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downtonabbeyrevisited · 3 years ago

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Season Two Episode Three

Conversion of the Abbey into a convalescent home for Officers is underway, ushering in a territorial battle that at times makes what is going on on the other side of the channel look like a mere scuffle. With the chain of command yet to be set, the floor is open for some of the best Isobel v. Cora v. Violet action that Downton has to offer. However, Isobel’s hostile takeover is slowed by a combination of O’Brien’s Machiavellian urges and Robert’s love of hierarchy. O’Brien tees up Thomas to take charge of Downton and coaxes him into the fray as he leans on an archway smoking his way into a wide variety of lung problems in later life. In an almost implausible about face (the key word for King Julian here is almost), Robert, Major Clarkson and Carson agree that Corpral Barrow is now trustworthy(ish), should be bumped up to the rank of Acting Sargent and be allowed to use the front door (although Carson remains unsure about the last bit). With Thomas in place and Major Clarkson at the hospital, Robert is on the hunt for another “tier” having looked at this microcosm of society and decided that there was not enough division. Evelyn Napier’s request to stay at Downton prompts Major Clarkson to enact border controls that would make Priti Patel look on in envy and neatly demonstrates the bind in which the Crawleys now find themselves. It is perhaps fitting, if predicable, that by the end of the episode Isobel and Cora are to share responsibility for Downton in what will remain the worst coalition of all time until 2015 when Cadbury will get together with Vegemite. Look it up. Trust me, it was rank.

Having an equally tense episode is Lavina who, fresh from behind manhandled behind the laurels, is now under Rosamund’s microscope with Violet declaring her to be an object to be removed which is a bit harsh even for her. It is rumoured that Lavinia stole secrets from her Uncle for Richard Carlisle to publish as part of his uncovering of the Marconi Scandal, a historical event whose name is said loudly and clearly at least three times so that we can all Google it in the ad-break. Sensing a potential weakness, the Crawley women (who I am resisting the urge to call Robert’s Angels) dig deeper as Mary hunts out Lavinia to give her the third degree. Lavinia admits that she did start the uncovering of the scandal but not in the pursuit of a transparent and accountable government. Instead it was to save her father from financial ruin. And all of her sudden, in exposing corruption and hypocrisy just to save her own skin she has gone from being a Department of Health and Social Care security guard to Dominic Cummings.

Violet’s concerns about the potential carnage that mixing ranks could let loose are not unfounded as Major Bryant confuses the Abbey with the Villa and Ethel takes one look at him and thinks “He’s a little bit of me”. Sadly/fortunately Ethel’s tucking in of Major Bryant’s blankets is halted by Mrs Hughes before Laura Whitmore can ask everyone to gather around the fire pit.

Apparently more romantically reticent than Bryant is Bates, who has taken to hiding behind a tree in the Village on Wednesdays just to catch a glimpse of Anna, demonstrating a behaviour pattern that does not throw up any red flags at all. Richard Carlises’ network of spies find him in a pub in Kirkbymoorside which Anna describes as “odd” despite the fact that of all the things he has done (or is about to do) in this episode, let alone the Downton Abbey canon as a whole, this is definitely the most sensible decision he has made. It means he does not have to navigate the staircases that formed a fair amount of his plot in the previous season for a start. Rather than leave him be, Anna takes an alarmingly shiny bus to an almost forensically clean pub where she orders what turns out to be a very horrific looking glass of cider from an eternally conflicted Bates. Bates tells Anna his plan to divorce Vera and declares that he does not care about gender discrimination in the law. In return Anna shows off her attempt at using this week’s bit of new technology, the curling iron. Asked for his opinion, Bates replies that he would love Anna “however, whatever, wherever”, cleverly avoiding the question in a way that simultaneously shows the depth of his amour but also indicates that he thinks it’s hideous.

Edith finds herself lacking purpose and direction like most people in their mid-twenties. Sybil, the annoying over-achieving younger sibling, tells her to work out what she is good at which turns out to be being a scribe, and getting books and carcinogenic substances for Officers. Edith’s quiet industry enables her to gain a good working knowledge of all the key protagonists on General Strutt’s tour which earns her a toast at Lunch. For Edith, this is the equivalent of getting an M.B.E.

Another character looking to take advantage of General Strutt’s sojourn is Branson whose plans to be a conscientious objector are scuppered by a heart murmur. His flair for the dramatic takes him to the courtyard of deceit (a location looking to form an alliance with the tree of emotional conflict and the platform of romantic uncertainty) where he polishes headlamps and gathers intel about the impending visit. The lack of footmen leaves an opening for Branson to cause if not the downfall, certainly the minor humiliation, of the British Army. A cryptic “forgive me” note prompts some some Blair Witch style camera work to underline the sense of urgency as Anna pelts it downstairs. The costume department breathe a sigh of relief as Branson manhandled out of the dining room before he can upend a rather creative concoction which invites the question, how did he get so much ink?

As William shows off his uniform, Daisy, coached by Mrs Patmore, continues to lead him up the garden path. William admits he is nervous about the prospect of facing the brutal reality of World War One and Mrs Patmore gently weeps across the table bringing her episode:crying ratio up pretty high even for something on a Sunday evening on ITV. Luckily, there is an opening for William to become Matthew’s solider servant which is good news for William and the budget as the exact same section of trench can continue to be used for both characters. Before he leaves, William proposes to Daisy and, naturally, Mrs Patmore accepts. Daisy’s “go on then” is hardly the most ringing of endorsements and her face resembling that of a rabbit who has taken a wrong turn and finds themselves on the fringes of the M4 cannot be reasonably described as elated. Daisy does manage to gather herself to delay the now inevitable wedding and so becomes possibly the only person in Britain who was not hoping for it to be all over by Christmas.

Lang and his ever present mournful violin accompaniment continue to have a rough time of it. He repays Mrs Patmore’s kindness by outing Archie to the rest of the servants, causing her to leave the room in abject misery. But this reaction could also have been caused by the prospect of a mistimed crumble. It’s difficult to tell. Lang’s nightmare enables the women to bust through the hitherto impenetrable divide between the male and female staff quarters and it is clear that his days at Downton are numbered. Lang collapses as the General and his entourage retreat and his use as a plot device in this very much smoothed over view of the past is at its end. He is dismissed with a decent wage package and a good reference and is never to be spoken of again.

Romantic declaration of the moment

William and Daisy do not get this one as this is a coercion free zone. Instead Mary and Matthew get it. Matthew being back at Downton gives Mary the chance to stare at him longingly across a room but it is her decision not to rat out Lavinia as a reluctant whistleblower that earns their spot here. Only an almost unfathomable amount of love would make Mary place Matthew’s happiness above her own.

Expressive eyebrow of the week

Regular winner Carson claims the prize again this week. His blind fury at Branson’s then presumed to be assassination attempt is glorious.

Wait, what?

“Marmaduke was not a rough diamond” No-one called Marmaduke can be called rough anything. Sort of reminds me of a picture my brother showed me of his then partner’s friends when they were younger spelling out the name of their public school boarding house in gangster sign language. Zero self-awareness.

“Acting Sargent I believe” Aloe standing by.

“The bastard had it coming” I think I need to revise my previous curse word estimate.

No particular quote for this bit but Branson delivering news from Russia made him seem like a man who had read the headline and maybe the first paragraph (at a push) of an article and is now holding forth on the topic, ready to take on anyone with a P.h.D in the matter. I do like Branson but increasingly it’s when he shuts up.

The least believable bit of this whole episode was Isis being completely unbothered by an incoming pingpong ball. I once stayed in a friend’s house where an absolute catastrophe was disguising itself as a dog. She would eye up the limes on the sideboard expecting them to vault across the room. When any even vaguely spherical object did achieve airspeed velocity, she would lose it. And I mean lose it.

General Strutt’s tour of Downton has an air of a politician doing a ward round. Should you yourself fear an encounter with our current premiere, you can pick up one of these cards from the News From Nowhere bookshop in Liverpool (other retailers may be available but this is the only place I have seen them).

#Downton #downton abbey #downton rewatch #Mary Crawley #Matthew Crawley #tom branson #sybil branson #edith crawley #thomas barrow #john bates #anna bates #Charles Carson #elsie hughes #Isobel Crawley

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chalkrevelations · 3 years ago

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OK, Word of Honor, Episode 9, and I know last time I got deep in the weeds about symbolism, but this week, I’m getting back to basics and rambling on (and on) about what this show is really about: Zhou Zishou and Wen Kexing and their relationship.

First, though, the usual warning: SPOILERS. Not just for this episode, but potentially for the entire show, so drive past and circle back around later if you want to watch all 36.5 eps unspoiled.

Bear with me on this one, because this ep spends a LOT of time on ZZS and WKX, and I think a lot of that time is ZZS making some Monumental Life Decisions, including how he’s going to proceed in this relationship and how he’s going to approach his life moving forward. But I’m finding myself needing to work through it chronologically, and it’s. A Lot. Also, let’s face it, ZZS has been my ride-or-die at least since he dropped to his knees and started disrobing in the middle of the throne room in Ep 1, so a chance to wallow in his emotional journey is a chance I’m gonna take.

So, we do have a brief opener when we find out Dead Guy who the Yueyang disciple was shrieking about at the end of the last ep is Fang Buzhi, AKA the Nine Clawed Fox, the guy who lifted WKX’s (Danyang) Glazed Armor (along with some replicas). He got got by mysterious somebodies in the previous episode, and we find out now that he has three tiny needles in his neck, which ZZS recognizes as a Tian Chuang technique. This leads ZZS to 1) assume it must have been Han Ying who did it, so the (Danyang) Glazed Armor is now in the hands of Tian Chuang, and 2) realize that maybe this is not the best place for the former leader of Tian Chuang to be hanging out right now, so he makes their excuses, because he knows that Gao Chong must be VERY BUSY now that he’s got this corpse on his hands, so they’ll just BE GOING, thanks so much. Gao Chong hopes to see them at the Hero’s Conference, and WKX responds in a Significant Tone that of course he’ll be at the Hero’s Conference, and now ZZS has his Thinky Face on again, because WKX is not nearly as subtle as he seems to think he is when he’s making Pronouncements.

The ZZS/WKX Show really starts kicking into gear that night, at the Getting Lucky Good Luck Inn, where we open on ZZS wandering contemplatively around his room, looking beautiful in the soft light of evening (your FACE, Zhang Zhehan) and ruminating on Prince Jin’s motives for wanting the Glazed Armor, like he’s never met this power-hungry asshole before. Also, he thinks to himself, wtf was that, with Gao Chong keeping anybody from seeing Chengling in the last ep? There’s a knock on the door, which momentarily confuses him - understandably, because as we’ll see, WKX doesn’t generally get the concept of announcing yourself and waiting to be invited in by knocking first, preferring to dramatically bust open doors (at least to ZZS’s bedroom) and grace you with his presence, whatever your thoughts on the matter are. He’s accompanied by waiters and dinner, and ZZS realizes his senses are going, presumably because he can’t smell this spread that WKX has procured in an attempt to prove what a good provider he is (what did I say about food and bonding? ZZS fed him in the market, and now it’s his turn to feed ZZS). WKX tells us that life is just three hots and a cot - which gives away more about your life than you would likely be comfortable with us knowing, Lao Wen, given how close to the vest you’re holding your cards – and that everything else can wait if you can have a meal with someone you like. :coff: (Also, remember this, it will come around again.)

Cut to dinner by flickering candlelight, the better for soft lighting to caress ZZH’s exquisite face, but ZZS isn’t into it at all, staring into space instead of eating WKX’s proffered Courtship Delicacies. This earns what’s possibly WKX’s most hypocritical and amusing comment yet, which is to ask ZZS, “What is it that you can’t tell me?” ZZS - apparently - is still feeling soft about WKX’s help against Tian Chuang’s Chengling-kidnapping attempt - or maybe he’s thinking that a little bit of opening up on his part will soften up WKX - because he hardly has to have a spoon dug into his ribs at all to admit that he’s wondering if it was a mistake to bring Chengling to Five Lakes Alliance. My dude, just steal him back, then. WKX laughs at him and tells him he’s got such a handsome face (true) along with a kind and innocent heart (false, he’s a former government spook and assassin, a part-time ill-tempered gremlin, and a whole-ass troll), and therefore girls will clearly go crazy for him (true, just ask me). ANYWAY, A-Xu, (WKX continues) now that the requisite random no-homo boilerplate is out of the way, are you really thinking of taking on Chengling as a disciple, because now is apparently not too soon to have the adoption conversation about Our Son. I almost expect him to pull out the adoption papers then and there. Instead, he pulls out a story - which is awkwardly placed and kind of clunky, actually, despite being thematically important - of a dog he had once, given to him by Someone Very Important, although of course he’s not going to say who that was (:facepalm:), and his mother warning him that he’d have to take care of it for life, and then he betrayed it.

So, there’s a lot going on here. We’ll eventually find out that ZZS gave Zhen Yan a puppy, so will this story of a gift dog jog ZZS’s memory into realizing that WKX is Zhen Yan without WKX actually telling him, so that WKX can tell his Bundle of Neuroses that it’s not reeeaaallly WKX’s fault ZZS figured it out? Also, WKX sees ZZS being like this about Chengling, and in the Chengling = Zhen Yan equation we’ve already established, is it possible this will prime ZZS to remember another disciple/young boy he took responsibility for, at one point? Of course, on ZZS’s side of things, it’s possible that hearing about this dog that WKX failed is likely to remind him of the way he failed his own responsibility to all the other disciples of Siji Manor, so, excellent way to take a stab at his heart, WKX! However, ZZS breaks the miserable tone we’ve become mired in by smacking WKX, chiding him for comparing their son to a dog, and getting them drinking. See, here, Chengling is the dog. Earlier, the two sisters A-Xiang rescued were the dog. Later, A-Xiang will be the dog. Unfortunately, WKX is going to have a blind spot and never quite realize that, in the Ghost Valley schema he’s set up, the Department of the Unfaithful is also the dog, but we’ll get to that in later eps. For now, cut to later that night: After dinner and a washup, ZZS sits on his bed, and we get some special effects to indicate that his hearing is also giving him problems, so he deploys his special Nightly Nails Torment meditation pose, and then we get the second instance of WKX playing the xiao to help him meditate and rest. (Junjun, your hands on that xiao …) ANYWAY, we get a gorgeous little bit of physical acting from ZZH here that could easily have been overplayed but is nicely restrained and subtle, with just the slightest smile when ZZS realizes WKX is playing, and then his whole body visibly relaxing as he allows himself to sink into WKX’s now-familiar musical embrace the meditation. It is :chef’s kiss:

Cut to next AM, when ZZS is now a very cranky boy, and I get this, because I also am exceedingly irritated when people bust into the room where I’m sleeping with an abundance of cheerfulness and try to get me to interact and do things without at least half an hour to creep my way out of bed, two cups of coffee, and an hour of silence before any attempts to converse like a reasonable human being (I’m looking at YOU, mom), and I don’t even have the excuse of seven Nails pinning me. Also, when WKX whips off the blankets, we learn that ZZH dresses to the right. :hands: I’m just making an observation. So, WKX wants to go to Yuefan Tower like some kind of wide-eyed tourist, and despite some smacking and scowling and death threats, we then smash-cut to the Tower, where ZZS has apparently come to the conclusion that the only way to deal with the ADHD gremlin crawling into his bed is to humor him about this daytrip. I think you could have come up with some more creative ideas that didn’t involve leaving bed, but I guess you’re not the fast one in this relationship, Zhou-ge. Srsly, though, I’m sure WKX would have been happy to do all the work, my dude. (I don’t always have strong top-bottom preferences, but you probably aren’t going to have much luck convincing me that ZZS is not a pillow princess who wants to just lay back and be spoiled. “Aren’t you a very capable man?” indeed. WKX has to do ALL THE WORK, god. I don’t know if I’m swimming against the current here – god knows I was in Inception fandom, where I felt the same way about Eames - but here we are.) Also, I can’t believe WKX didn’t just sit in the bedroom and creep on A-Xu’s beautiful sleeping profile for at least the amount of time it would have taken to drink a pot of tea, another viable option if it was me in this scenario. Tch. What kind of stalker are you, Lao Wen?

ANYWAY, at Yuefang Tower, ZZS tells us about the Four Sages of Anji, a senior-citizen polycule of soulmates who are, conveniently, at this very moment, on a boat in the lake beside the tower, playing music and sword-dancing. This is the first time they’ve been seen in 10+ years, after they put down their various swords and ran off together to live like hippies off-the-grid in the woods, probably skipping around naked, drinking “tea,” and having lots of sex. ZZS sighs wistfully while recounting this tale and calls them “a breath of fresh air.” There’s some discussion and poetry quoting and literary references to soulmates, and somewhere in here we get a shot of ZZS and WKX from behind which makes it super-obvious how hard they’re working the costumes to make Gong Jun look as broad as possible. He’s got the power shoulders on this set of robes, compared to Laopo ZZS’s soft, unstructured, flowing robes, and with those shoulders tapering down to the belted waist, they’ve got Junjun seriously working the Chris Evans Dorito silhouette. Meanwhile, focus back on their conversation: ZZS thinks that “the world is not important, finding a soulmate is,” giving some MAJOR FORESHADOWING for the end of the show (which we are accepting as “Ep” 37 because WE ARE), when we get that icy separation from the rest of the world but they have each other. WKX gives him a yearning look. ZZS looks back … there’s really no other way to put this … coyly, not meeting WKX’s gaze directly. This offers WKX and us a chance to admire his profile once again, thank you, Laopo. ZZS waits until WKX looks back out at the lake before looking at him directly, and his face journey, y’all. He’s thinking that it might not be bad to spend his remaining time with this soulmate, I think he’s starting to re-think the slow suicide, and he’s also thisclose to just letting WKX have him. Y’all, he seriously wants WKX so bad, here. It may be the first time we’ve seen this level of interest from him - it may be the first time, in all that we’ve seen of him, that he allows himself to even have that kind of interest. I think this is the next big step from Ep 6, when he allowed himself to enjoy being desired - now he’s allowing himself to desire, to want something again, other than a chance to drink himself to death in the gutter. This, right here, is a crucial point when he makes the decision to spend whatever time he’s got left living rather than just dying, and I’m flailing on the couch. This is the face of a man who’s ready to Make Some Declarations while getting railed within an inch of his life. SOMEONE IS GETTING SOME TONIGHT. Or he would if he wasn’t going to turn out to be such a fuckup. FFS, WKX.

But first, we cut to a scene of them back at the marketplace, wandering through as WKX mocks various sects in town for the conference – including the Mount Hua boys, who apparently look like virgins make their first trip to a brothel – and ZZS supplies background info on them. WKX asks if ZZS can tell what sect WKX is from, and ZZS calls him a messy bitch before asking if WKX can please stop making him play guessing games about everything and just tell him what WKX so clearly wants ZZS to know. (I know, right? But no, because then WKX might get what he wants, and he’s way too terrified for that, so you have to guess. That way, it’s not his fault when you figure out who he is and reject him, as anyone clearly will do because he’s unlovable and unforgiveable and not even really human, A-Xu.) WKX immediately changes the subject to ramble about the Hero’s Conference and how laughable all the sects are for wanting to be seen as heroes, blah blah blah, rinse and repeat. ZZS comments that only inexperienced people want to be heroes, that experienced people know “every character of the word hero is written in blood,” and yes, the character they’re using for hero, “ying,” is still the same character used in Han Ying’s name (which is not, by the way, the “ying” used in Wei Ying’s name, to cross streams for a moment). ZZS says he’s too old to be a hero (I and my knees feel you, my dude), now he’s just a wanderer, and he asks if WKX wants to be a hero or a wanderer, and WKX says that as a wanderer, all he needs is ZZS, and I’m telling you, someone absolutely would be getting some tonight if only he wasn’t such a fuckup, Lao Wen.

I’m’a try to wrap this up soon, because it’s gotten v. long, but we then cut to that night at the Getting Lucky Inn, ZZS drinking in his room, WKX busting in with his usual dramatic flair, with wine, inviting ZZS up to the roof to drink and look at the moon. He clearly has ulterior motives, but unfortunately for everyone, we’re going to discover they’re not the ulterior motives ZZS is expecting. As they lean back on the roof together, hands almost-but-not-quite touching, a romantic tune playing, WKX tells ZZS that he’s like, really happy! Just super happy! So happy! Ask me why I’m so happy, A-Xu! Spoiler alert: It is, unfortunately, not because he’s getting ready to get some from his laopo. This is particularly unfortunate, because ZZS chooses this moment to take another big step in this relationship, telling WKX that he’s not going to ask about things WKX doesn’t want to tell him, that he’ll wait for whatever WKX wants to tell him. On the surface, this comes off a little bit like, I’m done with asking when you’re not going to answer anyway, but in context – particularly on the back of the earlier scene when ZZS watched WKX turn on a dime and immediately change the subject to avoid exposing anything when ZZS asked WKX to stop making him guess everything – this is as good as a declaration of going all-in. ZZS is committing to this relationship on faith, without having all – or even most – of the answers about WKX, and his approach is going to be to wait until WKX is ready to reveal whatever information he feels safe and comfortable revealing. In practice, he’s going to end up being better or worse at this, depending on the day, but what it reminds me of, already, is that moment in the 20s (Ep 21? 22?) when A-Xiang and Cao Weining are arguing about her killing the beggar guy, he approaches her, she yells at him and points to the ground to indicate exactly how close he’s allowed to get to her, and his respect of that boundary she lays down is instantaneous and absolute. That’s what ZZS is saying he’s going to at least try to do, here. It also reminds me of the way he’s going to respect WKX’s decision on whether or not WKX is going to claim his place as a disciple of Siji Manor, without it affecting their relationship, so we really are starting as ZZS means to go on, here.

Unfortunately, we then find out that what WKX is actually so happy about is that his plan to burn down the jianghu is starting its next big step, and their romantic evening is interrupted by a bunch of dudes fighting and killing each other over a bunch of fake Glazed Armor. WKX mentions that he’s so happy the show’s started; he’s alternately amused, satisfied, and smug as they watch various fights; he seems to be expecting ZZS to also be amused; and I feel like the implication is that this was his real motive for inviting ZZS out onto the roof, to be able to watch this show with him. ZZS – who’s spent enough time standing ankle-deep in blood for six lifetimes and was working hard just a few weeks ago at drinking himself to death to try to forget what that feels like - is displeased and horrified, rather than very proud of what WKX has accomplished; he pushes WKX away from him when WKX approaches him to ask if he doesn’t think it’s all so very amusing; and he calls WKX crazy, then turns his back on him and walks away. To make things worse, the next morning, after WKX brings breakfast to ZZS’s room and actually knocks, only to find that ZZS has left in the middle of the night, WKX will witness an angry mob gathered outside the house in the woods where the Four Sages of Anji are staying for the Hero’s Conference, demanding a piece of the Glazed Armor the Sages are supposedly holding for Gao Chong, and eventually leading to the deaths of all four of these peaceful aging hippies whose commune in the woods was ZZS’s ultimate dream, leaving WKX horrified by the fact that his actions have consequences, including some that are going to make his boyfriend even more pissed off at him.

SO. All that happened. There were some other people in the episode, too:

We see A-Xiang and Cao Weining having lunch. She asks him why he’s not eating, calls him fat and cute, then proceeds to tell him about Ghoul, who likes to eat the faces of pretty boys. Her conversation skills could still use some work. Cao Weining vows to kill the ghosts of Ghost Valley who would do such awful things. A-Xiang actually ignores this slander about the evil of the residents of the Ghost Valley in a way that she doesn’t usually – usually she looks kind of unhappy when the Evilness of the Evil Inhabitants of the Evil Ghost Valley comes up, going all the way back to ZZS’s comments in Ep 2. Right now, she’s too busy pumping Pooh Bear for information, asking about why the Ghost Valley would have left a pile of heads on Yueyang’s doorstep if the Five Lakes Alliance is so great, so what is Five Lakes going to maybe, perhaps, do about this? Cao-dage is suspicious … that A-Xiang might be scared, but don’t worry, he’ll protect her. Oh, sweetheart. I could eat you up with a spoon, right along with Ghoul. Also, it finally registers that A-Xiang called him cute, but she has to step away for a quick confab with a henchwoman.

We also have to watch Chengling get bullied some more by a Yueyang shixiong who I think is Gao Shan, who we’ll later see bullying some prisoners in the Yueyang dungeon as he admits that he’s doing it to relieve his own frustrations and make himself feel better - fantastic disciples you’ve got there, Gao Chong, I’m super-impressed by the morality and ethics you’re instilling as a sect. Once again, I have to consider WKX’s position on the jianghu as a hive of scum and villainy. Anyway, once Bullying Hour is over, Chengling runs into A-Xiang, and he can’t manage to prevent the waterworks as he confesses that he thought he’d never see any of them again and that ZZS didn’t want him. UGH. Zhou Zishu, come and get your child back. He’s at least somewhat mollified by Xiang-jie telling him she’s been sent to take care of him, and god knows she’s managed to keep WKX fed and clothed this long, so she has some experience as a minder, as counterintuitive as that seems.

We get a quick shot of Han Ying (My Beloved) with two identical pieces of Glazed Armor, apparently realizing that there are fakes out there.

Deng Kuan shows up, beaten and stumbling, and nearly gets turned away at the front gates of his own sect as a beggar – have I mentioned how unimpressed I am by the Yueyang disciples? Deng Kuan appears to be the only one of them worth anything – before they realize who he is. He is put to bed and tenderly nursed by Gao Xiaolian, who cries over him as he won’t wake up.

Finally, Gao Chong, Shen Shen and Zhao Jing (uh-huh) are horrified to discover that there’s fake Glazed Armor fk’n everywhere in town, making Five Lakes Alliance look ridiculous, which is just fabulous as the Hero’s Conference is coming up, guys. Shen Shen, because everything is a nail, vows to kill anyone who makes problems. Later, Hei Zi, who plays Gao Chong, has an utterly fantastic moment after the deaths of the Four Sages (wow, I did not remember that we wrapped up their entire storyline within a single ep), when he’s haranguing Beggar Gang Chief and is literally all, “You want the Glazed Armor? :pulls a piece out of his robe: HERE. You want some more? :pulls another piece out of his robe: TAKE IT.” It’s a great acting moment, his delivery is perfection.

#zhou zishu #wen kexing #zhang chengling #gu xiang #cao weining #han ying #deng kuan #gao chong #word of honor #word of honor episode reax

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quiet-kunoichi · 3 years ago

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[ @suck-my-tomato | Halloween Party Oneshot | verse; highschool ]

It was their senior year at last, and Kimiko was not about to let it go to waste. The rest of her high school years had been spent either too insecure to show a little skin, or not single enough to get away with it without some disapproving stares. The tail end of junior year, along with the summer that followed, was spent in a near-lifeless haze: she’d become well accustomed to depressive dissociation and avoidance to the point of self-destructive isolation. Meanwhile, Sasuke likely had the time of his life as a bachelor in the paradise of their recent split: that is, until his chronically-ill brother took a lethal turn for the worse. Upon hearing about Itachi’s sudden death, Kimiko had lassoed herself back into Sasuke’s orbit — Invited herself inside ( she never returned the key to his apartment ), ensured that he was taking care of himself in lieu of his recent loss. Additionally, it felt like a loss of her own, too. She’d known Itachi as long as she had known Sasuke, for obvious reasons. As odd as it sounded once her feelings became obviously romantic for the younger Uchiha, Itachi felt like.. a big brother in-law. After all, he bailed her out of her holding cell after she’d caught Sasuke cheating with that bimbo redhead from chemistry. It was a wonder why he kept the kind of company that he did; the run-ins she’d endured over the last few months since her split with Sasuke had soured her to the whole ‘Akatsuki’ gang. Just a bunch of sleazy womanizers. It’d been quite a few months since that had occured, and Kimiko and Sasuke were growing steadily more attached to one another, once again. Not nearly close to the way they were, before the letters ( still unknown to Sasuke ) and his decision to plant the seed of everlasting insecurity within her by betraying her trust for the opportunity to mesh face with someone new. For a short while before Itachi’s death, Kimi had arrived to parties solely to keep the recently hotheaded Uchiha in line. She was his designated stormbreaker, and was expected to deliver him home safely each night that he took things a bit too far. Those incidents didn’t come without their rewards, such as the few instances in which he’d cling to her in his drunken and drug-addled stupor, apologize profusely and confess his everlasting love.. Just to slip away into sleep seconds afterwards. Admittedly, Kimiko would entertain the heartache of such a prentendedly wholehearted and pure moment before ultimately lapsing to silent tears and peeling herself from his side to take her quiet leave from his shared home. More than a few times, Itachi and the Tamashi would share a quiet and lingering look across the front room. Now that he’s departed, Kimiko often wishes she would have sat next to him and allow herself a single shred of comfort from the situation she’d found herself in. His stare had always been a little somber: Like he knew all of the things that she was shoving beneath the surface. Was this going to be her lingering reality? Harboring this blood-stained secret, playing guardian angel to a haphazard boy whom broke her heart but didn’t manage to drown her love? Perhaps she should’ve asked the wise Uchiha Itachi, before it became too late. Even if she grew back what was left of her mauled heart to learn how to forgive him, Kimiko knew now that a life of romance and love was never going to be the same, for her. Not with old memories dredged back up and spot-lit like fresh wounds, vague yet promising threats from her imprisoned and somehow still imposing father appearing two more times since that first letter made it to her porch step. Sasuke had changed faces and become someone new overnight; he squandered all of his previous promises of her being his one and only — and it elicited a violent response that her father had only just forewarned her of inheriting. Perhaps this was just her destiny, after all. Tonight would be different, in a sense: Kimiko was attending this senior year halloween party solely for herself. She wasn’t trailing in on Sasuke’s colonged scent, nor was she couped up at home until the siren call came and beckoned her to act as ‘Sasuke Uchiha clean-up crew’. She was here to cook up some fun of her own, solely for herself.. Which is precisely what she had told herself at the last party she attended three weeks ago for ‘Homecoming.’ That night tumbled away into a mess of limbs beneath trashed bedsheets: Sasuke and Kimiko had once again found the most intimate form of comfort in one another’s arms, for the first time in.. 8 months. Tonight would be different. Or maybe it wouldn’t. Did she actually just put all of this effort into her costume for the hopes that it would catch his attention above any other girl there? Was she hoping for a similar end to this mixed-bag night as the last party lured them to? Perhaps. It was mostly for herself, though. Yes, the tight black latex zippered corset, a pair of short spandex that clung to her hips and ass like it was life or death, the heeled boots that cut off just below her knee and the tights that squeezed her curved thighs just at their most voluptuous circumference.. The feathered black wings attached to her back and the headband horns adorning her crown .. All the way down to her perfected makeup, the dark tinge to her lips and the dash of gloss at the very center.. It was all for her. Not to grab the attention of anyone who bothered looking her way, and certainly not to make his jaw drop. Once again, her phone buzzes from its place stashed between her breasts. With a sigh that exhales the last puff of her menthol cigarette, ( thank you, Shikamaru ) Kimi plucks the it from her corset and unlocks the device. A strange twist of disappointment curls her stomach when the texts popping up were just from the girls. Perhaps it was a tad childish to wish upon a ball of gas in the sky that Sasuke would reach out to her: provide some sort of hint that he was interested in seeing her tonight — that he wasn’t already wrapped up in some other nameless skank. Instead, it was just Ino and Sakura, buzzing at her ear like flies and wanting to know ‘ Where the hell ’ she was. They made plans to pick her up, but Kimi had different plans for herself. Already outside the party house, the fallen angel runs out the cherry of her pregame cigarette against the side of a white Prius. It belonged to one specific redhead from junior year chemistry class. If she knew what was good for her, that bitch would keep a healthy distance from the Uchiha, and a restraining-order distance from the Tamashi herself. The rest of her flask is guzzled with little more than a post-swallow wince: the fire of honey whiskey lit her back to life. She’d shared swigs with the passenger seat of Ms. White Prius — poor decision to leave the windows open a crack. Now that her confidence was rightly bolstered by liquid courage and her anxious insecurities settled with those two cigarettes, Kimiko pulls herself off the car. She throws a single backward kick of her heel and dents the door, donning a wicked smirk as she heads up the walkway and pushes inside. The damn wings of a fallen angel knock against the doorway — but they’ll provide a healthy bubble of distance from everyone else around her as the crowd parts around her. If she learned anything from the parties she’d attended in the last year — it was to make a b-line from the front ( or back ) door straight to the booze selection.

Although she was already feeling that hot buzz of spirits in her blood, Kimiko needed to secure a drink to clutch for the rest of the night. Any time something stupid was said, any time something unforgivable was done, she would take a drink. And if Sasuke was seen with another girl, after what happened between them at the Homecoming party three weeks ago, and how often she’s been at his apartment and patiently helping him sort through his emotions, after everything that happened between them.. Well, she’d guzzle the whole cup and then someone else’s, too. Maybe crack a skull, pluck a tooth off of the floor for keepsake.. Ino and Sakura have flocked to her side, bubbling with astonished compliments as well as soured remarks on the Tamashi’s disappearance. The familiar crimson of slow boiling rage starts to fade away from the corners of her vision. She’s standing at the kitchen counter, red plastic cup empty and surveying the options. “ Holy wow, Kimi! You look gorgeous. ” Sakura, the little angel of their trio, chimes in at her left. On her right shoulder, Ino the devil shares her opinion. “ Gorgeous? Fuck that. Kimiko looks drop dead sexy. This is definitely an ex-revenge costume. ” Silent as ever ( at least, as she’d become over the last year ) the fallen angel reaches for the rum, rolling her thumb over the cap and flicking it across the marble counter. It glugs liquid fire into her empty cup while Sakura wraps around her arm and tucks her head against Kimi’s shoulder ( a good sign that she was inebriated, herself ). “ Ex-revenge costume? How’s she supposed to get revenge from an outfit? ” The naive pinkette asks. Ino scoffs, “ Are you kidding me? Do you know how many guys have cracked their necks just to gawk at her? I counted six, just on her trip from the front door to the kitchen. ” Kimiko adds a splash of tequila into the mix, as well as the rest of someone’s open redbull can. Then comes the mixer: some sort of grapefruit soda, and a lime. Like, a whole half. She likes the bite. “ And other guys looking at her is supposed to be.. revengeful? ” Sakura questions after slipping from Kimiko’s arm, their polar opposite wings knocking against one another in her clumsy step to shoot a questioning look to their blonde-haired and red-clad she-devil. A hand comes up to Ino’s forehead as she sighs. “ Oh my god, I knew you had too much of my Prosecco. ” Sakura makes to protest, and Kimiko ( who has yet to acknowledge them or make an expression of either distaste or amusement ) takes a tasting swig of her drink. It wasn’t bad, but maybe it needs more grapefruit soda. “ The more attention she gets from other guys, the more jealous Sasuke is gonna get. She gives him a taste of what he’s missing out on. ” Ino explains. Sakura pretends to understand, but she’s never been the type for manipulative revenge schemes. Her payback is served with a crack of her knuckles. Meanwhile, Kimiko uses a healthy balance of the two methods of torture. Even still, as both girls bicker over whether it was a good idea to lure that side out of Sasuke ( especially in lieu of his recent loss ) or to move on like he didn’t exist, Kimiko scanned the crowd for his unforgettable features. They had no idea of what happened between the two at that last party; they didn’t know about his once thorny exterior quickly becoming dependent on her emotional support through this difficult time, nor how she honestly felt concerned and protective over him despite still trying to figure out how to forgive him ( or if she even had the kindness left in her to accomplish such a feat ). At last, they’d found each other through the writhing mass of bodies mingling, dancing, flirting, and drinking in a kaleidoscope of lights. Yellow high-beams meet swimming pools of obsidian over the rim of her cup. The whole world deafens and stills around them: despite the five yards of distance that separated the two, Kimiko swore she could hear his shaky exhale as he drinks in her visage — wonders briefly if he could somehow hear the tripping thrum of her heartbeat as her stare flickers over his own devilishly desirable costume. Pulling her lips from her drink, the fallen vixen swipes bubblegum tongue quickly over her lip and offers a little wink across the room ( unseen from her female counterparts ). Let’s hope this doesn’t backfire.

#suck-my-tomato #are you ready for this mayhem #verse; highschool #oneshot; wickedparty #tw; alcohol #tw; trauma mention #tw; death mention

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maybedefinitely404 · 4 years ago

Text

Day 27: Intrulogical (TW)

@tsshipmonth2020

Day 27 - Your eyes match your soulmate’s hair color. If they dye their hair, your eyes change colors.

TRIGGER WARNINGS!!!!! Attempted rape (by unnamed OC), drugging, implied underage drinking (though none is actually seen), emetophobia/vomiting, Halloween, alcohol, characters being tipsy/drunk, parties. Happy/satisfying ending.

Word count: 4.7k

Logan lived his life based on routine. In a world of constant change, it felt comforting to always know what his next step was. His mornings always started the same; wake up at seven o’clock sharp, sneak to the dorm bathroom in an attempt to not wake his essentially nocturnal roommate, and brush his teeth. Wet the toothbrush, pea sized amount of toothpaste, wet the brush again, and start on the left side of his mouth. Brush for exactly two minutes, wash face, and then attempt to calm down the bedhead. He’d sneak back into the room, change silently, and then make his way to the shared kitchen to make cereal for breakfast. The only variable in his routine was which fruit he’d eat along with his Cheerios. Then he’d triple check that all of his homework was packed properly, and head off to his morning class.

Except today.

For someone who rarely got distracted from his normal routine, he was surprisingly still as he glared, shocked, into his reflection. Water still dripped off his face and all over the counter, but he couldn’t tear his attention from it. Because his normally dark brown eyes were now neon green.

“Are you kidding me?!” He yelled before he could stop himself, storming back into their room and dropping back onto his bed.

“What’s’it?” Virgil mumbled, lifting his exhausted face from where they’d been smooshed into the pillows. Logan spun his face up towards the top bunk, jaw clenched, and gestured towards his eyes.

“I have a presentation today!” Logan continued, looking away from Virgil’s failed attempt to cover a smile, “And I look ridiculous! No one will take me seriously!”

“Just in time for Halloween, I guess. They just look like contacts.”

“Hallow-” Logan sprung to his desk to look at his calendar accusingly, groaning when he realized it was in fact the thirty first. “Ugh, I have a paper due tomorrow!”

“Don’t tell me you’re backing out of the party now, Lo. I already promised people I’d go, and I’m not going alone.”

“I won’t back out of the party,” Logan grumbled, crossing his arms. Virgil gave a satisfied hum, flopping back into his comforter. When he spoke again, his voice was muffled.

“Out of all people, I’m surprised you forgot.”

“So sue me, if a frivolous game of promiscuous dress up comes after passing my classes in the list of importance.”

The emo snorted. “What’s your costume gonna be?”

“I am not wearing a costume!” Logan’s voice was almost offended.

“You already look like a traffic light. Might as well complete the look.”

Logan grumbled angrily, marching back toward the bathroom to finish getting ready. “I’m not wearing a costume. I have a reputation to uphold.”

“Aw, c’mon, Lo. For me?”

That stopped Logan in his tracks. He spun around and took a careful breath, glaring down his overly pleased roommate. “Fine. Just for you.”

Virgil gave another satisfied hum, before squinting his eyes at Logan scrutinizingly. “I wonder if your eyes glow in the dark. Can you imagine if the prof turns the lights off for a presentation and-”

“UUUGGHHH!” Logan yowled as he slammed the bathroom door shut, shaking his head at Virgil’s snickers.

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

They were meeting up at the party at the end of classes (right about when Virgil tended to wake up), so Logan headed there directly after his final class, just as the evening sun was fading behind the horizon. It was already packed with people already picking the snack and drinks table bare, a lopsided sign that said ‘21+ only’ forgotten near an empty beer box. If Logan were to assume correctly, the sign was only there to assuage the conscience of whoever was hosting tonight, and not actually to stop the underage drinking. Even if he was above legal drinking age, he still didn’t experience many of the positives of drinking, so he grabbed a can of iced tea and stood next to a wall to wait for Virgil.

It hadn’t been a full five minutes before a man sidled up to him, sipping from a half empty beer bottle and watching Logan with a careful eye. He didn’t spare so much as a glance in return, barely acknowledging the newcomer’s presence.

“What’s a wallflower like you doing at a rager like this?” He drawled with an almost audible impish smile.

“If this is considered a rager, I’d hate to see what a calm party looks like.”

“Aw, we just haven’t gotten started yet! We’re fueling up for when the moon comes out. And you haven’t answered my question, flower.”

“I’m simply waiting for a friend.”

“Oh, and does this friend have a name?” He purred.

Frustrated, Logan turned to the man, and promptly froze. Looking down at him with pitch black eyes was a person in a costume he couldn’t recognize; a black and white striped suit that looked like he’d raked it through dust, and a mold green tie. The stubble on his face could have been his own five o’clock shadow or makeup, but it only functioned to make him look far hotter than what was fair. What was most shocking though, and Logan was baffled that he’d missed it in the initial approach, was the mop of electric-shock-straight neon green hair on his head.

“He- I don’t-”

“Didn’t take you for the type to get flustered,” The man snorted, taking another sip. “What do you have? Aw, iced tea? And not even spiked? A crime.”

How did he not see Logan’s eyes? The hair was the exact same color; Logan would know. He’d spend the whole day watching his reflection, hoping that his soulmate would have some mercy and dye their hair back to its original color. Neon green was not exactly the most subtle color, and he had not missed the snickers or silent glances from his classmates and professors all day. So the question remained, why wasn’t this guy saying anything?

“I don’t drink. I tend to just become lethargic when I do.” He answered instead, gripping his can a little tighter. It took far too much effort to keep his voice from straining.

“Fair enough. I’m not pressuring you to drink, no worries. At least we’ll have one sober mind at this party tonight.” The taller man winked at him, flashing him that stupidly stunning smile again.

But then it occurred to Logan as he kept searching the man’s dark eyes desperately. His eyes were too dark, almost pitch black, while Logan’s hair was several shades lighter. So... there was no way they were soulmates. Just as quickly as the hope had exploded in his stomach, it dissipated, leaving him feeling more exhausted than usual. Stupid feelings.

“Logan, there you are!” An unusually loud voice called through his stupor and he spun around to see Virgil’s fanged smile. In the back of his mind, he remembered watching Virgil putting together his elaborate vampire costume over the last few weeks, but he’d never seen the full thing put together until now. “Ah, and Remus found you. Scram, Beetlejuice.”

Remus, apparently, didn’t seem at all offended by the jab. Instead, he seemed to smile wider. “Nice to see you too, emo. Is that any way to treat the host of the party?”

To Logan’s surprise, Virgil smiled too. “Oh, shut up. You’re going to give Logan a heart attack.”

“I’m sure he’s fine, Dracula. Why don’t you go get a drink, and I’ll keep him company?”

“Nuh uh. No way. Not leaving him with you any longer than I have already.” With that, Virgil hooked his arm through Logan’s and led him back to the drink table.

“Remember, Virgil, drinks are only for the big kids!”

“I’m older than you are!” He flipped the bird over Logan’s shoulder to the host, earning a barked laugh in response. “He never lets me forget I’m a whole three inches shorter than him.”

“You know the host of the party?”

Virgil hummed in response, pouring himself a cup of punch that reeked of alcohol. “How else would I get invited? We were in English together in third year, and I haven’t been able to shake him since. He’s like a leech.”

“You seem friendly with him.”

The elder froze, solo cup barely touching his lips as he looked over Logan slowly. “Everything okay? You’re not usually this… quiet.” They could both tell it wasn’t the word he’d wanted to use.

For a brief moment, Logan considered telling Virgil about his brief flair of hope, about how for a single second he’d felt nothing but relief and desire and elation, and how it had been ripped away from him just as quickly. But then he realized that, no, Virgil didn’t need that to bring down the mood of the first party he’d attended in a year, since his anxiety had flared. If it still bothered him after the party, he’d bring it up. That was unlikely, though. Logan was especially gifted in the art of repression.

“I’m just a tad out of my element. Nothing to worry about,” he responded with a smile. Virgil didn’t fall for it, if the way he watched Logan as he sipped his drink was anything to go off of, but he did them both the favor of not pushing it. For now.

“I thought I told you to wear a costume,” Virgil gasped as he drained the cup, immediately refilling it from the same bowl.

“I did.” Logan gestured towards the single piece of paper taped to his white shirt. It took Virgil a moment to squint through the darkening light to make-out the black sharpie, reading allowed.

“‘Error 404, Costume Not Found.’ That does not count, Logan!” He laughed nonetheless, just as a deep bass filled the house. Apparently, the party had begun. He didn’t have a good argument for Virgil’s accusation, since he technically thought it very much did count, but arguing with the other was a waste of time. The two men were equally matched in the stubbornness department.

The lights disappeared for a good few seconds before the house was illuminated in strobe lights, and the music’s volume exploded. Virgil laughed giddily; apparently his plan to get buzzed before the party could give him anxiety was intentional.

“They do, ya know.”

Logan looked at him in confusion, and shouted over the roaring music. “What?”

“Your eyes! They do glow in the dark!”

“Shut up!”

“You look like a glowstick!” He began to giggle wildly, leaning on Logan for support.

“No more drinks for a good half hour, Virge,” Logan chided gently, replacing his solo cup with a water bottle from the table. Virgil whined but plucked out his vampire fangs so he could drink from the small spout easier.

“Let’s dance,” Virgil said, grabbing Logan’s arm and leading him into the crowd.

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

Logan guessed it was well past midnight when Virgil tugged on his arm for the third time, leaning close to his ear and shouting that he had to go to the bathroom.

“Again?!” Logan called back at the vampire’s back. There was no malice in his words, not when he knew Virgil had been anxious to go to this party and he tended to drink more water when he was anxious. It was just all coming back for revenge now.

To Logan’s delight, the excitement of the party had started to push out the event from earlier. His mood was no longer dampened by the let down of what he thought was meeting his soulmate, and he could finally enjoy the one event he allowed himself to go to this semester. School was important, but he allowed this for Virgil. He hadn’t expected himself to have a good time as well.

It wasn’t even a minute after Virgil had left that there was a loud shout and Logan was jostled harshly to the side, the front of his shirt immediately soaking red from the cup of punch spilled on him. His own drink clattered to the floor.

“Shit, babe, I’m so sorry!” A man Logan didn’t recognize started to pat at his chest with a handful of tissues, an action that for some reason caused the smaller man to cringe.

“No worries. It was bound to happen eventually. Perhaps a white shirt wasn’t my smartest idea,” He responded sharply, taking the tissues from the other and dabbing himself off to the best of his abilities. Slightly relieved that he now had a valid reason, he ripped off his poor attempt at a costume and crumpled up the soaking wet paper in the hand not trying in vain to dry himself. Despite Logan obviously being uninterested, the taller man stayed where he was, watching Logan’s actions with fierce intensity. His lip curled as his eyes trailed down the now nearly see-through shirt.

“If you wanted, I could get that shirt off of you. Fool around, give it some time to dry?”

“I’m so flattered,” Logan deadpanned, “But no thanks.”

“Aw, too bad,” The man cooed, shrugging. His demeanor did a full one-eighty, his predatory gaze replaced with innocence, “Was worth a try. Let me at least get you a new drink, since I ruined your other one.”

“That’s not necessary-”

“I insist.” He laid a hand on Logan’s shoulder, causing a tingling cold to spread through his whole body. The smaller man barely contained a shudder as the man gave him another wolf like grin before disappearing into the crowd towards the drinks table.

Logan was hoping he’d forgotten, and just wouldn’t come back, but the man reappeared in moments, popping open a pink lemonade and handing it to him.

“Saw your other drink was non-alcoholic, so I got the only other one left.”

“Uhm…” Logan looked critically at the can, his alarm bells flaring. But… he’d seen the man open it, right? So it’s not as if he could have done something to it. Perhaps this guy really did have the right intentions, just an iffy way of showing them. “Thank you.”

He took a sip as the man smiled with too much teeth. “So, are you here alone?”

“No,” Logan responded a little less coolly, “I’m here with a friend. He just went to the bathroom.” Another sip.

“Oh, that’s fun! Are you guys in the same year?”

“Yes. We are both fourth years.” The man was acting kinder, and Logan was starting to consider that perhaps their initial meeting had been a misunderstanding on his part. Maybe he had just wanted to help out, but Logan, being cynical as always, had assumed the worst. Wasn’t that just like him, though? Always so quick to conclusions, ruining good things before they have a chance to happen. Trying to chase away his annoyance with himself and the bitter taste it had left on his tongue, he took a longer swig of the can.

“Hey, me too! I’m an English major, what about you?”

“Business with an astronomy minor.”

“That sounds difficult. How many semester hours are you clocking at right now?”

“I… uhm…” And for the life of him, he couldn’t remember. It was a high number, he knew for sure. He shook his head. “Fifteen, sixteen? Maybe seventeen?”

The man whistled. “Damn, impressive. Remind me of your name, again?”

Had he told him in the first place? “Logan.”

“And what brings a studious man such as yourself to a party like this?”

“My- My friend.” Logan couldn’t help shake his head again, hoping the fog in his mind would scatter. That’s what he got, staying out this late when his sleep schedule was usually so precise. “He doesn’t like… parties. So he asked…” He blinked hard a couple times, finding himself swaying on his feet. “He asked me…”

“Hey, are you okay?” The man placed his hand on his arm in an ironclad grip, holding him steady, “Logan, can you hear me?”

“Yeah, I… Dizzy,” He murmured, reaching up blearily and grabbing onto him.

“Are you dehydrated? Maybe you should drink some more.”

What were the symptoms of dehydration again? Dizziness, check. Fatigue, check. Confusion, check. Thirst? Yeah, he could drink something, but he’d been drinking all night, so why…

The can dropped from his hand, the second one tonight, and he tried weakly to pull away. Instead of letting him go, the man pulled him closer, wrapping an arm bruisingly tight around his waist.

“You… you drugged-”

“You don’t look so good, Logan. Let’s get you upstairs so you can lie down, yeah?”

“No, I don’t…” He was unable to escape, barely able to keep his feet under him, as the man started dragging him to the stairs. Where the hell is Virgil? Logan could feel tears pricking his eyes as his breathing hitched, and for the first time in years, he felt real panic. This couldn’t be happening. This isn’t-

“Let him the fuck go!”

A voice distinctly not Virgil’s shouted over the music, and Logan didn’t even dare hope it’s directed at the man still clutching him. His luck would never be that good. But through his blurry vision, a pin striped blob with a mess of green hair breaks through the crowd, marching distinctly up to them.

“He came here with me.” Logan could just make out the stronger man’s words through his dizzied state. “He just had a bit too much to drink. I’m going to let him lay down.”

“Like hell you are. Give him to me.”

“How dare you-”

“Logan. Doesn’t. Drink. And I know who he came here with.” Remus snarled, edging towards the duo threateningly, “Now let go of him before I break your fucking jaw.”

With almost as much physical relief as emotional, the man finally released his painful hold on Logan and shoved his way through the crowd, the distant shouts of inconvenienced partygoers near the door the only signal that he’d completely left.

For all his effort, Logan couldn’t hold himself up and collapsed. At first the feeling of strong arms picking him up bridal style caused him to panic and he lashed out, feebly hitting the chest of whoever was holding him. Realizing they were now walking up the stairs, the same place the other man had been pulling him, caused his breath to hitch in his throat.

“Woah there, Lo. You’re okay. It’s just me, it’s Remus, okay? Take a deep breath, just relax. I won’t hurt you.”

For some reason that Logan couldn’t fathom, the words calmed him down. Somewhere, Logan acknowledged that even though Virgil had known Remus for a while, Logan had only talked to him for a total of five minutes, and he probably shouldn’t trust an essential stranger when he’s like this. He’s just too tired to fight though, no matter how his adrenaline is pumping.

“V’rg’l,” Logan whimpered, clutching Remus' shirt with all the strength of a wet leaf, “W’nt h’m.”

“I’ll get Virgil as soon as you’re safe, okay? Don’t worry,” Remus’ soothing voice rumbled through Logan from where he was pressed to the taller’s chest, making his eyelids flutter. His arms felt like over boiled pasta and his stomach was doing flips, but Remus’ voice broke through the fog he was in and settled him in a way he hadn’t felt before. Maybe it was the drugs.

“We’re at the top of the stairs now, okay? I’ll take you to my room, since it’s the only one with a lock. So we know there won’t be any horny college kids in there, making a mess of my sheets. Gotta unlock it without dropping you, hold on, and… A HAH! Got it. You want the light on or off?”

Logan couldn’t compute the question, much less make a choice. He made a sound that was slightly reminiscent of a stalled car engine, letting his head loll towards the lump that he assumed was a bed.

“Let’s compromise.” With all the care in the world, Logan was placed onto the sheets and gently rolled onto his side, a heavy comforter pulled up to his shoulders. Remus shifted away and a dim light flashed through his eyelids, enough to notice but definitely not enough to hurt his throbbing head. A table lamp, probably.

“No falling asleep on me, okay? You need to stay awake. I don’t know what that fucker gave you. I’m texting Virgil now, he’ll be here soon. Just keep your eyes open.”

Logan opened his eyes despite his overwhelming urge to sleep, and was immediately assaulted by a swirl of colors as the world tilted. An explosion of nausea tilted him forward and he pushed himself up on his elbows.

“‘m g’nna-” He didn’t have to finish his sentence before there was a plastic garbage can under his cheek and he heaved, throwing up the remnants of dinner and all he drank that evening. He didn’t even have the energy to be embarrassed as he flopped back down onto his side, squeezing his eyes shut again.

“Oh, Logan,” Remus whispered.

There was a pounding on the door and Logan didn’t even have the energy to flinch from the violent sound. Remus stood quickly and unlocked it, barely opening it before someone barreled into the room, the newcomer gasping for breath.

“What the fuck happened?!” Virgil screamed, dropping on his knees next to the bed, hand reaching up to lay on Logan’s cheek.

“He got roofied by some motherfucker I haven’t seen before. I caught him in the stairwell before anything happened.” Remus was still standing by the open door. The music was flowing in louder now, and Virgil’s raged shouting wasn’t helping his headache at all.

“I’m going to fucking kill whoever did this. I’ll fucking kill him!”

“Virgil, you’re real hot when you’re pissed, but calm the hell down. Yelling won’t help Logan.”

“You’re… shit, you’re right. Okay. I’m fine. I’m fine.”

“Watch him. Keep him on his side, bin’s to your left if he has to hurl again. I’m cutting this shit show.”

Logan finally cracked his eyes open as the door shut, Virgil leaning backwards to lock it. When he turned back and saw his friend’s eyes open, he almost wept.

“I’m so sorry Lo, I shouldn’t have asked you to come.”

“‘s okay.”

“No, no it’s not. I got distracted talking to someone, but I should have come back sooner. You could’ve… You could’ve been…”

“Not y’r fa’lt,” Logan mumbled, reaching over blindly to try and find Virgil’s hand. The other must have sensed his intentions and gripped onto the flailing limb, interlocking their fingers.

“You better not be blaming yourself.”

Technically, he was. He should have been more careful, shouldn’t have taken a drink from a stranger, should have noticed something was off the moment his mind started to fade. Never in his life would he say that this kind of situation was the victim’s fault but… he couldn’t help it when it came to himself. He’d always been self critical that way. Bringing this up to Virgil would be a death wish, though, and an argument he certainly did not have the energy for right now.

The music cut off downstairs and Logan sighed in relief, nearly smiling at Remus’ shout for everyone to get out of his house. For someone he’d met once, he was protective, that was for sure.

Virgil didn’t force him to talk. They both just enjoyed the silence for a while, the only sound being the occasional shout from downstairs and Virgil’s sniffles. Logan couldn’t exactly blame him; he’d cry too if he had the brainpower. He didn’t though, which was the problem, so he allowed his hand to be held and allowed himself to get lost in the feeling of a thumb brushing over his knuckles.

There was a quiet knock on the door and Virgil reached over to unlock it, allowing Remus to walk back in. “Sorry that took so long. Wanted to double check that anyone using someone else as a crutch was black out drunk, not drugged. Here, sit him up.”

Virgil shifted so he was behind Logan and pulled him up against him, holding him steady as Remus lifted a glass of water to his lips. “You have to be thirsty. Do your best to keep this down, Lo.” Suddenly realizing how thirsty he actually was, Logan downed half the glass before Remus pulled it away. “Not so much, you’ll get sick.” There was a clink as the glass was placed on the bed side table. “We need to take him to the hospital. I don’t know how much whatever the fucker gave him.”

“I’m too drunk to drive,” Virgil said, gently lowering Logan back onto his side.

“I didn’t drink that much, but I’m not safe either. You got a friend who can take us?”

“Yeah,” The shorter mumbled as he shakily typed in his phone password, “I’m going to call Patton, just a second.” He moved to the furthest corner of the small room and the conversation faded into the background. At least Virgil was talking… that meant Patton picked up, right?

“Shitty way to end a pretty spectacular holiday,” Remus stated as he sat back on his spot, letting a hand rest on Logan’s leg.

“‘m s’rry.”

“Ah, shit, that’s not what I meant. I’m mad for you, not at you. Ya know,” As he spoke, he reached up and did something to his eyes, almost picking at them, “Halloween’s the only valid holiday in my book. Christmas is too overrated, Easter is senseless, Thanksgiving? No thanks, I don’t glorify genocide. But Halloween? I get to dress slutty or spooky or fucking ridiculous, and no one can give me two shits about it. I get to throw ragers and stab gourds into faces and buy discount candy until I’m fifty percent chocolate. I mean, I dyed my hair green for it, paid extra for the glow in the dark shit, and all I got were compliments.”

His hands had returned to his lap and he was fiddling with something. Logan tried to make out what it was, but it just looked like black plastic. Tiny, flexible pieces of black plastic. That Remus had pulled from his eyes.

They were colored contacts.

“I guess I do kind of blame Roman for getting me into Beetlejuice, but it is one of his least favorite musicals, so it’s also a bit of a ‘fuck you’ to him-”

“R’mus,” He breathed, and even that faint call was enough to snap Remus back to him. The taller man turned to him immediately, and Logan forgot how to breathe.

Because his eyes were brown, and in the dim light of the single lamp, they absolutely shone.

His eyes were the same brown as Logan’s hair, and Logan’s eyes became that offensive green around the same time as Remus dyed his for the costume, and that’s all the confirmation Logan needed to push himself up onto the hands and lunge forward to kiss him. The effort is strenuous and the lurch almost makes him heave again, but oh Lord, he just found his soulmate and it’s actually him and-

“Woah, woah woah woah. Hold on there, cowboy.” Remus gently pushes him back down before their lips can meet, “You are very drugged right now. I am not kissing you drugged. Sober, hell yes. But not like this.”

“Y’re my-”

“Soulmate. I know. I kind of figured when I saw your eyes. But I figured… I might as well get you to like me before I dropped that kind of bombshell. Although… I was hoping that would be accomplished by basic flirting, but then the party started getting out of hand, so I was always busy with-”

“Patton’s on his way,” Virgil spoke up, joining the two on the bed. “You okay, Lo?”

“He figured it out,” Remus said softly, letting a hand card through Logan’s hair.

“I was wondering how long that would take.”

Logan gave a weak smile, his own fear and adrenaline starting wear off slightly. He was safe here, and he felt like he wasn’t going to be let out of sight for a while.

“Drink some more water, wallflower,” Remus whispered, helping him sit up, “We’ll take care of you.”

#lywrites #tsshipmonth2020 #intrulogical #remus sanders #logan sanders #i kind of visualized that the man dropped the roofie in from his palm when he opened the drink #but i couldnt find a place to add that #not really that important tho #virgil sanders #patton sanders #rape tw #drugging tw #sanders sides fanfiction #sanders sides au #ts soulmate au #sanderssides #sanderssidesfanfiction #sanderssidesau

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ifbrd · 4 years ago

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Not Sugar-Coated, ToBecky Critique from a ToBecky Shipper

Let’s talk about Tobecky and it’s toxicity! And for once, let’s not hold back! I think what I’m gonna do for this post is focus on the dynamic they have in the show, mostly criticizing my own misogyny but calling out the fandom in general as well, as I’ve seen other’s do these same things. Later I will reblog it on the Word Up blog and continue my thoughts on the ship and how it affected Word Up.

The first thing I will say is that I am a Tobecky shipper, ever since Tobey’s first shorts when it was revealed he had a crush on WordGirl. I started watching this show as a kid, I would have been 9 or 10 when it started airing on PBS. If I were to get into this show today, however, I don’t think I would be shipping tobecky, because as an adult I can recognize its toxicity which I didn’t have the proper knowledge or understanding to do back in the day. And I think the real reason I still ship today is purely nostalgic. Though I won’t deny that their dynamic is interesting and that likely affects my shipping brain too.

As a kid, I think I shipped it because, well it seemed inevitable. It seemed like the only endgame option. How many romcoms start with a girl liking one boy, only to realize later she should be with a different guy, usually an underdog the audience is supposed to root for. How many romance stories start with the two not liking each other, ranging anywhere from minor annoyances for each other to full-blown enemies, only to later understand it was all a guise to hide their true feelings. It seemed obvious that Becky/WordGirl would end up with not Scoops, whom she had a crush on, but instead Tobey, the underdog she always was fighting or arguing with. Factor in Tobey’s crush, my very underdeveloped ability to think critically, and the fact that the writers in early seasons seemed to really take the time to focus on the potential chemistry between these two (their interactions in “Department Store Tobey” and both of them having a good time together in “Have You Seen the Remote?” etc) and it seemed there was only one boy for Becky to logically end up with.

The first time I can recall really questioning this ship, I mean really questioning it, was sometime in probably my sophomore or freshman year? Maybe my junior year? I recall my health teacher teaching us about healthy vs unhealthy relationships. In this unit, I realized several of my favorite ships across various fandoms were unhealthy but that’s a whole other topic. At one point I remember him giving his two cents about the phrase “opposites attract” when being applied to romance. He said this can be true, but only if the two are “opposites” in personality, and not “opposites” in values. If a couple’s values, their morals, don’t align, they probably aren’t going to make it. And in all honesty, I think Tobey and Becky have the worst possible combination for this.

They have very similar personalities, and while this isn’t necessarily a bad thing, it can make it easier for them to encourage their negative traits instead of helping them overcome them. The traits they both share like pridefulness, attention-seeking, and being a bit obsessive, have the potential to be the traits they bring out in each other. The best counter-argument for this is the fact that Becky is willing to and would call Tobey out for everything wrong or ridiculous he does, and try to help him. But that doesn’t matter if Tobey is not willing to listen to her when she calls him out, or accept her help when she offers it and he needs it. And it’s especially worthless if he’s not willing to help her back.

Meanwhile, the biggest weakness for this ship is their opposite values. Their morals couldn’t be more apart from each other. Get these two together for long periods of time and a morality war would easily ensue. And then combined with if their similar personalities do end up bringing the worst in each other, then any relationship they could have would be disastrous.

The worst issues with their pairing all go back to Tobey. I love Tobey as a character, don’t get me wrong, but we need to be honest, and please excuse the language--Tobey is a piece of shit! He is disrespectful to everyone around him, except his mother, and that’s only because he’s scared of her He thinks he’s better than everyone else and has no issues expressing that opinion, even going as far as to try to define words for WordGirl. He goes as far as to belittle her in “Tobey or Consequences” criticizing her word choice. He has been shown on multiple occasions to lose his mind when he doesn’t get exactly what he wants and will do anything to get it, without regard for others’ property, feelings or safety. He’s manipulative as seen in “Tobey Goes Good” and “Have You Seen the Remote.” He’s unwilling to take responsibility for his actions, as demonstrated when he attacks the candy factory for making candy because he got a cavity, instead of realizing that he should have taken better care of his teeth.

And worst of all, despite what he and the audience often believe, he clearly doesn’t give a single shit about WordGirl. If he cared about her he would have acknowledged her disinterest, if he cared about her, he wouldn’t have tried to force Becky into admitting she’s WordGirl in “By Jove, You’ve Wrecked My Robot.” If he cared about her, he wouldn’t have pretended to be good or trick her into spending time with him or forced her to read poems about him. In the Halloween special he thought Violet was WordGirl just because she was wearing a WordGirl costume, failing to acknowledge that Violet is blonde and white and WordGirl is clearly not.

The episode “WordBot” makes it very clear what kind of relationship Tobey wants from WordGirl--and it’s not a relationship. It’s a dynamic where she simply showers him with never-ending adoration and does whatever he wants. Tobey cares about one person and one person only and it’s not WordGirl, it’s himself.

And I’m not even counting “Go Gadget Go” in any of this! That episode put him in such a bad light that most fans pretend it doesn’t exist because his behavior is so inexcusable. And yet even without that episode, we have plenty of toxicity coming from Tobey’s end.

I once saw someone say they hate the tobecky ship because the argument for it often is that Becky will be willing to put up with Tobey when they’re older. First of all, if that’s your argument in tobecky’s favor you need to go take a good hard look at yourself. Becky putting up with Tobey’s messed up behavior is essentially hoping she ends up in a horrible, toxic, unhealthy, relationship that would be borderline abusive if she didn’t stand against him. Secondly, while I don’t deny the existence of this argument, (I once read a fanfic where the two were married but still a hero and villain who battled regularly) I disagree with the idea that this argument is most often used to justify the ship. Instead, the most common argument to justify it is the idea that Tobey has it in him to change. This is certainly a better argument, as Tobey changing is really the only hope for this ship.

But I think it’s really easy for us, myself included, to struggle with the line between finding evidence that Tobey could change vs excusing his actions; the line between finding an explanation for his behavior vs finding an excuse for him. It’s a very easy line to accidentally cross without realizing it. And it really says something when, as discussed in another post, we are not giving other villains like Victoria--who have more of an “excuse” --the same treatment. It’s incredibly misogynistic.

I’m not going to try to argue that Tobey doesn’t have the capability to be good, of course, he does. We can see this in the cute note he leaves in Becky’s backpack in “Trustworthy Tobey” and in the very last moments in the Thanksgiving special, and of course in our favorite example, “It’s Your Party and I’ll Cry if I Want to.” I’m also not saying that Tobey’s actions and psychology aren’t the product of the environment and circumstances he faces daily. Of course having no father figure present, a single mother who is always working, and no friends is going to affect a child. What I want to question is when is Tobey responsible for his own life, choices, and actions? Maybe not now at age 10-11, but what about when he’s 13? 16? 18? 21? 40? Where do we draw that line? I also don’t want to discourage looking for the good in people and characters and thinking critically about how their past and psychology is affecting their actions. I want to encourage that in all characters, not just the boy who happens to have a crush.

And while it’s nice to speculate that Tobey will follow a better path in the future, not so much for tobecky as much as for the betterment of Tobey himself, we need to realize that it’s just speculation. We have no canon proof of where his story goes post-WordGirl. He has his moments of hope but overall this kid has a terrible track record. When it comes to others, Tobey makes terrible choices. And that’s exactly what “going good” will be--a choice--his choice.

I also want to take a moment to talk about something @fromtheplanethexagon said in this amazing post you should totally read because it’s great. They commented on how very few people when writing tobecky fanfics takes the time to explore her perspective of their feelings for each other. Where her feelings originate and why she would like him. This is something I am absolutely guilty of and will be paying attention to in the future. After reading that passage from their post I thought for a while why Becky would like Tobey, and I honestly struggled with it a bit, which shouldn’t be happening if I’m trying to write a healthy tobecky story. That’s all I’ll say on this for now because beyond this I would use Word Up as an example, so I’ll save that for later.

The older I get the more I realized how toxic this ship is. Heck, who knows what I’ll realize about it in the future when I’m even more mature. In the past I’ve tried to convince myself it’s okay I ship it because I never shipped Tobey with WordGirl, I shipped him with Becky. I know they are the same person, but Tobey doesn’t know that, and the dynamics between him and each of her egos are very different. The dynamic between Tobey and WordGirl reminds me of Gideon and Mabel from Gravity Falls. Meanwhile the one between Tobey and Becky reminds me more of the one between Jimmy and Cindy from The Adventures of Jimmy Neutron. That’s better right? Even if just a little bit? Well no, not really, because we all know darn well if Tobey fell for Becky instead of WordGirl he would treat Becky exactly the same as he treats WordGirl. He would ultimately have the same “WordBot esc” expectations. If anything he might try to treat her worse. With WordGirl there is a clear power balance, and while it’s still technically there with Becky, Tobey doesn’t know it’s still there and might try to use that to his advantage.

And to conclude I’d like to add to @fromtheplanethexagon above-mentioned post (here’s the link again, seriously, read it!). Regarding their final thoughts that it’s fine to explore the ship, and it’s fine to explore the unhealthy parts of the ship. But we need to be careful to not glorify the toxicity of the potential pairing.

#wordgirl #becky botsford #tobey mccallister #tobecky #misogyny #toxic ships #shipping #pbs kids #okay that link to the victoria ask post...i'd only look at it on mobile #i linked it to my blog and i guess my blog layout doesn't like that post the order is completely mixed up???#guess i have to find a new desktop blog theme because that can't be happening #it's very confusing

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klaineaddictsfanficrecs · 3 years ago

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Unmasked

By Gleeful Darren Criss Fan

Covid sucked. It had totally ruined 2020. First, he had landed his first major role in a Broadway production. Ok, it was an understudy role, and it was a revival of Wicked. He was Fiyero’s understudy, even though he was better than the guy cast to play the role, some cocky kid named Brody that slept his way to the top. Unfortunately for the promiscuous boy, he had pissed off the director and was fired during the pandemic, allowing Blaine to step in and fill his shiny, polished shoes.

Unfortunately, Covid had other plans. The governor called for the emergency closure of all nonessential businesses, which meant the show and the theater was mandated to stay closed to the public until further notice. Initially, he had been optimistic, thinking that they were only going to close down for a couple of weeks. Now, almost a year later, there was finally a date set for opening night. It was finally time for his debut. He had finally gotten to walk back through those doors and step back on stage. But that wasn’t the reason that he had been so elated.

This morning when he was told that everyone would be allowed to congregate and rehearse together, he had practically jumped for joy. Yes, it would be amazing to see his costars again. Rachel, although a diva at times, was fun to be around and immensely talented. And his friends in the ensemble, like Sam, Tina, and Mike were a blast to be around. And even Santana, Rachel’s understudy, was even becoming his friend, even though he did not want to get on her bad side. But the person he was most excited to be around wasn’t even on the stage. And because of that, he only had the opportunity to see him sporadically, only when the costume director needed to take measurements or do adjustments. Yep, that’s correct. His favorite person to see in the whole production was the lead designer for the show, Kurt Hummel.

When he was first told that Brody was out and he was in, he was ecstatic because that meant that he’d get his chance to shine. Unfortunately, it had caused Kurt to flip out because Brody and Blaine were very different, especially in the height department. Blaine was also told that he was not as defined in a few areas, like his arms, but he was much more defined in other areas, such as in the crotch area. Blaine had never blushed so much in his life as when Kurt had to take his measurements that day.

And since then, Blaine’s outlook for his day seemed to improve as soon as Kurt walked into the theater. It hadn’t happened much at first, because they staggered days that they worked at the theater so that they could socially distance themselves. Kurt had said that he could do much of the sewing at home, so he seldomly graced them with his presence until the virus finally started to get under control.

And when Kurt was there, he would always do the responsible thing and distance himself and wear an impeccably designed and completely original mask. Of course, all of them were encouraged to wear masks. Blaine had his on currently, although he was permitted to take his off when he was singing because it was hard to sing with them on. However, since Kurt was a costume designer that didn’t have to perform or sing, his mask stayed in place the entire time that he was there. And Blaine absolutely hated it.

Yep, he hated that little piece of fabric so much. Stupid covid. Because of you, Kurt’s face was concealed. His luscious lips, his adorable button nose, his strong jaw, his rosy cheeks, and that adorable cleft in his chin were being touched, caressed even by the fabric instead of his own fingers and lips. Now, Blaine had to imagine what Kurt’s face looked like when he laughed or when he got irritated and said something fiery and sarcastic. It was just so unfair. And what made it worse was that everyone had to bring attention to them.

Kurt never seemed to wear the same mask twice, unlike most of the rest of the crew. Some of them obviously only owned one and never bothered to wash it. Kurt, however, always walked in with the most stunning, unique masks that Blaine had ever seen, which became the immediate topic that everyone had to talk about. Sam, Mike, or even Santana would comment on how amazing the mask was. Blaine thought back to the first time that Kurt had walked in with the accessory that Blaine now detested most of all.

“Oh my God, Blaine,” Tina exclaimed as she embraced him. “Did you see Kurt’s mask yet?”

tin man mask

Blaine nodded. “Yeah. It’s neat.”

“Neat? Blaine, it’s the tinman’s face, in exact detail. It’s incredible. I’ve not seen anything like it, and I’ve searched like crazy for the coolest designs and fabrics when I was making mine. I bet he made it. He has the skill, obviously. I wonder if he’d make me one.”

“I’m sure he would,” Blaine said softly, though he was really trying not to roll his eyes.

“Don’t you like it? I thought you liked the wizard of Oz. If it wasn’t for the popularity of that story, Wicked wouldn’t have ever happened.”

“I love the wizard of Oz. You know that.”

“Then, what’s the reason for that face. When I brought up the mask, you looked almost as irritated as you were when Rachel tried to make “As long as You’re Mine” a solo because she had the strongest voice. Do you not like Kurt?”

Blaine bit his lip. “No, no. Of course, I like Kurt. I was just thinking of the show and everything. Sorry. It’s a great mask.”

“Cool. I’m going to ask him to make one for both of us then,” Tina said, ignoring the look of horror from Blaine as she frantically started waving the brunette over. “Hey Kurt! Come here for a minute!”

Kurt smiled as he stepped up to the two friends. “Hi, Tina. Hey Blaine. Did you need somethi-?”

“Yeah,” Tina interrupted, shaking Kurt’s hand, neglecting to let it go so that Blaine could do the same. “We were just talking about your mask, and how cool it is, and Blaine and I thought it would be neat to have one. Where did you get it?”

“Oh, I made it actually,” Kurt replied. “During the pandemic, I had to do something to earn money and keep my sanity, so I designed and sewed masks. It was also a way that I could do my part to help. My dad was at risk, since he’s a cancer survivor and all, so it started with me trying to convince him to wear a mask. He kept fussing that he couldn’t find any that were comfortable and fun to wear, so I started designing them for him to wear.”

“He’s a Wizard of Oz fan?” Tina asked.

Kurt shook his head. “Nah, not really. This one was completely my idea. No. I designed him some masks with his favorite car models or the Buckeyes.”

Blaine did a double-take. Could Kurt be more perfect? “You like the Buckeyes?”

Kurt laughed. “Oh Heck no. But my dad does. He loves football, and he’s all about supporting the local team, you know.”

“Oh ok,” Blaine chuckled. “I didn’t take you for the type that liked football.”

“Hey, now. Don’t put me inside a box, Blaine. I was on my high school football team.”

“For like two games, and you were the kicker,” Rachel interjected, popping up behind them as if from nowhere. “Hey, Blaine, Tammy.”

“Tina,” Tina said with an eye roll.

“So, are you ready to finally get to practice together? I bet it’ll be a total disaster since I highly doubt that the rest of the cast rehearsed daily as I did to stay in optimum shape both vocally and physically. Kurt, have you put on some weight.”

“Why, yes, Rachel, I have, or to phrase it more accurately, I’ve gained muscle mass, because unlike, what you suggested, I’ve kept up with my aerobics and exercise routine daily, and I’ve actually watched what I’ve eaten better. Have you?”

Rachel’s eyes flashed. “No, I have not. I’ve actually lost weight, thank you very much,” she said, stomping away angrily.

“Thank you,” Tina said graciously. “I can’t stand her sometimes. We’ve worked together for a while now, and she still calls me Tammy.”

Kurt shrugged his shoulders. “She just feels threatened because she’s not used to sharing the spotlight much. So, you want a mask like this?”

Tina nodded. “Yeah. It’s incredible. Actually, could you make two? Blaine wants one as well.”

“Is that right? I think that I still have enough fabric at home to whip one up for both of you. Or did you want a different character? I even have couples’ masks if you’re interested.

“No, no, uh uh. No couples masks. Blaine and I aren’t a couple. I’m seeing Mike. Blaine’s gay,” Tina corrected.

“Oh, is that right,” Kurt replied. Blaine wished that he could see the rest of Kurt’s face when he had said that because if he didn’t know better, Kurt seemed to be smiling, maybe even blushing, but Blaine couldn't be sure because of that damn mask covering his face.

“Uh yeah, totally gold star gay,” Blaine responded, feeling his own cheeks grow warm. Thank god he had on a mask to cover the bright red hue painted on his cheeks. “I thought it was obvious.”

Kurt laughed, his nose scrunching up under the fabric. “Nope. and I thought my gaydar had improved since I moved here. Good to know,” Kurt said with a wink.

A wink. What did Kurt mean by that? Was he blushing too? Smiling at him? Could Kurt be interested in him? Blaine was usually good at reading people’s expressions, but with that stupid mask, he wasn’t getting the full picture. And unfortunately, every conversation after that was just as cryptic.

“Hey Blaine,” Kurt said as he stepped into Blaine’s dressing room. “Do you have a minute?”

“Yeah sure. What can I do for you?”

“I wanted to see if you got your mask, and you obviously did because it’s right there. Does it fit right?”

“Oh, I haven’t tried it on yet since I haven’t left my dressing room yet. I wore a different one here today, but it looks good.” He fitted the elastic over his ears. He smiled, but then quickly realized that Kurt couldn’t see it anymore. “Yeah, it’s perfect. Yours is interesting today.”

Baby Yoda mask

“Thanks. I think baby Yoda is adorable,” Kurt replied.

I think you’re adorable, Blaine thought. “Yeah, he is. Did you need something else?”

“Um, yeah. Actually, I noticed yesterday that your costume is a little snug in a few areas, specifically around your arms and other areas and I didn’t want it to be uncomfortable so I thought I’d take your measurements so I could make the needed adjustments.”

This was mortifying. Kurt noticed that he had put on some weight during the pandemic. He tried to keep up a healthy diet, and he still exercised every day. He also indulged more in sweets though, especially since his favorite bakery started offering delivery. He and Steve, the Door Dash delivery guy, were now on a first-name basis. “Yeah, I guess that I started eating less healthy since this whole pandemic thing started and I discovered cronuts. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry,” Kurt said as he started measuring Blaine’s triceps. “If anything, I just thought that you had increased your workout regime while you were stuck at home. Your sleeves have definitely gotten tighter, along with some other things,” Kurt remarked, his eyes shifting down his body. “I thought at first that you just started dressing up in tighter clothing until I saw you in the costume. Not that I mind.” Kurt said as he turned his head up and looked directly at Blaine, and were his pupils larger?

“Oh, um. Yeah. It wasn’t intentional. I can’t pull off the look as well as you do,” Blaine replied.

“Debatable,” Kurt answered back quickly, and was that a giggle? That stupid piece of fabric on his face muffled his voice a little, so Blaine couldn’t be sure. Was he flirting? “Anyway, I’ll adjust the shirt for you,” Kurt said as his fingers worked his way down to Blaine’s thighs, “although I think I need to take out the pants a little as well. You’ve clearly gained some definition in your thighs as well.”

Blaine was thankful for his mask at that moment because it hid how his mouth dropped open in shock. Was Kurt complimenting his legs? Or was he just doing his job and noticing that his pants had gotten tighter.

“Do I need to take them out in other areas? Turn around and let me get your measurements in the seat of your pants.”

Did Kurt just ask to measure his ass? “Are you trying to imply that my ass has gotten bigger?” Blaine laughed, again a blush rising on his cheeks.

“Not at all. It’s actually the opposite. You’ve obviously defined certain areas, and so your trousers are ill-fitted in some places and too tight in others. I just didn’t want you to have an unfortunate wardrobe malfunction on stage. Plus, I know how uncomfortable it is to squeeze into a pair of pants that are too tight.”

“Your pants are really tight. Why do you wear them that way if they’re uncomfortable?” Blaine questioned, thankful that Kurt was behind him and not able to see how embarrassed he was by the question.

“It’s fashionable. Plus, I have long legs. My skinny jeans accentuate my assets,” Kurt answered as he moved the measuring tape along Blaine’s butt.

“Yeah, they do,” Blaine blurted. “I mean, you obviously know what looks good on your body type,” he quickly added. Change the subject, before you pop a boner, Blaine. “So has my ass has gotten smaller.”

Kurt laughed heartily. “Are you trying to insinuate that I committed the size of your ass to memory, Blaine?” Kurt said, rising up, and resting the tape on his arm.

“Um, no, but you said my pants no longer fit right,” Blaine mumbled. “So it must’ve gotten smaller, right?”

Kurt chuckled again. “Not necessarily. Like I said, your thighs have gained definition and you have gained some muscles in your glutes as well. Therefore, it changed the fit of your already tight trousers. And since they’re white, they’re showing some things that may not be appropriate for the kiddos in the audience to see.

“Oh, um, then, by all means, let’s fix that.” Blaine laughed.

“Well, then, I’ll kinda need your pants.”

Blaine ran his hand through his curls as he turned his head from the brunette. “Wait, right now?”

“Not this exact second, Blaine. I’m not telling you to drop ‘em right this instant.” Kurt chuckled. “I’ll leave, and you can change. Then, I’ll tailor them as quickly as I can so that they are ready for the dress rehearsal Thursday.”

“Oh, ok. Thanks, Kurt.” Blaine smiled, even though he knew Kurt couldn’t see it with his mask covering his face.

“No, thank you, Blaine. It’s been my pleasure. Kurt said with a wink. Then, he turned and shut the door behind him.

What the hell? Was Kurt flirting or was he just doing his job? He had to be flirting. He had noticed that Blaine’s body had changed, and he had even commented that the changes were nice. Was Kurt trying to hint that he liked what he saw? Or was it really an issue of a wardrobe nightmare waiting to happen?

Damn that mask. Blaine had missed all the signs. The shy smiles, the blushing cheeks, the sly, confident smile he’d usually look for when he read another guy’s expressions. The signs that he had read on his former hookups or boyfriends before he felt confident to ask them out. Hell, some guys made it extremely easy, like Sebastian, who basically called him sex on a stick and gave him a room key to his dorm. Covid had already complicated his life on so many levels, and now it was messing with his love life. Not that he had a love life. Blaine sighed and unbuckled his pants. Yep. He hated those stupid masks.

The next encounter was even more confusing.

“Hey, Blaine. Are things inside your pants better now?” Kurt asked, making Blaine nearly spit out the water he had just taken a sip of. “Oh God. I meant, do they feel better.”

“Wanky,” Santana laughed. “You been lettin’ Hummel get into your pants, Anderson?”

“What? No. He had to make some adjustments yesterday.”

“Some adjustments? Is that what we’re calling it now? Santana laughed again, raising her eyebrows and perching her hand on her hip.

“I had to tailor his pants, Santana. Just like I had to make adjustments to your costume as well after you decided to get some adjustments of your own,” Kurt replied.

“Hey, just because Berry’s captain of the itty bitty titty committee doesn’t mean that I have to join too. Now, I’m ineligible, thanks to some silicone and a team of surgeons. Anyway, Blaine, you didn’t answer Ladyface’s question. How are things inside your pants? Growing uncomfortable, are we?”

“No, they actually are fine. Thanks for your concern. Don’t you have some lines to review, Santana?”

“Yeah, but they aren’t going to be as fun for me to study as the ones that Kurt studied on your ass.”

“Leave him alone, Santana. Blaine can’t help that his body changed during the pandemic, even though he looks great. Getting into better shape and taking care of your body is a positive thing, especially since Blaine didn’t have to get the help of a doctor and a scalpel to do it.”

Santana flipped her hair, “Whatever, lady face,” she sassed, stalking away.

“Thanks, Kurt.”

“For putting her in her place? She lived with me for a little while. You just have to call her out when she gets bitchy,” Kurt replied.

“No, I meant for the alterations. I don’t feel quite so obscene now.” Blaine laughed.

“No problem, Blaine. That’s my job. Although I kinda liked the view,” Kurt said quietly. “Besides, it reflects poorly on me as a costume designer if anything appears ill-fitting.”

Blaine smiled. “Well, still, thank you. I can actually breathe in my costume now. Did you make that mask as well?”

“Yeah. Do you like it?”

Chewbacca mask

Nope. Not at all, Blaine thought as he visualized how even more gorgeous Kurt would be without it. “Yeah. It’s fine.”

“Fine? Do you not like Chewbacca, Blaine?

“He’s fine, I guess. I’m more of a Han solo guy myself.”

“Oh, I like him too, but I didn’t know how to make a Harrison Ford face,” Kurt laughed. “I don’t think they sell that at Mood.”

Blaine chuckled. “No, I guess not. But does that mean that they do have Chewbacca Fabric?”

“No, I had to order it from a specialty shop online. They use a special program to put the design on fabric. My customers really seem to like them.”

“They really are unique,” although I wish you’d take yours off so that I could see your gorgeous smile again, Blaine thought. “I think that it’s great that you make them, even though I can’t wait for the day that they lift the mask mandates.”

“And why is that, Blaine? I really like seeing the different designs that people wear, and they’re fun to make.”

I really like seeing your whole face, and I haven’t gotten to see it since this stupid pandemic started, Blaine thought. “I just don’t like trying to breathe through the fabric, I guess, and I kinda miss seeing people’s facial expressions.”

“Yeah, that makes sense. Especially for an actor. I guess it’s hard to react to your scene partner’s expressions when you can’t see them. And I guess it’d be difficult trying to sing with one on,” Kurt replied. “But, safety first. I wouldn’t want anyone to get sick because of my negligence.”

“Yeah, you’re right. It is the responsible thing to do.”

“Being responsible sucks sometimes, though,” Kurt said. “I don’t particularly like them either.”

“You don’t?” Blaine asked in surprise.

Kurt shook his head. “I miss people’s smiles too, some more than others,” Kurt said as he turned and walked away.

What did he mean by that? Did Kurt mean him? Was he talking about someone else? He had never been so puzzled in his life.”

__________________________________________________________________________

The next few weeks continued to puzzle Blaine. The days that Kurt was at the theater were few and far between, and when he was there, he was bombarded with the task of fixing a burst seam or making alterations to the rest of the casts’ costumes. And since the CDC and the governor were still suggesting that every one social distance, Kurt seemed to take that to heart, barely speaking to him at all.

“Blaine, what did you think of Kurt’s mask today?” Sam asked as Sam exited the stage and Blaine prepared to enter.

“Oh, I haven’t even seen it yet. I wasn’t aware that he was here today.”

“Yeah, the CDC finally lifted some of the restrictions, although they are still recommending masks,” Mike commented. “You didn’t notice that everyone was here today?”

Blaine shook his head. “I’ve been running lines in my dressing room. With the opening night being just a week away, my nerves have been a mess,” Blaine admitted.

“Then you should definitely check out Kurt’s mask. It’s just your style,” Sam said, smiling.

“I’ll check it out,” Blaine said with a nod, stepping on the stage, and then spotting Kurt sitting front and center in the center of one of the front rows, and Sam was right. It was definitely his style.

Han Solo mask

Blaine flubbed several of his lines as his focus was pulled from Rachel and directed to Kurt countless times. It was Han Solo. Kurt was wearing a Han solo mask. What did that mean?

“Blaine? Cut? We need to try that again. That line isn’t even in this scene. Where’s your focus? We have opening night in a week, and you can’t just be dropping the wrong lines. It might throw me off. If you’re going star opposite of me, you have to match my level of talent and enthusiasm. I don’t want my opening night to be lackluster.”

“God, Rachel. It’s not just your opening night. You do realize that hundreds of people all have a hand in making this play come together. You aren’t the only person that people are coming to see. I need a break,” Blaine sighed, storming off the stage in frustration.

“Hey, Blaine, are you ok?” a sweet melodic voice asked behind him.

Blaine turned to see Kurt standing in front of him, his Han solo mask still in place. “Yeah, I just get a little flustered by her sometimes.”

Kurt nodded in understanding. “I get it. We used to be roommates. I couldn’t take it anymore. I moved in with Elliott during the pandemic.”

“Elliott?” Blaine had never heard Kurt mention that name before. Did Kurt have a boyfriend? Of course, he did. There was no way that a man as gorgeous and sweet as Kurt was single.

“Yeah, we met when he auditioned for my band shortly after I moved to New York.”

“Your band? You’re in a band?”

Kurt nodded. “Yeah, but we haven’t played anywhere with a lot of the venues we play not having shows this past year. I really miss it. We still practice sometimes, but I miss performing in front of an audience. We have a gig coming up, though. You should come.”

“Sure. When is it?”

“Friday at Callbacks. It starts at 8.”

“I have rehearsal, but I’ll try. By the way, your mask is great.”

“Thanks. It was inspired by you. You said that you liked Han. and I’ve already sold several on my Etsy page. But I saved one for you, if you want it.”

“Of course I want it. What makes you think that I wouldn’t.”

“You said that you don’t like masks,” Kurt answered matter of factly.

“It’s not that I don’t like them. I just miss seeing people’s faces.” Especially yours, Blaine thought. He had never been so jealous of a piece of fabric in his life. Those masks got to be right up close to Kurt’s smooth skin, his perfect, luscious lips, and it wasn’t fair. “I’ll try to be there Friday. I can’t wait to hear you sing.”

“I can’t wait to be back on stage again myself. I’ll see you then. And here. This is yours. Kurt placed something in his hand. It was a mask just like his own.

“Thank you,” Blaine said, squeezing Kurt’s hand as if to discourage him from moving it away from his.

“No problem. I made one for Sam and Elliott as well. They’re both Star Wars fans like you. And hang in there. Rachel does not use to sharing the spotlight, but one of these days, she’ll realize the importance of a team effort. See you Friday.”

“See you then.” Although Blaine was really tired of the fact that he still wouldn’t get to see Kurt’s beautiful smile. But then he realized that Kurt would be singing and it was hard to sing with a mask on. Kurt would have to take off the mask. There’s no way that Blaine would miss finally getting to see his face once again.

____________________________________________________________________________

Blaine was a nervous wreck, pacing back and forth in front of the little club. He debated going inside. On one hand, he’d get to hear his crush sing. On the other hand, Kurt would be there with the man he lived with, that probably got to kiss his lips and touch his face and strong jaw.

After about five minutes, he finally gathered the nerve to step inside the club, only to see the man of his dreams, maskless, and wrapped in the arms of a gorgeous, taller man with eyeliner and a leather jacket. He turned around and abruptly left the club without looking back.

_______________________________________________________________________

It was opening night, and Blaine’s nerves were on edge. He was excited. His parents and Cooper were both going to be in the audience tonight to watch him perform. His parents had already seen the special showing the night before, and then they took him out for dinner at a swanky place that Blaine could probably never afford. It was a nice evening, but it had been plagued by a feeling of frustration. Kurt hadn’t even tried to talk to him since that night that he stood him up at Callbacks. And Kurt would be at the show. He’d have to be, to make sure that everyone’s costumes were in perfect shape. In fact, he had seen Kurt running around and checking with everyone to make sure that they didn’t need anything. Except him.

Kurt hadn’t even turned around long enough for him to see his mask today. And suddenly, Blaine collided with someone hard, almost falling backward as a strong arm gripped his and prevented him from hitting the hardwood beneath him.

“Are you ok?”

“Kurt, hey, I’m sorry. I wasn’t paying attention to where I was goin-”

“Are you ok? Kurt asked again.

“Your mask. It’s me.”

Blaine Anderson Mask

Kurt nodded. “It is. I broke my rule to wear it tonight.”

“You have a rule? I mean other than to never take it off.”

Kurt nodded. I don’t usually wear the same mask twice. But I wore this one again.

Blaine shook his head. “I’ve never seen it before.”

“I wore it at Callbacks. I guess you couldn’t make it that night.”

“I was there, but I-I had to leave. I’m sorry.”

“Was there an emergency or something?”

“No, I just couldn’t handle it. I’m sorry.”

Kurt shook his head. “I’m afraid I don’t understand. You’re going to have to explain it to me.”

“How does Elliott feel about that mask?”

“He’s fine with it. He actually helped me find a picture of you to use so that I could draw it accurately.”

“And he wasn’t jealous?”

“No, why would he be. We’re just roommates and bandmates.”

“He was holding you quite tightly the other night. I didn’t want to intrude.”

“Oh, that? He needed a friend. His boyfriend of two years broke up with him the day before and we had just rehearsed a song that Elliott wrote for him. I was being supportive.”

“Wait, so Elliott isn’t your boyfriend?” Blaine asked.

“No. I just needed a place to stay when Rachel became an even bigger diva than she already is. Elliott and Danny offered to let me stay at their place. They never seemed to mind me. That is until Danny accused Elliott and me of sleeping together. Which would never happen because I respected their relationship too much, and I’m not really attracted to Elliott. I’ve been hopelessly head over heels for someone else for over a year now.”

“Wait, you have? Do I know him?”

Kurt smiled and pulled his mask off and handed it to Blaine. I thought I made it pretty obvious. I mean, I wouldn’t just put anyone on my face.” Kurt facepalmed. I mean, I wouldn’t just wear a mask with just anybody on it.”

“You had Han solo’s chest on one of them.” Blaine objected.

“Because he was your favorite,” Kurt countered.

“And you wore baby Yoda.”

“Because Sam said that you liked Star Wars a lot. He told me that you thought Yoda was adorable.”

“I think you’re adorable,” Blaine blurted, and then blushed profusely when he realized that he said that out loud. “I mean, especially now, since I can see your face.”

“Well then, if you like seeing it, then how about you make plans to see it again, tonight, after the show. Dinner. You and I.”

“My brother’s taking me out tonight. But we can do something afterward.”

“Will you show up this time,” Kurt pouted.

“I showed up last time. And I am truly sorry about that. I really did want to see you perform. I just was caught off guard when I saw you and Elliott holding one another so tightly. It just seemed like I’d be intruding.”

“You can’t intrude if I want you to be there. And he was comforting me because I thought that you weren’t coming.”

“Sorry. I shouldn’t have jumped to conclusions,” Blaine said dropping his head down in shame.

“Make it up to me?” Kurt asked with a timid smile.

“Anything.”

Kurt cupped Blaine’s jaw and closed the distance between them, their lips finally meeting in an electric kiss.

“God, I’ve wanted to do that for ages. But I couldn’t because of these things.” Blaine said, referencing the mask that was still in his hand.

“I knew you didn’t really like them.”

“I hated them at first, because I didn’t actually get to see you smile anymore. I didn’t get to see your nose crinkle when something irritated you, and I didn’t get to see your cheeks redden when Santana said something distasteful. But then, I realized that I got to see another part of you that I hadn’t got to see before. I think I fell head over heels for you when I saw you in a mask for the first time. That tin man mask. It just showed so much personality. And then, you made one for me too. I still have it. I wear it all the time.”

“I have mine in my keepsake box. It was the day I realized that I didn’t just have a crush on you anymore. It had grown into something much deeper.”

“Are you saying what I think you’re saying?” Blaine asked, staring intensely at the gorgeous man in front of him.

“It depends. What is it that you think I’m saying?” Kurt smirked. Smirked, and it was adorable and so freakin’ hot.

“I think you’re saying, Mr. Hummel, that you want me to be your boyfriend,” Blaine smirked back.

“And I think that’s pretty accurate,” Kurt replied as he pressed his body into Blaine’s and kissed him firmly on the lips.

“It’s nice to finally get to do this,” Blaine whispered against his boyfriend’s lips.

“Do what?” Kurt prompted, lightly kissing Blaine’s lips once more.

“To get you unmasked,” Blaine replied before deepening the kiss.

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justjensenanddean · 5 years ago

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Jensen Ackles as Red Hood [x]

The MakeWhile Red Hood in Mint Condition was designed as an Easter Egg — a nod to Jensen Ackles’ voice acting performance in Batman: Under The Red Hood — the continuing adventure with the costume was wonderfully unpredictable. The initial version had been a process mainly motivated by my own preexisting excitement, and then, on the first of two days shooting on the set of our fictional comic shop “Smash! Pow! Collectibles”, seeing the reaction from the boys (and director, additional cast and crew for that matter) when they entered the shop was incredibly inspiring. Jared helped position the costumed mannequin, wanting to ensure it was in the opening shot of the main characters entering the store, and Jensen looked at it and immediately expressed his desire for the whole costume for himself for Halloween, a genuinely enthusiastic compliment I graciously accepted.

My response to Jensen was instant: I can make that happen. It’s yours.Realistically, having the costume live in my closet for the rest of eternity seemed useless anyway, and what better use for a designated character outfit than to have the voice actor (and a truly excellent choice for a face-claim) wear it for Halloween. I immediately contacted Tanja from Tiger Stone FX about a new helmet because the one by Tiger Stone which played in the store was a piece belonging to someone to whom I had once given it. Tanja and her husband Nat are the wonderful people behind the brilliant work of Tiger Stone, and also happen to be fans of the show. What a lovely coincidence. They went to work right away making Jensen’s new helmet and mask. It is always a pleasure working with them, and their work is absolutely exceptional. I can’t recommend them enough. The helmet was and is certainly a highlight – as was watching Jensen run around the comic book store wearing it.

There were several other additions I needed to make for the costume, since while the outfit played as a nearly direct reflection of the animated movie design, I felt it needed updates to make it fit a realistic setting. Also, the mannequin is wearing my lace-up tactical boots. They were not going to fit Jensen. They barely fit the mannequin. In fact, let’s start with those.

Regardless of how difficult I thought it would be to have everything come together or get finished in time, nothing was more of a struggle than finding knee-high lace-up boots in Jensen’s size. It’s not even as though he’s an unrealistic size – in fact, that was the problem. Every pair of boots I was even remotely interested in for the costume was out of stock in his size. Call after call to manufacturers and stores across the United States and finally, finally I managed to find a woman willing to go to the warehouse of the factory to see if one of two designs happened to just be sitting on the shelf in the appropriate size. I bought the very last pair after a lot of silent cheering. But it was really down to the wire by the time I managed to get a hold of them.

In addition to the alterations required for the jacket and shirt I had previously made for the episode (luckily the pants were the perfect fit), I made extra accessories for the shoot – like Jensen’s requested hood, bloody ninja stars, belt accessories, new but distressed gloves, and Jason Todd’s pair of handguns. I had a lot more time to finish the extra odds and ends, and because they were part of the costume I had on my dream checklist, I had so much fun with them. I love weathering and painting, and don’t often need to do so on pieces I make. Having the opportunity to utilize some of my other interests for this project was really fantastic.

The Shoot

It was the day before Halloween by the time I had everything done. We were shooting at the Supernatural Stages, and so I had asked Jensen if he wanted to try everything on together to see how it fit. I arrived at studio in the morning to ask if lunchtime for the fitting was a good idea if he’d have time, and his suggestion instead was just to do the photoshoot then. Keep in mind, set-lunch is a half hour marked period of time from when the last crew member on the shooting crew goes through the line, which meant pressure was on. Limited time to dress and shoot…very limited.

Luckily, I live extremely close to studio, and went home, packed up absolutely everything costume and camera wise, and drove back as quickly as possible.

Having Jensen try on the suit for the first time was pretty unbelievable. I love making costumes for other people – in fact, it gives me far greater joy than any costumes I’ve made for myself ever have and most likely ever will. There is something about another person’s sheer joy and excitement that completely obliterates any negative thoughts I have about my creations. This time was of course no exception. I will never forget when he looked in the full length mirror, straightened his jacket, and said, “Man, I have never felt so cool. I feel like a real superhero.” The ‘me’ who put Red Hood on my dream-costume list years earlier never thought this would be how I would check it off.

Trisha, the Head of our Makeup Department, was a true sport, and helped us out by blackening up the space around Jensen’s eyes and putting on the mask. And with that last step, we jumped into Cliff’s car and were off for a photoshoot, a round-trip adventure of less than twenty minutes.

Ironically, I never do much for Halloween, despite the vast amount of costume choices I have for the holiday, but I think this was definitely the ultimate way to celebrate for 2018. I have never had so much fun with a costume before.

I edited the photos that afternoon, ready in time for a Halloween release. The response was overwhelming, and I wish to express my gratitude for the continued support and kind words in regard to my work. I would again like to thank Tanya and Nat at Tiger Stone who helped make this possible, and of course Jensen Ackles for being excited, willing, and one hell of a real life action figure.

Photos of Jensen Ackles shot and edited by Clockwork Shadow Creations Nikon D810 / Nikkor 1.4f/58mm / Nikkor 1.4f/10-24mm Behind the scenes photos by Cliff Kosterman Costume Credits: Fabric garments and accessories: Clockwork Shadow Creations (Belt canister print: Retronano) Helmet and mask: Tiger Stone FX Neck guard: Hernandez FX

clockworkshadowblog.com/jensen-ackles-redhood/

#Jensen Ackles #Batman Under the Red Hood #Red Hood #*

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longitudinalwaveme · 4 years ago

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Longitudinalwaveme Reviews Old Comics, Part 7

Today, I will be reviewing Flash #307.

The Flash #307 (1982): “Prey for the Piper”, was written by Carey Bates, drawn by the legendary Carmine Infantino, and inked by Bob Smith.

The story stars the Barry Allen Flash as the protagonist and, as the title suggests, the Pied Piper as the main antagonist. This story is also historically important for the Piper-it’s the first issue to give him an origin story. That’s right. Despite having debuted in Flash #106 in 1959, the Piper wasn’t given a backstory (or a real name!) for 22 years!

The story opens with two guys in a helicopter flying a giant gong across the city. Evidently, it’s going to be a new display at the Centrex Museum and...why in the world did they decide to transport the thing by helicopter? Couldn’t they have used a truck? That seems safer.

Regardless, the Pied Piper, who is in a nearby skyscraper, uses his pipe to hypnotize the pilots and get them to fly the gong into a building that’s under construction. Barry Allen, who is nearby buying what I believe is a newspaper but could also be a magazine or, knowing Barry, a comic book, notices the collision that’s about to happen and springs into action as the Flash.

The pilots release the giant gong and it cashes into the building, making a horrible noise but surprisingly not causing any structural damage. Barry stops the gong’s descent and goes to ask the helicopter pilots what’s happening. We then cut to Piper (who, as usual for this time period, looks like a demented elf), who notes that he only needs one more really loud sound to put “Operation Sound-Off” (I’m sure that sounded awesome in his head) into action and defeat the Flash.

Meanwhile, Barry is puzzling over why the helicopter pilots suddenly dropped the gong into the building, as when questioned about what happened, they had no idea. He knows that someone must have hypnotized them, but isn’t sure who or why. Meanwhile, in the police department’s record room, a young officer named Morty, who has been giving a reporter information about some as yet unrevealed story, walks the reporter (who works for Picture News just like Iris did) to her car...only for him to be whacked over the head and her to be kidnapped! We also see that the files she was interested in involve the Pied Piper, who is operating under the alleged name of Henry Darrow.

Barry comes outside just as Morty comes to, and the younger man tells him about what happened. Barry thinks that someone kidnapped her because of the story she was working on, and, because it was about the Pied Piper, Barry assumes that it was the Piper who had her kidnapped. In speaking of the demented elf, he’s in a state park fifty miles outside Central City, known as Summit Canyon, creating an avalanche in order to gather the final decibels needed to enact his evil plan. He notes that, once it’s complete, he’ll “finally be able to rid myself of the two curses which have plagued my life with the most pain and misery: my arch-enemy the Flash-and my despicable family!”

Meanwhile, in his apartment, Barry is trying to work out the details of the kidnapping (which he still thinks the Piper is responsible for), noting that the man’s past has always been a mystery. We then cut to “the posh Ridgeway Hills community easy of the city”, where one of the kidnappers wonder why someone so rich hired them. The other one basically tells him “who cares, we’re getting paid a ton of money and now we can go to Vegas!��

Inside a mansion, the people who paid the kidnappers note that the reporter is waking up, addressing each other as “Osgood” (snicker) and “Rachel”. The reporter tells them that they won’t get away with this, to which they basically respond that they totally will, because they’ve got tons of money to bribe her with. We then see that she’s tied up at one end of a ridiculously long table. The reporter, whose name is Marcy Dunphy, exclaims that she’s seen the people who had her kidnapped in the society pages. The man then introduces himself and his wife as “Hazel and Osgood Rathaway”, which, as this is only two panels after the use of the “Rachel” name, may hold the record for the least amount of time passing before Cary Bates forgot a character’s name. The reporter identifies them as the heads of the Rathaway Publishing Empire and is completely bewildered as to why such wealthy people would have her kidnapped. Their response? She’s uncovered a very embarrassing family secret, and they want it to stay hidden. Which does raise the question of why they decided to have her kidnap before trying to bribe her. Wouldn’t she be more amenable to the idea if you hadn’t had her kidnapped?

While the Flash races to stop the Pied Piper from robbing a museum, the Rathaways for some reason decide to tell Macy the whole story. Their son, Hartley Rathaway, was born deaf, so they spent a ton of money to ‘cure’ his deafness, and because this is comic books, they actually found a doctor who could do it. Hartley subsequently became obsessed with music. Mr. and Mrs. Rathaway had big plans for their son, but, as time went by, it became clear that Hartley wasn’t interested in excelling in anything or in “upholding the prestige of the Rathaway name”. Instead of addressing the problem (or, alternatively, not attempting to force their son to become famous), Osgood decided to start bribing the heck out of people. He bought Hartley’s way into the best colleges and then bribed them into giving him good grades he hadn’t earned. After Hartley graduated, Osgood paid his way into an executive position at a major firm and...seriously, just how rich are these people?

Meanwhile, the Flash manages to get through the sonic barrier that the Piper set up around the museum, only to be attacked by the Piper and his “Sonic Boomatron” which is in the shape of bagpipes because of reasons. The stupidly-named device hits Flash with the equivalent of 50,000 decibels, before we cut back to the Rathaways’ explanation of how awesome bribery is. They apparently gave Hartley a silver-plated flute for his sixteenth birthday (in case it wasn’t clear that they’re made of money yet, I guess), and they tell Macy that their son had always liked tinkering with musical instruments. Somehow, they completely missed that their son was a super genius who created hypnotic and weaponized music until he actually put on the costume and became the Pied Piper. HOW DID THEY NOT NOTICE THAT? It clearly started when he was still a teenager, as he used it to hypnotize his tutor into getting out of a test.

Now with the power to hypnotize people, his life was even easier than it had been before, and Hartley was bored out of his mind. So bored, apparently, that he decided that white-collar crime was overrated and decided to go into the “robbing banks in costume” type of crime. I also find it amusing at how shocked the Rathaways were that Hartley became a criminal. What, do nonstop bribery and literal kidnapping not count? Because they were bribing people left, right, and center LONG before he became the Piper.

Meanwhile, Piper’s weapon somehow turns the Flash into sound, because this is comics and comics don’t have to make sense. He proceeds to walk off with his loot, surrounded by a sonic barrier that protects him from police gunfire.

So yes, the Pied Piper is Hartley Rathaway, his family is rich, and he became the Piper because, at least according to his parents, he was an “emotionally disturbed” child who got bored. Apparently the elder Rathaways have kept the secret through EVEN MORE BRIBERY, giving money to everyone from the local police chief to the FBI to keep things quiet. The FBI were the ones who created the identity of Henry Darrow. By the way, Mrs. Rathaway is back to being Rachel again. Rachel reiterates the fact that kidnapping and then bribing the reporter to also keep things quiet was the only logical solution to the problem...at which point the Piper himself shows up!

Meanwhile, Barry uses his mental control over all his molecules to reassemble himself while the Piper tells his parents that he’s paid his debt to them. Apparently, he turns over most of his loot to his parents in order to pay “back every Rathaway dollar my parents spent on trying to mold me into something I could never be.” The elder Rathaways had to keep all of it because doing anything else would reveal the secret. Osgood tells his son that he and his wife only wanted what was best for Hartley, to which Hartley replies “Not quite, Pop. You wanted what was best for the Rathaway name! What I wanted never really matter much to either one of you.” According to Hartley, then, it seems that he became the Piper not so much because he was bored...but rather because he feels that his parents were more concerned with their reputations than with loving him.

Then the Flash pops up, punches him out, and rescues Macy, who says that they should give the Rathaways a few minutes alone with their son. I guess that we can assume that the Rathaways never got arrested because they’re made of money. Or something. (Could that be why we also rarely saw the Piper in prison during the Silver and Bronze Age?)

Well, it may have taken Piper 22 years to get an origin (and a name), but in this case, I think it was worth it. With the possible exception of the Golden Glider, the Pied Piper has what is by far the most interesting Silver/Bronze Age origin of any of the Rogues, and I’m glad it’s stuck around. Props to Carey Bates for giving the Piper an incredibly memorable origin story.

#flash comics #flash rogues #pied piper #dc comics

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whipped-for-kpop-fics · 4 years ago

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Together

My first Halloween request! yay! find the request post; here

Thank you for the request @suhdays, you’re the best, I hope you like it 🥺Request; “ twinning Halloween costumes with yoongi (but it’s like something dorky, like a stapler idk alsjs) and they go to a party where everyone is like “it’s that couple again” and it’s cute and fluffy !! ”

Min Yoongi x reader Genre; Fluff, guess lil humour too because I like the funnies Warnings; Adult language and topics otherwise none Word count; 2.3k

Summary; For the first time in five years, you leave the important task of buying your couple costume to your boyfriend. This is how he turns his mistake into something you’ll always remember

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It's that time of year again; Halloween and for the first time in your life, you were not ready. You had recently started your own business so your whole life was pretty much full of meetings and interviews and paperwork and spoopy season was at the bottom of your list of priorities. Which is why you left the Halloween prep entirely to Yoongi. Admittedly, you were pretty worried at first and reluctant to allow your boyfriend to take the responsibility of the holiday into his own hands, not because you don't trust him as that's not true at all, you've always trusted Yoongi with everything in you but the fact is; Min Yoongi has always been the type to cheat his way through things that don't have his full attention and Halloween definitely fell under that category. But, the man pulled through and had the house, both interior and exterior decorated a week into October (a week later than you yourself would've had it done but that's beside the point) and had stocked up on sweets for both yourselves and the trick or treaters. So, Yoongi did well in that respect but clearly, one of the most important aspects of celebrating Halloween went straight over his head until the very last moment.

"Yoongi, what...what is this?" You questioned prodding at the plastic packaging in your hands.

"Our costumes." Was his answer from where he stood in your bedroom doorway, shuffling his weight from foot to foot knowing that you were not impressed with him.

"This isn't what we agreed on,"

"Yeah well..." He trailed off not quite knowing what to say to defend his lack of foresight in the costume buying department.

"You forgot and got these on the way home, didn't you?" Just like that, his body slumped and his lips pursed into the pout you knew meant he was going to try and cutely whine his way out of his own problem. And you hated that pout because it was so hard to say no to.

"I meant to order the other ones but kept forgetting and when I remembered I couldn't find them anywhere so I was going to make them but didn't have the time; I have the supplies under the bed so you can't say I wasn't going to! Then next thing I knew Jin caught me on the way out of work to do his yearly speech of him and Joon are going to beat us at the couple costume competition tonight and yeah...it was between those or sexy plug and socket and honestly I would rather just go in normal clothes and give hyung the prize myself than make either of us wear that sorry excuse for a costume." He was off on a rant by that point, eyebrows scrunched together and lips even poutier and so adorable you couldn't resist. Yoongi was too busy in his speech on sexy electrical costumes to even notice that you were closer until your lips were on his ceasing his spiel.

"Why are you so cute, huh?" You cooed upon pulling back far enough to look into his surprised gaze.

"Uh, not the response I expected." Was his response, earning a giggle from you. "So uhm yeah, it's still a couple costume." He murmured a little distractedly as he placed his hand over the two packaged outfits in your hand. "I'll be this one and you that."

"Okay fine, we can still win with this, right?"

"Yeah, Jin-hyung always chooses either some obscure anime characters or a pun that no-one understands, for him and Joonie."

"We got this."

When you arrived at the party hand in hand with Yoongi you saw Seokjin and Namjoon across the garden dressed as...something...honestly you couldn't even make a vaguely intelligent guess at what exactly the couple were supposed to me; something with beads and an obnoxious amount of purple feathers. Even though you had expected pretty much exactly that from Seokjin you still felt yourself relax the tiny amount of tension in your shoulders from the thought of not taking home the prize as you and Yoongi had for the past four years since Hoseok started hosting the annual party.

"Are you a stapler and stack of paper?" Jimin questioned as the pair of you approached the drink table where the pink-haired fairy was hanging around to talk to people; Jimin was always seen at the drinks table even if he wasn't drinking purely because he knew people would always be coming and going so he had plenty of chances to make new friends and charm the fishnet stockings off of someone for the night.

"Yes," You confirmed, not really wanting to elaborate and instead focused on pouring drinks out for you and your stack of paper partner.

"Not that you're not cute or anything because you two are the cutest couple and always will be, I voted for you before you even arrived; but like, why? Your costumes are usually really...not this."

"Because she holds me together," Yoongi replied easily as if it had always been the genuine reason for you to be the stapler to his paper that evening, not his incredible ability to forget the one thing you planned literally months ahead of time.

"That was cute, now I want to vote for you." You looked over your shoulder to find Namjoon waiting with the two men behind you, two empty plastic cups in his hands so you held your hands out in a silent offer that he accepted wit a smile. "Don't tell Jin I said that though, he'll do something petty to get back at me and I love him and all but I do not want to not get my dick sucked just because I assisted the enemy."

"Hyung is so dramatic," Jimin giggled. "I love it."

"Mm, try getting vaguely threatening messages from him for the past month in an attempt at getting us to throw the competition." Yoongi snorted.

"Ah, that's why he stopped messaging me, he found out you had to buy them!" You realised with a laugh and capped the bottle in your hand so that you could return Namjoon's then full cups to him then gather your own while Yoongi picked up his with a gentle kiss to your jaw in passing.

"He takes this way too seriously."

"What exactly are you two even supposed to be?" Jimin enquired, tilting his head curiously as he eyed the feathered male from head to toe then back again.

"I have no fucking idea." Namjoon deadpanned before nodding to the three of you and turning to return to his partner's side.

"Poor Joonie," Jimin hummed before giggling which you and Yoongi quickly joined in with. Namjoon dealt with a lot from his boyfriend and his eccentric and shameless ways but they were such a perfect match that you knew Namjoon would never even attempt to change a single thing about Seokjin. They were cute- you could admit that-, even if their Halloween costumes always sucked.

"We should go get our picture taken for the vote table," Yoongi pointed out.

"Most people here already know who you two are," Jimin laughed but you and Yoongi were already heading across the garden to the table beside the temporary stage at the bottom of the garden.

"Just in time!" Jeongguk beamed from where he was perched on his comfortable lawn chair beside the table, camera hanging around his neck ready to take portraits against the spooky backdrop just to the side for whoever wanted the service, for a fee of course. "It's almost time to close the sign up for the competitions," He got to his feet and got into position while you and Yoongi stood ready for your photo to be taken by the cape clad male; vampire again and the only reason Jeongguk had that costume in the first place was that Hoseok said he couldn't work at his party if he didn't dress up. Though the way the seams across his biceps stretched in protest you guessed Jeongguk would have to finally buy a new costume for the following year or quit the gym.

"Many people this year?" You asked once your photos were taken and the best one was being sent to the portable printer on the table to pin on the board showcasing the contestants.

"Not really for the couple one, everyone knows you two win so the only person that really tries to beat you is Jin-hyung. But the individual comp has a lot of entries. Mostly girls hoping to win a date with Hoseokie-hyung." Jeongguk informed with a giggle while pinning your photo on the couples competition board.

"Wait, what?" Yoongi replied. "Hobi is putting himself up as grand prize?"

"Didn't you see the poll he made on Twitter last week? He added a date with him as a joke but it won so he stuck with it. There's also the usual gift hamper prize too so the winner can pick what they'd prefer."

"I hope someone nice wins and Hoseokie gets a kind girlfriend out of it." You commented and they both hummed in agreement.

"Gukkie! Picture please!" Someone you couldn't recall the name of but were certain had been at Jeongguk's birthday party called so you and Yoongi left the photographer to his work and went off to mingle and talk to friends and strangers alike.

At midnight Hoseok got up on stage to announce the competition winners. To his own surprise, Taehyung won the individual competition; he hadn't even applied but from the way Jeongguk was hollering from the side you deduced the vampire had pinned his best friend's picture up all the same. It was a good costume; Taehyung was Van Gogh's ghost and had spent the night flitting around with body paints in his hands painting tributes to his favourite artist on the skin of whoever would let him. You yourself had the most famous starry night on your neck and Yoongi was too ticklish to allow the brushes near his sensitive skin.

"Congrats Tae!" Hoseok cooed, pushing back the crown that was slipping down his head yet again so that he could beam at Taehyung as the younger stepped up to collect his prize. "Come get the hamper before you leave tomorrow, yeah?"

"What if I want the date?" He challenged. The crowd "ooh"ed. Hoseok flailed.

"Did not take that into consideration," Yoongi admitted lowly by your side.

"Me either. Has Seok ever been into guys?"

"No, well, not that he's told me,"

"Do you think he could be?"

"I mean, it's Tae, I think everyone's at least a little gay for Tae."

"We know you are." You sniggered and he whined. "What? It's cute."

"Will you ever let me live that down? It was before we even met, babe."

"I can never forget that, babe."

Your teasing bickering distracted from the spectacle on stage long enough for Taehyung to leave with a promise from the host to talk later. Hoseok had even moved onto the couple's competition. That man sure worked fast when he wanted to remove the focus from his flushed features.

"Oh, no surprise here, Y/N and Yoongi!" He called into the microphone causing you both to look forward to the stage with wide eyes having been caught off guard. "Come on you two!" So you both waddled up onto the stage and accepted the winner badges Hoseok pinned to your costumes. "You know what to do about your prize," He joked waving you both off.

"What if we want a date with you too, huh?" You cooed. Hoseok yelled while you skittered off stage after Yoongi who could only smile fondly at your antics.

"Hey! Don't try and steal my date!" Taehyung exclaimed from beside the stage making you laugh before you fell into conversation with him and gained another masterpiece on your skin; this time on the back of your hand.

3 am the next morning you flopped into bed beside Yoongi, both freshly clean of the night's sweat and body paints. "I swear we get home later every year," Yoongi grumbled, already closing his eyes ready to greet sleep with open arms.

"That's because every year he comes up with new games to play and neither of us can so no to that shithead and he knows it." You yawned, head resting on his shoulder and leg laying over his own. He hummed in agreement. "What you said earlier to Jimin about our costumes, was that some of your spur of the moment bullshit or did you think of it when you picked them?"

"Hm? What did I say?"

"That I was the stapler and you paper because I hold you together."

"Oh, yeah, that. It's the truth, you do hold me together, always have. I don't want to even think about the mess I'd be right now if I never met you."

"Huh, maybe next year I should be superglue," You joked tilting your head to grin up at him. He felt your movement so opened his eyes to meet your gaze with a soft smile.

"And I'll be the broken toy that only you have the strength to fix."

"You're not broken."

"Not anymore, you fixed me." You lifted up just enough to press a soft, loving kiss to his lips.

"We did it together; like we do everything else. And we'll keep working like this for a long time, okay?"

"You and me together forever. Cliche but I can live with that."

"Let's get some sleep, I have a feeling we'll have Seok around tomorrow panicking that he agreed to go on a date tonight with Taehyung."

"Ugh, can't I not be here for that?" He groaned rolling over to wrap his limbs around you and bury his face into your neck making you giggle at the cute actions.

"No, we literally just talked about this, Yoonie."

"Mm," He inhaled your clean soft scent deeply before exhaling and leaning back to look at you. "Together?"

"Forever."

#bts halloween au #btswritingcafe #bts halloween fic #bts yoongi au #bts yoongi fluff #bts suga au #bts suga fluff #bts yoongi fic #bts suga fic #bts yoongi halloween au #bts yoongi halloween fic #bts suga halloween au #bts suga halloween fic #request #bts request #whipped-for-kpop-fics #cheewrites #admin chee

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fortheloveoffanfic · 5 years ago

Text

Put Me in a Movie

Keanu Reeves x Reader

Series Summary Prologue

Warning- Slight SMUT/NSFW.

Chapter 1- Lights, Camera, Action!

2 Months Later, Chicago “Are you okay?” Keanu asked, breaking Y/n out of her troublesome thoughts, the anxious bobbing of her leg coming to a halt. From his chair in the hair and make-up room, he observed Y/n curiously and worriedly; they had been filming together for a month by then and the two had grown to be friends; she had been easily navigating the differences between filming movies and television shows with the grace of his sage advice and Keanu found that despite her young age, Y/n was easy to talk to and a good listener.

“Yeah!” Her head snapped up, the thin, wispy fake bangs put on by one of the hairdressers nearly fell over her eyes and blended perfectly with her natural hair. Her make-up for the scene had already been done too; a couple bruises and cuts expertly painted on, looking as real as if she’d been in a fight and the costume department had put her in a skin-tight pair of jeans, a grey band tee and a leather jacket. Keanu didn’t want to admit it, the thought in itself should have been a sin, but she looked perfectly enticing. Bringing him back out of his mind, Y/n continued, her voice an octave higher than usual, “I’m fine, why?”

Keanu shrugged, “You just seem nervous,” he commented casually.

Could he really see right through her like that? After only a couple months of knowing each other? Averting her gaze; it took all of Y/n’s will to not look at Keanu; he looked so astonishingly attractive, even an off brand bomber jacket, with a dirty, white t-shirt and jeans and strategic movie make-up. It had actually been a while since his striking looks had such an effect on her. Y/n had grown comfortably used to his whiskey gaze and raven framed face, but that day was different. That day was supposed to be their first sex scene.

Y/n had only done a few others for the television show that she had not too long ago been wrapped up, but none were with someone so much older. Or with someone she was so attracted to. They had barely even talked about it, and thankfully, it was the one thing that Keanu hadn’t asked to rehearse. It wasn’t that she didn’t want to do it, it was more of a fear of what would happen after. Would one of them get aroused? Would she think about it for months on end? Would he think about it at all?

She and Keanu were friends. She had a boyfriend, sort of, and for some reason the nerves that accompanied the thought of fake sex with Keanu made her feel guilty, like she was cheating somehow. But Y/n didn’t want to be a cheater, she couldn’t be.

Feeling his eyes bare into her, awaiting a response, Y/n finally looked towards Keanu, though she still couldn’t speak, “It’s the sex scene isn’t it?” Of course he knew, why’d he have to be so intuitive? It was both charming and annoying.

With a heavy sigh, Y/n’s shoulders slumped, “Yeah, it is. It’s just......what if things get weird after?”

Frowning, Keanu slumped further into his chair, “Will it be weird for you?” He titled his head, concern evident, “Does this....make you uncomfortable? Because if it does, I can try to talk to Jackson and-”

“No!” Y/n didn’t want Keanu to think that being in close proximity to him would make her uncomfortable, nor did she want to upset Jackson, “It doesn’t make me uncomfortable as much as it does.....makes me worried,” the words sounded more like a question and Y/n wasn’t even sure if ‘worried’ was the right word.

“Worried?” Keanu mirrored, licking his lips, leaning forward in his chair. Thankfully, the room was empty save for the two of them, because when he propped his arms on his thighs, seemingly closer than he had before, Y/n had to sit up straighter and fight to ignore the twinge that prodded at her center when Keanu’s next words carelessly feel off his lips, accompanied by a devilishly crooked grin, “What, you think I’m going to ruin you for Luke?” Her ‘sort of’ boyfriend.

Y/n scoffed at Keanu’s confidence, trying to, not even internally, admit that he might every reason to have it. “No,” she huffed, “I meant, what if things get weird between us,” she gestured between them.

Truthfully, Keanu’s cocky humor had been a cover for his own worries; it wasn’t like he wanted to ruin his friendship with Y/n by ‘accidentally’ getting an erection. Hell, seeing her in skin tight jeans alone was doing things to him, especially when he wandered what she’d look like as he peeled-

Nope.

Clearing his throat, Keanu sat up, getting serious so he’d stop thinking about bad things, “Listen,” he reached over, lightly tapping her knee, “Don’t worry about it. We’re professionals, we’re getting paid to pretend to have sex, people do the real deal all the time for less. Just don’t read too much into anything and we’ll be fine, and if it makes you feel better, just think about Luke the whole time.”

If only it were that easy.

Y/n expertly pretended to perk up, “Yeah, okay. Should be easy. So, who are you gonna think about?” She raised her brows in teasing question.

“I-”

“Hey,” one of the assistant directors, just a few years older than Y/n walked in, clip board in hand, frazzled and apparently in a hurry, “We’ve been looking for you two everywhere,” the young man breathed, “Jackson’s ready for you on set.”

Keanu sang a praise to the heavens as he walked out of the room behind Y/n; he really didn’t have an answer to her question. At least, he didn’t have an appropriate answer. It wasn’t like he was some kind of creep; awaiting the infamous sex scene or the chance to see Y/n half naked, he wasn’t a fucking pervert. But he was a man, and he’d be lying to himself, and everyone else if he said he was about to have someone else on his mind while she was on top of him.

But it made him feel disgusting. Like he was violating her. Maybe he should have spoken to Jackson before hand, ask if he’d be willing to using to use a double for the scene instead of Y/n herself. But it was too late, the scene was half hour away from being shot. So, now, all Keanu could do was hope he was professional enough to not let things get away from him, or that he was a really good liar.

“Why are they really after you?” Ella’s lips quivered as the question left her lips. Her small hand held a wad of gauze to the bullet wound on James’ upper arm. He had taken off his jacket to give her better access and it was taking all of her will to not swoon at the firm swell of his bicep. He was in great shape for a man his age.

Through gritted teeth, James tried to brush off her question, wincing when Ella moved on to using what was left of the first aid kit to stitch up his wound, “I told you, they want-”

“You told me, and you lied,” licking her lips, Ella sighed, “I want the truth James, this is my life too now.”

Sighing, James hesitated, “There were some sealed files; at first it just looked like intel on some of the bigger mobs, but when I dug deeper, I found out that they weren’t just mobs, or gangs or whatever, they were being run from inside too.” James glanced around the little cabin, as if to ensure that there was no one around, “I don’t think the government knows, because when the board found out that I had it......”

“They came after you,” the wound was small and Ella was finished in no time, giving the area one final cleaning before putting her hands down and removing the blue latex gloves. Surprisingly, he found that he immediately missed her touch.

Standing, James tried to put some space between them; being that close to her was clouding his judgment, “You shouldn’t have come with me,” he determined.

Ella stood too rolling her eyes as she stripped off her leather jacket, dumping it on the back of a rickety old dining chair. Like that, James could better appreciate the way her fitted grey t-shirt stretched across her breasts, and when she folded her slender arms, a sliver of her midriff became more exposed, the little silver stud at her navel teasing his wandering eyes.

“Yeah?” Ella scoffed, “Well I’m already here. And if I wasn’t, you’d be dead.”

“Relax,” James huffed, “It was a bullet in my arm.”

“I’m talking about how your idea of getting away would have involved us climbing up the back of alley,” Ella scoffed in annoyance.

“Yeah?” James chuckled humorlessly, “Well with your driving we almost didn’t make it here.”

Emitting another sound of irritation, that time mixed with offence, as she dropped her hands to her sides. When Ella’s hands brushed her sides, some of his drying blood rubbed off on her pants, “God, are you really so self-involved that can’t accept that I did a better job at saving us than you?” Slowly, Ella closed the short distance between them, “You’re such an asshole,” she huffed, ready to brush past him.

James grabbed Ella’s arm though, making her stop in her tracks and stare at how his fingers easily circled her arm. For a minute, he just looked at her peculiarly, “I’m gonna freshen up,” she tried to shake off his grip.

“Look, I’m sorry for being a jerk okay? I’m just used to working alone,” he swallowed tightly, aching to kiss her pink, plump lips. “Are you sure you don’t want me to look at this first?” James’ calloused fingers brushed some hair away from her scalp, his touch sending shivers up her spine. There was a gash at her scalp, nothing that would warrant any real fuss, but James needed an excuse to keep her there.

Sucking in a breath, Ella brought her hand up to her forehead, though, she wasn’t really focused the cut, too busy getting lost in two pools of dark brown, “I......” she swallowed tightly, knowing that he shouldn’t make her feel the was she was.

The rest of her response was lost when James leaned down, their kiss starting off slow and sensual, though quickly growing heated and passionate. Before long, James’ stocky finger had found the hem of Ella’s t-shirt and he was pulling it over her head, his hands immediately going to grope her surprisingly unrestrained breasts after he’d tossed it to the floor.

Ella fumbled with the buckled of his belt, moving on to undoing his jeans when it was off. His pants fell to the floor, and James kicked them off along with his shoes. Undoing the buttons of Ella’s jeans, he pulled away, and as much as he’d want to see them being slowly peeled off, his lips feather light on the inside of her thighs, he was in too much of a hurry; shoving them down before sliding his hands to cup her ass. With his lips on hers again, he tugged on her legs, urging her to jump.

Clumsily, he walked backwards stumbling onto the worn sofa that they had left not too long ago. Ella shoved his boxers down, and he did the same with her panties, groaning as she ground on him.

By the time the scene was over, Keanu was a hot mess. From the minute Jackson yelled cut, Y/n all but jumped out of his lap, readily grabbing the robe that one of the assistants offered. “Y/n-”

Keanu had just finished the very last syllable of her name when Y/n was already standing, tying the robe closed, shoving her feet into nearby slippers before starting to scuttle off, “I have to go,” she managed, halfway off the set already, “Talk later, right?”

“Yeah, okay,” Keanu returned, though he had already worked out that Y/n hadn’t heard him, nor did she care to. When Jackson started approaching, Keanu scrambled for one of the set pillows, wincing as he pressed it over his hard on. He was almost completely sure that that was the reason for Y/n rushing out like that, flustered and uncomfortable. He really hadn’t meant for it to happen, but between groping and kneading her breasts and then having her grind on him like that, it was easy to get lost in the moment and let their surroundings melt away. The noises she made, even if they were just for show, weren’t helping either. In fact, they just got Keanu’s mind going; wondering if she was actually that vocal. He them liked loud.

Shifting when Jackson sat next to him, Keanu willed his body to calm down, to think of anything other than Y/n. Puppies. Sumo wrestlers. Circus clowns. Anything. “Keanu,” the grayed man slapped his bare shoulder, “That was good stuff, I told you the long shot would be better.”

“You did,” Keanu’s smile was tight and forced as he nodded stiffly. Maybe he should have rushed out like Y/n, then again, it wasn't like he wanted the whole crew knowing about his situation, “Did you get everything you needed?”

“I did,” Jackson chuckled, a new wicked glint now visible beneath the thick lenses of his glasses, “In fact seeing the two of you like that kind of makes me want to add another.”

What? That was supposed to be the only one!

“Yeah,” he nodded, apparently forgetting that Keanu was still next to him; lost in his ‘artistic vision’, “I’m thinking right before the last confrontation, kind of like one final hurrah.”

Keanu just hummed, not really in agreement. After that performance, Keanu wasn’t even sure if Y/n would look at him again, far less want to be in another intimate scene with him. He’d have to apologize to her before the end of the day.

Not even noticing that Keanu had yet to give any opinion on the matter, Jackson was already standing again, nudging his shoulder one last time before he, like most of the crew, left, leaving Keanu alone with his thoughts and a, thankfully, deflating crotch.

From the minute Y/n was back in the security of her trailer, she slammed the door shut, pressing her back against it. Think about Luke. Think about Luke. Think about Luke! The words were a mantra in her racing mind, and up until the minute Keanu had kissed her, his lips so soft and gentle, and heady contrast to the roughness of his beard on her skin, she had been thinking of Luke. But somewhere between work and her overactive imagination, the feeling of eyes on them melted away and by the time she was grinding in his lap, Y/n could feel herself aching to be touched, to be fucked. Not by Luke, he was the last person on her mind, but by Keanu.

Even standing there, Y/n couldn't get Keanu’s touch out of her head; his hands hand been rough on her body, his large palms swallowing up her breasts, his hardening cock under her growing arousal. In her ridiculous fantasies, on her way back to the trailer, Y/n had fooled herself into thinking that it was, by all intents and purposes, her image and body that had gotten Keanu so excited. But she knew better; there was no way that it was her. It wasn’t like she was lacking in self confidence, but his advice to think of someone else had to come from somewhere. Experience perhaps?

The room suddenly felt hot, and stripping herself of the cheep fleece robe, Y/n removed the pesky little stickers that guarded her nipples and hurriedly slipped out of the skin colored panties that she had been wearing her costume underwear.The clip on bangs were the last thing that Y/n took off in the small bathroom, before getting under the spray, not even bothering with hot water. A cold shower, that’s what she needed.

The frosty water hit her skin all at one, nearly shocking the arousal away. Y/n stood under the steady stream for a while, hoping the steamy thoughts of Keanu could somehow be washed away by soap and water. After a while, she leaned on the tiled wall, wondering how much time had passed, thankful that they weren’t carded to shoot anything else until late that night, and even more grateful that it would be more high action and less intimate.

It was late when Jackson had yelled cut for the final time that night, exasperation tinging his tone And even then, he didn’t let them go, opting to give Y/n and Keanu a half hour lecture on how wooden they were being. Afterwards, he’d sent them out of his trailer like two children; expected to make up after a playground spat. They had even promised that they would. But Y/n and Keanu’s assurances couldn’t be taken for anything more than face value, because, the minute they were out of sight, they immediately went their separate ways.

Or at least, Y/n went her separate way; scurrying off towards the black, heavily tinted SUV that awaited her at the curb, ready to take her back to the hotel that they cast had been set up in. Keanu didn’t even have the opportunity to offer her as much as a awkward goodbye or an apology for what had happened earlier that day. For a minute, he had debated calling out to her, or hurrying to catch her before she’d gotten in, but Keanu eventually dismissed the idea, not wanting to make Y/n even more uncomfortable. So, instead, he’d decided to talk to her at the next organically available opportunity, hoping it would be soon.

On her ride back to the hotel, Y/n had contemplated texting Keanu, not wanting him to think that he’d done something wrong, and feeling a little guilty for playing a part in messing up their scenes that night. But instead, she had decided to give Luke a call, hoping to reignite her affections for him before facing Keanu. For a minute, Y/n’s thumb hovered his name in the contact list, wondering if she she actually wanted to talk to him, though, she eventually hit call, putting the phone to her ear.

On the second ring, he answered. He was always quick to pick up the phone. “Y/n,” he greeted cheerily, “Hey, what’s up?”

“Nothing much,” Y/n toyed with a loose thread on her sweater as she faked the excitement in her tone, “How was your day?”

“It was okay, I missed talking to you though,” at that, Y/n rolled her eyes, nearly gagging. She’d never been one for all that mushy stuff, she just couldn’t get it. He had his life. She had hers. They could live separately and still be in a relationship, or whatever she and Luke were in, without the constant contact and gooey romantic stuff. “I’m so glad to hear your voice,” he added when Y/n couldn’t sum up a response.

Sometimes, Y/n would ask herself what she was doing with Luke. The thought was rare, but if you were dating someone, it shouldn’t come up at all, right? He was older than her, just by a few years at twenty-seven, and they’d met at the Met Gala the year before; he was the son of a designer who was serving on the board and it had been Y/n’s first time at the event. They had gotten to talking shortly after the night, and slowly, they’d entered into something a bit more than platonic. At first, it was nice, or maybe, Y/n thought, she’d just liked the attention he gave her, because months later, they hadn’t gone very far. It wasn’t like Luke hadn’t hinted that he was interested in more though, sometimes he’d talk about doing more ‘couple’ things; going on a vacation together, meeting each other’s parents and using labels. Y/n had persisted that they didn’t need those things to be a ‘real’ couple, but really, it was only because she was scared of more. Or perhaps, she really didn’t want Luke the way she had convinced herself that she did.

Not knowing how to respond, Y/n tried to change the topic, “How’s Paris? I’m sure the the models love you,” she teased. Luke was a photographer, and most recently, he had been recruited by his own mother to shoot her Summer line.

“It’s great. The models are nice too, I guess,” he didn’t seem particularly interested in talking about them, “The city though, God Y/n, we’ve gotta come back together sometime.”

Like she always did, Y/n tensed up at the thought of planning for the future with him. What was wrong with her? Any other girl would be thrilled to have a man like Luke interested in them; he was smart, funny, attentive and insanely attractive. Y/n always though that her fear of entering something more serious with him might have been easier to accept if he weren’t such a sweetheart. Breaking up with him might have been like kicking a puppy; an unofficial crime.

“Maybe,” Y/n hoped she didn’t sound too disinterested, “But Walter’s and Joann are already trying to book projects for the rest of the year.”

“I’m sure we’ll find some time,” Luke sounded hopeful and just then, the car came to a halt. Before someone could get the door for her, Y/n was already out, her bag slung on her shoulder. “Are you back at the hotel already?”

“I just got in,” as Y/n walked, she could see people staring, definitely knowing who she was, some probably wanting pictures but not wanting to interrupt her phone call. Out of the corner of her eye, Y/n also spotted Keanu, and she could tell he’d caught a glimpse of her too. Though, he was surrounded by a small group, taking pictures and signing things.

Not really paying much attention to it, Y/n continued her conversation with Luke, laughing quietly when he told a joke, humming when he said something interesting.

By the time Y/n was up in her room, tossing her bag to the nearest chair, shrugging off her coat and kicking off her shoes, she was looking for an out of the call. “Hey, babe, I’ve gotta go, I think someone’s at the door.” Breezing through a mushy goodbye and promises to talk soon, Y/n finally hung up, discarding the phone on the sofa before flopping onto it herself. Raising only slightly, she pulled out her hair-tie, letting her luscious locks fall over her shoulders in soft waves.

Y/n shifted until she was comfortable, or rather, as comfortable as she could be laying on a sofa dressed in jeans and a thick sweater. Her eyes, heavy with tire slipped closed as she eased her head onto the upholstered arm of the chair. Soon enough, her head was lolling to the side, soft breaths even and deep as a light slumber overtook.

Her body fell into the comfort of sleep easily, though, it was jerked out of it just as quickly when someone knocked on her door. With a startle, and somewhat disoriented, Y/n awoke. “Coming!” She managed, stumbling to her feet, running corrective fingers through her hair as she padded over to the door of her suite.

The brass knob was cool under her touch and when she pulled it open, Y/n really wished that she’d done more than combed her hair with her fingers, “Keanu!”

“Hey,” he half waved awkwardly, “Are you busy?”

“Well, I was asleep, so not really,” pulling the door open some more, she gestured for him to come in.

“Shit!” He mumbled, mirroring her she ran her own hands through her hair again, “I didn’t even think that you’d be asleep,” his usual confidence was absent and Keanu even seemed a little flustered, “We can talk tomorrow if you’re too tired.”

“No,” Y/n dismissed his apology with a wave of her hand, “It’s fine.” Keanu followed Y/n to the little living room, watching as she moved her bag and phone before gesturing for him to seat. Folding one leg under herself, Y/n sank down next to him, though, she was tucked away in one corner, trying to put enough space between them. “What did you want to talk about?”

“About today,” he sighed, scrubbing his hands over his jean clad thighs, “I-”

“Before you say anything, I think I owe you an apology for just running out like that. And then, you know, acting all weird for the rest of the day. It’s just.....” Y/n searched for the right words. Maybe she should have let Keanu finish instead of cutting him off, at least then she wouldn’t have to scramble for a believable lie. She certainly wasn’t about to tell him that rubbing up on him had left her soaked and touch starved. Stuttering, Y/n eventually offered up the worst lie she’d ever told, “It’s just, I’m not used to that kind of thing.”

Nodding slowly, Keanu forced a smile, not really knowing how to feel about Y/n’s admission. It was her? Was she just lying to make him feel better? Maybe he shouldn’t flatter himself like that.

“Oh,” he chuckled uncomfortably, “I just thought that I might have made you uncomfortable, with, you know.”

Knitting her brows, Y/n’s sleep-craving mind took a solid minute before understanding what he meant, “Oh!” Her eyes widened as she realized what he was talking about. A distinct heat rushed to her cheeks and Y/n had to push the memory of how he felt under her pooling arousal; once again feeling guilty, that time for thinking that he was undoubtedly bigger than Luke. “No,” she avoided Keanu’s face; embarrassed “Of course not, part of the job right?”

“Right,” Keanu nodded, observing how Y/n was actively avoiding his gaze. He hated that he’d probably made her uncomfortable, and desperately wanting to fix it. Though, he really didn’t know how.

Just as Keanu’s lips quivered to speak though, Y/n seemed to quickly get over it, or at least, managed to pretend that she had, “Are you busy tonight? Do you want to get room service?”

“Sure,” Keanu shrugged. It was something they had grown used to doing since they’d gotten to Chicago, a few nights a week, they’d get together, in either of their rooms, and have dinner together. They’d eat over wine or beer from the stocked ensuite bar, sometimes engaged in conversation, other times while just watching television. “I can order and you can get drinks?”

“Yeah,” Y/n agreed, already standing, “Get me the usual, okay?” Y/n tossed the cordless phone, and he caught it without effort.

“You have three versions of ‘the usual’, which one do you want?” He chuckled, browsing through menu that Y/n had left on the coffee table.

“The ‘chicken fingers and fries’ usual. And get cake too!” Y/n half-yelled from the other room, “Beer or wine?”

“Beer!” Keanu shot back, chuckling at Y/n’s choice of meal, teasing her with a quip along the lines of it being ‘kid food’.

In what felt like no time, their dinner had been delivered and Y/n and Keanu had situated themselves on the sofa, surrounded by food, their drinks on the table. When Keanu stole one of her fries, Y/n scoffed, “How dare you steal my kid food?” She huffed in mock disdain.

“I take that back,” he grinned, nudging her shoulder and swiping another fry off Y/n’s plate, knowing that she really didn’t mind.

After dinner, and a quiet a few beers later, Y/n and Keanu sat closer than before, a slice of cake between them, each with their own fork. The desert, according to Y/n, tasted like chocolate heaven and Keanu had just smiled lightly at the comment. He’d never been much of a laugh-er, or a smile-er, or someone who wanted to spend his nights in a hotel room sharing triple chocolate cake with someone he’d only known for a handful of months, but with Y/n, he’d found himself doing just that. There was just something about her that made him want to loosen up, let someone in.

Moistening his lips, Keanu took a sip from probably his fourth bottle, regarding Y/n with a soft smile. She looked nice, well, he always thought she looked nice, but that night, something was different. Maybe it was the pale yellow light washing her features, making her long lashes cast shadows high on her cheeks and her eyes seem darker. Or perhaps it was how her hair fell around her face, loose curls framing her make-up free face. It could have simply just been her; Y/n in everything that made her herself. Whatever it was, Keanu perceived it differently that night, in a way that he probably shouldn’t have.

Y/n brought the fork to her lips, a sliver of chocolate cake being popped into her mouth, between her plump lips. He had kissed those lips earlier in the day and it didn’t take much to bring the memory back to the front of his mind. Soft, delicate and oddly sweet. When she dragged the fork out of her mouth, it left behind the tiniest spec of chocolate frosting. “What?” Y/n furrowed her brows, feeling his eyes on her, “I have something on my face don’t I?”

Keanu smiled despite himself. “Actually,” he huffed, pointing the spot on his own face. When Y/n couldn’t seem to get it with her napkin, constantly missing, Keanu leaned over, the rest of his fingers cupping her chin as his thumb grazed the side of Y/n’s lip. Even as he was sure that he’d gotten the frosting, Keanu’s finger didn’t move; he was too distracted by their eyes meeting. Y/n sucked in a breath and the air seemed to push them together. Neither of them could tell who leaned in more, but without them even realizing it, they were only a shared breath away before their lips were locking. The kiss was chaste at first, though, when the tips of Y/n’s fingers went to Keanu’s cheek, his hand slid down to cup her neck and their mouths started moving in unison, slow and tender.

Soft

Delicate

Sweet

Sweeter than before. It was innocent too, devoid of any sexual pretenses. Maybe it was an offence of her youth, but Y/n thought that no kiss had ever felt like that, like it was so right and welcoming. Her hand slid to tangle in his hair, and they scooted on the sofa to get nearer, logic forgone.......

Until their movements made the cutlery clatter loudly.

As if awakening from a daze, Keanu and Y/n sprang apart, suddenly extremely concerned with all matters of keeping their hands to themselves and safe distances. “That was......”

“Yeah...” Keanu seemed just as shocked as Y/n and he desperately tried to avoid her face, knowing that another proper look at her would have him melting again. But he couldn’t do that. She had a boyfriend. Sort of.

Y/n gave her best attempt at a laugh, though it sounded fake and nervous, “We’ve been drinking.”

“Yeah,” Keanu stood, stuffing his hands into his pockets, wanting to leave but not wanting to seem rude.

Y/n stood too, passing her hands through her hair before toying with the sleeves of her mint greet blouse, “And we’re tired, so....”

“We just need to.....” he swallowed thickly, knowing that they were both lying, to each other and themselves. That kiss wasn’t just the effect of tire or drinking. They weren’t even drunk, at most, a little tipsy. That kiss was.....

Keanu didn’t want to think about it.

Thinking about it meant that Y/n would be more than a friend.

And Y/n couldn’t be more than a friend.

“I should go,” he blurted out, already headed for the door.

“Mhm,” Y/n was behind him, though at a safe, friendly, distance away, “Yupp, it’s late. And we have to work tomorrow.”

“We do,” he agreed. When they were at the door, Y/n flipped the turn lock, pulling the door open, “I guess I’ll see you tomorrow. On set, I mean.”

“Yeah,” Y/n cleared her throat, “Well, goodnight.” Usually, she’d peck his cheek, but given recent events, Y/n didn’t think it was the best idea.

“Goodnight,” Keanu managed as he slipped out.

The minute he was gone, headed up the hall to his own room, Y/n shut the door, locking it again. Leaning forward, she pressed her forehead to the surface. Instead of working things out, they’d probably just made them worst and by the time Y/n was dragging herself to bed, she realized that one day had given her two things to feel guilty about.

*****

Tagging- @harrisongslimited @paanchu786 @thesadvampire @fickensteinn @babygirltaina @fanficsrusz @ladyreapermc

#keanu reeves #keanu reeves x reader #keanu reeves x you #keanu reeves fanfic #john wick #john wick x reader #john wick x you #put me in a movie #chapter 1 #ff #fanfic #fanfiction #john wick fanfic #Keanu Reeves Fanfiction

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bigtimetired · 4 years ago

Text

Red ‘n Blue

another one-shot in a wider au- in which robin and superboy meet for the first time (set near the beginning of reign of the supermen, in this au not long after damian wayne meets his father)

Sunday 5th November 1989

[Palisades Avenue, Metropolis, DE]

Tim’s never been in Metropolis in person before, which is far from ideal.

Obviously, he’s looked at maps and pictures- he’s not an idiot- and he’s fairly confident that he could navigate the main streets. There are plenty of signs on the ground after all.

Unfortunately, Tim is neither on a main street nor on the ground.

He’s on a cold and miserable rooftop, somewhere rather far from where he stowed the bike he shouldn’t be riding between cities- between states- after dark, but hey, that’s just life.

It had been a spur of the moment idea, coming to Metropolis- an idea Tim had had (purely coincidentally) after a phone call from Bruce, reminding him that patrol tonight was cancelled.

(Tim hadn’t heard anything to suggest that he was there but had been fairly fucking certain that Damian had been smirking somewhere nearby.)

(Tim had also very carefully not thought about how this was the third time Bruce had either cancelled on him or brushed him off since his son had come to America. He had also very carefully ignored the burning feeling in his chest at the thought- such things didn’t bear further investigation.)

It had been a spur of the moment decision which Tim might be starting to regret, just a little bit.

One would have thought that there would be plenty of crime to stop here, considering what had happened to Superman a few weeks back. (Rest in peace, Big Blue.)

One would have been wrong though, because Metropolis has been cool and quiet and melancholic so far, and altogether very lacking in the crime department. That’s good obviously- great even- but if Tim doesn’t find an outlet soon he’s going to start fucking screaming.

He’s just a tiny bit on edge, recently.

He wonders why.

Tim makes the leap to another rooftop, peers down over the side with disinterest- a darkened movie theatre, shutters drawn, and doors locked. Just like every other building around here seems to be.

(Would Gotham do the same for Batman?)

“Nice costume, dumbass,” says a nearby voice, and Tim whirls, heart thumping and staff in hand.

There’s a boy- only about his own age- floating (actually floating) by the edge of the roof, arms crossed and face unimpressed.

Tim’s eyes skitter around, desperately trying to find some inspiration for a plan. His gaze catches on the bright insignia just visible under the boy’s leather jacket.

Tim blinks. Surely this isn’t…

“Superboy?”

The boy huffs, annoyed. “No, I’m the new Superman.”

Tim eyes the boy’s messy hair and very young face and snorts rather rudely.

Normally he would feel bad- Robin has faced similar disbelief in the past- but Tim hasn’t been in the best of moods lately.

“Sure thing, man. Whatever you say,” says Tim, and the boy’s face twists.

“Yeah, and who the fuck are you?”, he spits, and Tim scoffs, feeling like an absolute asshole and enjoying it.

(And if he’d much rather direct all this vitriol at a certain assassin-in-training rather than a complete stranger, then that’s no one’s business but his own.)

“Robin,” says Tim, as if it’s perfectly obvious.

“Uh-huh,” says Not-Superboy. “Don’t you have a gargoyle to be standing on or something?”

“Don’t you have kittens to be saving from trees or something?”

Not-Superboy floats closer, mouth opening in response.

And then there’s an explosion from down the street.

Tim stumbles badly, is saved from tipping off the roof by Not-Superboy himself, who looks more than slightly dazed.

“Thanks,” says Tim quickly, before taking off towards the smoking crater which used to be a building.

Finally, finally, something to do, to investigate, to-

After a moment Tim realises that he seems to have acquired a shadow.

He slants a hard look at Not-Superboy, who takes this as an opportunity to grab his arm and yank him to a halt.

“What the fuck man?”

Hot, simmering, rage is starting to build in Tim’s chest.

Not-Superboy frowns at him. “What are you doing?”

“My job? What’s it look like?”, Tim snaps, and Not-Superboy rolls his eyes in response.

“No, you’re gonna stay here, out of the way.”

“And why’s that?”

“‘cause you’re just a kid?”

Oh hell no.

“Oh yeah?”, Tim’s ears are burning, and he finds himself stretching up- because the bastard’s still floating like a complete dick- into Not-Superboy’s personal space. “You’re pretty fresh-faced yourself, bud.”

Not-Superboy throws his hands out from himself in frustration. “Yeah, but I’ve got superpowers. You’re just a civilian with a stick and a cape.”

Tim would very much like to smash said stick into someone’s face right now.

It’s at this point that the cause of the explosion decides to make itself known; a huge, spider-like, machine of gleaming silver trundles its way out of the wreckage and into the street, headed towards what Tim thinks is the city centre.

Not-Superboy lets out a harsh breath. “Fine. I don’t have time for this- if you get yourself killed, that’s on you.”

He shoots off after the machine, and leaves Tim standing there, fuming.

A civilian with a stick and a cape.

That’s a fucking challenge right there, in Tim’s book.

He unholsters his grapple gun and zips ahead of the metal spider-thing, mind already whirring with plans and ideas.

If he creates a blockade up here, that’ll hopefully limit collateral damage and buy him more time to shut this thing down before it gets to somewhere slightly livelier.

Tim squints at the scene behind him- the silver thing is still making its way towards him, seemingly undeterred by the colourful shape floating alongside and hammering dents into it.

Tim rolls his eyes, before snapping back into professionalism.

Assess the situation, Robin.

It’s got spidery leg things, that’s for sure, but the machine is actually trundling along on thick caterpillar treads, which gives Tim an idea.

Out of his belt he pulls the largest and hottest flares he owns, and chucks them at two faded patches of road, roughly around where the treads will run over them in several moments’ time.

Hopefully, the tar should start to melt around there and stick to the treads for a few minutes until Tim can stop this thing permanently.

Tim jumps from the roof, swings himself onto the back of the spider with his grapple and a well-placed girder, and starts poking around for a weak spot.

A vent, an escape hatch, any gap in the armour.

Tim narrows his eyes at a tiny space next to a panel of some sort and unceremoniously wedges the end of his staff into it.

Levering a panel that doesn’t want to move is easier said than done- even more so when one is on the back of a trundling monstrosity and in danger of being flung into the street at the next sharp turn.

Tim glances up and catches Not-Superboy’s eye, who has stopped whatever it was he was trying to accomplish and is instead staring at Tim in askance.

Tim jerkily beckons him closer with his chin, not letting go of his bo staff for a second.

Not-Superboy drifts over and yanks the cover up with relative ease- that fucking show-off- and Tim slams the end of the staff into the revealed circuitry over and over until it sparks.

It’s inelegant, but it generally works.

Some of the spidery legs rise up and twist around on themselves in an admittedly very impressive display of dexterity before one of them shudders violently and pierces the shell of the machine with a horrible scraping sound.

The vehicle judders then- once again Tim nearly falls and has to be steadied by the floating dumbass- and slows its steady trundle forward.

Tim glances around and realises that they’ve driven over his melted asphalt and mentally pats himself on the back.

Not-Superboy has landed at long last and is currently stomping on the shell with one foot. Tim wants to ask him what the fuck he’s doing, but it becomes obvious as soon as one stomp makes a slightly different sound than the others.

He’s found another weakness.

This panel is also ripped off with sickening ease, though this time Not-Superboy goes, “Ha!” and reaches in.

Finally showing some sort of effort- see how it feels motherfucker? – Not-Superboy uses both hands and starts levitating again to pull out a full-grown, wriggling, man dressed in various shades of grey and not in the least bit pleased about the current state of affairs.

The man breaks free and takes a swing at Not-Superboy who dodges it, and Tim decides to delegate that particular task to him and instead focus on turning off the whatever-the-fuck’s engine, as the whatever-the-fuck is still slowly inching forward and may or may not have some form of explosive on board.

Tim drops down through the hatch and into the cabin. There are a whole load of monitors and wires and stupidly complicated-looking panels in here, so Tim takes a nice, deep, breath and compares it all to the most complex machine he can think of- the Batcomputer.

Tim knows how to turn the Batcomputer off- he pictures it in is head, the flickering lights, the hum and whirring of machine parts, the button sequence required to switch it all on and off.

And then he slices as many wires as he can with the side of a Batarang until all the lights go out and the ground stops shaking.

Never fails, that one.

Tim clambers up on the ladder back to the top and peeks his head out strategically.

Not-Superboy is still struggling with the man, taking a glancing blow to the arm and being knocked back surprisingly far.

Tim decides to not be an asshole about this and creeps up on the pair.

He kicks out the man’s legs and Not-Superboy takes advantage and socks him in the jaw with an audible cracking noise.

The man crumples, out cold.

For a moment, neither of them say anything, just catching their breath.

Then Tim says, “Do you wanna call the cops?”

“…yeah,” Not-Superboy decides. He hesitates then, “Do you have, I dunno, zip ties or something?”

Tim nods.

“Cool- back in a sec.”

Tim watches Not-Superboy dip down to ground-level, making a beeline for the nearest phone-booth.

Tim rolls the man over with some difficulty and cuffs him like Bruce taught him to. He predicts then and there that Bruce will have called him by midday tomorrow about this whole thing and a part of him lights up with a savage kind of pride.

Not-Superboy is back then, staring up from the ground with an unreadable expression.

Tim raises an eyebrow and nudges the man’s unconscious form with his boot. (Lightly, because he isn’t a complete ass and is feeling a great deal more vindicated than earlier, for some unknowable reason.)

“You gonna help me with this or not?”

Not-Superboy’s face crinkles. “Huh?”

“We’re not leaving him on top of this thing, dumbass,” says Tim, with significantly less venom in his voice than earlier.

“Oh, uh, yeah,” Not-Superboy blinks, and Tim rolls his eyes, dragging the man to the edge by the armpits.

Not-Superboy takes him then and Tim hops down to the ground, surveying the scene. He decides that this is a victory for Robin on the collateral damage front and awards himself bonus points for managing it on someone else’s turf.

There are already police sirens in the distance, and Tim blinks.

“Huh. That was quick.”

“There’s a precinct a couple of blocks over,” says Not-Superboy matter-of-factly.

“Ah.”

Tim grabs his grapple again and decides that the top of the movie theatre looks promising.

“Wh-where are you going?”

Tim shrugs, cocks his head slightly. “I dunno how you do it over here, but back home we don’t tend to stick around for the cops too often. Vigilantism, and all.”

“Oh.” Not-Superboy seems to consider this for a moment. “Alright, I guess.”

Tim salutes him and zips up to the rooftops again.

He makes it all of ten seconds before a voice calls after him, “Wait a sec!”

Tim obligingly waits a sec and is only kinda exasperated to see Not-Superboy floating up to him. (Again.)

Not-Superboy rubs the back of his neck and doesn’t quite look at Tim when he says, “Thanks, I guess. I mean, I had it covered, but it was nice of you to stick around, so, uh, thanks.”

Tim nods, not quite willing to unbend yet.

“Am I still just a civilian with a stick and a cape?”

Not-Superboy winces. “Yeah-uh, that was maybe kinda shitty of me and, uh, I guess I was wrong. So sorry about that.”

It’s definitely not the best apology in the world, but Tim’ll take it.

He shrugs. “It’s okay- I was kinda a dick earlier, so we’re even.”

“Cool.”

“Where’re you going now?”, asks Not-Superboy.

Tim rolls his shoulders. “Home, I guess. Just gotta find my bike first.”

“Bike?”

“Yeah? I mean, I hardly walked here from Gotham, did I?”

“Guess not.”

There’s a beat of silence, before Not-Superboy glances around furtively.

“Is he here?”

Tim blinks. “Is who- oh, you mean Batman?”

Not-Superboy nods.

“No,” says Tim, and he decides not to elaborate on that.

“Alright,” Not-Superboy’s shoulders relax a little. “Where’s your bike?”

“In the alley next to some diner back that way,” Tim gestures vaguely behind them.

“Lou’s?”

Tim squints, tries to remember. “…maybe?”

“Oh my god.”

Not-Superboy’s rolling his eyes but his tone is light, so Tim doesn’t feel too offended. He drifts back a few feet, gestures that Tim should follow him.

“C’mon- I don’t think Gotham will ever forgive me if I leave Robin stranded over here.”

Tim snorts but follows anyway.

Tim’s bike is stowed neatly in the alley next to Mary-Anne’s diner, as it turns out. Not-Superboy stares at it for a few moments, eyes starry.

Tim grins. “Her name’s Redbird.”

“She’s gorgeous,” says Not-Superboy, sounding as if he means it.

Tim nods. “Yeah, she is.”

“You know your way back, right?”

Tim rolls his eyes. “Dude.”

Not-Superboy grins, honest and open. “Just checking, man.”

Tim swings his leg over Redbird, settles down and brings the engine to life.

He looks at Not-Superboy, who looks much friendlier than he did earlier.

“Thanks again,” says Tim, meaning it. “This was fun.”

Not-Superboy shrugs, but he’s still smiling. “Yeah, it was a lil bit. See you around?”

Tim nods. “See ya.”

He shoots off into the night then, feeling much lighter than he did on the trip in.

(He gets to school by lunchtime the next day, waves a forged doctor’s note at the necessary people and doodles in the margins of his notes until the final bell.

Bruce is either busy or getting old- he doesn’t call the house phone until 6pm. Tim lets it go to voicemail, grins a little as he listens to it over dinner, despite himself.

Bruce is disgusted, Tim is benched until the weekend, and somehow he’s not quite as upset as he thought he would be.

Funny, that.)

#dc #tim drake #kon-el #conner kent #robin #superboy #timkon #if you want #one-shot #first meetings #dgs #i can't write action scenes

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apparitionism · 5 years ago

Text

Run 3

This story continues to be all over the place, because that’s where I personally am right now: my political rage is unchartable; I have so much work to do that I may implode from the pressure (although I know that’s an enormously privileged position to be in at the moment); my mood swings are unherdable cats. This is thus by no means my best work. Nevertheless, it continues to revolve around people named “Myka” and “Helena,” so I continue to push it forward. Earlier, there was part 1, and also part 2.

Run 3

In response to Pete, Helena repeated, with a halt in her voice—Myka remembered that halt, that strangled, seductive halt—“Certification and compliance.”

“I know,” he said. “It’s not what you’re looking for.”

“Just point me in the correct direction,” Helena said, still not vocally in control. Like she was the damaged one.

“Go back to where you started and go the other way,” Pete advised.

Just go away from here, Myka wanted to yell. She couldn’t move. Which was probably good, because if she could, what would she have done? Stood up and thrown something heavy, smashed some expensive technology like none of it mattered, because it didn’t, because she had tried so hard to forget but hadn’t forgotten anything.

And then, miraculously, Helena did go away. She turned and left without saying one more word. Fitting, Myka thought. And then: How can I sit through more minutes? How have I sat through as many as I have? How will I sit through any minutes at all now, knowing that she’s—

“You tell people you have a boyfriend,” Pete said, as if he knew she needed something to break her thoughts.

Myka said, “Yes.” Because that was of course true.

“Mostly to get them to quit looking at you in a particular way. A way you don’t like.”

Also true. “Yes.”

“Sometimes you tell people—like, say, me—you used to have a girlfriend.”

She did. Sometimes. “Yes.”

“Mostly to get them to look at you in a better way. A way like they see who you are.”

Myka paused. But that was pretty much true too, so she said, “Yes.”

“But I feel like you never tell people you used to have that girlfriend.”

“No,” Myka agreed. “Because I didn’t.”

Pete now was the one who paused. “That is not the story I just a little while ago sat through the nostalgia eyesex of.”

Eyesex. Great. Which they had not been having, but—anyway. In an attempt to shake him off that idea, she said, “I didn’t even know you knew the word ‘nostalgia.’”

“That’s mean. And you should know better, because if there’s one thing us ex-jocks are about, it’s nostalgia.”

“It was mean,” Myka conceded. “And you’re right; I walk the halls around here. I apologize. I’m not in the best place.”

“On account of running into your ex.”

“She isn’t my ex.” She thought—hoped—that could be the end of it.

Of course a lot of the time with Pete she thought, or hoped, something would be the end of something. Usually things didn’t work out the way she thought, or hoped, they would. Sure enough: “I have a lot of exes,” he said.

Myka sighed. “I know that.”

“Sometimes I run into them.”

“I know that too.”

“So your face right now looks like my face does when that happens.”

“You can’t see your face when that happens. How do you know what it looks like?”

“I know what my face feels like. And your face looks like my face feels.”

Myka shook her head. “I can’t understand a word you say.”

“Yeah you can. You’re pretty smart.” He winked, because of course he would.

“If so, it doesn’t really help me. Not with you.”

“I guess it didn’t help you with your ex either. Seeing as how she’s your, you know, ex.”

“She isn’t my ex,” Myka repeated.

Being smart had not in fact helped Myka. Not at all.

She hadn’t gone to work that day expecting her world to change. Not at all.

She hadn’t even been supposed to go to the meeting that morning—she’d been pulled in at the last minute by Abigail Chow, her immediate supervisor in the legal department. “Just pay attention,” Abigail said as she towed Myka along. “Watch and learn.”

When the hard-charging Abigail bought into an initiative, she bought in, and one such initiative involved molding Myka into a version of Abigail herself. Maybe Abigail just wanted someone to hold her in appropriately high esteem, or maybe she thought she was recruiting an eventual ally to shore up her power base, but she was convinced that Myka harbored some inner predator who would emerge under her guidance, and that Myka would be eternally grateful for the alteration of her aspect that could be brought to bear, forcefully, as a mini-Abigail.

On that meeting morning, Abigail issued instructions: “Listen for which one of us steps in when, what we say. Take notes on how it all goes. It’s about interference. Keeping this Helena Wells from seeing the whole picture.”

That seemed to Myka to be dishonest, and she said so.

Abigail waved a hand. “She’ll get everything she’s entitled to from the auditors.”

“Then I don’t understand why she’s here.”

“Both sides are peacocking. Mostly about trusting each other.” But obviously they don’t, Myka thought, as Abigail continued, “She can come here, just her, no team; we can show her what we’re really like.”

“But obviously that isn’t,” Myka said out loud. “What you’re showing her.”

“Of course not. She’s the enemy. Do you know how naive you sound right now? What are you doing here, if you don’t know these things?”

“Watching and learning,” Myka sighed out. But as she had watched and learned about “these things,” over her weeks here, she had been watching herself as well, and she had been learning that she recoiled from many of “these things.”

“What are you doing here” was an increasingly pertinent question, and the answer, more and more, seemed to be “making a mistake.”

Myka was smart, but her smarts had always been factual. Knowledge-based. She had gravitated to law because of what she took to be its precision, because knowing laws—she’d thought—meant knowing the law. In class, she shone whenever a professor’s snap question hinged on some obscure precedent or statutory language, for words meant what they meant. Facts were facts.

She knew where any given legal boundary lay, based on those precedents, that language, those facts. But she was, she found, not smart at all about at understanding, or at wanting to understand, that a subtle push, applied just right, could change a boundary’s contours, just enough.

What are you doing here.

Making yet another mistake... she shook a hand. Helena Wells was supposed to be the enemy, but Helena Wells did not feel like an enemy—literally did not feel like one, not when their hands touched—or maybe Myka was just that perverse, in a way she had never realized: perverse enough to, upon sharing one simple introductory touch with an enemy, want to surge toward that enemy and make all the mistakes.

Myka was prepared to ignore it, to dismiss her response to that touch as an outlier, one that would—should—be neither condoned nor repeated. Perverse or not, it couldn’t possibly matter in any material way.

But then came the meeting itself.

Myka had been tempted to stare at Helena (and it seemed yet another perversity to default, even if only in the privacy of her own mind, to the enemy’s first name), for she was arresting to look at. Instead she’d allowed her gaze only to brush in Helena’s direction, keeping her attention mostly down on her notes or directed, so very casually, toward other people.

But one of those sweeps grazed against a similar brush from Helena, and Myka read, in the slight widening of Helena’s eyes, that her enemy had been playing the same look-but-don’t-look game.

The idea that she wasn’t alone was intoxicating.

What are you doing here.

Whatever she was doing, it would involve no more such intoxication; she begged off Abigail’s invitation to attend yet another meeting the following day. Whatever she was doing, it would involve no more perversity. She thought she had seen to that... but fate—fate as personified by Helena Wells—had other plans.

What are you doing here.

Myka wanted to ask that of Helena when she appeared, at the end of that following day, as Myka was about to make her evening’s escape.

Instead, Myka surprised herself: confronted with that intoxicating presence, with further intoxicating proof that she wasn’t alone, Myka was more self-possessed than she had ever been before. Was this what power felt like? What it led to? The hesitation in Helena’s voice, the softening of her posture... nobody—no body—had ever responded to Myka that way before, not so audibly, not so visibly. And Myka would never have expected that her own reaction to that would be to want to exercise power, even to revel in the exercise of power. (And whose body was she herself occupying, anyway? It wasn’t the familiar Myka Bering costume she wore every day... yet every pulse was hers, all the blood, everywhere it moved. Who was Helena Wells to make Myka’s blood do these things?)

What are you doing here.

“I don’t know what I’m doing,” Myka was tempted to say, along with “This isn’t who I am,” and Helena, judging from her staggered speech, might have said the same of herself. But Myka was astonished to find that even as this was not who she had been before, it was who she was now, in this minute. This, now, was more who she was than anyone she had ever been before. And she wanted to know Helena well enough to know whether she would say the same of herself about that, too.

Myka asked about a meal—about who cooked for Helena—because she thought the answer would tell her something. About this enemy she shouldn’t have been talking to, who shouldn’t have been talking to her, but over whom she inexplicably held a sort of power she had never understood to exist.

The answer did tell her something: that Helena, so clearly accustomed to commanding any room, any interaction, was willing to look uncommanding in front of Myka. It seemed an involuntary concession. Unexpected. Seductive. Voluptuous, even. And if it was intentional? Effective, regardless.

Yet still Myka felt as perverse her body’s inability to recognize an enemy for who she was, its stubborn unwillingness to do what her job required (what Abigail would surely have said it required): to reject this immediate wish for intimacy. Nobody—no body—had ever made Myka leap so swiftly to such a wish.

What are you doing here.

Myka in the end did ask that of Helena, out loud, when she presented herself at the door of Myka’s apartment a little later that night.

In response, Helena blinked. Her blinks were work, her lids straining to cover large eyes, suffering to cover beautiful eyes. “You invited me.” She blinked again. “Did I misunderstand?”

The problem, of course, was that she had understood. All too well.

“No,” Myka told her. “But I thought you might... think better of it.”

Yet another blink. “Of accepting an invitation?”

“Of accepting this invitation. To spend time with an intern.” It was Myka’s last-ditch effort to dismiss her wants. To send their inspiration away. If it failed...

“Spending time with an intern? That is not what I’m thinking of. And what I am thinking of, I’m thinking well of. Not better.”

“You... what?”

“What I am thinking of is spending time with you, not with an intern.” The emphases were persuasive; Myka’s effort was failing. “You could be one of the managers, you could be on the custodial team, you could be a clerical assistant. I am thinking of spending time with you.” The final emphasis sealed the deal: Myka’s effort failed, entirely, as she sank into that sweet insistence. It might have been manipulative (some small yet dismissible part of her mind worried on the possibility), but it was molasses-sweet. And then Helena added still more sweetness: “I brought you this,” she said. She held out a wine bottle.

“You didn’t have to.”

“Didn’t I? But I feel I did. Have to.”

“Why?” A pinprick of worry about her “cheap wine” remark visited Myka. The idea of cheap, the idea of an intern—

“It seemed important to give you something that would speak.”

“What’s it supposed to be saying?”

“What do you think it’s saying?”

“I asked first,” Myka said, as if they’d been talking to each other this way for years.

“I wanted it to say something eloquent. Because I can’t seem to.” Helena moved her shoulders, a little “oh well” shrug. “I suspect that all it really says is ‘Helena Wells has brought Myka Bering a bottle of intermediate-value wine.’”

The bottle of intermediate-value wine in fact didn’t say anything eloquent to Myka. No: What was truly eloquent was the way Helena didn’t move... the way she didn’t move until Myka said she should. She didn’t move from the apartment’s doorway—not until Myka said “Are you going to stand there all night?”

She didn’t move from the kitchen table, to which she’d next tethered herself—not until Myka said “Will you come taste this and tell me if it needs more basil?” Helena stood deliberately, walked equally deliberately to stand by Myka at the stove, and took with great seriousness the proffered spoon. She raised it to her mouth; her lips touched it, more cautiously than deliberately; her cheek twitched in consideration. She tipped her head to the side—but that tip brought her, and particularly her cautious lips, closer to Myka, so close that Myka had to say, in a rush of a whisper, “Would you kiss me?” That plea was not powerful at all. In fact, it was desperate.

To Myka’s surprise, Helena didn’t blink at her desperation. She smiled and said, as a courtier acquiescing to a queen, “Would I kiss you? Of course I would.” Giving back that power, letting it be Myka’s.

Myka had never known she wanted to be a queen.

She kissed the smile from Helena’s lips: the first contact a new, shocked spark, one from which they both pulled back, only to then fall back together, sinking slow into decadent exploration. This is why people write love songs, Myka thought. Because a poem might be transcendent and a sonata might be sublime but if you put them together you get this. This revelation of what bodies—or maybe just her body and Helena’s body, just these bodies, together—were for. What they could do.

They drank the wine, forgot about the food. Put hands on each other in ways that gave in entirely to the promise of that first touch. Myka would return to that giving in, later, when she was angry. Why had she conceded so easily? But she had no standing to call anything she herself had done a concession, not when she had been the one doing the asking. So very much of the asking. Be honest, she told herself, ruthlessly, later. But that hurts, said the wounded part of her, in response.

But Myka knew nothing about any of that in the sweet, slow dream of after, when she said, “You still haven’t had a meal cooked by someone you know.” A play-test, just to find out what Helena would say.

Helena moved her body against Myka’s, the very definition of the word “exquisite.” Very close to Myka’s ear, she sighed out, “Is it presumptuous to ask what your plans are for tomorrow night?”

Myka moved her own body in a way she hoped answered adequately. She sighed back, “Is it presumptuous to say I plan to serve you day-old pasta sauce?”

“Presumptuous” was exactly the word: how presumptuous it had been to jump to the physical first. Myka had never let anything physical take precedence over the... appropriate order of things. You met someone; you got to know them, the personality they showed you; you weighed the pros and the cons of taking things to the next level. That was how it was supposed to go.

But now she had this new, immediate knowledge of another human, unencumbered by presented personality. Everything was about how Helena behaved. The inferences from that: She was attentive. She was courteous. She was... strong. “Keep going,” Myka had begged, at one fraught point, and Helena breathed hard and did.

This new knowledge.

The next morning, Abigail caught Myka, swooped and grabbed sharp, right as she exited the elevator. “Did you catch somebody’s eye?” she demanded.

Myka froze. “What?” Strange to be transformed, with such wrenching speed, from a queen to a field mouse.

“I heard you looked pretty chummy with her last night,” Abigail said. “I also heard that she came to you.”

Myka scrabbled for a response. “Chummy? She...”—how not to lie?—“...wanted to talk.” That was true. Helena had said words, and Myka had said some in return. “Low stakes; I’m nobody.”

Abigail asked, avid, “Did you find anything out? During this low-stakes, you’re-nobody talking.”

That she doesn’t like olives? That her eyes glow differently when you’re an inch from then than when you’re a room’s distance, even a handshake’s distance, away? That she’s less demanding, more eager to please—but also more quiet—in bed than you’d think she’d be?

“About what?” She knew what. Of course Abigail and company would have wanted Myka to... scout the enemy. To look for weaknesses. Myka’s own weakness spoke with an English accent and became irresistibly inarticulate when she tried to do that accented speaking with Myka, and Myka wanted to think that Helena had a similar Myka-related weakness, but that could not possibly have anything to do with their being any sort of corporate enemies.

“The bid. I thought you were really considering corporate.” Abigail shook her head.

“I am,” Myka felt she had to say, but I was, she said in her head. “And no. I didn’t find anything out.”

“Does she want to talk to you again,” Abigail pushed. “Talk to you more.”

“She might...” As I serve her day-old pasta sauce with no olives in it, Myka thought. Then she thought, If we even manage to get to the meal tonight. This kind of thought was entirely new.

“Good. Do it.” So bald a directive. “Don’t let anything slip, but find out what you can. This deal has to go through.”

That night, in the night, Myka said to Helena, “I’m not supposed to be talking to you.”

“Mm. Aren’t you?”

“Or I am. It’s hard to say.”

Helena—that enemy who was not one—said, “Is it? Talk, then, but say nonsense words. Fulfilling all conditions.”

Helena said the sorts of things Myka had always wished—consciously or not—someone would say to her. She reacted how Myka had always wished—consciously or not—someone would react, and how that someone would in turn provoke: “They think you want to trip them up,” Myka told her, and Helena prodded back with “Of course I do.” In response to which Myka could manage only, “You tripped me up,” and then Helena was laughing, and Myka was laughing too, and everything was wishes—conscious or not—fulfilled.

Night after night, they met, and they ate food with no olives in it, and they learned more about each other’s behavior.

Night after night, Myka had thought she and Helena were the story—a surprise of a love story, the sound of that surprise drowning out everything else.

But some louder story was being told all along.

And all of that louder story, Myka heard again as a single shout, compressed into one droplet of time as she and Helena stared at each other in what Myka had presumed—the folly of presumption!—was the safety of her space at AAI, a space where Myka’s treacherous mind, body, soul had the snap temerity to suggest Helena belonged.

Myka spent the rest of the morning in shock. At one point this resembled literal, physical shock: Pete asked “Are you okay?”, with a look on his face Myka had never seen before, and she felt, with violent surprise, that her teeth were chattering. “No,” she told him. She calmed herself, consciously, then said, “It was barely a week. I was with her a little more than a week. That’s all.”

He whistled. “Must’ve been some week.”

“It was,” Myka had to agree. “Some week.”

Everything she tried never to think about, right back in her head.

But then, in the afternoon, it was right back in front of her, too. Helena walked back into Myka’s space—where she emphatically did not belong—moving perfectly in her clothes, and Myka tried to turn away from her knowledge of how perfectly Helena moved when she was out of her clothes. How much more familiar she was with how perfectly Helena moved when she was out of her clothes.

She didn’t fully make that turn, but at least her teeth didn’t chatter: a victory. The victory didn’t carry over, though, into Helena walking away again, as Myka tried to will her to do.

“I’m still not Pete.” Was she trying to be charming?

Two could play at that game. “Do you still seem to be lost?” Myka asked, trying to be coldly charming.

“Lost? No.” Helena blinked, and Myka thought, How dare you. “I seem to be asking you if you... might have time for a coffee.”

Now Myka had a fleeting thought of three days in Monaco. That thought led her to say, with more care than was warranted, “I don’t think I should. I don’t think you should.”

“But what if we simply... did? To talk.”

“We have nothing to talk about.” That was easy enough to say.

“Don’t we?” Helena asked.

Myka thought about Monaco again. Thought about how easy it was to let herself think about... Monaco. Tried then to whip herself back into clear-eyed moral line.

“Helena Wells?” That was Giselle’s voice. But why was Giselle’s voice saying Helena’s name?

Helena’s focus left Myka. She turned; her eyes widened; she said “Giselle?”, sounding surprised but pleased, and Myka now thought, Of course. Because how could there have been any version of the world in which these two otherworldly creatures hadn’t already... met, Myka tried to muscle herself down to thinking. Met.

“Helena Wells...” Giselle said, with that drag, and Myka thought Of course again, because of course Helena would respond to that. Everyone responded to that—Myka had been about to respond to that—so Helena must have responded to that, in the past. Of course.

This is a nightmare, she then thought, as she watched the two women embrace. It was a congenial, workplace-appropriate hug, but... I came to work this morning and was awake, but I fell asleep at my desk and am having a nightmare. There was something you were supposed to do to wake yourself from a dream, wasn’t there?

She hadn’t intentionally awakened from her dream-week with Helena. Betrayal had done that; betrayal had destroyed the most enchanting of fantasies. Remembering that that was what had happened didn’t change the scene in front of her, but it did enable her to harden herself to it.

“What is happening in your life?” Giselle enthused. “You better be ready to sit down right now over that coffee I know you’re buying for me and tell it all.”

Helena looked at Myka, but Myka intentionally hardened her face, and she refused to read Helena’s consequent expression as wounded. Refused.

To Giselle, Helena said, “I’d love to tell it all.” She turned her obviously not-wounded-in-the-slightest back on Myka.

Pete, watching the two women walk away, said, “Wow. Talk about sizzle.”

“Go ahead and talk about it,” Myka said. “Go right ahead.”

Pete swung his gaze to her—and suddenly decided to become very interested in his computer monitor. Which Myka wanted to grab with her hands and smash.

TBC

Kind of a note but not really much of one:

Bodies and what they can do, right? What these human animal structures are for... Bernd Heinrich’s Why We Run: A Natural History has been out for almost two decades now, but it’s still a pretty good general-audience read with regard to the evolutionary biology that got us to the bipedalism we enjoy today. (Heinrich’s writing is kind of an acquired taste; sometimes I find myself moved by his wide-ranging, very personal approach, but sometimes I don’t. His Winter World: The Ingenuity of Animal Survival got weirdly under my skin when I first read it, for whatever that’s worth.) Anyway, bodies. What’s to be done about them?

#bering and wells #Warehouse 13 #fanfic #Run #AU week #part 3 #bwing & yells #(added that last one because grandhike said I should)

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mst3kproject · 5 years ago

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1113: The Christmas that Almost Wasn’t

I’ve been saving this one, too – not because I particularly dislike the movie but because I wanted to do it close to Christmas, and here we are! In fact, I kind of like The Christmas that Almost Wasn’t, to the point where I’m going to enjoy watching it again.

For years now, Santa Claus has been living rent-free at the North Pole with the permission of the Inuit, but now that land has been bought out from under him by the Scroogish Phineas Prune! Prune wants rent money or he will seize the toys instead, and so to save Christmas, Santa has to get a job. He lands a gig as a department store mascot, but then Prune buys the store, too. Looks like there won’t be a very merry Christmas this year, unless some kind of last-minute miracle can happen. Fortunately, last-minute miracles are what Christmas movies are all about!

So… why do I like this movie? It’s not exactly festive – as Max points out, there’s nothing very jolly about Santa hiring a lawyer to deal with his landlord. The animated title sequence is kind of charming, but the actual opening scene in Mr. Whipple’s office is claustrophobic and dark, and both it and the scene where they confront Prune at the North Pole drag a bit. The songs aren’t catchy (although the nonsense one the elves sing about Prune is fun), and the dealings with rent, lawyers, and evictions are probably way over the heads of the target audience of children. The depiction of Santa’s workshop as one little hut in the middle of the snow, where about nine elves must make all the millions of presents, is pretty depressing. And of course there’s the downright nightmarish plush animals in the department store. The screaming giraffe is my favourite.

In general, though, I like the movie’s aesthetic. It’s set in a nonspecific but vaguely Victorian past with just a hint of fantasy on top, and a lot of the sets have something to say about the people who spend time in those spaces. Santa and his wife in their north pole hovel are simple people who care far more about others than about themselves. Whipple’s office is comfortable but not large or fancy, and shows us a man who is reasonably successful but not pretentious. Prune’s cobwebby house tells us, even before Mrs. Claus brings it up, that he is a man who doesn’t look after himself. The characters' names speak to similar ideas, such as Mr. Prim the very proper department store owner. It’s true that this is all quite simplistic, but in a fable for children that’s okay.

The costumes do a similar job, equally well. It’s not that hard to get Santa Claus or a Dastardly villain right, of course, but enough movies manage to fail at it regardless that I feel The Christmas that Almost Wasn’t has earned a kudo or two. Like the sets, the costumes tell us about the characters. Mr. Whipple the lawyer, in his tidy but plain suit and festive mittens, is a professional but doesn’t like sticking out in a crowd. Mr. Prim’s mustache-hair tells us he’s very fussy. Mrs. Claus, always apparently dressed in her pajamas, is a homebody. Somebody took the trouble to dress all the elves slightly different, so that even though we never really meet them we can tell they’re individuals.

The main characters, furthermore, all have more than one layer! Santa Claus loves children but is worried what they’ll think of him, and his isolated life at the north pole has given him a measure of social anxiety. Actor Alberto Rabagliati manages to embody both ‘right jolly old elf’ and ‘old man down on his luck’, and sometimes both at the same time. It’s hard to judge anybody’s performance because of the dubbing (although even there I’ve heard much, much worse), but physically he’s perfect. Mrs. Claus is a ‘kill them with kindness’ type, and you can see she takes just a bit of spiteful joy in Prune’s response to the word ‘children’. Whipple can be shy but once he gets into his Lawyer Groove he has no problem getting in Prune’s face. Blossom the butler is a jerk but has a soft spot for the dog, and so on. The only character moment I really don’t like is Prune’s redemption at the end.

This bit is simply, as Jonah and the bots observed, too easy – one gift and suddenly years of mental torment and toxic behaviour are gone, poof! It does give a good ending to the bit where Prune insists he was never a child and the elves can’t find anything about him, but doesn’t the fact that Jonathan lost his letter just give him that much more reason to be angry? Furthermore, there’s the fact that gifts from Santa and gifts from family coexist in this world, as illustrated by the department store and the Christmas shopping. Even if he didn’t get a sailboat from Santa, shouldn’t little Phineas have gotten one from his parents? There are clearly more issues going on here than a simple lost letter.

That brings us to the real meat of this movie. Last year, at the beginning of my review of Elves, I noted that the Christmas season is a contradictory one – what we actually feel is often violently at odds with what’s supposed to be the ‘Spirit of Christmas’, and the most obvious facet of this dichotomy is the whole ‘Season of Generosity’ thing. Generosity is great and the world needs more of it, but at Christmas the recipients of this generosity are most often children, who respond by learning greed. This interplay goes on throughout The Christmas that Almost Wasn’t.

We start with the kangaroo court in which Whipple accuses Prune of being a tightwad. Prune insists that his motives have nothing to do with greed – he just hates children! In fact, one of the reasons he gives for hating them is because they’re greedy. All they want is toys and candy, and every year Santa indulges the little brats! Santa, on the other hand, insists that being generous to children will teach them to be generous to others.

At the last moment, when all hope seems lost, we find that Santa was right – the kids are more than happy to donate their piggy banks to pay Santa’s rent! This not only makes Christmas possible, but also allows Santa and his wife to passive-aggressively pay almost entirely in pennies – I once did this to a high school math teacher who made us all buy a five dollar study guide and let me tell you, there are few things more satisfying. Even so, there’s a weird extra layer to this action. The kids are being generous, but they must all know that if they aren’t, it’s them who will suffer the consequences. Who wouldn’t donate a dollar or two when their Christmas presents are at stake? Are the children being generous? Or are they being greedy?

Isn’t that what we all do at Christmas? When the ancient Romans sacrificed to their gods, they said do ut das, which means something like I am giving so that you might give. We give gifts to friends and family at Christmas in the expectation that they will give us something we wanted. My eight-year-old niece really wanted Wings of Fire III for Christmas this year, and pouted all day because nobody could find it for her, despite the fact that she got a load of other presents. When you give with no expectation of return, that’s charity, which we also do at Christmas – but in our minds, our reward for charity is feeling like a good person, while our reward for giving presents is getting presents back.

Another facet of this in the movie is that Santa actually has an arc of his own, in learning to accept generosity. Generosity is Santa Claus’ defining trait, but in The Christmas that Almost Wasn’t we see him try to refuse offers of kindness from others. First there’s when Whipple offers to give him the money – Santa tries to refuse, and looks relieved when Whipple finds he doesn’t actually have that much money to give. Too, Santa has not chosen his lawyer at random. He knows he can’t afford to hire a lawyer so he goes to somebody who has already offered him a favour, rather than pleading for charity from a complete stranger. Santa does not expect people to be generous to him.

At the end, when the boy named Charlie suggest that the children could donate the money, Santa once again tries to refuse. The kids’ show of support, however, is so overwhelming that Santa can’t say no. He realizes that he doesn’t always have to be the generous one – he can be the recipient. I suppose this is reflected in Prune’s arc, as he, too, finds he can accept generosity. If this were intentional, it wasn’t done very well, but as I already observed Prune’s entire arc wasn’t done very well. The film spends far more time on Santa and Whipple than it does on Prune, and we would have needed to know far more about the role of generosity in Prune’s life to get anything out of it.

Happy new year, everybody! We get a new Mars rover in 2020, which is a great note to start on. I’ve only got a couple more MST3K movies to go, so I’ve been thinking about what I’m going to do with this blog once I’ve covered those. I’ve had a lot of fun writing this and judging by the likes and reblogs, you guys are having fun reading it. There’s also the hope that somehow, someday, we’ll get more new episodes. I think I’ll try doing regular Episodes that Never Were for a while and see how that goes over. It’s not as if the world has any lack of bad movies, and they keep making new ones all the time.

No, I haven’t seen Cats yet.

#mst3k #reviews #the christmas that almost wasn't #holiday reviews #60s

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nev3rfound · 6 years ago

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two of a kind : b.b

brief summary: bucky becomes enticed by a ballerina who he’s more alike than he may think

requested: nope, it was just an idea I went with word count: 2.2k warnings: none that I’m aware of

* requests are open if you have any ideas, feel free to drop ‘em in my inbox or message me. *

Bucky sighed loudly as Steve convinced him to get out of the compound, see a bit of the city he once called a home that now has never felt so foreign to him.

“Why couldn’t we just train instead?” Bucky grumbles as Steve glances to his friend, clearly unimpressed by his statement.

“Because Bucky, you gotta adapt whether you like it or not. I’m introducing you to new culture, something you might learn to love.” Steve motions to a large building with a poster that covers an entire wall, The Swan Lake.

Raising his eyebrow to his friend Bucky shakes his head. “Like we’re seeing a ballet.”

Steve sighs, “Natasha got the tickets. Her friend’s a performer.”

Bucky remains quiet, silently refusing to attend despite a ticket already having his name on it waiting for him to take. “Could you imagine seeing me sat through a ballet performance, Steve?” Bucky asks and a smile appears on Steve’s face at the eventful evening awaiting them.

Patting his arm lightly the two of them continue walking down the street as Steve talks about the show they’ll be seeing, but something catches Bucky’s eye.

It was almost a split second of seeing someone in through a window. She was twirling, elegantly making her way around the space she had as her eyes remained tightly shut, hair slicked back.

He knew at that moment he wanted to know the young woman as she turned her back, placing her feet flat on the ground, but before she could turn her head Steve snapped him out of his trance.

“You still in there?” Steve asks as Bucky clears his throat, glancing back to see her shoe slip out of the door, leaving the room in front of the window empty.

Slumping into the chair Bucky pulled at his tie, clearly uncomfortable in the tux Steve insisted he wore for such an event.

The velvet curtains remained covering the stage as spotlights already positioned awaited the performance like everyone in their finery. “She’s going to be amazing, it’s almost unbelievable how far she's come.” Natasha tells Steve as he places his hand on her forearm, rubbing it softly.

“What’d you mean?” Bucky peers over Steve to ask Natasha who raises her eyebrow to Steve.

“You didn’t tell him?” She sighs as Steve stutters, leaving Bucky waiting.

As Natasha goes to explain the orchestra begins, cutting her off before she has the chance to tell him that he’s not as alone as he may think.

Everything that was itching away at Bucky melted away as the show began, the gentle music as the dancers emerged, slowly telling a story through movement. He was in a trance as the woman emerged in a white dress, it was delicate, she was the swan. Her movements resembled nothing but beauty, the way she extended her fingertips as she passed the Prince, someone Bucky wished to be in that moment.

He wasn’t even aware he was leaning forward until it was the interval and the lights rose as a series of people got up, heading to purchase food and drink. “Enjoying it, Bucky?” Natasha speaks up as a smile plays on Bucky’s lips thinking about the swan.

“She’s somethin’ else.” He states, not catching the look exchanged between Natasha and Steve. “She famous? I mean, she must be with that kinda talent.” He gushes, continuing to speak up about her precise movements, the use of her body in a sensual delicate manner. “I’ve never seen anything like this before.”

Steve lowers his head, realising just how much Bucky has missed out on. He’s never seen or even been to a real dance, not like the ones they went to as kids. This was a whole other world to him, one he didn’t even know he’d missed.

“She’s just a dancer, Buck.” Steve shrugs his shoulders as he turns to Natasha. “Never know, might get to meet her after the show.”

A slight nudge in his metal arm causes Bucky to tense. The thought of meeting someone so angelic wasn’t a steady concept. He was too harsh, too strong to be around someone like that who oozed beauty whilst he lived in a world of pain and personal torment.

As the performance resumed Steve couldn’t take his focus from his friend, the way his mouth remained ajar as a smile formed on his face, something he hadn’t seen truly in a long time. Bucky was in a trance with her, as she was oblivious to the hundreds of eyes focusing her, but he wished he was one she would notice.

Placing his hand on Natasha’s, Steve motions for her to take a look at the sight.

Averting her eyes from the stage she can’t believe what she’s witnessing. Bucky Barnes was in complete awe of her, of Odette.

It was over too soon for Bucky’s liking, despite having sat down for hours it felt like mere minutes. He was one of the first to his feet, applauding the entire cast, but especially her as she bowed.

The Orchestra finished the closing song and the velvet curtains returned to their original position. Slowly everyone began to exit the Theatre, but Bucky was still sat down, picturing her all over again as she twirled around the stage.

“Buck?” Steve speaks up and Bucky sighs before rising to his feet. “We’re just heading backstage to meet Natasha’s friend, wanna join?”

Relectunatley he agreed as they departed the Theatre, heading out of the main entrance before turning down the side of an alleyway as the conversations and buzz of the performance had died down. Bucky kept his head low, thinking he’ll never get to see her again, she’ll probably be hidden away in some dressing room with the Prince whilst he sits quietly being nothing more than a member of the audience to her.

The door swings open and Natasha laughs. “Oh my gosh, you were incredible!” She cheers as the four of them walk inside, Bucky hanging back from the three others as the sigh of silk shoes and pieces of costumes pass his gaze.

“So, Steve, Bucky, this is my old friend, Y/n.” He lifts his head up, simply to be polite, but he freezes as she smiles.

It was her, the Swan, Odette. She was you.

You stand up, brushing your costume down before Steve brings you into a warm hug as you remain in your ballet shoes causing Bucky to silently wince. “It’s lovely to meet the name behind the ballerina.” Steve jokes and you laugh lightly, a sound that Bucky can feel etching its way through his soul, the warmth that flows through it as he takes it in.

“Hi Bucky,” You’re now stood in front of him, a small smile plastered on your face as he rises to his feet, clearing his throat. Unsure of himself he tries to smile which results in more of a nervous grimace. “thanks for coming to the show, I hope it wasn’t too boring.” You joke and Bucky shakes his head repeatedly.

“Oh, it was far from boring, doll.” The words slip off of his tongue effortlessly and behind you, Steve and Natasha share a knowing look. “You were,” He lets out a small sigh. “somethin’ else.”

Bucky raises his head to meet your eyes as he spies a blush rising beneath your makeup. “Why didn’t you mention Bucky sooner, Nat? He’s a real charmer.” You turn to Natasha, nudging her lightly as she leans into Steve, a warm smile on her face. “Well, I better get changed. As much as I’d love to sit and chat I have to get my leg checked.” You towards the exit before pausing, leaving Bucky with a glimmer of hope before you vanish for good. “It was lovely meeting you guys.”

“Pleasure was all ours, doll.” Bucky states as you smile before walking out of the door, leaving him truly speechless before two of his friends who simply give him a look. “What?” He asks as they shake their heads in disbelief.

“Who knew you had it in you, Buck.” Steve scoffs as he heads out of the door.

Natasha goes to follow but pauses before Bucky. “She’ll be in dressing room nine. Just, be nice okay?” She pats his chest lightly, straightening his tie. “If you hurt her,” Her grip tightens on his tie, almost choking him as he swallows forcefully.

“Loud and clear, Romanoff.” Bucky sputters as Natasha smiles, releasing her tight hold.

As he stands alone in the room he releases a shaky breath before walking down the corridor, directly towards dressing room nine labelled loud and clear for him to see.

Hesitantly he lifts his fist up to knock, and the sound of your delicate voice makes his heart skip a beat. “Hold on a sec!” You yell through the door as he hears some struggle before it opens. “Oh,” You raise your eyebrow, surprised to see him stood before you. “hey Bucky.”

“H,Hi.” He stutters, silently swearing for his nerves. “I just wanted to say to you that what you’re doing is truly a work of art.”

You let out a small laugh out of nervousness. Someone like Bucky wasn’t exactly your normal audience, let alone critic. Moving aside from the door Bucky can see you’re limping. “Come on in.” You motion as he steps inside and as his head turns his eyes widen at the sight before him.

Immediately his eyes zone in on it, it’s hard not to. But he snaps his eyes away, back to yours. “Sorry, it’s rude to stare. I, I just never expected it.” He rubs his face, shaking his head. “Sorry, I shouldn’t have mentioned anything I erm.” Stuttering you move towards him, placing your hand on his shoulder.

“It’s alright, Bucky. I don’t mind it really.” You shrug your shoulders as you perch on the stool by the dressing table. “When I was a kid I had bone cancer, they amputated just below the knee.” You place your hand on the healed spot where the scars are still evident after all these years, the pain now nonexistent.

“But you can still dance?” He asks quietly as you nod in response. “It’s so beautiful, so effortless but you’re working harder than the rest?”

“Not really,” You state as you stand up, reaching over for your prosthetic leg. “this is part of me, has been for most of my life. When I’m in my ballet shoes it feels right, it isn’t so much an extension of me, it is me.” He listens intently as you explain more about it, the way you explain it with no fears or worries. “I’ve learnt to appreciate how lucky I am, and that I can still do what I love thanks to it.”

He smiles to himself before lifting his flesh hand up, resting it on the sleeve covering his metal arm. “I guess we’re not so different after all.” He mutters as you raise an eyebrow to him. “I erm, my arm is made of metal.”

It surprises him, the reaction you have. You’re not afraid. Instead, you rise to your feet until you’re stood in front of him as he slips his jacket off and unbuttons his shirt.

Bucky is aware of his heart beating faster, standing before you shirtless. But he can tell you don’t mind as your eyes fixate on the scarring joining his arm to the metal. “Can I?” You lift your fingertips and he nods.

A cold shiver spirals through his bones as your fingertips glide along the scars before you feel along the metal, how perfectly it forms together like a normal arm would. “This is amazing.” You mumble as you lift your eyes up to his as he is unable to ignore the glimmer in your eyes of curiosity. “I mean, it truly is a work of art.”

“Don’t think anyone has ever called it that.” He scoffs lightly before slipping his shirt back on whilst you remain a close distance to him.

“They should, Bucky.” You softly tell him as you lick your lips, causing his heart to push through his chest into yours. “Because that isn’t something you see every day, that is something to be proud of. We all have our battle scars, but it’s what we do with them that matters.” Your words bury themselves into his memory, not wanting this moment to end as you smile up at him.

“You’re beautiful.” He whispers to you, meaning it in every single sense, even if it were too soon for him to say such a thing. “Would you like to go for dinner sometime?”

You smile up at him before nodding. “I’d love to, Bucky.”

As you two sit in your dressing room, talking like old friends Steve and Natasha are on their way back to the tower, discussing the two of you. “How’d you know they’d be the perfect match?” Steve asks Natasha as she links her arm into him, leaning against his arm.

“Because Y/n is a healer, she wants everyone to know how much they matter and more importantly, how beautiful she thinks they really are.” Natasha smiles to herself as she sighs quietly. “Y/n needs someone like Bucky in her life, and I think Bucky needs her more than he’ll care to admit.”

“Just you wait, Nat. We’ll see Bucky on stage performing in the background.” Steve chuckles to himself, picturing his friend attempting to dance.

“Yeah, as a tree.” Natasha bluntly states before laughing, the two of them knowing how things would work out, knowing you two couldn’t be a better match, two of a kind.

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