings,” Elly explained.

George considered this. “I have seen 8mm films before. The picture moves, but the people do not speak.”

Ben grinned, “You watched silent films?”

“He might mean home movies. Was it Ann who you watched movies with?” Elly asked politely.

“Yes. Her family would send her films of them,” the dragon explained cautiously.

“The technology has changed a bit since then,” Elly was trying to be diplomatic.

George snorted, “As it is wont to do.”

#fuck tagging #I'm rubbish at it #This tumblr is only chapters anyway

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