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dilemmaontwolegs · 1 year ago

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Used to be Young || CL16

Pairing: Charles Leclerc x singer!reader Summary: Being the life of the party isn't all it's cracked up to be but you manage to turn over a new leaf and start afresh after being dumped by your first love. Warnings: 18+ only, NSFW, mentions of drugs and alcohol, angst, hurt/comfort WC: 2.5k

A few years earlier… You barely registered the words coming out of Charles’ mouth, the arrogance of youth numbing you to what you were about to lose. You had a career that had exploded overnight, an album in the top charts, more money than you knew what to do with. How could you lose anything after everything you had achieved? You were invincible.

“It’s over, I can’t do this anymore,” Charles repeated over the loud music filling the open bar. He cast his eyes over you from the skimpy dress that left little to the imagination to your red eyes from the joint you had shared with your back up dancers. “I don’t even recognise you.”

“Where are you going?” You grabbed his hand and pulled him to a stop as you pressed your lips to his cheek. You kissed your way across his jaw before nipping his ear and laughing. “We’re just having fun! Lighten up, Charles.”

“No, you’re having fun,” he said as he peeled your fingers off his shirt. “If you want to go wild, then go wild, but I’m not going to stick around to watch this shit.”

You let him go. You watched him leave as the healing skin behind your ear began to itch with your latest tattoo. You turned away before the crowd swallowed him whole, your fingers already reaching for another shot of liquor.

Winter Break - Music Award Show Charles would recognise your voice anywhere, no matter how much time passed he could still locate it in a crowd. It was as if the frequency of your voice was one he was attuned to and it called to him when he was meant to be focusing on the interviewer before him.

It had been a year since you last toured, a year since you last released a song. Charles knew, because he still listened to your albums and watched every music video- much like how you still followed his Formula 1 career. He waited for any news about you, but the last year had been silent. Your social media was deleted, paparazzi photos few and far between but what he had seen had made his heart ache. You had changed, no longer the carefree spirit he fell in love with in a whirlwind romance swimming in alcohol and snapshot decisions.

Charles couldn’t help but wonder what you had been doing in your absence. Had you met someone like he had? Had you fallen in love and then fallen out of love like he had? He wanted to know if you were happy.

Charles was in a daze as he took his seat. His invitation to the award show had come thanks to the rising popularity of his sport mixed with his music and he scanned the crowd hoping to catch a glimpse of you. He knew you were there, he knew it with every fibre of his being, he just needed to see you.

The lights dimmed and goosebumps prickled beneath the suit he wore as your voice caressed his ear. He could have sworn you were sitting behind him, serenading him and only him, but there you were - right where you belonged.

The truth is bulletproof, there's no foolin' you I don't dress the same Me and who you say I was yesterday Have gone our separate ways

Charles could barely breathe as the soft lighting warmed your skin, setting you in a glow that was somehow both powerful and ethereal. There was no need for any theatrics when your voice was emotive enough to outperform any dancers or pyrotechnics. All you needed was a stage and a microphone.

Left my livin' fast somewhere in the past 'Cause that's for racin' cars Turns out open bars lead to broken hearts And goin' way too far

Your eyes were closed, brows pinched, as if the memory of that night hurt even now. The huge screens around the room were filled with the image and Charles swallowed the lump in his throat as regret filled him for his role in it all.

I know I used to be crazy I know I used to be fun You say I used to be wild I say I used to be young

Charles closed his eyes as they began to burn, but still your voice infiltrated his soul and reverberated with the truth.

You tell me time has done changed me That's fine, I've had a good run I know I used to be crazy That's 'causе I used to be young

Charles forced himself to watch the stranger he loved flourish before his eyes. He had seen you grow from a teenager into a young adult, thinking the flower that blossomed was the final product. Like the dandelions you had blown to the breeze and wished upon with him years ago, you had shed the petals of immaturity and become a woman commanding the wind to carry her higher.

You hated how the spotlight burned your skin and you told yourself it was the lamp that made your eyes water as you screwed them shut.

The words you had penned on the back of a scrap of paper had come to you on a Sunday afternoon. You weren’t the religious type, but Sunday was a holy day in your house and your worship began at lights out. Words had failed you when the partying stopped. You wondered who you were without the late nights and endless faces that enabled you to lose your values, your friends, your love. You thought your music had died with your younger self.

But on that Sunday, something had changed. On that Sunday, you saw a man at his lowest and heard the heartache in his voice. On that Sunday, you watched a man carry more burden than any shoulders could bear and somehow, somehow, he smiled. Thousands of miles away in Brazil, Charles had taught you a lesson in letting go, of hope and resilience and maturity.

The words had come easily after that.

Take onе, pour it out, it's not worth cryin' 'bout The things you can't erase Like tattoos and regrets, words I never meant And ones that got away

You didn’t plan to open your eyes until the song was over, you didn’t want to see what the audience thought of the performance that was so unlike how you used to sound, but you did it anyway. The spotlight blinded you for a moment before your eyes adjusted and time seemed to freeze when you found Charles staring back.

Time had changed him too, his jawline had sharpened and the suit fitted his filled out body so much better than they ever did. A pair of glasses rested on the bridge of his nose and changed his entire face so that he could never be mistaken as anything but a man who was comfortable in his own skin.

He used to say you completed him but now you knew you had only filled the piece of his heart that was missing after his father died. You couldn’t complete a boy who was still growing into a man, it was impossible when you were both too young to know what complete even meant. Complete didn’t mean whole, it was just the acceptance of who you are and forgiving who you were.

You weren’t in some grandiose ballgown or shock-inspiring barely-there outfit, you wore what you felt comfortable in. Charles smiled, his dimple appearing as you slipped the microphone from the stand and walked to the edge of the stage. His eyes never left yours as you took a seat facing him and swung your feet in the open air, returning the smile.

I know I used to be crazy Messed up, but, God, was it fun I know I used to be wild That's 'cause I used to be young

You may have been the one singing but you heard him loud and clear when his hand rose up above his head.

Those wasted nights are not wasted I remember every one I know I used to be crazy That's 'cause I used to be young

You heard him loud and clear when he made no move to wipe the tears on his cheeks.

You tell me time has done changed me That's fine, I've had a good run I know I used to be crazy That's 'cause I used to be young

There were no words that passed between you as you left the stage, but when he rose to his feet you heard him loud and clear.

The loud knock on your door echoed around the temporary dressing room but the voice that followed was softer. Your fingers rested on the door handle until you took a deep breath and turned it. The air left your lungs as you were struck by the image of him standing in your doorway, one hand in his trouser pocket, the other in his hair as he wondered if he was making a mistake.

Up close, he looked even more handsome but it was his cologne that took you deep into the past. The intensity of the CK bottle used to be overpowering on the senses when he would douse himself in the stuff, but now he wore a complex, rich scent that invited you to lean closer and inhale. His finer tastes had matured along with the rest of him.

“Hey,” he said as he looked into your room, taking in the details from the water bottles to the ambient sounds you relaxed to. A smile transformed his face and he stepped inside when you opened the door wider in invitation. “Is this my music?”

“It helps me to relax,” you admitted as you closed the door behind him.

“Your song is…” he shook his head as he trailed off, like he was struggling to articulate what he wanted to say and he had to settle for something less because he couldn’t quite grasp the word, “beautiful.”

“Thank you.” You smiled shyly at your feet and fiddled with your hair that had been styled up for the red carpet walk.

Charles’ eyes followed your hand and widened before he grabbed it. The warmth of his skin on yours was something you had never been able to replicate, there was no man or woman whose touch could come close to his. You knew because you had tried and tried before resigning yourself the hard fact that you had lost the best thing you had.

“Is that…my number?” His fingertips turned your head to see the tattoo tucked behind your ear.

You laughed as you remembered how you were going to surprise him once it healed, but he had already gone by then. “Yeah, it is. And I don’t regret it, before you ask.”

“I’m glad.” The corners of his lips curled up as he dropped his hand back to his side. “I have so many questions, but I think they would take all night. How have you…what have you…god, I don’t even know where to start.”

“As it happens, I have no plans,” you said as you took a seat on the couch and patted the space beside you.

“No after party?”

You shook your head as he sat down and you grabbed your bottle of water from the coffee table. “That’s not my scene anymore.”

Charles draped his arm across the couch as he tucked one leg up and settled so he could face you. “What were you going to do after the show tonight then?”

“Honestly?” You chuckled at the question and picked at the label on the bottle. “I was going to go home, order a pizza and watch the new season of Drive to Survive.”

Charles bit his lip as he tried not to laugh. “Really?”

“Don’t laugh,” you feigned annoyance as you slapped his hand. “I’m missing the races so it will have to do until next month. Are you excited?”

He caught your hand before you could take it back and he traced his fingers over the splatterings of new tattoos you had collected throughout the years. “Hmm, I’m optimistic.”

“Always were,” you murmured as you let your hand relax in his. “But what about the car?”

“Why don’t you come to testing and find out?” He seemed to come to his senses as he dropped your hand. “You’re probably busy and we’re practically strangers now. Shit, you probably have a boyfriend. Do you have a boyfriend?”

“Charles, shut up,” you laughed as you caught his face in your palms and felt the texture of the short beard he now sported. “I know you too well that we could never really be strangers.”

“We’ve both changed.” His head lowered into your hands and you watched his green eyes search your face for the wild child he used to know.

“We’ve grown up, there’s a difference.”

His breath whispered across your wrists as he looked down at the distance closing between your bodies. “So do you?”

“Do I what?”

“Have a boyfriend.”

You smiled sadly. “I could never have a boyfriend. It wouldn’t be fair when my heart always belonged to someone else.”

Charles started to lean towards you, his eyes on your lips as if he could already taste him, but you pulled away. Hurt flashed in those eyes and you wanted to erase it immediately, it took every ounce of control you had not to pull him back into a kiss.

“We’re not strangers, Charles,” you said softly as you took his hand and tried to get him to look at you again, “but we aren’t those people any more.”

“Okay,” he nodded as he understood what went unsaid, “then we’ll get to know each other again. When did you become the sensible one?”

“After my stupidity cost me you, I suppose.”

The rest of the award show didn’t hold any interest after the conversation in your dressing room so you had both disappeared. The evening had been mild with the worst of the winter weather already passing, so you had enjoyed the quieter streets that had been closed for the night. Charles had kept you company and you both went unrecognised as you walked arm in arm to the pizzeria you promised was the best around. For a man who worked a lot of the time in Italy that was going to be tested when you got home.

It was midnight by the time you reached your apartment, the tower clock across the street tolling for the start of a new day. You would look back on that moment and realise it was then that the slate was cleaned. Whatever conversations that happened or didn’t happen were obsolete, whatever mistakes made before that moment were gone.

In the early hours on a Sunday of all days, you stepped inside your home with Charles at your side. Neither of you knew what the future held but by the same token neither of you were ready for this to be the end. After all, this was a new beginning.

#charles leclerc fanfic #charles leclerc x reader #charles leclerc imagine #charles leclerc x you #f1 fanfic #f1 imagine #formula one imagine #formula 1 fanfic #formula one fanfiction #f1 rpf

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thesewordsareallihavetogive · 2 years ago

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5 times the Bronco was a third wheel - bradley "rooster" bradshaw x reader

Summary: 3.6k words. Rooster & his partner's love in snapshots throughout the course of their relationship. or, five times the Bronco was a third wheel <3

Warnings: sososo much fluff. some cursing, suggestive material, overuse of italics, & frequent usage of she/her pronouns for the reader

a/n: hi y'all! life has been v busy but i'm excited to share another fic with u guys! i hope you enjoy reading it as much as i enjoyed writing it <3

master list

After multiple failed & disappointing first dates, y/n was prepared to write off dating and romance altogether. She could be happy and fulfilled with some pets, good friends, and a good vibrator.

Then Bradley Bradshaw came along.

y/n was convinced chivalry was dead. So when the aviator offered to pick her up for their first date, she was skeptical. She did an internet deep dive and all she found were high praise for his flying ability and Navy accolades. Bradley only had one social media account and he followed less than 50 pages–most of which were plane and vintage car accounts. He almost exclusively posted photos of his travels during deployments.

So, she accepted his offer. She told him her address and pushed the Dateline and Criminal Minds theme songs to the back of her mind.

Bradley showed up on time and he actually walked up to her door. There was no dry “I’m here” text or the muffled honking of a car horn.

Not only did he ring y/n’s doorbell and meet her at her front door, but he also brought her flowers. Bradley brought her flowers!

His mama raised him right.

Bradley sucked in a breath when y/n opened the door. She was beautiful, and he told her so. The words left his lips before his brain caught up. It sounded cliché, but he was pretty sure he fell in love at the sound of y/n’s kind giggle and the way she bashfully scrunched up her nose.

As the aviator led y/n toward his car, she admired the sight of the vintage Bronco. A shiny wax coat accentuated the bright blue paint. It seemed as though there wasn’t a speck of dirt on the car. Somehow, the decades-old vehicle looked like it had just rolled off the assembly line.

Bradley smirked when he turned back and found y/n shamelessly staring in awe at the Bronco. Keeping up with the old car’s maintenance was a labor of love; it made his heart flutter to see someone appreciate it the way he did.

y/n snapped out of her trance when she saw Bradley patiently waiting by the opened passenger door. Swoon.

With a blushed smile she approached the door, standing intoxicatingly close to the aviator. Even in her heels, he was still a full head taller than her. Being mindful of said heels, Bradley held out his hand for y/n to hold while she slid up into the slightly lifted car.

She buckled her seat belt as he shut the door and jogged around the front of the hood.

She smiled inwardly. This could be good.

After six months of dating, y/n had officially earned the title ‘passenger princess’. y/n and Bradley spent a good majority of their time in either of their homes, but when they went out together Bradley drove.

If they went out to a bar, Bradley always made sure to limit himself to one beer or sober up before they left. y/n was especially fond of fruity little drinks with a high enough alcohol content to knock a grown man out cold, so she wasn’t exactly a good candidate to drive either of them home after a night out. The buzz tended to make her more touchy-feely, which Bradley didn’t mind at all.

If they went to the beach, they’d typically take y/n’s car. Bradley shuddered at the thought of sand in the Bronco and sunscreen on the seats. Yet, he still drove when they took her car. y/n would’ve protested if it were anyone else attempting to drive her car but with Bradley it was different. Everything was different.

She’d never felt the kind of love and safety she did with Bradley. And it was easy! Their relationship was playful and fun and happy. Which was part of why y/n found teasing him to be particularly amusing.

The couple was driving along the beach with no specific destination in mind. A soft breeze flowed through the open windows and a playlist y/n made for Bradley played over the stereo. y/n alternated between watching the pink and orange hues adorning the sky–nothing quite compared to west coast sunsets–and admiring the handsome man seated to her left.

Rooster’s eyes flickered away from the road for a moment to look at this girlfriend. He caught her already ogling him and broke out in a toothy grin, ghosting his fingers along the inside of her thigh where his hand already rested on her leg.

The mostly-innocent devil on y/n’s shoulder told her it was time to bug her boyfriend. She carefully toed her sandals off before kicking her feet up on the dash. A smirk graced her face as she trained her eyes on Bradley, awaiting his reaction. His eyes flashed toward her feet with alarm and his shoulders sagged in relief when he realized the dirty soles of her shoes weren’t marking up the dash. Bradley rolled his eyes and grumbled before he effortlessly pulled both of her legs off the dash and into his lap with one hand. y/n threw her head back and laughed. The corner of Bradley’s lip twitched upward at his favorite sound.

At the next red light, Rooster pressed a kiss to y/n’s ankle before continuing to massage her calves.

y/n groaned in the lobby of the auto shop. The mechanic gave her a timeline of roughly two weeks for her car to be fixed. Her insurance wouldn’t cover a rental either, so she’d have to get rides from her coworkers. She was sure Bradley would gladly drive half an hour each way to drop her off and pick her up from work, but she didn’t want to burden him with that.

Rooster came with her because she suspected the mechanics wouldn’t take her seriously by herself. Men. She sulked while stomping out into the parking lot. She knew better than to touch the passenger door handle herself, so she waited for Bradley.

y/n huffed as she stared out the window. Bradley knew it was better to let y/n ride out her frustration, so he silently rubbed his thumb over y/n’s knuckles, brushing against her engagement ring. After her second huff, Bradley ventured into the lion’s den.

“What’s going on in that pretty head of yours?” Rooster asked with a kiss to the back of her hand. She ran her free hand through her hair and pinched her brows together. Maybe she was overthinking and stressing out too much, but the feelings felt very real nonetheless.

“I guess I’ll just ask one of my coworkers for a ride to work for the next couple of weeks. I don’t think she lives too far from us…” y/n trailed off. It was Bradley’s turn to pull a confused face. Why would she do that when they had another perfectly fine car? When Bradley proposed to y/n he promised her his heart for the rest of their lives and that what was his was hers–though both of those things had been determined long before he bought y/n’s dream ring.

“Baby, you can just take the Bronco. I’ll drive us to the base in the morning and then you can take the car from there. Or I can have Mav pick me up on his way to the base and you can get more of your beauty rest,” Rooster finished with a cheeky grin. Though y/n had her personal favorite origin story for her fiancé’s call sign, the actual reason rang true. Rooster was up before dawn nearly every day, regardless of whether he’d set an alarm or not. y/n, on the other hand, rather appreciated sleeping in and ignoring the morning daylight for as long as possible.

Bradley once tried to wake y/n up before 6 a.m. to join him on a morning run. In her sleepy haze, she threatened to break up with him. She was joking mostly but the edge in her tone had Bradley leaving her to rest without any further argument.

“...are you sure Brad? You would let me drive the Bronco?” y/n asked hesitantly. The only other person she knew of that had driven the vintage car was Bradley’s late father, Goose. To Bradley, sharing the car was a no-brainer. Would he let anyone else have their hands on his precious wheel? Hell no. But y/n? He’d give her the moon if she asked for it.

“What’s mine is yours, honey. I don’t trust anyone more than you,” Bradley smiled as he spoke. The words flowed off his tongue so easily. y/n did her best not to tear up at the sentiment, but it was a fruitless effort. It was her turn to kiss his hand this time, muttering a soft I love you against his tanned skin.

Which is how y/n found herself parking the Bronco in the car lot closest to the dagger squad’s hanger. The aviators had just finished their afternoon workouts. It was the safest means to gradually decrease the natural adrenaline rush from flying, but also had added benefits, if you asked y/n–the bonus being her fiancé’s physique. She took a brief break from ogling her boyfriend to be mindful of the distance between her feet and the ground as she hopped out of the car.

Hangman looked up from the weights he’d been lifting and clocked the new addition to the parking lot. The bright blue vehicle was hard to miss among the red, white, and dark blue trucks filling the lot.

“Rooster, that looks like your car,” Jake observed. Thank you, Sherlock.

“That is my car,” Bradley replied after glancing toward the parking lot. Hangman was a lot of things, cunning even, but the blonde man’s density didn’t surprise Rooster. A small smile graced his face when he saw y/n’s feet land on the asphalt, the rest of her body concealed from view. Phoenix typically ignored Hangman’s antics. It was a waste of time and energy, and ensured she wouldn’t lose brain cells simply by exposure to the cocky aviator. However, this discussion piqued her interest.

“Then who the hell is driving? Has anyone other than you touched that wheel in the past 15 years?” Natasha blew a stray piece of hair out of her face and stood back with her hands on her hips. Eventually, she too noticed the approaching footsteps nearly hidden by the car and she smirked. Of course it was y/n.

“Not until today,” Bradley smiled. y/n turned the corner, coming into view, and Hangman tutted in understanding. Rooster paused his workout to take in his fiancée. She wore a breezy sundress that complimented her complexion and the wind blew gently at her, letting her hair flow back to reveal her sun-kissed cheeks. She was a sight for sore eyes.

“Well I’ll be damned, Bradshaw. You must really love her,” Jake clapped Rooster on the back, earning an eye roll.

“We’re engaged, Bagman. I obviously love her,” Bradley replied, his eyes still trained on y/n. Fanboy piped up. He quite enjoyed the verbal tennis match.

“Yeah, but that’s like next-level love,” Mickey argued. The rest of the squad nodded in agreement. Rooster shook his head with a smile and abandoned his weights, lightly jogging to meet y/n halfway. Bradley wrapped his arms around y/n, pulling her into a tight hug. Her nose wrinkled at the smell of jet fuel and sweat, but she wasn’t bothered; she was used to it by now. y/n dangled the key ring from her finger in front of Bradley’s face with a teasing smile. He grinned and slipped the keys into his back pocket with a peck to y/n’s lips.

The wedding ceremony and reception were breathtakingly beautiful. Bradley and y/n decided to have a private ceremony with just their closest friends and family and a larger reception party. They danced the night away quite literally. The newlyweds probably stayed on the dance floor for almost two hours, only taking breaks to take some private wedding photos and for Rooster to play the piano. The wedding venue was the couple’s favorite of the ones they had toured, the on-site piano was an added bonus

When the night came to an end and it was time for the send-off, Bradley and y/n couldn’t wipe the wide grins off their faces even if they tried. Whooping and hollering from their loved ones sounded out as party-poppers and sparklers surrounded the pathway toward the awaiting Bronco.

y/n was the first to notice the tin cans on strings affixed to the back of the car. With a loud laugh, she turned back to the crowd to find the culprits. Her eyes zeroed in on Bob and her sibling with a chuckle. The aviator wore a blush and avoided eye contact with y/n though he was acutely aware her eyes were trained on him and the string he was shoving into his pocket. Her sibling, who was standing right alongside Bob, attempted to discreetly kick a spare tin can on the ground behind them out of view. Rooster gave the two of them an appreciative wink.

Bradley picked y/n up bridal style, earning a surprised yelp from his wife, before he gently sat her down in the Bronco’s passenger seat, careful not to snag her wedding gown on anything. He pressed a searing kiss to her lips and jogged around to the driver’s side.

As they pulled away the distinctive clanking of the tin cans bouncing on the pavement earned louder cheers from the wedding guests. Despite his strong urge to get both of them home and into bed as quickly as possible, Bradley was careful not to drive too fast so that the cans wouldn’t fly up and chip the Bronco’s paint.

In the driveway of the couple’s shared home, Bradley opened his wife’s door and helped her step down from the vehicle. Once she was on solid ground y/n pulled him down by his collar and pressed yet another kiss to his lips. Their kiss count for the day was nearing triple digits. y/n shuffled toward the back of the Bronco to admire Bob’s handiwork again, pulling her husband along with her. Bradley wrapped his arms around her waist and pressed wet kisses to her neck. y/n suppressed her quiet moans and tried to stay focused on the task at hand, but it was a near-futile effort.

“Honey, do you think we should-hmm, oh-take these off before we go to the airport? We have to leave-hmmph-early tomorrow morning,” y/n finished breathlessly. Rooster’s ministrations were distracting and relentless. He groaned against her neck and nipped at one of the sensitive areas he knew by heart.

“Baby, if I don’t get you inside right now we’ll both be charged with indecent exposure,” he spoke directly against her goose-bump-covered skin and ground his hips against her back to emphasize his point. y/n tossed her head back against Bradley’s chest with a grin and a devious glint in her eyes.

“Take me to bed, you big stud,” she whispered. Bradley heard her loud and clear. He tossed y/n over his shoulder and practically sprinted toward the door. Though most of the blood in his body had rushed elsewhere, he still was mindful enough to carry his wife across their home’s threshold bridal style.

Bradley Brashaw is a smart man. Incredibly smart. He knew his plane inside and out, could take it apart and build it back up again from each individual part. The same was true for his Bronco and y/n’s car, for that matter. There weren’t many mechanical problems he couldn’t solve with his toolkit and some WD-40.

So what was stumping him?

An infant car seat.

He understood clearly how it should be installed. He’d read the manual three times over to make sure he didn’t miss any details. He wanted, no, needed to make sure his baby would be absolutely safe. Bradley wanted the car seat to be able to safely withstand a moon launch. The problem was that the manual directions weren’t working. He groaned and rested his forehead against the cool leather backseat. It was almost, but not quite cold enough to distract him from the sweltering California summer heat.

Against her husband’s protest, y/n followed him out to the front yard and observed as he installed their soon-to-be-Earthside baby’s car seat. The relentless San Diego heat was getting to y/n too. At eight months pregnant, she was already uncomfortable. With the added humidity? She was bordering on miserable. The couple didn’t really think through the timing of the pregnancy and the fact that y/n would be in her third trimester during the hottest time of the year. Actually, they hadn’t really thought through getting pregnant much at all. It wasn’t that y/n and Bradley weren’t trying to get pregnant. They just… got carried away one too many times.

Nonetheless, they were excited to be parents.

Bradley didn’t have to say anything for y/n to know he was getting frustrated. She could read her husband like a book. She slowly walked over to him, being cautious of her bump and lightly rubbed Rooster’s tan sweat-covered back. The aviator sighed and relaxed into his wife’s touch for a moment before he swung around to face her.

“Go sit down!” Bradley pleaded exasperatedly. As much as the aviator acted like a tough guy around his coworkers, y/n knew he was a teddy bear at heart. A teddy bear that worried incessantly. His eyes were wide as he took in his wife’s form. A large hand subconsciously gravitated toward her growing bump. y/n rolled her eyes but leaned into her husband’s comforting touch nonetheless.

“I’m pregnant, Brad. Not incapacitated.” she said pointedly. Bradley groaned inwardly. The exchange was all too familiar and he rarely won. y/n rested an arm on the door frame and looked around the back seat at Bradley’s progress (or lack thereof). She thumbed through the installation manual herself and Bradley looked as well, his chin resting on her shoulder. He reached his arms around her front to gently support the weight of her bump and y/n swore the instant relief she felt was akin to very few worldly pleasures.

y/n didn’t find anything in the manual Bradley hadn’t already. She didn’t expect to, but it was worth a try. She leisurely grabbed the nearest seat belt buckle and examined it.

“Maybe the buckles are just too outdated? Not compatible with the car seat or something like that?” y/n offered with a shrug. Bradley sucked in a sharp breath behind her.

“Don’t… don’t shit on the car, baby,” he spoke softly, a pained strain in his voice. y/n rolled her eyes and turned around to swat Rooster’s pec with the instruction manual. She obviously had no intention of taking a dig at the Bronco; the car had more history than either of them. To get his mind off of the failed car seat installation, y/n coaxed Bradley inside for a lemonade break. The cold beverage had been her pregnancy craving all summer, so they always had an excessive amount on hand. With a resigned sigh, Bradley followed y/n inside their house looking like a kid who’d dropped his ice cream directly on the pavement.

Though y/n invited Bradley inside so that he could take a break, he insisted on having his wife sit down while he poured lemonade into two glasses. y/n’s attention was split in two directions. The car seat adapters she was browsing through on her phone were interesting enough, but her husband’s sculpted figure was much more captivating. Bradley rounded the kitchen island and settled in next to his wife on the bar stools, peering at her phone as he passed her a cold glass of lemonade. y/n leaned over to peck her husband’s cheek in thanks when she noticed where his eyes were trained. From the way y/n straightened her back and grinned, Bradley should’ve known she was up to no good. But, in his defense, he was feeling too defeated to notice.

“You know, you could always just trade the Bronco in for a minivan,” y/n suggested with an innocent facade. She casually toyed with a loose strand of her hair and watched the fifty-some emotions morphing over Bradley’s face. y/n had a much better poker face than her husband, but she couldn’t help but crack and burst out into laughter when Bradley delivered a final deadpan look. He tugged her stool to face him directly so that he could look her in the eyes. Sure, y/n might’ve been joking, but he was so serious in that moment.

“Honey, I will drive that car until the damn wheels fall off,” Bradley declared without a single shred of doubt. y/n failed to hide her giggles behind the glass of lemonade and soon enough Rooster broke into a grin too. When she finally got a chance to catch her breath, y/n intertwined her fingers with Bradley’s.

“As long as I get to ride shotgun,” she half-whispered with a twinkle in her eye. Bradley took y/n’s glass out of her hands before softly gripping the back of her neck and pulling her in for a deep kiss. When they pulled away they gladly welcomed air back into their lungs. Bradley rested his forehead against y/n’s and traced his thumb over her flushed cheek.

“Always, baby.”

a/n: i snuck another top gun ‘86 reference in here…👀 i absolutely love love reading ur comments & reblogs so please don't be shy <3

have a good day luvs!

#rooster x reader #bradley bradshaw x reader #bradley rooster bradshaw #bradley bradshaw imagine #rooster imagine

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project1939 · 8 months ago

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100+ Films of 1952

Film number 149: My Pal Gus

Release date: Dec 1st, 1952

Studio: 20th Century Fox

Genre: comedy

Director: Robert Parrish

Producer: Stanley Rubin

Actors: Richard Widmark, Joanne Dru, Audrey Totter, George Winslow

Plot Summary: Dave is a single father who is too busy running his business to pay attention to his tantrum throwing son Gus. Everything changes, however, when he enrolls Gus in a nursery school run by a pretty young teacher with new parenting ideas. Just when things seem to be on the right track, the boy’s deadbeat mother returns.

My Rating (out of five stars): ***½

For my money, this is about as good as it gets for a light-hearted mid-budget family film. I wasn’t even sure I’d enjoy it because I’m not someone who loves kids, but thanks to its two main actors and a decent script, I genuinely found it moving. It nearly brought me to tears twice. (minor spoilers)

The Good:

Richard Widmark. It was fun to see him play a lighter role- he was almost always in serious dramas or westerns. He handled the deadpan humor well, but it was his portrayal of a father bonding with his son that really stole the show. I didn’t expect a little film like this to become so poignant, but Widmark made it happen.

George Winslow as the little boy Gus. He was a memorable child actor with a “foghorn” voice and some serious acting chops for an 8-year-old! I remembered him from Room for One More where he had great chemistry with Cary Grant, and I was pleased to see him in this.

Joanne Dru was believable as Lydia the nursery school teacher who falls for Dave.

Joan Banks as Ivy the secretary. It’s no secret that I love me a brassy wise-cracking female side character, and Banks was amusing here, even if she didn’t have much to do.

There were some seriously cute kids at the nursery school, including a little girl who liked eating clay! And, again, I am not much of a kid person.

The scene where Widmark breaks down as he goes through his last bedtime routine with Gus, knowing he’s losing custody the next day... Wheew, it wrecked me.

The ending. I won’t give it away, but the lengths Dave is willing to go to to keep his son... I dare you not to get a lump in your throat!

The scenes in Dave’s Bon Bon factory when the kids were watching the candies being made were unique and entertaining. Although seeing pre-schoolers sitting right next to mechanized metal machines gave me heart palpitations!

It was fascinating to get a snapshot of “new” ideas in 1950s childrearing. In much of the media in 1952, there were discussions about whether corporal punishment was still ok and if parents should be more emotionally involved with their kids. “Children are people!” was actually a real phrase used by advocates of the newer methods, and Lydia was a proponent of it in this movie.

The Bad:

If you want lots of depth and emotional complexity, keep looking. This isn’t meant to be that kind of film.

Sometimes Dave got a little creepy with Lydia when he was aggressively pursuing her.

The judge overseeing the divorce and custody case! Some of the court sequences didn't live up to the rest of the film.

#1952 movies #100 films of 1952 #richard widmark #200 films of 1952 #200 films of 1952 film 149

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dk-wren · 2 years ago

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Rogers: The Musical First Impressions

Just finished watching a recording of Rogers: The Musical, which I am so happy to finally say, is currently running at the Hyperion Theatre inside Disney's California Adventure theme park on select days through Aug. 31st!

While subject to change, Rogers: The Musical will typically run from Tuesday to Saturday, with performances at 12:30, 2:00, 4:00, and 5:30

Here is a link to the recording I watched, but there are already plenty of videos of the whole show to choose from. Just thought I'd include it since my thoughts may be specific to what I saw in this video.

Summary of Final thoughts: I was very excited about this musical actually becoming a real thing and being developed more. Additionally, I was super interested to see if Disney tried to develop it as a serious musical or leaned more into the satire and comedy of "Save the City." Bottom line, I had so much fun watching it and thoroughly enjoyed it. I am a huge theatre fan, so definitely have a few critiques, but given its constraints, for a first production, really great.

And now, if you are interested, here is my long list of more in depth first impressions/thoughts:

Even based solely on what's been adapted in the MCU, there's still a lot of history that could be covered in a musical about Steve Rogers, which this musical does attempt to cover. So, the pacing is pretty quick.

It's kinda like a slideshow where you see the snapshots, but not the details. The only times it felt like I had a break to just sit and be in the moment was during the songs/musical numbers. Now, I don't think I can necessarily say this is a negative since it is only a 35 minute musical. I just had to sorta shift my expectations.

Building off of that, for a 35 minute, theme park musical, I'd say it's pretty darn good. It had less base material compared to Aladdin or Frozen (the previous two musicals staged in the Hyperion Theatre) that could easily translate to the stage, which allowed this creative team to have a lot of freedom in how to adapt this story for the stage. And, honestly, I really enjoyed their choices.

It's Disney and it's their theme parks. Avengers Campus is literally steps away from this theatre, so they absolutely could have gone all in in designing beautifully elaborate costumes, specifically the super hero suites. But they didn't, and I kinda liked it. Part of the decision for the actors' costumes to look more like everyday clothing likely comes from the design choices made for "Save the City" when it appeared in Hawkeye, but also, if the Captain America walk-around costume was to be the one used in this musical, I feel it would actually look a little out of place. I enjoyed how the costumes weren't one-to-one reproductions, but rather representations of each character and their signature look. You can still clearly tell who is who, but it matches the more minimalist style of the stage design too.

Loved The Starkettes! In terms of costuming, loved how their looks changed between the 40s/USO look and the modern day/business look to reflect the setting. I'm debating if I want to refer to them as the narrators or the chorus, but either way, loved their interactions with the Marvel characters and responses to certain lines in the show.

At least from this video, the projections and digital backdrops looked well done. Loved how there was not an emphasis on making like Times Square look hyper-realistic.

I don't think I'd say the digital backgrounds looked cartoonish, especially in a bad way, but there definitely is an aspect to them that's meant to be stylized. Again, this then compliments the design choices of like 3 comic book covers and that whole sequence about Steve fighting in WWII.

I could be wrong, but Rogers seems to have a smaller cast than Aladdin or Frozen. Absolutely loved their performances, but sometimes it felt like the stage was a little too big or too bare for the size of the ensemble/cast (could also be due to having minimal set pieces). - This is meant as an observation not as a critique

During the scene in which Steve and Peggy are chatting about going dancing before he crashes the plane into the ice, that conversation was translated into a song. And in my head, I was like YES!!! That's how you do a musical adaptation. You take those iconic and emotionally charged lines and put them to music.

Like I said at the very beginning, there's a lot that could be covered in a musical about Steve Rogers, so I kinda appreciated how there was like a mini reprise or continuation of "Save the City" as announcements came about attacks in different locations, which corresponds to all or most of the movies Captain America has been in. It reminded me of "Drive" from The Lightning Thief of quickly condensing a bunch of events/locations into the span of a few minutes, something the musical needed given its runtime.

This way, it acknowledges those events rather than completely ignoring them, but doesn't spend a whole lot of time with each one. The way I interpreted it too, when Cap sings the very last "I can do this all day," it then feels kinda somber in that he is reflecting on having to continuously fight in all these battles, with the expectation of always "saving the city." Plus, I thought it was a great transition to the next song, which in all honesty, I could not tell from the video if it was meant to be pre-serum or old Steve.

Loved how everyone came back out in the end for the finale (it's like memory lane)

Hoping to see it in person. This recording just confirmed to me that I am going to have a good time. Literally, big smile on my face, quietly cheering and whooping throughout the show, I'm just so excited to (hopefully) go to the theatre for a purely fun/good time.

#rogers: the musical #hyperion theatre #california adventure #musicals #musical theatre

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washymylifeaway · 3 years ago

Note

hihi~ have you read any read-worthy social media aus? i've been scouring the internet for like- tumblr aus, youtube aus, streamer aus, wrong number aus BUT THEYRE JUST SO HARD TO FIND ;-; thankss~ :)

I'm so sorry this took so long and it ended up being half-assed T.T it's just been sitting in my drafts for far too long and I just wanted it out JFASKASFH. I'm ngl, I haven't read a couple of these BUT I thought the summaries were fun so I added them in HAHAHAH. That being said, I just tried to stick to the AU's you listed cause tbh idk what classifies as a true SMAU LOL.

As always, pls check WARNINGS, TAGS, and SUMMARIES for fics before reading and make sure you’re taking care of yourselves (since mental health is key!) Stay safe besties <3

ctrl f for youtube, twitter, streamer, and wrong number!

press play by airblends (T) 3k /MatsuHana/ YouTube, “Makki, you want in on our intro?” Oikawa gestures with his hand.“Nah, I already promised Issei we’d do one for his channel. There are only so many intros a man can film in a day.”“Issei, huh?” Oikawa’s lips settle into a knowing smirk. Iwaizumi coughs into his fist, gently prying the camera from Oikawa’s hands to turn it off. Hanamaki’s face burns up, his cheeks a fiery red. “We’re just friends,” he says, the phrase rolling off his tongue by sheer reflex. He has lost count of how many times he’s typed it into the comment section beneath his videos. At this point he might just start to believe it himself.

Liked, Commented and Subscribed by Royal Society of Pandas (Abarcelos) (T) 45.7k /KuroKen/ YouTube, " 'Hey, Bokuto?' Kuroo interrupted his friend. They were both sitting on his couch, Bokuto telling some silly story that happened the previous weekend and Kuroo reading the comments on his latest video. He was quite happy with how it turned out – a lot of people seemed to enjoy it and he even saw a few memes on tumblr titled ‘The actual signs as Kuroo’s signs’. There was only one thing bothering him. 'Yeah, bro?' Bokuto answered, a little annoyed for having his great story be interrupted. 'Do you know who Kozume Kenma is?' " -- Everyone is a youtuber and tumblr ships KuroKen. A lot.

Japan's most subscribed by NeverNothing (T) 3.6k /KuroKen/ YouTube + Twitter, Kuroo Tetsurou @blacktetsurou changed his bio : volleyball player, co-owner of Bouncing Ball Corp. and so much more ;)

livestream by sketchedsmiles (T) 14.1k /SakuAtsu/ YouTube + Streamer, Sakusa is used to attention. As a full-time student and a part-time streamer, his videos of gameplay garner thousands of views on a daily basis.Still, nothing can prepare him for what it's like to have the attention of Miya Atsumu. Atsumu is many things: chatty, endearing, earnest. But he's more observant than most give him credit for.And he might be the only person who reminds Sakusa to take care of himself.

stan twitter, meet hinata shoyou by ichweissnichtauch (T) 13k /Hinata LOL/ Twitter, meiji milk pls sponsor me @kageyamatobio see you on the court @ninjashoyou 6.5k Retweets 31.6k Likes 2.0k Comments

here comes the sun @ninjashoyou lets do it baby i know the law 3.6k Retweets 27.3k Likes 1.8k Comments

or, hinata shoyou's v-league debut, as seen on twitter (ft. snapshots of v-twt).

People Will Say We're in Love by tirralirra (T) 9.5k /SakuAtsu/ Twitter-ish, “Saku...Atsu? What does that even mean?” Atsumu says, squinting at the device. People seem to think that Sakusa and Atsumu are in love, so they come up with a list of things to do to deter that. Maybe it would work...if they weren’t in love.

Ignoring the forest by NeverNothing (T) 5.9k /KuroKen/ Twitter + YouTube?, Where the public collectively agrees to ignore the signs that actor Kuroo Tetsurou is dating his childhood friend. Kuroo Tetsurou @therealtetsurouFilming was fun, but I’m glad to be back to my fav pudding head <3 #noplacelikehome #KURASE #filming [photo: a suitcase was in focus with another bag and a jacket thrown atop standing beside the back of a couch. A head of badly dyed hair can be seen, face turned away and rest of the body hidden by the couch.]

Anything In Between by todxrxki (T) 2.2k /KuroKen/ Twitter + YouTube, Kozume Kenma just wants to be a normal gaming YouTuber, but when his idiot boyfriend butts in and gets his fans speculating about their relationship, it seems that even that's impossible. / Post manga timeskip, told exclusively through social media and texting.

Silver Lining by Mari_Writes (T) 2.4k /BokuAka/ Twitter, Bokuto Koutarou is a professional volleyball player who has become one of Japan’s most famous and beloved athletes. He is active on social media, interacts with fans and is usually journalists’ first pick for an interview.But not much is known about Bokuto’s personal life. That is, until he accidentally posts a photo on Twitter featuring another man, dressed in nothing but a pair of short-shorts and glasses.This is how the world met the love of Bokuto Koutarou’s life.

Mystery Guy by Pepper_Moon (T) 11.1k /TsukkiYama/ Twitter + YouTube/Streamer, Popular YouTuber YamaGucci is livestreaming one day, when a voice off-camera speaks and makes him flustered. Let's just say what comes next is pure chaos.

and i press you to the pages of my heart by volchitsae (T) 13.9k /SakuAtsu/ YouTube, Atsumu scrolls around on YouTube, feeling like he's spiralling a little into the odd corners of it when some recommended videos are "I'm a Plague Doctor and You've Been Diagnosed with the Black Plague ASMR" or videos of people eating truly remarkable amounts of food. No judgement (maybe a little bit, he's no angel), but mukbangs make him hungry and whispering roleplay makes his ears itch. A video called "Study With Me: Pomodoro Technique #1" appears and he clicks on it.The channel's name is endomiphins, and the thumbnail features a view of a man from the neck downward at his desk, notebook and laptop open.Atsumu presses play. -- Sakusa is a barista by day, ASMR and study YouTuber by night, and Atsumu falls a little in love with both.

call me maybe by totooru (T) 33.6k /MatsuHana/ Wrong number, Hanamaki texts the wrong number when trying to extort tips out of Oikawa in order to defeat Iwaizumi in arm wrestling, and then continues to text the witty stranger who had answered.

Yuanfen by OwlBeDamned (T) 10.7k /KyouHaba/ Wrong number, [sent at 8:14 A.M.] Oikawa-san, I don't care how hungover you are, please come clean my apartment (the one you wrecked last night with your partying) and collect the puppy you left in my living room. I expect you at 9. Or else, there'll be consequences.[sent at 8:16 A.M.] who is this and how the fuck did u get my number?---"It makes sense if you think about it," Iwaizumi told him. "A soulmate line is the first sentence your significant other will tell you when you first encounter them. But the books never specified whether that encounter had to be physical."Kyoutani frowned, looking at his upperclassman in wonder. "Iwaizumi-san, this means...?""Yeah," he chuckled back, pointing at his cellphone, "that guy right there is your soulmate."

You'd fit my lonely arms so perfectly by boxofwonder (G) 25.1k /DaiSuga/ Wrong number, “Oh. You're. Not Asahi.” Calmed down enough that he can speak again, Daichi takes a deep breath, his smile settling on his face easily and wide. “Not as far as I know, no.”Suga accidentally calls a stranger instead of his best friend, tells him all about his burned batch of cookies before realising, and that particular mistake might turn out the best one he ever made.

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 5 years ago

Text

Be With Me Instead

Sequel to Treat You Better

Warnings: non/dubcon sex, oral.

This is dark!Bucky Barnes and dark!Peter Parker explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: Reader deals with the end of her relationship and the dissemblance of her life.

Note: I wrote a sequel to a one shot. Surprise, surprise. I hope y’all enjoy!

Let me know what you think!

To say your head hurt was an understatement. Your skull felt as if it would split in two. Your stomach was sour and your muscles ached. You smelled of sweat and something more definitive. A scent so carnal and strong it could not be mistaken.

You groaned and tenderly touched your temple as you laid on your side. There was heat behind you. It radiated beneath the covers and embraced you. You rubbed your head shakily as your dreams fizzled to nonsensical snapshots.

You hadn't been so hungover since your first year of uni. It kept you from more than two drinks on a night out since. Until last night. The memories a haze in your mind, blurred with your nocturnal fantasies.

You remembered Bucky, the bar, the first drink, the second, and the third, the shot of tequila. Then it all went static. You rolled flat onto your back and your arm rubbed against the source of warmth beside you. You looked over and gasped.

Bucky's bare chest rose and fell in the dim light. The morning sun was blotted out by the thick blinds. His metal arm was bent over the sheet and his dark hair was a mess of waves across the pillow. He was naked and so were you.

You sat up and struggled to untangle yourself from the covers. You fell onto the floor, your ass tender as it met the carpet. You remembered it then. All of it. The elevator, his arm around you, his lips on yours, calling his name as he--

The springs of the bed shifted and you looked up as he rolled over and leaned on his elbow to gaze down at you. He smirked, his eyes tired but sparkling. You stared back at him, mortified.

"What are you doing all the way down there?" He purred.

You shook your head and glanced around. You ignored him as you stood and groggily collected your clothes from the floor. Your legs were weak and your flesh buzzed. You could feel him still as visions of him fucking you replayed in your head.

"Hey, going so soon?" You looked over at him as you searched for your panties. Giving up, you pulled on your jeans and hooked your bra.

"B--Last night was...bad." You croaked and pulled your shirt over your head. "It shouldn't have happened."

You grabbed your jacket and purse. You paused and touched your stomach as it threatened to flip. He was unfazed as he pushed the blankets aside and stretched with a yawn.

You tucked your socks into your purse and forced your feet into your boots. You stumbled and he caught you as you struggled to stand straight.

"That's not what you said last night." He chided. "Sounded to me like you enjoyed yourself."

"I was drunk," You pulled away from him. "And Peter--" Your heart dropped as you recalled Bucky holding his phone over you. Looking into the dark lens as he gloated. "Tell me you didn't send it."

He smirked and you clasped your hand over your mouth. You were gonna spew. You fought to keep your stomach calm and backed away.

"How could you do this?" You gasped.

"You guys are over. What does it matter? So you had a little fun." He reached out to you and you evaded him.

"You tricked me." You sputtered. "I was drunk, upset, and you-you--"

"Don't act so innocent. You came to the bar with me, you had three drinks--"

"You said you'd drive me home and you just dragged me back here and...and--”

A knock, then more pounding, came at the door. You froze and your eyes widened.

"Open the fucking door!" Peter shouted from the other side. "You fucking asshole."

You stared at Bucky, silently pleading. Just wait for him to go, please. Bucky chuckled and brushed past you. You turned and grabbed his arm but he was too strong. You remembered the night before, how easily he had used your body. His metal hand around your throat.

"Please, don't. Bucky, I can't." You kept your voice low. "Just let him go."

He shrugged you off and you watched him stride to the door. He swung it open and Peter lunged at him in an instant. Bucky sidestepped and grabbed him by his scruff and tossed him to the floor.

Still naked, he stood calmly as Peter leapt back to his feet and spun around. He raised his fist but never struck as his eyes strayed to you. He dropped his hand and stepped back as if he had been hit. You winced and clutched your bag as your head swirled.

"I'm...sorry." You rasped and dashed past Bucky to the door.

You didn't look back as you fled down the hall. You crashed through the next door and down the stairs as the world rushed past you. You ran from your mistake frantically until you were on the street.

You swept past the pedestrians intent on their own destinations and to the grimy waste bin by the curb. You hugged the rim and retched into the depths as your entire body rebelled. You could rid yourself of the bile but you could not rid yourself of your guilt.

❤

You spent your Sunday in bed, hungover and heartbroken. What had you done? You were so naive. So stupid.

What else could Bucky have ever wanted from you but sex? You wondered however if it was more about Peter; about the odd vendetta Bucky seemed to have forged towards him in the last few weeks. To think Peter had the video, that he saw what you'd done was worse than the crime itself.

You cried, and slept, and tried to forget.

Monday came and your classes kept you busy but couldn't erase the blot on your soul. Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday. The days were barely discernible. Your mind and body functioned off of sheer routine, not a thought was spared beyond your self-pity.

You ignored your phone. Peter texted until you muted his notifications. A private number kept calling but you could guess who it was. You had no reason to ever go near the compound again and less to associate with its residents.

On Friday, you only had one class at noon. You were done just after two and eager to go back to your dorm and order pizza. Stew in your new solitary mourning; for your relationship, for your dignity, for all you had drunk away in one night.

Campus was chilly. Winter greeted the students with a blanket of snow and the approach of the holidays was darkened by the imminence of finals.

You walked along the winding path that led around the quad. The bushes were barren and prickly, the statues shrouded in hills of powder. You stopped to look up at the postmodern shapes arranged to seem as if they were floating. You tucked your hands in your pockets and shivered.

The snow crumpled behind you. As you waited for your fellow student to pass you were surprised when the footsteps stopped next to you. You frowned, confused, and glanced over.

Bucky's dark hair poked out from beneath the black beanie, he wore a thick jacket with fleece lining, and leather gloves. His eyes peered up at the statue as if he didn't even know you were there.

"What are you doing here?" You hissed.

"Well, you won't answer my calls," He spoke without looking over at you. "You do know I'm trained to find people. You can't just run away."

"Can't you take a hint?" You scowled.

"Can't you?" He countered. "Come on, we both enjoyed ourselves, didn't we?"

You looked down and dragged your foot through the snow. You felt a swirl in your stomach. The same you felt whenever you thought of that night. He was right but you weren't going to admit it.

"It doesn't matter." You insisted. "Look, I have exams. I have a degree to focus on. Let's just leave whatever that was as it is. Just sex. Regrettable sex."

He scoffed and nodded. You turned to watch him purse his lips as he thought.

"I don't wanna leave it." He said. "And I won't."

"Just leave me alone," You grumbled and spun back down the path.

You weren't surprised when he followed. You knew it wouldn't be that easy. He had come all the way here, incessantly called you for days, not to mention the scheme that created this mess.

"That's not how this works." He kept stride with you. "You don't just walk away from me."

"Please, just stop," You begged as you walked faster. "I can't do this."

"Do what? You were happy enough to hang around when Peter was standing you up. And now you're just ditching me because spider-boy still won't grow up." He grabbed your arm and almost pulled you off your feet as he made you stop. "I told you things I never told anyone else. This isn't just sex to me."

"You're insane. I was so fucking drunk, you could have been Peter and I wouldn't have known." You tried to wriggle free of his grasp.

"You knew it was me. You wanted it. You wanted me. You still want me," He squeezed your arm and leaned in. "I'm everything Peter isn't and that's exactly what you need."

"Let me go," You breathed. "Please. Just let me go."

"Never." He sneered.

"I'll scream." You looked around. Students shuffled by on their way to and from class. "I will."

He grinned and shook his head. He let go and stood straight. His blue eyes narrowed and he looked down at you. Knowing, confident, dangerous.

"Fine." He squared his shoulders. "Next time, you can scream all you want."

Your eyes rounded and your lips parted in shock. What did that mean? You knew it wasn't good.

He gave a two finger salute, "see ya around," he intoned as he stepped past you.

You turned and watched him stroll off down the path, seemingly invisible amidst the groups of overtired students and self-involved professors. You glanced around and felt your own insignificance. Your vulnerability.

Even if you had screamed, would anyone care?

❤

You shivered as you reached your dorm. You weren’t so sure it was the cold as your run-in with Bucky replayed over and over in your head.

When you entered the dorm, the three girls you shared it with were all closed up in their rooms. It was unusual not to find them giggling in the common room together. They were likely holed up prepping for finals.

You kicked your boots off and left them on the mat. Your bedroom was unlocked. You must’ve forgotten to lock it before class. Oh well, you were too distracted to care.

You set your bag on your desk as the door closed behind you and turned with a yelp as a small figure greeted you from the corner.

“Jesus, Peter, how did...what are you doing here?” You touched your chest and pushed yourself against the desk.

He glared at you as he leaned against the wall with arms crossed. “I’ve been texting you.”

“Why? What is there left for us to talk about?” You flinched as he pushed himself away from the wall.

“There’s a lot to talk about,” He sneered as he got closer. “Like you fucking him the same night we broke up. That’d be a start.”

“What can I say, Peter? It happened.” You retorted.

“And you just had to let him record it?” His lips slanted in detest. “What? Is that what I did wrong? I didn’t treat you like a slut?”

“Don’t,” You warned him. “I didn’t know...I was drunk. Very drunk.”

“And that’s an excuse?”

“We’re over. What does it matter?” You snapped.

“Yeah, but usually when a relationship ends, you don’t just jump on the next guy you see.” He spat. “And then you ignore me? For a whole week? Two years. Did it mean nothing to you?”

“It meant everything to me, Peter,” You countered. “But we were never going to last and it has nothing to do with Bucky.”

“So…” He was so close you could feel his breath. “You fucking him now?”

“No, I...it’s not your concern anymore,” You swallowed as he backed you up to the wall. “You should go.”

“I saw you talking to him,” He said evenly. “Out on campus. You looked pretty cozy.”

“Just go--”

“Not as cozy…” He reached in his pocket and pulled out his phone. He swiped over his screen and smiled as he held it up. “As this.”

Your veins turned to ice as you watched the video. Bucky behind you, his hand at your throat, your flesh clapped as you called his name. Your voice was wild, it barely sounded like you. But it was you.

“So is that what you want? To hurt me?” You blinked away the tears. “Because you did that long before now.”

“What I want is for you to get on the bed.” He spoke quietly but his words cut through you.

“Go, Peter. We’re over.” You tried to push him away and he caught your arm and twisted. You whined as your wrist threatened to snap.

“If I have to tell you again, I can hit send. We’ll see what everyone else thinks of your short film. Hell, maybe you’d do better in a film degree.” He taunted and waved his phone in his other hand. “It’s a big campus but these things travel fast.”

You lowered your brow. The air was knocked out of you. You’d always known him as the sweet, compassionate boy you’d met that first day on campus. You knew he had changed, that’s why you’d broke it off, but you didn’t know he was like this.

“Please don’t do this,” You pleaded. “Peter, I’m sorry.”

“Get on the fucking bed now,” He drew the words out and closed his eyes as he inhaled. “Naked.” He let go of your wrist. “We’ll see who the little boy is.”

His eyes opened and you winced at their intensity. You gulped and nodded. You tried to speak but your voice was caught in your tight throat. You carefully stepped past him. You peeked over at the door. You stopped then bolted to the door.

Before you could grab the handle, it was covered it corded webs that sealed it to the frame. Peter sighed. “Don’t make me use them on you, too. Bed. Now.”

You turned and gave him one last look. Of disgust and desperation. He didn’t waver.

“And if I scream?”

“I can shut you up,” His fingers bent slightly as he lifted his hand. “Do I need to?”

You looked to your feet and unzipped your jacket. Your hands were shaking. You dropped your jacket on the floor and then your sweater. Your loose tee and jeans crumpled a top the pile with your socks trapped in the denim.

You stood in your panties and bra and peeked over at Peter. He shrugged and you knew he wasn’t going to stop.

You undid your bra and added it to the mess on the floor. You rolled your panties down and stepped up to your single bed. You climbed up and drew our knees to your chest to cover yourself. You couldn’t look at Peter again. You stared at the polka dot comforter beneath you and waited.

You listened to his footsteps, him fiddling with something unseen, the rustle of his clothing. You sensed him as he neared the bed.

“Come here.” He pointed to the mattress in front of him.

You turned and shoved your legs over the edge as you sat there. You ignored his naked figure and kept your eyes down. He grabbed the back of your head and pressed his cock to your lips.

You closed your eyes and parted your lips. He slipped inside and you gagged as he forced himself down your throat. Your eyes watered and you struggled to breath around him. He didn’t wait for you. He thrust in and out of your mouth. Each was hard, decisive, as if he meant to hurt you.

Again. His hand moved and his other came up to hold your head in a vice. He fucked your face as you slapped his thigh helplessly. He didn’t stop, didn’t slow, didn’t even seem to notice as you fought him.

Finally he pulled out. Spit coated your lips as he let you go and you fell back, out of breath and coughing. You were dizzy from the sudden and rough assault. Stunned by Peter’s behaviour. Senseless.

“Turn over.” He barked and you looked down at him. You just stared at him.

He grabbed your arm and pulled you up. He spun you around and pushed you against the bed until you lifted your knees up on the mattress. He grabbed your neck and shoved you down until your head was on the mattress. He slapped your ass and you exclaimed.

“Shut up,” He snarled and you bit your lip.

His cock prodded you as he felt around for your entrance. He pushed into you slowly at first and then slammed into you all at once. You whimpered and he thrust again, harder. He bent over you and grabbed your arms. He bent them behind you and jerked his hips again. Each time he rocked into you, it was sharp and jolted your entire body.

He hissed as he was driven by his own ferocity. Everytime you made a sound, he sped up. Your body shook as he rutted into you over and over. You were embarrassed as your unexpected arousal eased the glide of his cock.

You shuddered and held your breath but you couldn’t resist it. The burning in your core, the flare that sparked and broke the surface. You gritted your teeth as you turned your face down muffled your orgasm in the duvet.

He growled. Not groaned, growled. You’d never heard him like this. Sure, your relationship had been anything but abstinent but something in him had come unhinged. He wasn’t holding anything back. Every ounce of hunger, anger, frustration, everything, was spoken through his touch.

He slowed suddenly. He kept his strokes long and even. He was pacing himself. He sped up again only to falter. Every time he came close to finishing, he pulled the reins back.

He released your arms and pushed you down until your legs slipped over the edge of the bed and your hips were flat to the mattress. He impaled you with decisive thrusts, his hands on the small of your back as he pinned you down. His breaths were deep and eager as he bucked against you.

When he came, he didn’t let up. He grunted and spilled inside of you but didn’t stop. Wouldn’t stop. His cum seeped out as he buried his cock in your over and over. He crashed into one last time, sending a pang up your spine as he did, and stayed there.

He squeezed your ass and pushed it apart. He wiggled his hips and let out a long breath.

“Is that what you wanted?” He smacked your ass and your body tensed. “A man.” He snarled. “Huh?”

“P-Peter,” You whispered as you turned your head.

“I guess falling in love with you just wasn’t enough,” He pulled out and pinched you so hard you cried out. You were too weak to move. “Have fun with Bucky but don’t come crawling back to me when he’s done with you. I don’t like leftovers.”

You rolled over as he turned away and started to dress, bending to grab each piece of clothing from the floor. Your lip trembled as he pulled on his jacket and tucked away his phone.

He didn’t even look at you as he left. The door slammed behind him and the tears began to flow. You had been ready for the break-up, but never for this.

❤

Finals came and went. You were numb. In a haze. For once you weren’t nervous for your exams but only because you could barely focus on them. After each, you emerged barely able to remember what you’d written. You couldn’t think about anything but Peter’s harsh goodbye and Bucky’s ominous promise.

The holiday break arrived and campus was mostly abandoned. You planned to stay on campus that year with Peter but instead you'd be alone. Your parents decided to finally take that Christmas trip to the Bahamas like they'd always dreamed of. It was too late to go home.

Christmas Eve. You ventured out to grab a few groceries for your solitary christmas dinner. Nothing special. Pasta and pinot. Last minute shoppers bustled in the small shop and you wove between them as the early winter dusk started to descend.

You stepped out onto the street as the grey sky turned a deep blue. You looked up at the sliver of moon and frowned. This wasn't how you'd imagined your Christmas. Never overly festive but you had looked forward to a cozy holiday with Peter. Well, that was a long gone hope.

You started down the street and were startled as a car honked at you and pulled up to the curve. You recognized it and walked faster. The engine died and the door opened and closed. The footsteps neared and you tried to elude them.

"Hey," Bucky caught your arm and forced you to slow down. You almost dropped the large paper bag.

"Leave me alone." You didn't look at him.

"Hey, I was just gonna help you out," He grabbed the top of the bag and you stopped before he could tear it. "That looks heavy."

“Please.” You hugged the bag and backed away from him. “I told you before--”

“You’re all alone.” He said bluntly. “On Christmas.”

“And so are you,” You countered.

“It doesn’t have to be like this.” He warned and reached for the bag again. “I could help you. Take care of you.” You wrestled with him but he easily took the groceries. He looked inside and tutted. “That’s a lot of wine for one person.”

“Fuck off.” You turned on your heel and stormed away. He could keep it all. You just wanted this all to end. The dread, the dreams, the terrible guilt that never quite left you. He followed.

“Just let me give you a ride. We can talk.” He caught up with you. “What is it? A five minute ride to campus? Just five minutes, please?”

You stopped again. You looked up at him sharply. You were tired. You just wanted to get back to your dorm and hide.

“Five minutes and you leave me alone for good.” You declared.

“Five minutes. That’s all.” He agreed and his lips curved just slightly.

You shrugged and gestured past him. He led you back to his car. He placed the bag behind his seat as you got in and he took the driver’s seat.

You crossed your arms and stared out the window as he turned the engine. You were reminded of that night he’d driven you home. You’d bought his sweet little act hook, line, and sinker. How stupid.

“I...wasn’t trying to trick you. I just wanted to be close to you.” He pulled out. “I hope you know that.”

“You recorded it,” You spat. “How was that not malicious?”

“That wasn’t about you, it was about him,” Bucky said. “I wanted him to see what he’d taken for granted. What he’d lost.”

“Are you stupid? Did you really think that was right?” You looked at him. “You could’ve been normal. You could’ve waited instead of getting me drunk. You could’ve just told me you were interested.”

“Do you think that would’ve worked?” He wondered as he steered. “I’m a lot older than you. I don’t know how things work these days.”

“You don’t just feed someone drinks and call that a relationship,” You shook your head. “You don’t send a video to her ex. You don’t--You don’t know what he did.”

“What do you mean?” He stopped at the intersection.

“Nothing. I just...me and Peter could’ve ended this as friends and you took that from me. And now, you know what, you’re right, I am alone. I--” You squinted as he turned away from campus and your words tumbled to murmurs. “Bucky, what are you doing? Where--”

You felt a prick in your neck and clapped your hand against it as you looked over at him. He held a syringe as your eyes felt loose in your head and a warmth spread along your neck and through your limbs.

“B-Bucky…” You fell back against the seat.

“I won’t let you go.” He said as your eyes closed. “I can’t. I love you.”

His voice floated around you and faded into the black as you slumped against the door. You sank into the void, entirely and blissfully numb.

❤

The shroud slowly lifted from you. Your eyes fluttered open and you groaned as the ceiling was painted in flickering light. The crackle and smell of fire tickled your senses and you looked around the unfamiliar room. You rolled onto your side and tenderly cradled your head. It felt like a pebble was bouncing around your skull.

A dark figure knelt before the artificial fireplace, the poker in hand as he stoked it. Slowly Bucky turned his head and his face came clear through the haze. He wore a pair of flannel pants and a grey tee.

You pushed yourself up and hung your legs over the side of the bed. He stood and set aside the iron poker. He neared and sat beside you, his hand on yours.

“Take it easy.” He cooed. “You’re okay.” He lifted your hand and kissed the back of it.

“Wh-where…” Your mouth was dry and you couldn’t find the word.

“Home.” He smiled and brought his hand up to cradle your face. He kissed your forehead as his thumb rubbed your cheek. “Merry Christmas, baby.”

You grimaced, confused. He reluctantly let go and stood. He walked around as you tried to clear your head.

There were two doors, the windows were blacked out, but otherwise it seemed like a normal room. It could’ve been any apartment nestled in the midst of the overpopulated city.

“It’s already noon. You should dress.” He placed a dress in your lap. “Then we can open our gifts.”

Your mind threatened to crack. What the fuck was going on?

“My ma never let us sleep past six, even on Christmas, but I figured you needed the rest,” He continued. “You looked so peaceful.” He smiled and you unfolded the red velvet. “You can get cleaned up just in there.” He pointed to the door on your right. “I’ll be here.”

He sat in the armchair by the fire and leaned his chin in his hand as he watched you expectantly. You stood as you tried to hide your discomfort. A man who stuck a needle in your neck was bound to do a lot worse.

You hesitated as you neared the door. It would be a place to hide for a while at least. You said nothing as you kept your eyes on him and backed through the door. You closed it, slowly. He never stopped watching and you found the lock on the door didn’t work.

You turned and held up the velvet dress. The straps were thin and the burgundy skirt was trimmed with matching fur. You hated it.

You look down at your own clothing. He’d taken your jacket and boots off. Your sweatshirt was rumpled from your induced slumber and your jeans were stained with salt along the ankles.

If you refused to be his doll, what would he do? You weren’t stupid enough to think you could keep him out, especially with a door handle that didn’t even click into place.

Even if you fought him, he probably had another needle at the ready. Besides he was much too strong for that. You knew that already. There were no windows in the bathroom. No way out it seemed as those in the other room were sealed.

You only had one choice. Well, not really a choice at all.

You quaked as you undressed. You avoided looking in the mirror as you folded your clothes on the counter. You kept your bra and panties on, even though they felt grimy from your sweat. You pulled on the dress. It was too tight and too short.

You wrung your hands as you looked around the bathroom. It was nice despite being a prison. Your nerves whirled around you and threatened to choke you. You flinched as knuckles tapped softly on the door.

“You okay?” Bucky asked.

You blinked and marched to the door. You opened it, slowly, and stared back at him. He looked you up and down and grabbed your hand. He had a dreamy light in his eyes as he drew you out of the bathroom into the soft glow of the other room.

The tree in the corner had been lit up with pale string lights and you blinked away the specs they left in your eyes. He stopped you and tisked.

“No,” He pulled the strap of your bra down your shoulder. “Take this off.”

You tucked your lip under your teeth and reached back to unhook the bra. You wrestled it out from beneath the dress and he took it from you. He flung it beside the bed and turned back to you.

His hands startled you as he brushed up your skirt and along your thighs. He grabbed your panties and tugged them down. You winced at his force and the cotton dropped to your ankles. He nudged you forward and you stepped out of them before he kicked them away.

“There, perfect,” He took your hand again and drew you over to the tree. “Time for presents.”

He let go of you and sat on the floor like a child. He took a box from the pile beneath the fir and reached up to pull on your wrist.

“Come on. Sit.” He held up the wrapped gift. “Open your presents.”

You obeyed stiffly, careful to keep the skirt from showing too much. Your hand shook as you accepted the first box from him. You ripped away the paper and crumpled it up in your fist. You set it down and stared at the box lid.

“Bucky…” You glanced up at him. “It’s not too late. You can let me go. I won’t say a word. I’ll--”

“Open it.”

He shoved the box closer and it almost slipped from your grasp. His smile fell as his metal finger rubbed against his thumb nervously.

You let the box settle on your lap and you slid the lid off. Inside was a golden chain with your and Bucky’s initials hanging from it. You lifted it and he was swift to take it from you.

“Here,” He spun his finger. “I’ll help.”

You turned, rigid as he got to his knees and neared you. His fingers tickled your throat as he wrapped the gold around it and clasped it at the back of your neck. He played with the dangling links and sent a shiver through you.

You drew away and resumed your seat on the rug. He handed you another box, this one bigger. He waited, expectantly. After a moment, he nodded and raised a brow. You opened the second gift and revealed a set of sheer lingerie. You quickly covered it up and cleared your throat.

“You don’t like it?” He asked. His tone was dangerous.

“I do. Thank you. I just wasn’t expecting it.” You lied.

His metal fist balled and unballed. You kept looking back to it as he seemed to sway between delight and anger. You shuddered and he handed you the next gift.

“Good, good,” He said. “I picked them all just for you. I really hope you love them.”

You bit your tongue anxiously and opened the next gift. A dress similar to the one you wore but made of glossy silver silk. Then there was a toiletry set and some make-up and final a small box drawn from just beside the trunk of the tree.

Bucky’s jaw twitched as he bit down and turned the velvet box in his fingers. He cleared his throat and got up on his knees. You glanced around, your heart seemed to stop as you realised what he was doing. He was most assuredly out of his mind.

“Sweetheart,” He gripped it as he brought one knee up, “Will you…” He popped it open and revealed a diamond cut into a teardrop. “Marry me?”

You were light-headed. You pushed the empty box from your lap and stood. You could barely do that as you tried to wave him away.

“Bucky….” You gulped. “Bucky…” You spun and raced for the door. “You can’t do this! Let me go!”

You wrenched the door handle but it wouldn’t turn. You tried to rip the door out of its frame but it didn’t even shake, You beat on it and hollered.

“Help!”

You sensed movement behind you and before you could turn to see, Bucky’s arm came up around your waist and he dragged you back. You struggled with him but it was all too easy for him to bend you to his will.

He shoved you to the bed and you caught yourself on the mattress with a yelp. He followed quickly and turned you onto your back as he straddled you on the edge. Your legs dangled over the side and you slapped at him.

“Please, please, why are you doing this?”

He caught your hand and stilled it with his vibranium grip. He bent all your fingers but one and forced the ring onto it. You swiped at him with your other hand and he swiftly caught it.

“Don’t be ungrateful,” He snarled. “I got you all these nice things and you go and spit in my face.”

“No, no, Bucky, please,” You begged.

“Quiet,” He barked. “It’s my turn now. Time for me to open my present.”

He released your hands and grabbed the straps of your dress. You flailed out at him and he snapped the velvet easily. You wriggled weakly and wheezed. You couldn’t breath. Your chest felt like it would collapse.

“Please,” You said. “Bucky… you’re scaring me.”

“You love me,” He sneered. “I know it. I knew it that night. The way you sounded when I touched you. The way you said my name,”

“I was drunk,” You grasped his wrists as his fingers hooked around your shoulders. “Bucky, I can’t even remember that night.”

“Shut up!” He shouted and shook you. “Stop lying!”

You bit your tongue and tasted blood. Your head spun as you felt his weight shift and the velvet tickle your thigh. He tore your skirt up to your waist as he hovered over you on his knees.

“Bucky,” Your voice cracked as you pressed your hand over his. “I still love Peter.”

“No,” He pushed himself off of you. “You don’t” He gripped his head. “You love me!”

“Bucky--”

“I already told you to shut up,” He growled. “So shut up before I make you.”

He gruffly ripped his shirt over his head. His thumbs hooked under the elastic of his pants and he pushed his shoulders back. His blue eyes were dark and sinister as he watched you sit up.

“Keep the dress on,” He shoved his pants down.

You stood as he quickly untangled himself from the flannel. He caught you by your throat and forced you back down to the bed. You grabbed his thick forearm as he knelt over you, his fingers threatening to crush your throat.

“Say it. Say you love me.” His hissed.

“You’re hurting me.” You clung to his arm.

“Hurting you!? I’ve only ever been good to you and you--” He stuttered in rage and forced his leg between yours.

He kept his hand on your throat and lifted your other leg as he placed himself entirely between your legs. He bent your leg around him as he bent over you, almost crushing your neck with his hand.

“I never wanted to hurt you, but you insist on hurting me,” He squeezed as his hand crawled up your leg. “Say it!”

You squeaked as you slapped at his hand. His fingers crept over your thigh and down your pelvis. He pushed his fingers roughly between your legs and felt along your folds. His touch hurt as he forced two fingers inside of you, dry.

He poked in and out harshly and your eyes rolled back as your vision began to spot. He loosened his grip but kept his hold on you. He rescinded his fingers and pressed the head of his cock against you.

You hugged him with your legs, trying to force him away. He slid his tip inside of you and you let out a stifled moan. You hit his thick bicep as he inched into you. You whimpered and scratched at the vibranium.

“Ple-ease,” You rasped.

“Say it.” He thrust sharply and impaled you entirely.

“Buck--”

He thurst again and your voice fizzled with a sob.

“Say you love me,” He pressed his lips to your cheek. “Say it.”

He jolted his hips, each time your whined and felt even weaker beneath him. Your head swam and as your walls clenched around him.

“B--” You could barely breath.

“Say it.” His spit trailed across your cheek as he nuzzled your neck.

He sped up, the bed trembled beneath you. You were crushed beneath his relentless pounding. Each thrust sent a reverberation up your spin and ripples along your thighs. You snaked your arm around his neck and pushed your head back into the mattress.

“Say.” He jerked roughly. “It.”

“I--I--” His hand slipped away as he nibbled at your throat and he cradled your head. “I… love--- you!”

You exclaimed as you came suddenly. You were appalled and stunned by your bodies response to him. He was inflamed by it and rutted into you even harder.

His thick grunts stormed in your ears as his fingers stretched across the back of your head. The velvet was rough between your bodies as he moved against you. He snarled as he spasmed. Your body went limp as he emptied into you.

He stilled and rested his weight over you. You closed your eyes, your face wet from tears and sweat. His hand fell away from your head and he laced his fingers through yours and placed with the diamond there.

“I love you, too,” He cooed and kissed your neck.

1K notes · View notes

aurora-nuova · 4 years ago

Text

Rude Love

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

Archive Warning: No Archive Warnings Apply

Fandom: Naruto

Universe: Modern AU

Relationships:

Senju Tobirama/Uchiha Madara (main)

Senju Hashirama/Uzumaki Mito (side)

Characters: Senju Tobirama, Uchiha Madara, Uchiha Izuna, Senju Hashirama, Senju Itama, Uzumaki Mito

@madatobiweek Week 4: There was only one bed OR Not realizing they are already dating

Summary:

Summer sun, cool waves, a beautiful beach. Nothing could go wrong on this long awaited, blessed holiday to the sea, right? W r o n g!

Madara should’ve just pushed his best friend off of that cliff they had been playing on as kids when he had the chance.

Read on AO3

————————————————————————

Chapter 01: Something new

Madara startled awake with a curse on his lips when a cheering Hashirama‘s elbow hit the pillow his head had been resting upon but momentarily got distracted by a female speaker announcement.

“—and gentleman, as we start our descent, please make sure your seat backs and tray tables are in their full upright position and your seatbelt is securely fastened—”

Ah, apparently it was time for their airplane to land. And surely, looking out of the window confirmed it as no clouds were greeting him. Instead, the ground was rapidly closing in on them.

Turning his head away from the window, he threw Mito—who was sitting on Hashirama‘s right— a tired but bemused look that she promptly returned when her husband started making quiet hooting noises at the bumpy arrival at their destination.

What a child, he thought fondly as he acknowledged a warm feeling making its way through his body. Though such mushy thoughts were only allowed in the privacy of his mind and were never to be discussed out loud or lest he got made fun of by Izuna or his other siblings.

Looking at his best friend, he sometimes wished he had half as much, well, or maybe only a third of his positivity. At least on his good days.

Though, on second thought, it sounded rather exhausting.

Maybe his slightly more realistic approach to life wasn‘t so bad after all, he mused as said best friend turned around to him with a beaming smile, not even having noticed that he had been the cause of his interrupted sleep in his glee. Returning a sleepy smile, he realized that Hashirama probably was positive enough for both of them. Or rather both of their close families, if he were to be honest.

It still amused him to this day that no sane person would expect this child of a man to be a renowned paediatrician but sometimes people were apparently wrong. Very wrong.

Because jokes aside, fortunately, Hashirama indeed could be serious when his patients and their parents trusted him with the children’s life. And doing so, he tended to them with unmatched enthusiasm and passion.

So all was good, he guessed.

Stretching his stiff muscles through a yawn, he noticed familiar tresses of long, dark hair sticking out from between the gap in the seats in front of him. Zeroing in on it with a wry smile tugging at the corners of his lips, he nimbly stuck his hand through the gap to pull one of the bigger chunks of hair, only to immediately receive a satisfyingly high pitched yelp.

“OUCH! You ass!” Izuna screeched turning his head back around to him and hastily reclaimed all of his hair with a scowl, making Madara huff in amusement.

“Oh please, stop being such a drama quee-” the older of the two started retorting when suddenly his younger brother turned around in his seat somewhat—seatbelt still fastened, making the endeavour pretty awkward looking as he smushed his face between the backrests to make a grab for Madara’s own hair.

“No!” he groused out, leaning away from the squiggly hand. “Stop!”

“Payback‘s a bitch, Nii-san!” the younger Uchiha snarked back, voice muffled by the seat and continued to make grabs for his hair that Madara defended by slapping his grabby hands away.

“Children, please,” Mito‘s exasperated voice suddenly broke through their argument, making both of them stop—Madara crossing his arms while Izuna turned back around and untangled himself from the space between the two seats, arm almost getting stuck in the process.

“I‘m not a child, he is!” Izuna grumbled out as he was facing the right way again, missing the red head‘s amused but quiet laugh.

Wondering why the biggest child of them all hadn‘t joined them in their squabbling and actually kept quiet for once, the Uchiha looked back at Hashirama, noticing that he too had an arm moving, but in the right gap between the seats in front of himself. The Uchiha made a confused sound and nudged the taller man who then looked at him with a questioning smile.

“What are you doing?”

“Trying to wake up Tobi and Itama, I saw them asleep when I left for the bathroom a few minutes ago,” the brunette answered with a sunny smile as the Uchiha hummed in acknowledgement as people around them started to get their luggage from the overhead stowage spaces to leave the plane.

Finally exiting the airport‘s sliding doors with their heavy luggage to walk into a metaphorical wall of humidity as the sun tried to roast them alive only made Madara close his eyes in misery. The heat was so much worse than he had anticipated.

Great

To be completely honest, he hadn‘t even wanted to come here in the first place, would have instead preferred a milder, more enjoyable weather for his long-awaited vacation but unfortunately, he had lost in the poll their two families had held to determine what this trip‘s destination would be as everyone except Itama and him had voted for this dreaded hot climate as their travel destination.

Surprisingly even Tobirama—currently dressed in long pants with a long-sleeved sweatshirt‘s hood and a pair of sunglasses covering his face—had wanted to come here.

Whatever, he would make the best of this holiday.

As it was, unfortunately, not all of their siblings had been able to come with them due to scheduling difficulties. However, they had already agreed on another trip in winter when hopefully their schedules would align a bit more smoothly with much more desirable weather, at least for him.

He already looked forward to it.

Something he could live without though, was the planning and scheduling part as arranging things for the six of them had been a logistical nightmare already. What with Itama having to hand his last thesis in the day before while Izuna and Tobirama respectively had to write their exams a few hours before their flight took off.

He himself probably wouldn’t even have been able to take time off on such short notice if his position at work as detective hadn‘t been so high and he himself and his good reputation hadn’t been so well regarded amongst their ranks and—no, he was joking. In reality he still had a few open favours with his boss and promptly used one of them to be able to be here with his family and friends when Hashirama had texted him the booking confirmation.

His boss obviously hadn‘t been too happy. But after Madara had helped out countless of times, sacrificing his free time again and again when needed, raked in so many extra hours, that he had accumulated a lot of those favours. And just to be on the safe side, had tied all loose ends at work in preparation which thankfully had swayed the man to agree in the end.

The Uchiha briefly wondered how Obito and his fellow colleagues were doing before Izuna chatting him up caught his attention.

Next thing he knew, they were leaving their rented cars parked outside an Italian restaurant and taking their seats around a big but crammed table as Hashirama had rejected the friendly personnel’s offer to push two tables together because apparently he wanted to cuddle in this inhumane heat or who knew why tree brain hadn‘t wanted the second table because Madara for sure didn‘t.

Smushed between Izuna and Hashirama, he could already feel the sweat run down his back as he pushed his sunglasses atop his head, tangling up a few strands of hair that he couldn’t care less about at the moment in the process.

“Get anything you want, it‘s on me to celebrate the end of the semester for our three youngest and of course, the start of our amazing holidays together!“ his best friend exclaimed when everyone had received their beverages and toasted all of them, resulting in clinking of glass and various intonations of gratitude amongst them.

After Madara downed his glass in one go and lowered it back on the table with a loud clink, he rummaged through his pockets to find a godforsaken hair tie. His hair was already uncomfortably sticking to the back of his neck. Frowning, he gave up when he came up empty.

Hashirama probably didn‘t have one on hand, as he only tied it for work and Mito used hair pins, which left him with only Izuna who was typing away on one of his social media accounts. Leaning over, he saw a snapshot out of the airplane window.

“Pretty picture.”

Izuna immediately shot him a dubious look.

“Okay. What do you want?” his younger brother asked with an expectant look on his face.

“Can‘t I compliment you without wanting anything?” he asked bemused.

“Oh please,” the other huffed out.

“Alright, whatever. Do you have a hair tie?”

Izuna took a terribly amused look at his horribly mussed up hair. The stupid humidity wasn‘t doing the older Uchiha any favours, making his usually wild hair poof up and stick out in an even crazier mess than usual. He was well aware but the brat didn‘t even try to stifle his derisive snort.

“Yes, but know that this will cost you a third of your dessert,” the little shit haughtily replied as he took a tie out of a bag between them.

“A fifth and you have yourself a deal,” Madara huffed, holding his hand out.

“A fourth and you have to order something I actually like,” Izuna countered, holding out the desired hair tie just out of reach.

“Deal,” he heaved out with a heavy sigh, accepting the cargo and tying up his hair into a messy ponytail, immediate relief flooding him, as the slightly less warm air of the ceiling fan caressed the back of his neck. Much better.

Madara shot his greedy brother and his mostly immaculate hair an annoyed look, when the other happily turned back to continue typing away on his smartphone.

He would need to steal whatever the little shit had used to wrestle his own mane into submission out of his luggage and use it on his hair tomorrow when the other inevitably would still be snoozing away the morning, since he liked to sleep in.

They had the same hair structure, after all, but he wasn‘t willing to pay the unreasonably high price his sibling surely would come up with as soon as he asked him about the product he must‘ve been using to tame their family brand of crazy hair.

Under no circumstances would he walk around like some caveman after today, though.

Right now everyone was still tired and mussed up from their flight, even elegant Mito, so his crazier than usual hair wouldn‘t be noticed too badly.

But starting tomorrow, that excuse wouldn‘t fly anymore, as everyone would attempt to look presentable for the undoubtedly many pictures Hashirama and Izuna would take in the span of their holidays. And seriously, latter didn‘t need even more blackmailing material, as he already had more than enough of that stowed away already.

But more importantly, tomorrow Tobirama wouldn‘t be so exhausted anymore that his head would look like it was ready to loll onto the table.

Seriously, the poor guy looked ready to fall off the chair any minute if it weren‘t for Itama on his left, holding him up in an embrace while happily chatting with him and Izuna squished in on his right, forcing him into a somewhat upright position.

The younger Senju seemed way too tired to even notice much today, belatedly reacting to any verbal or physical stimuli as far as he had seen.

In fact, the exhausted albino probably couldn’t wait until they finished their food and finally drove to the hotel so he could catch up on all of that lost sleep tonight. However, that also meant that the albino‘s sharp eyes would be scrutinizing and analyzing everyone and everything starting with tomorrow, so he needed to look presentable if not a bit nicer than usual at least.

Feeling eyes bore into the side of his head, he inwardly startled at being caught staring, as his eyes slid back over to Izuna who was wiggling his eyebrows and pursing his lips at him in an imitation of a kiss.

“Shut up!” he quietly hissed and shoved at him, hoping no one had noticed the idiot.

“But I‘m not saying anything!” the brat cackled, as he bumped into an unresponsive Tobirama next to him, subsequently rattling Itama who shot them a quick bemused but confused look.

“Just stop it, you ass,” he grumbled out, refraining from hitting his younger brother upside the head to avoid any additional spotlight from the chatting couple by his side to keep the cause of the start of the situation under wraps.

There was no need for Izuna to spout lies about him ogling the light haired man like he had a crush on him or something similarly stupid. Definitely lies. Shut up.

He avoided looking in the albino‘s direction for the rest of their duration at the restaurant, even when Izuna stole more than a fourth of his dessert.

But apparently things were still going too smoothly and the universe wanted to punish him for whatever sins he had accumulated over his life at once because right before they entered their hotel to check in, Hashirama abruptly planted his feet on the searing hot concrete under a palm tree and waved them over.

Oh god, what would this be about?

Judging by the massive grin on his face, it couldn‘t be anything good.

When everyone was situated around him, Hashirama clapped his hands.

“Alright, since we always, well, almost! Since we almost always do the same room distributions, I came up with an idea this time,” he revealed giddily.

“Wait, what?” Madara exclaimed confused as the taller man started rummaging in his pant pocket.

“We‘re drawing straws!“ the idiot exclaimed joyously as he held out a fist of sticks, receiving mixed reactions from everyone around him.

“Please tell me you‘re not serious?“ the oldest Uchiha replied with a sinking feeling.

“Why not?“

“Mito, your wife, is the only female in this group?“ he tried reasoning to no avail.

“Oh yes, that‘s why we‘re sharing a room!“ the stupid tree answered him cheerfully.

And it was that moment that Madara actually took a look at the sticks in his hand and noticed that there were only four of them. Opening his mouth, Hashirama immediately interrupted him.

“Because we booked on such short notice, they only had one room with two single beds, the other two are double beds. Mito and I will take one of those but there‘s still the question of who will get the other two rooms each,“ the older Senju explained with a smile.

“Still, it doesn‘t make any sense why we should draw lots in the first place. I don’t care in what kind of bed I sleep in with Izuna,“ Madara said scowling as he crossed his arms.

“But Itama and Izuna want to try something new and right now you’re the only one not agreeing,” the brunette said pouting.

“You didn’t even give me a heads up— Wait, what? Since when does snowflake agree to your stupid ideas?” he asked, throwing the two Senju brothers in question a confused look. One of them half asleep and not even listening, the other one pouting down at him.

After all, out of the siblings Tobirama was the only one stopping Hashirama’s mischief on a daily basis when things looked like they would get out of hand while the two younger ones loved to indulge in their eldest brother’s silly antics.

“Anija asked him on our way to the airport,” Itama helpfully supplied, the corners of his mouth twitching.

“Do you really think that‘s fair? Snowflake has been closer to a walking zombie than a human being!“ he groused out, scowl intensifying.

Tobirama very belatedly pursed his lips in a pout and softly furrowed his brows but didn‘t react any further, making the older Uchiha feel all sorts of fuzzy and mushy things. God no. Trying to not show any emotion besides annoyance on his face was getting harder by the second.

“No offence, but that’s a very underhanded tactic for you, Hashirama. He looks like he hasn’t slept in days,” the older Uchiha accused to hammer in his point.

“But that’s the only way he agreed for once,” the older man admitted with a chuckle.

He zeroed in on Izuna when he too chuckled.

“And since when do you like trying out new things?” Madara accused his sibling.

“Excuse you! I try new things all the time and you would know that if you followed my social media accounts like you said you would!” the younger Uchiha answered scandalized with furrowed brows.

The older Uchiha groaned. Not this again.

“Is it too much to want some fun on this vacation?” Hashirama asked with one of his better renditions of a puppy look directed at him while Tobirama slinked off to sit down next to Mito on a bench not far from them.

Huffing, he shuffled his feet, looking around and tried to think of a way out of this.

Izuna would be his best bet of course. But if he had to share a room with Itama, things would probably get awkward pretty fast as they never had spent time on their own until now. However, Tobirama would be an even worse pick. Not because he had anything against the younger man but because of other things that he didn’t want to think about at the moment.

No, he wouldn’t play Hashirama’s stupid games this time. Why should he? Especially when his idiotic friend easily had taken himself out of the equation. Unfair. He was here to relax and enjoy himself.

Having decided against his best friend’s plea, he looked back to said friend only to freeze at the triumphant look on his face.

Oh no.

“What?”

“Have you forgotten? You owe me!” the idiot exclaimed with a wry grin.

Now it was his turn to furrow his eyebrows in incomprehension.

“You lost that bet at our last poker evening weeks ago,” the tan man replied giddily.

Madara’s eyes widened. He was right but he wouldn’t, would he?

“Are you seriously going to waste it on something like that? Hashirama, you wouldn’t, right?” he asked, rubbing his forehead to soothe his growing headache with a grimace.

He knew he was doomed, when three grinning faces met his.

“I absolutely would and I am henceforth officially claiming the favour you owe me!” the childish tree trunk of a man exclaimed laughing in glee, hands on his hips.

Suppressing another groan, Madara felt more sweat trickle down his back. Honestly, he could’ve done worse, he guessed. Hashirama could’ve used the favour to send him off to do much more horrible or embarrassing things. This was absolutely not ideal but whatever. What were the odds of him having to share a room with Tobirama, after all? Two to one against it, not bad at all. And he surely could make it work with Itama, too.

Being already fed up with the situation and the sun searing what felt like holes into his back, he decided that he didn’t care anymore as long as they could go inside soon. Preferably right this instant.

“Fine,” he conceded defeated, receiving surprised looks at his unusually short lived refusal and hooting from Hashirama.

“Alright, youngest first! There’s two short and two long ones,” the excited man exclaimed, holding out his hand with the sticks to Itama after he had shuffled them behind his back. “Don’t reveal them until everyone has a stick!”

When it finally was Madara’s turn, he didn’t have much choice but to accept the remaining stick as the oldest of the four.

“Reveal your sticks on the count of three! One, two, three!” Hashirama exclaimed excited.

Madara blanched when all of them unfurled their fists to showcase each of their picks. Had he seriously ended up with one of the short sticks? Wait, if the other two had the two long ones, that meant that Tobirama and he—

Hashirama clapped him on the shoulder with a huff of laughter.

“Looks like you and Tobi share a room!”

“Wha—”

“Okay, now I need those back and the winner team picks one of two to decide who the winner of the room with the two single beds is,” the older Senju exclaimed.

When Itama picked the longer stick, Madara despaired internally.

How could his luck be this bad? Had he seriously just lost two times in a row? Also wasn’t the looser supposed to get to pick first and—

Wait.

Oh no.

His eyes widened and he paled even more when suddenly the realization hit him that he had to share a double bed with his cru- Tobirama for the upcoming two weeks here.

He was doomed.

Suddenly he didn’t even feel warm anymore.

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piracytheorist · 5 years ago

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Allen & Colin interview (pt.1) summary and tidbits

Because I know y’all are curious ;)

I’m not mentioning everything, because a) it’s in a foreign language for me and I miss stuff, b) I’m not sure what impact it has other than them simply mentioning that stuff in the interview and c) I’m just your average fan with her biases and preferences, some things draw my attention, some don’t. But it was an interesting insight into Colin’s inspirations and work ethic, so I’ll try to mention as much as possible. Also because c’mon it’s Colin and we all want a bit.

If you can and can afford it, I’d suggest supporting Allen on patreon. The work he’s offering is very important, especially in the times we’re currently experiencing.

In the intro, which was recorded after the interview, Allen says: “In this interview, Colin talks about his early life, growing up, having such a wonderful big brother to look up to... Maybe he doesn't say that. You'll have to wait and see.”

There's a lot of laughs in the beginning, as they start getting into the motion of brother interviewing brother. The room they were recording used to be Colin's old bedroom, and Allen asked him where his bed used to be, and almost immediately said "I'm pretty sure the listeners are loving this right now." Hahaha we are.

Colin kept a bit to himself when he was a teenager. He drew a lot and played the guitar, he was introverted when he got into the whole theater thing.

Real artistic, so, he wasn't sure if he wanted to be a musician or an artist, but when he started theater he eventually realized it was theater he wanted above all. Dude. If only we all were so widely talented and had so many opportunities to choose from XD

Honorable detailed mention: Allen mentions how amazed he was by Colin's talent. He remembers one time he was looking after Colin (he said it was about six months after Colin had started learning guitar, and iirc that was when he was 11) and he (Allen) had also recently started, and was trying hard to learn some chords. He heard some Led Zeppelin from Colin's room and was like "Oh he's listening to Led Zeppelin," then he went to his room and he realized it was actually Colin, playing Stairway to Heaven. And he still remembers! What a proud bro, we stan.

Colin learned a lot of music by ear. It was more practical than technical stuff that he worked on. He's very humble about his guitar playing, too.

They talked a bit about playing music with emotion and how sometimes people who concentrate a lot on technique don't use any emotion, and as a musician myself I've seen this a lot, where people focus too much on teaching technique that the result comes off completely emotionless. Though, I mean, I'm trained in classical music, and that's heavily based on building technique, so I can’t say you shouldn’t work on technique, but there are many ways of playing music and so many genres, and there is a healthy balance between technique and emotion, and depending on the style you're playing technique can be applied (or is needed) accordingly.

Colin talked about how he had piano lessons when he was young, and he remembers how the place where he had lessons creeped him out (he laughed at that), so that along with the heavy focus on technique discouraged him, but he wishes he was able to play it.

Don’t we all

He remembers Michael Jackson being one of his first inspirations for music. He remembers Thriller was the first vinyl he got, though the very first music that he bought was a cassette from Huey Lewis and the News - after he had his communion. Gotta say I appreciate the attention to detail XD

Colin: I used to listen to Michael Jackson non-stop. Allen: You did.

I can picture Allen nodding as he said that XD

The first concert he went to was of Jackson's Bad (I think), when he was seven! It was Allen's first concert too.

Their dad used to listen to a lot of Rory Gallagher, Led Zeppelin and Pearl Jam and those became Colin's favourite music to play. Especially Rory Gallagher. He and their mom also used to play in bands, and there was a lot of music in the house in general and Colin said all that contributed to his inclination in music.

He said how once he was an adult, Helen was his biggest supporter in what he did. WE STAN. That meant a lot to him, especially when as a starting actor there'd be times he wouldn't have a job for a long time, but the support from Helen and the rest of his family in general meant a lot to him.

Then they talked about people who used to tell him that he was lucky to have the band (The Enemies) as a job, but how that wasn't luck, it was based on work he did for years before he could go out on stage with them. And again, can confirm, there's a lot of work put behind any decent and above musical performance, it can be as hard as any job, especially when you have to pack up and go to a different place, set up, rehearse, perform, pack it all up and come home late. It's just that the crowd sees only the entertainment part it gets, and doesn't know the work behind it, so a lot of time they don't appreciate it as such.

It's just... I feel that, a lot, you know? Yes, music is fun and we love it, but performing it for a crowd ain't no game.

Colin compared that to acting, with how people see the end result as a snapshot of the entire work behind it, same way we don't see a lot of the work behind professions we don't know about - Colin mentioned an electrician, for example.

I think he’d shared this story before or something about it, but he talked about his very first touch with theater; he’d gone to the youth theater to meet with his friends - just to meet them, and they were rehearsing a play but one actor was missing, so they asked him to read in for him that day. At first Colin was like “No way” but eventually they convinced him.

That first experience made him realize he could pretend to be anyone he wanted to be and it gave him a newfound confidence. At the time he wasn't playing the guitar publicly, only in his room, and playing in the theater gave him the confidence he didn't have with the guitar at the time, because in the theater he was putting his character out there, not himself.

I think it's interesting how he talks about acting; he mentioned "putting on a skin". And I think, seeing the variety of characters he has portrayed, and how invested you can feel he is during filming, and then seeing him... "collected" in cons and interviews, and not very active in social media... I think "putting on a skin" fits perfectly the way he does it. And I think it's part of why I love his acting, and why his characters feel so different from each other; it's full-on becoming and feeling like another person, not simply acting like one.

His theater group went to the Olivier Theatre in London (for a competition, if I got that right), and they got a standing ovation for their play, and it was then that Colin thought that he could really invest and make a living out of acting. He was about 15-16 at the time.

Again, standing ovation => confidence goes through the roof, can confirm.

It was there that his group won an award, and it was Colin who received that from Anthony Minghella, the director of The English Patient, and Allen said that Minghella said Colin was amazing. a) bruh can you imagine and b) what a proud brother!

Colin said how he was already interested in animation and special effects, and the whole act of making a movie, so even as an actor he still likes wandering around sets and getting to see how they're all made and built, even sets he's not part of. Again he talked about how much is done behind the scenes that the audience never gets to see.

Even from his experience in the Olivier Theatre, Colin already had the ideology that in drama, it was about the group, the team, and not about himself, and he's followed that to the present. He talked about how acting is just one part of a production, and it takes hard work from many people of different professions working together to get to that.

Like, he's so conscious and so respectful of what is behind the scenes of a production and how important everyone is... and like, I feel that says a lot about the humility we see of him, the way he treats his job as any other job, and the way a lot of his co-workers talk with such respect about him. Like, when you respect everything, from the basis to every little cogwheel that make a film and always take the opportunity to learn anything you can from your co-workers...

I love him so much.

He mentioned how his grandmother was a big influence for him too, back in the fourties she’d gone to London to study producing, so he says subconsciously there was always an influence towards drama in his family.

"You can't complain about having a disillusioned bunch of teenagers or kids causing trouble if you're not willing to invest [in their future], to help them realize [their potential]." He said that as part of how that one evening in the youth theater changed his life, and how having the chance to have a safe space to express himself, that being the theater, played such an important part in his life and the lives of pretty much everyone who had taken part in it. And how things like that, giving children the chance to explore hobbies and things they like, can have such a positive impact on their lives and futures.

So that’s for the first part! I hope it was all clear :D

#Colin O'Donoghue #Allen & Colin interview

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uniasus · 4 years ago

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fic rec! This is a Shiro centric voltron series. 140K and pretty much AU from the start.

Summary: "Who we are, and who we have to be to survive are two very different things" aka all the fun Shiro had during his missing year and more fun that happens as a result.

Comments: A few notes up front. 1) This series is not posted in order. 2) The tone of the fics can very widely but one of the core fics - Little Monster - is very very dark and that’s alluded to everywhere else even if you don’t see it to the same level. Mind the violence tags on that one. What the Galra do, what Shiro does, is intense. Read during the day intense, and not because of horror vibes but more having tramua play on your head in repeat way.

Needless to say, I freaking loved it. I poked friends to share it. I read it during work. I still think about the unanswered questions left in this verse, though I probably finished this a week ago and have since then consumed two entirely new pieces of media I loved (hello, Netflix’s Lupin).

The Galra (and Alteans) are super alien with some new designs. Shiro is intense, both in what he did during his missing year and in things he clings to in its aftermath. His arc in Little Monster is terrifying on so many levels. Pidge is adorable. I feel in love with an OC. Haggar is manipulative as f*ck and terrifying. Sendak is a party dude and this fic might have actually made me like him. #girlboss Allura. Magic, and how the Empire has systematically controlled it. The subtle easter eggs that have the Galra and the Yeerks (Animorphs) being contemporaries and how that’s a fic I’m dying to read.

Not everything is shown in this series, there’s a lot that are snapshots in time, but some of the fun is filling in those gaps. As gruesome as my conclusions may be.

You won’t regret reading this, but this fic series is totally one where you should mind the tags.

#fic rec #team voltron #shiro #season 1 au #the galra are so very much horror monsters in this #and they do their best to make Shiro one too #heck they succeeded for a bit #demenior #mademoisellePlume #wrecked_anon

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lifeinahole27 · 5 years ago

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CS ff: “Walking the Tightrope” (Chapter 10/10) (au)

Summary: Killian’s daily routines are a matter of habit. When he wakes up late one morning, his routines all change for the better. Emma doesn’t care about routines, but she does care about Killian, no matter how reluctant she is to admit it to herself.

Rating: E (the content warnings matter this time!)

Content Warnings: Everything from the previous chapter applies as far as the Walsh business is concerned. Other than that, a very tame chapter.

A Special Thank You: My continued gratitude to my lovely friends, @captainstudmuffin and @phiralovesloki. And a heap of love to @captainswanbigbang for putting this together and helping me accomplish this.

A/N: So, this is the last main chapter. There is an epilogue which I will post on Sunday, and then this grand adventure will be wrapped up! Thanks for being with me on this ride and for any comments, reblogs, and likes. I’m thankful beyond words. <3

Find it on Ao3 & FFN!

-x-

Chapter 10: Snowshine

Walsh still looks exactly the same as the last time she was here. Emma tries her best to keep her stomach calm when all she wants to do is throw up on his face, projecting an outward cool that she doesn’t feel as he enters the room and looks up at her.

“What the - Emma? What the hell are you doing in my apartment?”

“Taking back what’s rightfully mine,” Emma says, gesturing to the box of pictures sitting on the bed beside her.

“Oh no, sweetheart. I would hardly call all of those yours.”

“Don’t call me sweetheart, asshole.”

Through all of this, James has been watching a progress bar load on the computer screen. With a noise of victory, he looks back to her.

“There you go, Emma. All done.”

“You brought David with you? Mr. Wouldn’t-hurt-a-fly?”

“Oh, buddy, believe me. You’re gonna wish I was David by the end of this. Good job hosting a whole website with a bunch of non-consensual photos on it. But shame on you for making it so easy to break into.”

“You have another brother?”

“Didn’t I ever tell you that David was an identical twin?”

At the little jingle that plays from the desk, he tries to push James out of the way. “What did you do to my computer?”

“Gave it a little tune up,” James tells him, crossing his arms with pride as a little unicorn marches into the center of the screen.

All three of them watch with rapt attention as the unicorn stands and waves, before squatting.

“Oh my god,” Emma says, bursting out in laughter as the unicorn defecates in the shape of an artfully written “fuck you” in rainbow colors.

After a couple seconds, the whole thing emits a screeching noise and shuts off with a loud pop.

“All your buddies that subscribed to your email list got something pretty similar. I mean, I don’t know if they’ll all open it but with the heading ‘Check out the brand new section!’ I’m willing to bet a lot of dudes are about to lose their computers.”

Walsh finally makes it around James, desperately trying to turn on his computer but nothing happens when he hits the button. “All of my business files were on there.”

“You kept all your shit on your personal computer? Wow. You’re even dumber than I thought.” James turns towards Emma on the tail of that thought. “You ready?”

“Yeah, I think so,” Emma responds, picking up the box of photographs and handing it over to James. They manage to make it out of the bedroom before Walsh must come to his senses, and he’s after them immediately.

His hand closes around Emma’s arm, and she spins around. On instinct, Emma swings as she breaks the hold. And while James misses taking a snapshot of that hit, he doesn’t miss the one where Emma knees him in the nuts hard enough to bring him to his knees.

“I have the perfect new image for the welcome screen on his trash web page,” James says as Emma backs away. He holds the phone out for her to see and she just barely stops herself from cracking up. “Here, take this. I’ll be right behind you.” He hands over the box, gently ushering her towards the door.

She doesn’t go far, leaving the door cracked just enough to hear what James has to say to Walsh.

“Here’s the deal, you Wizard of Oz-looking monkey piece of shit. All of the accounts for that website are completely wiped out. All that money you made off of people like my sister? That money is so far offshore that you’ll never be able to trace it ever again. Got it?”

“I’ll call the cops,” Walsh says weakly.

“You won’t. You have no evidence. And if you try to do that, or ever try to do this again, I will screw up your whole life. We’re in a digital age now, Walsh Whitney Covington. I have everything of yours now. Personal records, social media, bank accounts, the password to your pretentious little LinkedIn page that lists you as a connoisseur of wood, which… come on, man.”

“That’s all illegal,” he whines back, and Emma is mostly just enjoying the snivelling tone in his voice.

“Yeah? And? I’m sure Emma signed a consent form for those pictures you had posted of her, right? You had her sign away her financial freedoms for the profits on it, too? Don’t ever fuck with our family ever again or you’ll regret it.”

After a couple more minutes of silence, James exits the apartment and gives her a bright smile.

“Now, that was a fun afternoon with my brother. See? We should bond like this more often,” Emma says as they make their way out of the building and back down to where he parked his car.

“Yeah yeah, don’t get used to it. Jack would kill me if she found out this is how I spent my day.”

“You’re still with Jack?”

“Why wouldn’t I be? I did marry her, after all. She wanted to wait until she made partner to have a baby and so I switched gears and became a stay-at-home dad after she went back from maternity leave. It helps to have a super lawyer as your wife.”

“None of the words that just came out of your mouth are what I was expecting when I called you about all this.”

“Well, it’s not like I send out Christmas cards with updates on the family,” James says, a little resignation in his voice.

“Did you really take all the profits from the website?”

“And refunded the money you spent on that settee you bought there back before you started dating.”

Just as he says it, Emma’s phone dings with a notification. There’s a message from her bank saying there’s been a deposit into her account. Looking at the numbers, it’s way more than what she paid for the moderately priced item, but James shrugs.

“Maybe I got the numbers backwards in my head. Added an extra digit. Whatever. So you mentioned earlier that you have a boyfriend? You haven’t changed your status on Facebook.”

“You follow my social media?”

“Just because I don’t let any of you know about what’s going on in my life doesn’t mean I don’t check up on you.”

“Well, I’m supposed to be at a Christmas party for his company down in New York but someone insisted we do this today.”

He rolls his eyes as he opens his door and climbs into the driver’s seat. No sooner is she seat-belting in when another notification chimes on her phone.

“Did you seriously just buy me a plane ticket to New York City?”

“I’ll hand all of that over to David,” James says, indicating the box she placed in the backseat. “Besides, he and I are severely overdue for a brotherly chat.” Without another word, he starts a route for the airport.

“When was the last time you had one of those? When you were fifteen?”

“Something like that. Hey, text him and let him know what’s going on. I should be back there in about an hour but I don’t want him to worry.”

She shakes her head, doing as he asked and sending a message to David.

As they pull up outside the airport, Emma turns to James. “So, what do I still owe you?”

“Nothing. I got the cash he had stashed in his desk, all the money from his subscription side of the website, and free childcare for the evening after Jack gets home from the office today.”

“Did you tell David that yet?”

“No, but I will. And you know he will - he’s David. Go on,” he tells her when they arrive a short time later. “Enjoy the party.”

“Okay then. And hey, thanks for all your help. I couldn’t imagine doing that with anyone else.”

“Yeah, yeah. Hey, Emma?”

Her door is open and she’s just about to climb out when he says her name.

“It was nice seeing you,” he admits.

She leans in quickly and hugs him, noting how familiar yet utterly foreign it feels. “Come visit us sometime,” she tells him as she pulls away. She stands there until his car pulls away and he’s out of view before she walks through the doors.

Somehow, James managed to get her the perfect flight so she had enough time to get through security, although she looks suspicious as hell going in with nothing but her purse, if you ask her. It’s still considered early when she lands in the city, but with nothing else with her, she has to get party-ready with nothing but the money in her bank account. Thanks to James, there’s a little bit extra to play with in there.

Emma feels like she should be in some cheesy movie montage as she struggles to find everything she’ll need to get ready. Hair and makeup come first, and she’s thankful the salon isn’t far from a decent looking clothing shop or else her charges in cab fares alone would’ve gotten out of hand.

The dress she finds is perfect - a sleek, black number that doesn’t fit too tight but that doesn’t hide her shape. It’s similar enough to the dress she was planning on wearing to this, the one she borrowed from Ruby as a first-date possibility but put aside in favor of the soft pink she wore instead. She admires the whole look in the mirror as the shop attendant helps her clip tags after Emma pays. She buys two pairs of shoes - a cute pair of cutout ankle boots and a pair of flats - in anticipation of the point in the party where she’ll want to feel her toes again.

It’s only once she’s fully satisfied with the total picture that she heads out, making sure everything she wore down here is tucked securely into the weekender bag the attendant helped her pick out.

This time, she opens the rideshare app for a little more comfort, and then it’s off to the Manhattan Penthouse to finally get to where she wants to be.

-x-

Tucking away the knowledge that Robin just gave him, Killian settles into his seat with only a lone glance at the empty chair beside him. He has Henry on his other side, and the rest of the Mills-Hood family in the remaining seats. They’ve not even begun when he receives a sharp, bony elbow to the side.

“Hey,” Henry whispers as he leans close. “Isn’t that Emma?”

He turns his head, glancing in the direction Henry is pointing, and his breath catches. Sure enough, Emma is standing there in a black dress that surely should be illegal to look so good in. Her hair and makeup are all done, and she’s scanning the room. It takes another elbow to his ribs for Killian to finally stand up, waving over his girlfriend and attempting to wipe the surprise off his face while he does.

“Hi! Sorry I’m late.”

“You’re just in time, actually. I’m so… don’t get me wrong, Swan, but I never expected you’d be able to make it.” He leans forward, pressing a kiss to her cheek and taking a moment to soak up her closeness.

“Yeah, well, sometimes when you make a deal with the devil to take down satan, you get what you want faster than you expected,” she says, and while he doesn’t fully understand, he knows he’ll get the full story later.

He pulls out her chair for her, pushing it in as she sits. “I do believe we all know one another,” he says to the table at large. “I’d told them to cancel your meal, so excuse me while I get that turned around.”

“Emma! I’m so glad you’re here!” Henry who’d been sitting on his right, beams from ear to ear as he slides over to talk to her.

“Hi Henry. Everyone. Glad I could make it.”

Hearing her voice and the animated conversation that sparks up between her and Henry immediately calms his nerves for the evening, and he hastens to find one of the caterers so he can return to the table.

By the time their dinner is served, he’s noticed no less than four times Henry has pulled out his iPod to jot down something in his notes. He smiles as he watches it happen, watches the gears turn in the lad’s head and the magic take root. He manages to keep it in his pocket for the entirety of the meal, but he’s pretty sure that was due to a questioning look from Regina right as the salads were placed in front of them.

With the rest of the table occupied with their desserts, Killian takes a moment to lean over, keeping his voice low as he whispers in her ear. “I’m so glad you’re here.”

“Me too,” she says, a satisfied little smile on her face. There’s been a peace evident on her face since the moment she walked in, and he’s intrigued but enjoying it. She was never too tightly wound to begin with, apart from the times she got stuck in her own head. This, he assumes, is due to the business with her ex being all wrapped up.

After the dishes have been cleared, Killian rests in his seat for a bit. There’s still a lot more networking he’ll have to do, but for now he takes the time to relax as he and Robin discuss strategy for announcements. He’s in the middle of helping figure out the order when Emma’s hand creeps onto his thigh. His words falter for a moment, and he can see Emma’s smile get just a little wider.

When her hand travels a little higher, he reaches down, knowing full well that his ears and cheeks are both bright with flush, and takes a moment when Robin is asking Henry a question to fully turn to her.

“Have pity on me,” he whispers, pulling her hand to his lips to place a kiss on the back of it, and she laughs quietly, turning her palm to link her fingers with his.

“Just this one time,” she concedes, settling in with their hands clasped.

-x-

Walking into the venue, Emma is momentarily overwhelmed. She forgot that the Storybrooke office isn’t the whole team, and that a lot of the authors would be there, so there’s just a sea of people as far as she can see across the space. But then Killian stands up, her eyes finding his as he waves her over.

And it’s halfway between where she is and where he’s waiting that it hits her full in the gut: She is in love with Killian. She is so in love with that man that she can hardly stand it. He has never once looked at her differently or placed unrealistic expectations on her - he never set out to hurt her.

There, with the lights of the chandeliers glittering overhead, and the backdrop of the city getting dusted in snow, Emma realizes that she is looking at the man she wants to spend all of her time with if she can. Her heart squeezes, even as she smiles and accepts the kiss he places on her cheek as they settle in.

It’s the first time she’s ever been to a party like this, and she has to think it’s going pretty well. While Killian is occupied with his duties, Emma offers to watch Roland so Regina can go with Robin as he makes rounds to greet everyone. Emma follows him as he drags her from one end of the penthouse to the other, eager to show her anything and everything he can.

By the end of the night, her feet hurt and she’s all too happy to get her belongings from the coat check room so she can slip on the flats she bought. She’s leaning against the wall, innocently trying to pry her feet out of the booties when Killian comes up behind her, his hand warm through the material of her dress and his voice hot in her ear.

“Are you trying to kill me tonight?”

“I’m just trying to change my shoes. It’s not my fault your eyes automatically go to my ass when you approach me.”

He looks affronted when she turns to look at him, a smile hiding behind the expression.

“Besides,” she says, “I just can’t wait for you to get me out of this dress.”

“I’m ordering us a car right now.”

It’s amazing; she knows he prefers the quiet and solitude of their little town, but he performs so well in the city - like he was built to live here - and she loves that he chooses not to. They’re both on their best behavior in the car, but Killian purposely sat on her left so his hand can rest on her knee. Rather than spiking that part in her that’s always game for another round of sex, though, it reignites her thoughts from when she entered the party and she stares at him in the dark as the city lights pass them by.

When he notices, he turns to her with a peaceful look on his face, and they smile at each other. “What?” he asks, his fingers tightening once.

“Nothing,” she replies, taking the moment to rest her head on his shoulder for the rest of the journey. “Tonight was great.”

Back at the hotel, they at least manage to settle a bit before Killian follows through with her request, with both of them sighing as the dress slips from her shoulders and drops lightly to the floor. They take their time, slow and languid, savoring each moment with each other.

“I know I’ve said this plenty of times, but I am so happy you were able to make it,” Killian tells her as their skin is still cooling. She needs to go wash the makeup from her face but she’s not quite sure her legs will function in order to do so.

“Me too.” She stares at him, her eyes roaming his face and sinking into the wonder that has been the last three months of her life, thanks to this man.

“What is it?” he asks, his expression serious as he tries to figure out what she’s thinking.

“I… want to thank you for everything. You went into this without knowing and you still haven’t pushed me to talk about what happened or anything and so I just… wanted to say thanks.”

His smile falters, still there but just a touch disappointed that the words weren’t the ones he was expecting after she set it up to be something else, and she knows how it feels. Her thumb strokes along his cheek, pushing at his smile briefly as she leans in to kiss him.

Maybe next time, she thinks as she moves to the bathroom to clean up before climbing back into bed. Outside, the city keeps moving on as their world slows for sleep.

-x- December 21: Saturday

As usual, Killian is the one that wakes up first. He sets about ordering breakfast and jumps in the shower in the interim. Emma is awake and sitting up in bed when he comes back out, and he leans over the bed to kiss her good morning.

“David texted me that he’s on his way home. He has everything we took from Walsh and he’s going to drop it off at my place.”

“That’s certainly good news. Even better news is I have coffee and breakfast being delivered soon.”

She chuckles at that. “Perfect. I wish I had more clothes with me, but I suppose yesterday’s will be fine.”

“My luggage is yours, love. I always pack extra just in case, so help yourself.”

Which seemed like a good idea, until Emma walks out of the bathroom after her own shower in one of his button up shirts, the sleeves rolled up to her elbows and her supple form filling out the garment better than he ever could.

They eat breakfast in bed, the curtains flung open wide to let in the weak, winter sunshine. As they graze their food, Emma books her ticket for their return to Storybrooke, crowing in victory when she scores a seat on Killian’s flight.

“I’ll text David and see if he can pick us up,” Emma tells him when they’re getting ready for their outside adventure, pulling her hat securely over her ears and wrapping her scarf around her neck.

They brave the cold to hit some of the popular winter activities in the city, taking in the Christmas markets and strolling Fifth Avenue. In the early evening, they meet up with Robin, Regina, and the two boys again to enjoy dinner together. With the pressure from the night before long gone, they talk instead of the upcoming holidays.

It’s clear that Henry is willing to keep the magic alive for Roland, asking the younger boy what he’s planning on asking for Christmas when they go to see Santa after the meal is over. When Killian catches Henry’s eye a short bit later, the lad smiles and gives him a thumbs up.

After dinner, they set out on their own again to see the Rockefeller tree in person. They stand there, watching the lights twinkle and the skaters on the rink until neither of them can feel their toes and their noses are bright red.

Sinking into their hotel bed that night, Killian makes sure to set his alarm, but Emma grabs for it before he can set it down.

“Just wanted to double check. Wouldn’t want to miss your alarm or anything,” she says, that smile hidden in the corner of her mouth.

“Cheeky woman,” he says quietly, making sure to kiss her hard and lovely before they each burrow under the covers.

There’s another message from David waiting for Emma when they wake up letting her know they’ll be there to pick them up. Thankfully, with no luggage, their disembarking process is much faster and they’re able to get out of the departure door right as David and Snow pull up.

While they go their separate ways when they get back to town, he and Emma have a standing appointment for later in the afternoon to take everything that was acquired from Walsh’s apartment to send it off properly, as she did with her uniform.

He sets to work on a mission, unpacking his bag and stripping off his dirty clothes to throw everything in his hamper. There’s still time before he meets with Emma, but since he’s been out of town since Friday, he’s behind on his weekend duties and he knows he’ll feel better if he takes the time to do it now rather than waiting. He throws his clothes in the wash, opting for warmer clothes for their task ahead. Instead of sitting around and waiting for the machine to be done, he takes the time instead to pack a picnic of sorts for the task ahead of them. Those items and a blanket all go into a tote bag he got from the last publishing conference he attended.

Shortly after his laundry is folded and put away, Emma breezes through the door with a large box in her arms.

“Ready?”

“Aye, just let me grab my keys.”

He locks the door behind them on their way out, and then they make their way to the beach closest to his flat. There’s a fire pit that was built ages ago, large stones surrounding it and a fresh pile of logs that Killian would place money on betting that David set it up for them.

As he sets to work lighting the fire, he hands Emma the tote to start unpacking their items. She hums happily as she finds the soup, and again when she opens the second thermos that has the hot chocolate. He’s just finishing with his task when he turns to see her pouring the drink into each mug he brought, and raises an eyebrow as she tips a generous amount of whiskey into each one.

She shrugs when she sees his look. “Believe me, I’m going to need it,” she says after a sip to taste-test.

They stay on the beach much longer than most people would in December, with fresh snow occasionally falling around them. But they make sure each individual picture makes it into the fire. As delicately as they can, they remove them from the box, and he hands a stack face-down to Emma for her to fold each picture so he can feed it into the fire.

She sets the thumb drive on the rocks around the pit, making sure to give it a solid stomp before throwing that in as an afterthought.

“I’m sure it’s terrible for the environment but I need that thing wiped from existence.”

When each item has met its demise, including the box it was all packed away in, Emma puts out the fire using every precaution he’s sure David taught her.

Back in the comforting warmth of his place, Killian pulls out every blanket he owns and waits for Emma to come out of his bedroom from getting changed into pajamas. He piles them on top of her, going to change his own clothes before joining her on the couch. He holds her while she processes the whole thing - some anger and tears, some relief, until she falls asleep on Killian’s shoulder and he has to shift around until they can both stretch out.

He doesn’t fall asleep until long after she does, whispering a quiet “I love you” against her hair before he finally falls asleep, as well.

-x- December 23: Monday

They’re still on the couch when Emma wakes up, if only just barely. She’s facing Killian, her back pressed against the couch, with Killian’s arm looped over her waist. She’s just opening her eyes when she hears his gasp and then he’s teetering off the edge. Now wide awake, she peers down to see Killian wincing on the floor.

“Are you okay?”

“Just peachy, love,” he grumbles, rubbing his head where it smacked on the floor. She’s stifling laughter when he leans up and kisses her softly. “Good morning to you, my sweet couch hog.”

“We could’ve moved at any time. Why didn’t you wake me up?”

“Because I love you and wanted you to rest more than I cared about my own comfort,” he responds, only realizing as he finishes speaking that he may have said too much. His eyes, wider and brighter blue than she’s ever seen them, meet her steady gaze.

“I love you, too. But that’s a little dramatic of a reason for why you’re now on the floor.”

“I’d go to the ends of the earth for you. Or time. This time just happens to be on my remarkably uncomfortable area rug.” She can’t help the laugh that slips out this time and she runs her hands through his hair. Hangover be damned, she loves this man so much.

“Thanks again for last night. I was a bit of a mess,” she says, even though it feels like a vast understatement to what she actually was the day before. He waves his hand to dismiss her words.

“Sometimes, we just need to throw a mini-rager and burn a bunch of illegally obtained pornographic materials. You sure we’ll never need any of that as evidence in case there’s some kind of criminal investigation?”

“James was pretty clear with Walsh about what would happen to him if he tried to pursue legal action. Not only that, but every picture on the website has been removed and the only thing that pops up when the site is unlocked now is a picture of Walsh clutching his junk with an expression of pain on his face.”

“I wish I could’ve been there to see you make that hit,” Killian admits, pushing up off the cushion to stand. “Come, love, let’s sail away to the kitchen where I can recite dirty poetry to you and make you breakfast.”

She laughs as she takes his hand, because while he doesn’t recite dirty poetry, he does make her breakfast and convince her to play hooky with him for the day. And when he takes her to bed a short time later, he infuses her skin with the words of his love over and over again.

It’s the first time in years he doesn’t stick to any kind of routine at all, and they’re both perfectly okay with that.

-x-

Epilogue

#captain swan #cs ff au #captain swan ff #sarah writes ff #csrt

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stina-is-a-punk-rocker · 4 years ago

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‘always and forever, lara jean’: a bungled mess of my thoughts while watching the movie

Alright, cards on the table: I never finished reading the book. I got bored a couple of pages in, so I just read up the summary on Wikipedia and called it a day.

Not gonna lie, I expected better from the movies. I loved the first movie; it was cute, it was fun, it hit all the right places. The second movie was… eh. Jordan Fisher is cute, so that’s a plus.

And then we got the third movie; the final in the To All the Boys I’ve Loved Before trilogy.

And it was somehow even worse.

Maybe I’m exaggerating. Despite its shortcomings in the plot and character development-related departments (the fact that Lara Jean wrote addresses for letters she never meant to send is something that will bother me on my deathbed), the movies have their merits. They’re cutesy and charming and enjoyable, overall; movie-LJ is sweet and unashamedly a girly-girl, which is a refreshing change from the #NotLikeOtherGirls, pick-me girls and bruh girls we had in loads of other YA movies growing up. Peter’s pretty cute, too; he’s not a possessive freak like so many other love interests (The Kissing Booth, After, Anna and the French Kiss), and his and Lara Jean’s dynamic is cute, too. Not to mention- we finally have an Asian lead whose Asian-ness isn’t the whole focus of the story!

Again, maybe I’m being extra with all this. The series is, at its core, solely for entertainment purposes. Not every piece of media has to have an underlying message and you shouldn’t need to read between every goddamn line to find something worthy of enjoying. They’re certainly helpful for whiling away a couple of hours; perfect for bingeing with a pint of ice cream in hand, and all of this is in good fun.

Also, it goes without saying, but: spoilers ahead.

The film beings with Lara Jean scribbling a postcard to Peter while she’s in Korea with her family. The inclusion of that little snapshot of Asian culture made me so happy- seriously, fuck everyone who says diversity in media doesn’t matter. I’m not even Korean, and I was overjoyed at seeing a couple of scenes just from the same continent I’m on. The K-pop music in the background was a fun touch, too (although all Korean music isn’t K-pop, but that’s a rant for another day).

(Also: Blackpink has so many more suitable songs than Pretty Savage that go with the theme of the movies. Kill This Love in the second movie while Lara Jean is getting ready to go to her boyfriend’s match is bad enough- they’re supposed to be in love in that scene, goddammit.)

One thing that bothered me throughout the movies is how obviously non-Korean Lara Jean and Margot look. It’s like whoever chose the cast went for any random Asian- Lana’s Vietnamese and Janel Parrish is half-Chinese, and it’s so obvious. You seriously couldn’t find two Korean-Americans who even vaguely resembled each other so they could pass for sisters? The actresses do a stunning job and I don’t want to shit on them, but I just wish they didn’t go with the ‘all Asians look the same, what’s the difference?’ mindset.

Also, a nitpicky thing I’ve noticed in movies with characters who read a lot: no one holds their books up while they’re reading. Your arms start to cramp, which is why you keep your book in your lap while you’re reading, or you rest on your belly and hold the book in front of you. My spine and shoulders didn’t suffer years of torture as a chronic reader for you to include characters who hold their books up while reading.

A major gripe I have with Always and Forever, Lara Jean is how the characters are almost jarringly out of character- not from the books, but from the two previous movies, too. Lara Jean didn’t have much of a character to begin with, so I can’t say much about her (she dissed Oasis at one point; it’s okay for me to be mean to her), but the rest of them are either caricatures of themselves or just totally different people.

Movie Peter >>> Book Peter. He’s almost too perfect (except for the fact that he unironically loves The Fast and the Furious, which… ew), almost too much of the ideal boyfriend. Not that my perpetually single arse would know. How do boyfriends even work? I wouldn’t know the first thing to do with one; how often should you feed it? Do you need to take it on walks?

(In the notes I’ve written towards the end of the film, I’ve complained about Peter being immature and making Lara Jean feel bad about following her dream to go to NYU. He confuses me.)

Not to mention how distractingly adorable Noah Centineo is from some angles and under certain lighting conditions (other times, he reminds me of the human version of Shrek and that bothered me). King of weird Tweets and Instagram captions though he may be, he’s got a really nice smile, and his gravelly voice is both parts sexy and disturbing.

But I digress.

I’ll never forgive the directors for what they did to Kitty and Chris- two of my favorite characters, from both the books and the movies. Kitty’s annoying to the point of being borderline unlikeable- gone is the occasionally snarky comic relief we all came to love; in her place is an annoying brat whose every line comes out forced. Also, making soap is fun; fuck you, Kitty.

Chris is essentially Dixie D’Amelio’s character from that TikToker Grey’s Anatomy ripoff; the main character in One Direction fanfiction from 2012 who doesn’t want to go to the concert but her best friend gets a ticket for her so she can’t bail but Harry Styles sees her in the crowd and falls in love at first sight and 50k of mutual pining and misunderstandings late, they get together. She’s cynical and snarky and hates capitalism and consumerism and prom (because of course she does), but secretly, she’s into it (because of course she is). My guess is that she’s there to appease all the arseholes (including myself) who accused the characters of being too one-dimensional, but it seems too out of place in a movie that doesn’t have much plot to begin with.

I really, really hate how Lucas was done dirty- throughout every single movie. Of course, it’s Lara Jean’s story so not every side character has to be fully fleshed out- but you’d think three. entire. movies. would be enough to give Lucas a bigger role than the GBF and the token black guy for the diversity brownie points. Every single time Lucas shows up, it’s to push Lara Jean and Peter’s story forward. I would’ve liked to see a romance for him pushed forward instead one for Chris- especially because he says, at one point in a previous movie, that it’s hard to find other gay boys, so it would’ve been sweet to see him find love- and Chris’s character arc could’ve been focused on reconciling with Genevieve. Instead, we see the OG Reggie from Riverdale be the one to show Chris the bright side of monogamy, and Lucas gets a date to prom as an afterthought (another darkskin black dude, so no one thinks the film is racist).

Genevieve’s character in this movie gives me whiplash. Look, I’m all for girls supporting girls- healthy female relationships are something way too many YA movies lack- but she goes from bitch queen extraordinaire to friendly the moment the next scene calls for it. Her character isn’t consistent. A redemption arc should be executed cleanly and believably; you can’t have a character be a total prick one moment and then suddenly be, “Hey, if you get into NYU, let me know,” the next.

And Genevieve’s still an arsehole to Chris; at one point, in NYC, while they’re at the NYU campus grounds (I knew that Lara Jean was going to go to NYU the moment she saw all the banners; I fucking called it), Genevieve tells Chris, “University is for people who actually have a future,” and I recoiled. I’m not the nicest of people and yet that was going too far. Chris doesn’t hesitate to shoot back a, “You peaked in high school,”, but still. Y i k e s. You can’t convince me someone’s turned over a new leaf when they say something like that.

Lara Jean’s dad (forgot his name; gonna call him Dr. Covey) is as unremarkable as ever, and his new wife (forgot her name, too… Trisha? Trina? Eh, something like that) is… unsettling. I mean, I get that they’re all loved up and twitterpatted, but there’s something about all the smiling they’ve got going on that chills me to the bone.

Also, Trisha/Trina kinda looks like TikTok’s ThatVeganTeacher and it bothers me.

Another huge problem with this movie even being made is that the series never had enough plot to continue onto a trilogy. Lara Jean’s letters are what the plots of the first and second movies revolve around; the third only mentions them in passing. The final love letter from Peter was a cute callback, but there’s a massive continuity issue with the first two movies and this last one- both character and plot-wise.

Maybe I’m not articulating this clearly enough, so I’ll use an example: take Harry Potter, for example. Harry’s main goal throughout the series is defeating Voldemort. And it takes all seven books for him to get there, to finally achieve this.

Lara Jean’s goal in the first movie changes midway; from keeping up the façade with Peter so she can avoid the crap with the rest of the letters getting out, to making her fake relationship real. It forms a bridge with the second movie; the letter that went out to John Ambrose, and her dithering between Peter and perfection (I’m not sorry). But what does the third movie have to do with any of this?

There were way too many music montages. You couldn’t go five minutes without a random pop song playing in the background, and it was annoying as hell. Don’t Look Back in Anger was w a s t e d on this stupid film. The artsy scenery shots were even worse- no, I don’t give a fuck about the New York skyline or a bird’s eye view of whatever vehicle Lara Jean is in. A few shots of Seoul would’ve sufficed; the rest was overkill. This movie is way too damn long already (almost 2 entire hours!!!); cut out a couple of those. No one cares.

I thought they’d pull the whole Aladdin trope with character-A-keeps-trying-to-tell-character-B-the-truth-about-a-lie-B-believes-in-about-A-but-B-keeps-interrupting, but Lara Jean (typing her name out is annoying, why couldn’t she have a single name, like both of her sisters?) comes clean earlier than I expected. Peter’s reaction about LJ not getting into Stanford is… uncharacteristically mature? No “Why did you lie to me?”, no accusations, not an ounce of betrayal. Which I did not expect from a guy who’s a little bitch for the greater part of book one (I really don’t like Book Peter, in case you couldn’t tell). I know fuck-all about book three’s Peter, so I can’t tell if he really did adopt this mature, well-adjusted persona, or the movie did it to make Peter seem like less of a dick (like they did it with the sextape-that-wasn’t-a-sextape in the first installment).

On a sidenote, how do these main characters in YA books get into really good colleges with zero to no visible effort? These arseholes fuck around for the entirety of the story and have way too much going on to actually do schoolwork, but they waltz into Ivy Leagues at the end. And apparently, I’m not the only one bothered by this.

There’s something to be said about how the movies don’t really sexualize minors (characters who are minors, to be fair. None of the MCs look anything like teenagers), though. It’s almost weird to see them not getting drunk and partying and having sex all the time. Maybe that’s why Lara Jean trying to get her hand on Peter’s dick felt so stilted and awkward (I cringed so hard when she kept trying to touch him and he kept pushing her hand away, holy shit).

And the kissing. It’s to be expected from a romance film, but there was so. Much. Kissing.

The amount of product placements (… actually, I could count only two: Apple and a pair of Beats headphones Lara Jean puts on at one point, but the movie shoved so many iPhones in my face that I’m obligated to exaggerate) would’ve made anti-capitalist Chris mad.

I’m guessing this all takes place in a parallel universe, sans the coronavirus. Still, being in quarantine this past year and being socially awkward for every other one, it was agonizing seeing everyone so close together in NYC. When Peter kissed the ball (lol) (I have the sense of humor of a straight boy in middle school, don’t judge me) when him and Lara Jean go bowling, I had a visceral reaction. And what are the odds of Peter meeting his estranged dad at the very same bowling alley?

Speaking of Peter’s daddy issues (I’ve written “Hardin but diluted” in my notes; I watched this movie at, like, 1 AM; I’m not entirely sure what was going through my head at that point)- I hated how they guilt-tripped Peter into giving his father another chance. In the wise words of Hannah Montana, everybody makes mistakes- but leaving your wife and two kids for another woman is pretty far from a little oopsie on Mr. Kavinsky’s part. I don’t blame Peter for hating him, and I’m not in a place to judge whether Mr. Kavinsky (does he get a first name?) should be forgiven or not, but I feel like they let him off too easy and made Peter seem like a misunderstood teenager with anger issues for not accepting Mr. Kavinsky’s (crappy) apology at once.

And it adds nothing to the story at all; Mr. Kavinsky peaces out after having one (01) coffee with his firstborn, and he’s never seen again. If you’re going to introduce a subplot, make it tie into the main storyline- the very least you could do is make it an important enough part of the story to have more than 10 minutes of the run time. It makes no sense as to why they’d bring up Peter’s dad in this last film, when he’s already gone through two perfectly fine. I guess it was a ‘tying everything up’ part… even though no one cared.

Lara Jean’s handwriting is surprisingly ugly for someone who’s written that many love letters. And her styling took a definite nosedive; her outfits in the first movie were so effing cute, but now they’re just… meh.

There are so many conversations and lines that the writers must’ve thought sounded good enough for someone to type out the quote in curly font and slap it on a screenshot from the movie to post on Instagram, but when it comes to the actual delivery, they just sounded… weird.

Peter says one time near the beginning of the film, “You know what I’m looking forward to the most in college? Never having to say goodnight,” because he expects him and Lara Jean to get into the same college.

But I guess the word they should’ve used was ‘good-bye’, because this just makes him sound stupid.

At one point, Lara Jean asks Kitty how much Kitty’s gonna miss her when she goes off to college, and Kitty says, “A four.” Later on, she confesses, “I’m gonna miss you a twelve, Lara Jean,” and all I could think was, “But we’re endgame, Archie!”

(In hindsight, I probably shouldn’t let people know I’ve watched Riverdale; it lessons my credibility.)

Still, there remains some good to be found: all the baked goods looked very delicious and made me crave chocolate chip cookies. Peter wearing the socks Lara Jean gifted him at the beginning of the movie was a cute gesture, and Lara Jean giving Peter her teal hatbox? The one she kept her love letters in? Was so? Cute? Help?

And hey, it’s a cliché that’s been done to death, but I’m always a sucker for that part in movies where the girl walks down the stairs in a pretty dress with her hand on the banister and the boy turns around and his mouth falls open and all he can say is, “Wow,”- and this film did not disappoint! Not to mention how cute both Lara Jean’s and Chris’s prom dresses were.

Dr. Covey and Trisha/Trina’s wedding was cute, too- I struggled to decide whether Kitty wearing a necklace that says ‘feminist’ and a tux is a bit too on-the-nose, but I’ve decided that it’s nothing to get my knickers all in a twist about (for clarification: it’s not the necklace or the crossdressing that made me debate this; I just wish they didn’t make a big deal out of it- I wish they didn’t have Kitty and Lara Jean get into an argument about her not wearing a dress, if that makes sense?).

And the final letter- the one from Peter to Lara Jean- I ate that shit up; it was so, so, so cute.

In conclusion (why is it so easy for me to crank out 3k about my thoughts on a Netflix movie and yet when it comes to English Lit. at school, I’d stare at a blank sheet of foolscap for ages?), did I enjoy the movie? Not really. There were parts of it that I liked, but it was overall too boring and I kept wishing I’d watched the new SKZ Code episode instead every few minutes.

But that doesn’t mean that it was bad. I kinda feel a little sad, actually, now that Lara Jean and Peter’s story has come to a close; To All the Boys I’ve Loved Before, the first movie, is one of my favorites, and bitch though I might about them, the kinda grew on me… like an innocent plant, at first, but then like a fungus. Not a parasitic fungus, just not mutualistic, either… kind of like a commensal.

Maybe I should stop with the biology similes.

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project1939 · 1 year ago

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Day 60- Film: Europa 51

Release date: September 12th, 1952.

Studio: Lux Film

Genre: Drama, Italian neo-realism

Director: Roberto Rossellini

Producer: Roberto Rossellini, Carlo Ponti, Dino De Laurentiis

Actors: Ingrid Bergman, Alexander Knox

Plot Summary: Affluent Irene lives in Italy with her husband and young son. When her son dies suddenly, and it may have been a suicide, she falls apart. Spending time with her leftwing activist cousin, she starts performing works of charity for the poor, ill, and disadvantaged. This soothes her pain of grief, and the work becomes all-consuming for her. Her family and the authorities, however, come to believe she is mentally ill.

My Rating (out of five stars): ****½

We’ve arrived at our first foreign language film of the project! I added in a couple, but the focus of the project is really Hollywood and mainstream American media. I was excited to see this- Italian neo-realism is one of my favorite film genres. I saw Stromboli in a class years ago, but that is the only Bergman/Rossellini film I’d seen prior to this. Europa 51 is classic neo-realism- gritty and dark, filled with topics Hollywood would never touch, a raw style that gives the genre its name... even the post dubbed sound... I really enjoyed it.

The Good:

Ingrid Bergman. I saw the Italian language version, and she was dubbed by an Italian actress, but even so, you couldn’t take your eyes off of her.

Her husband was played by the doctor in the movie Paula! I knew I had seen him somewhere. He was effective as well, although he was also dubbed by an Italian.

Giulietta Masina! I was thrilled when I saw her name come up in the credits. She’s an actress I absolutely adore- she's so unique and charming. La Strada is always near the top of my favorite films list. She was great in this- very colorful and fun.

The style. As mentioned, it was classic neo-realism, and I loved it.

The topics addressed that would never be in a Hollywood film. Topics like child suicide, prostitutes, a sympathetic guy with communist beliefs, an unwed mother just living her life raising children and enjoying the company of men, religious leaders portrayed in a somewhat negative light... All of these things make the film very modern- way ahead of Hollywood in subject matter.

The way most of the world cannot understand Irene’s total selfless devotion to suffering people. She’s not compelled by either religious or political beliefs... so, by their standards, she must be insane. It’s a very sad indictment of the way those who run society think.

The detailed little snapshots we get of the people Irene is drawn to help- the prostitute with tuberculosis, the unwed mother who takes in orphaned children, the family of a sick little boy, even the family with a criminal for a son.

One of the final shots of the group of people she helped when they came to visit Irene at the hospital. It was very moving.

The digs at the church leaders. The priest who comes to see Irene doesn’t like her full devotion to charity. “We must do good, but carefully as God dictates.” He gave off creepy vibes. Why, as a priest, did it disturb him that she was essentially living like a saint?

The Bad:

Irene could sometimes be drawn as maybe a little too saintly... but then am I just falling a bit into the trap of the society that condemned her?

For such a gritty realistic film with real looking people, the mental hospital she was put in was teeming with very attractive women. It just made me laugh a little.

Sometimes I don’t always love the post recorded and dubbed sound in Italian films of this era, but I’ve also come to appreciate it as a characteristic of neo-realist films.

#project1952 #1952 #project1952 day 60 #europa 51 #100 films of 1952 #200 films of 1952 #200 films of 1952 film 59

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frauleinsmaria · 6 years ago

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The Village Is a Glow (1/2)

A/N: Merry (belated) Christmas to those of you who celebrate! This was written for my @cssecretsanta2k18 giftee, @eastwesthomeisbest , who expressed an interest in modern au’s with a fantastical element. While this was a bit out of my comfort zone where fic is concerned (and ended up being fairly light on the fantasy), I took suggestions from a few friends and came up with this story based on some of her preferences. This was both fun and challenging to write, and I've so enjoyed interacting with you over the past few weeks! Part 2 should hopefully be up and posted by this time next week.

Special thanks to @profdanglaisstuff for beta’ing, @justanotherwannabeclassic and @forestiyari for helping me think of this idea, and @welllpthisishappening for answering my questions about NYC. (Also, please keep in mind that I’m not a native, so there may or may not be a few things I did less research on that should be taken with a grain of salt.)

Summary: Killian Jones credits moving to the Big Apple for getting his photography career off the ground. He also has it to thank for causing his first run-in with Emma Swan, who makes him question every photo he takes afterward.

AO3

Three years and a handful of questionable experiences had shown Killian that almost anything was possible in New York.

For starters, there were things like the number of naked people you could spot on a normal day in Times Square, a Storm Trooper getting arrested, and a teenage couple making out while standing in a dumpster. And those were all things he’d seen within the first week after his move. Being a photographer had only given him the opportunity to catch things like this on camera and show them to his friends both in the city and back home in London who didn’t quite buy the odd stories he had to tell on any given day.

Despite the regularity of seeing things that made him wish he had issues with his memory, there was so much Killian loved about his now home that made up for it all. He loved the constant energy and excitement that lived within the city, whether that be in the middle of the night or first thing in the morning. The first few weeks after his move, he’d dealt with the jet lag by wandering around at all hours of the night and taking pictures, trying but never fully succeeding to capture the neon lights, hoards of people, and bumper to bumper traffic guaranteed to be found at every corner.

Killian also had to credit the move to New York for getting his freelance photography career off the ground. He’d gotten some attention back in London from friends and colleagues, but it wasn’t until after relocating when he began posting pictures he’d taken around the city that his Instagram account started to receive a considerable amount of attention. He was able to use the site as a way to both market his work and seek out potential clients. Since coming to New York, he’d received offers to shoot everything from weddings and parties to family portraits and sessions for online companies and influencers. He still took a few shifts a month at a local bar to make ends meet, but he was grateful his photography was able to cover most of the costs and requirements that came along with living in New York.

Killian had grown to love almost everything about his new home and tried to encompass as much of it as possible in his photos, but the main focus on his Instagram account over the past year or so had been capturing the lives of mundane New Yorkers like himself on film. Killian had soon learned thanks to comments from his friends back at home that most outsiders saw the city as the home for the rich and famous, and assumed only those that fit one or both of those categories were able to thrive and succeed there. It wasn’t hard to believe that such ideas existed thanks to the typical depictions of New Yorkers in fiction and the media. But, from his experience, the majority were just common people trying to make a life in the city that never slept.

And, yes, many of these people and the pictures he took of them were a little on the unusual side. But he’d never taken a photo that made him question his own sanity, until he met her.

It started on a Tuesday morning. Despite having the ability to create his own work schedule most of the time, he preferred getting out early a few times a week to take photos and observe the city as the work rush began. He’d been walking around with his camera for an hour or so around Tribeca taking snapshots of people and scenes that caught his eye. There was the elderly couple holding hands while waiting at a crosswalk, a young dog walker who looked as if he could barely keep up with his four legged clients, and one he was particularly fond of, a pair of young twins sisters walking their dog in Hudson River Park he couldn’t wait to share after receiving permission from their parents.

It was just after eight-thirty when he decided to wrap things up before he went back to his apartment to edit this morning’s photos and make a call to a client who he was scheduled to do an engagement shoot for that weekend. He wasn’t far from a nearby cafe when he spotted a distinct golden glow coming up from the side of a building. It was probably just the way the early morning sun was reflecting, but it caught his attention enough that he considered it worth documenting for himself if nothing else.

After taking a handful of photos, he was scrolling through the media library on his camera while still walking (something he should have known better than to do in the first place) when he felt himself slam into something just as he was passing the building in the picture.

“Oh!”

Whoops. Not something, a person. The first things he saw were blonde curls and a pair of bright green eyes that didn’t look nearly as angry with him as they should.

“Bloody hell,” he cursed under his breath. “I’m terribly sorry, love. Are you alright?”

“Well, I’m definitely awake now,” she laughed. Killian was grateful she didn’t look ready to strangle him, which seemed fair considering the circumstances. “Just maybe be careful what you do with that thing while you’re walking,” she added, nodding toward his camera. She had to either be a saint or in an exceptionally good mood.

He shoved his camera back inside the bag on his shoulder. “You’re right. I apologize again. Can I buy you a coffee to make up for it?”

“Emma Swan. Make it hot chocolate instead and you’re forgiven.”

He liked this woman already. “Killian Jones. And I believe I can swing that.”

Killian opted for taking her to the nearby cafe he often visited since he knew they served hot chocolate, as well as his own preferred Americano. It was a short walk from where they were now.

“This is neat,” she said when they arrived and she followed him inside. He had stumbled across Gotan in Tribeca not long after his move to the city, and often dropped in at least once a week to drink coffee while he edited photos or answered client calls. The modern, eclectic feel of the place made it enjoyable for working, and hopefully enjoyable for sharing a hot drink with the stranger he’d just inconvenienced.

There surprisingly wasn’t a crowd considering what time of day it was, so they were able to quickly order their drinks. Emma picked out a table near one of the large windows, wanting to sit by the sunlight.

“Tell me something about yourself, Swan. Do you live in the city?”

She nodded. “As of last weekend, yes. I’ve bounced around different areas on the East coast for awhile now, but it was time for a change, and my friend had an extra room in her apartment. So, here we are. What about you?” she asked. “Although the accent kind of gives your roots away.”

“Afraid so.” As the barista approached the table with their drinks, he briefly explained his childhood and life in London and why he’d chosen to move to the city. “There wasn’t much rhyme or reason behind it. I also wanted a change, and to do something with my photography. New York seemed to be the best option. I’ve been here almost three years now; it’s worked out well, at least by my standards.”

“I hope some of your luck is contagious then.” Emma took a sip of her hot chocolate and gave what he hoped was a satisfied smile. He saw then that she’d gotten whipped cream on the corner of her mouth and tried not to laugh, instead handing her a napkin from the stack on the table. “You’ve got a little something there, love.”

She laughed when she caught her own reflection in the window and wiped the mess away. He liked hearing her laugh. Actually, he liked quite a few things about her, he soon realized as they spent the next half hour discussing everything from rom coms to the best restaurants in New York.

“You’re the first guy I’ve ever met who’s willingly admitted to liking Mean Girls.”

Killian shrugged. “I suppose you could say I’ve been personally victimized by Regina George, love.”

It was a bit of a disappointment when she announced she had to leave. “Job interview,” she explained.

“In that case, I hope some of my luck you mentioned earlier is contagious too.” Killian considered asking for her number but decided against it; it seemed too forward and there was a good chance she wouldn’t be up for sharing personal details with someone who was still virtually a stranger in many ways. “Perhaps I’ll be lucky enough to run into you again in the future? Although I’ll try not to make it literally next time.”

“Thanks. And I appreciate the consideration.” She smiled and disappeared around the corner a moment later. Despite being in a city with millions of people, a small part of him couldn’t help but hope he hadn’t seen the last of her.

He spent most of the afternoon uploading the morning’s pictures onto his laptop to see which ones were worth holding onto. Most of them turned out well, aside from a few that were out of focus and one unintentional shot of the sidewalk he’d taken while trying to avoid being hit by a pigeon. The few that stood out the most, though, were the handful he’d snapped of the sun coming around the side of the building where he’d come across Emma Swan. They weren’t particularly great in comparison to some of the others he’d taken earlier, but what he hadn’t seen before was a strange golden glow that seemed to cover the scene like a filter. He must have hit something on his camera that changed the color settings when he and Emma collided. That was the only reasonable explanation.

Even though it was unlike the others and wasn’t his normal style, it was the one he posted on Instagram first after making a few minimal edits.

Kjones87: I’d call it a successful day.

If he noticed the number of likes and comments were higher than on any other photo he’d uploaded recently, he chalked it up to coincidence, or maybe what Emma Swan thought was his good luck.

The scheduled engagement photoshoot plus a local business event he’d been asked to photograph at the last minute kept him busy enough that he wasn’t given a chance to repeat his habit of wandering around the city with his camera until the following week. It was Wednesday when he found himself exploring Tribeca again. He liked the area, and it was close enough to his apartment that avoiding public transportation was typically an option.

His routine followed the same pattern it normally did, simply walking around to take random snapshots of people or things that caught his eye, until two women holding hands approached him at City Hall Park.

“Hi,” said the taller of the two brunettes, wearing a bright shade of red lipstick that matched the streaks in her dark hair. “I really hope I won’t bother you by asking, but is there any way you’d be willing to take a picture of my girlfriend and me?” she asked, holding up her phone and squeezing said girlfriend’s hand, a shorter woman with dark curls and a stack of books sticking out of the bag on her shoulder. “If you don’t have time or you’d rather not that’s totally fine, we just saw you taking pictures and figured you would know what you were doing better than someone else.”

Flattered by the unexpected request, Killian reached for the woman’s phone and then paused, thinking of a better idea. It wasn’t something he would normally suggest in similar circumstances, but they seemed like a sweet couple and why waste the opportunity to do something nice for them? “I can do you one better. Suppose I take several shots of you two on my camera and just email you the final results?”

“Seriously?” the shorter brunette asked. “How much do you charge for doing something like that?”

“No charge. I mean it,” he continued when they both attempted to protest. “I would probably consider posting one or two pictures on my Instagram, with your permission of course.”

Killian spent the better part of an hour following the couple around the park and taking various pictures of them holding hands and embracing in the different picturesque locations. He found out their names were Ruby and Belle, and they had come to the city from Boston for a few days to celebrate their second anniversary.

“Are you sure we can’t pay you?” Belle asked for the umpteenth time when they were preparing to leave. “I mean, we’ve probably taken up a good part of your day.”

“I was glad to do it,” he insisted. “I hope you enjoy the rest of your trip.” He got both of the women’s contact information and watched as they left the park hand in hand.

He was just walking away when he heard a vaguely familiar voice. “I hope that camera hasn’t caused any run-ins today.”

Killian turned and saw Emma Swan walking toward him, clutching a well-read paperback he couldn’t make out the tile of and a steaming cup of what he assumed was hot chocolate. “Ah, hello, Swan. And, no, I am pleased to report that I’ve succeeded in being aware of my surroundings since our meeting last week.”

“Good to know. Otherwise you’d probably go broke buying hot chocolates for every girl you ran in to in New York.”

“Aye. I’d rather save those for you anyway. I’d offer to buy you another if you hadn’t already beat me to it,” he said, gesturing to her cup, feeling both amused and reluctant.

She shrugged. “Maybe. But it’s almost lunchtime, and I never say no to a grilled cheese.”

He’d be an idiot to turn her down.

Emma chose the place this time, a small diner called Granny’s located a few blocks away. “My roommate got me hooked on this place,” she told him when they walked in and took a booth near the back of the restaurant. As expected, she ordered a grilled cheese with a side of onion rings, and a second hot cocoa topped with whipped cream and cinnamon. “Just because I can,” she explained when he raised an eyebrow at her odd selection. (She laughed when he caved and ordered the exact same thing.)

Killian learned quite a bit about Emma Swan during the hour they spent sharing greasy food and random tidbits of information. She shared that she’d recently been hired at a local bookstore, hence the interview she’d been headed to after their first encounter, had a liking for eighties teen movies, and usually found herself on Amazon Prime when she couldn’t sleep, leading to receiving a number of random items in the mail that she never quite remembered ordering. She asked a question about his photography, which led to him explaining what he did as a freelancer, as well as his occasional work at the bar.

He had just pulled out his phone to show her his Instagram page (which he realized later probably would have looked like gloating) when she had to leave for her shift at the bookstore. “I have a feeling you’ll see me again,” she said, almost as if she knew something he didn’t.

“I have a feeling you’re right.”

He spent the better part of his afternoon editing the photos of Ruby and Belle in the park earlier that day. When he got to the last of them, it was impossible not to notice the golden glow over the couple in the final picture he’d taken of them kissing in front of the fountain in the park.

The last picture he’d taken before meeting Emma.

Just like the last picture he’d taken the week before...right before meeting Emma.

There was a reasonable explanation behind all of this. There had to be. He just had no clue what said explanation was.

One thing was for sure, he needed to see Emma Swan again.

#eastwesthomeisbest #cssecretsanta2k18 #csss #cs ff #cs au #captain swan #captain swan ff #ouat ff #captain swan au #cs fic #captain swan secret santa #meredith writes #my writing

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sharengayonline · 4 years ago

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Apple iPhone 6 Plus Camera Review – Photography Life

Sharengay Trang Tin Tức Độc Đáo VIDEO Apple iPhone 6 Plus Camera Review – Photography Life

It has been a while since Apple announced the iPhone 6 and the iPhone 6 Plus and although I have had my Plus model for about 6 months now, I have not had a chance to provide feedback on what I think about this phone when used as a camera for occasional snapshots. Although I initially could not understand the point of such a large phone that is now known as a “phablet“, it did not take long before I was convinced that I wanted the iPhone 6 Plus. My main reason was reading – I no longer had to pinch with my fingers to zoom in to be able to read small text on a website. The larger surface area gave a lot more room, making it possible to use the device for email and web surfing. This meant that I could ditch my iPad and only carry one additional device when I needed to work, for which the Microsoft Surface Pro 3 fit the task perfectly, being a real laptop and not a laptop wannabe like the iPad is. After getting the iPhone 6 Plus, I realized that the built-in camera is actually pretty decent for photographing in daylight and when I do not have a real camera with me. It is certainly no Nokia Lumia 1020 or Samsung Galaxy S6, but I was not in a quest to find a phone with the best camera anyway. I was moving up from an older beat up iPhone and did not feel like switching to another system, so the built-in camera was certainly not a priority. I will be honest, I am not an iPhoneographer and I am not planning to be one anytime soon, so please take this review with a grain of salt. I only used the basic, built-in tools for capturing images, although I am aware of the fact that one can use third party apps to do plenty of cool stuff with the camera on the iPhone 6.

Bạn đang xem: Apple iPhone 6 Plus Camera Review – Photography Life

1) iPhone 6 Camera vs iPhone 6 Plus Camera

Both iPhone 6 and iPhone 6 Plus feature the same 8 MP iSight camera with a small sensor and tiny pixels measuring only 1.5µm in size. The lens has a fixed f/2.2 aperture. There is a built-in flash on both as well. The only difference between the two is optical image stabilization – the iPhone 6 Plus comes with it. With image stabilization, the camera will automatically compensate when shooting at slower shutter speeds, allowing to yield images with less noise (since lower ISO is used), particularly when shooting in low light situations.

iPhone 6 Plus + iPhone 6 Plus back camera 4.15mm f/2.2 @ 4.15mm, ISO 32, 1/1900, f/2.2

2) iSight Camera

The 8 MP iSight camera found on the iPhone 6 and iPhone 6 Plus cameras is not a breakthrough by any means. In fact, it is pretty similar to what is found on the iPhone 5. Apple mostly concentrated on the software side of things on the iPhone 6 and did not change the physical size of the sensor or its resolution. That’s not to say there are no improvements – the iPhone 6 comes with a few new features such as “focus pixels” (which improves autofocus performance), improved face detection, better exposure control and more.

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The same camera is able to deliver high quality video files, shooting 1080p HD video at 60 fps and slow motion 720p video at 240 fps. You can also use the iPhone 6 to create time-lapse videos now.

iPhone 6 Plus + iPhone 6 Plus back camera 4.15mm f/2.2 @ 4.15mm, ISO 32, 1/300, f/2.2

3) Autofocus Performance

The iPhone 6 Plus is no DSLR, so don’t expect it to be a speed demon. With such a small sensor, its f/2.2 aperture still translates to a boatload of depth of field, so focusing is not comparable to what one would get on a large sensor camera. Still, AF is pretty darn fast and responsive for a smartphone. You simply tap with your finger on the area you want to focus on and the camera does its job. When the phone detects faces, face recognition algorithms kick in and the camera automatically focuses and tracks your subjects, putting the camera on face priority mode, which is nice. Aside from my kids, I have not tried photographing any fast movements or action – I would care less about this anyway. The camera does a decent job with capturing my little daughter, who is always on the move and the camera copes with her pretty well.

iPhone 6 Plus + iPhone 6 Plus back camera 4.15mm f/2.2 @ 4.15mm, ISO 40, 1/30, f/2.2

4) Details and Noise

Thanks to a small sensor and tiny pixels, it is expected that the camera produces plenty of noise in low light situations. This is not an issue if you are showcasing small to medium size images to your friends on social media, but if you are trying to do something more serious, like getting your photos printed, you might not have a lot of options. For some of the images presented in this review, I had to run Dfine from Google’s Nik Collection, since noise levels were pretty distracting even in daylight situations. I also noticed that noise reduction does not work very well with some images, particularly when there are larger blocks of noise and patterns visible in images. In some of the images, you will notice that the sky does not look even everywhere and there are visible artifacts. Not much you can do with those, unfortunately. Again, this should not be a surprise, since we are dealing with a small sensor smartphone…

iPhone 6 Plus + iPhone 6 Plus back camera 4.15mm f/2.2 @ 4.15mm, ISO 32, 1/40, f/2.2

On the positive note, detail level from center to corner of the frame is pretty good, which shows that the lens used on the iPhone 6 / iPhone 6 Plus is quite good.

iPhone 6 Plus + iPhone 6 Plus back camera 4.15mm f/2.2 @ 4.15mm, ISO 32, 1/120, f/2.2

5) Panorama Mode

The panorama mode works quite good overall, but can be somewhat of a pain when you are dealing with a blue sky. The camera will often exhibit lines with dark to bright transitions, which shows that the camera’s exposure most likely varies when it actively captures a panorama. Unfortunately, there is no way to lock exposure when using the panorama tool, so you will most likely end up with many images that look like this:

iPhone 6 Plus + iPhone 6 Plus back camera 4.15mm f/2.2 @ 4.15mm, ISO 32, 1/1464, f/2.2

Pay attention to the sky, where you see transitions from lighter to darker tones and vice versa.

6) HDR Mode

Just like the previous generation iPhone cameras, the iPhone 6 and iPhone 6 Plus cameras are also equipped with the “High Dynamic Range” (HDR) feature, which does a great job at recovering highlights and shadows when dealing with more difficult lighting situations. The HDR feature is quite handy and I really like how Apple implemented HDR by making it look quite realistic and not over the top. There is no “cartoonish” feel to HDR, which is great. Take a look at the below images – one was a standard capture and the second one is an HDR version. Note how the camera recovered the highlights in the clouds and brightened up the foreground:

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The details are well preserved in most areas and the HDR version looks great – I would certainly pick that one over the standard out of camera image.

7) Summary

As I pointed out in the beginning, I did not buy the iPhone 6 Plus to focus a lot on photography. For my occasional needs, it works pretty well and does a decent job, so I am generally happy with the overall output and the detail level I see in images. At the same time, I do realize that there are far better choices available out there, which do a much better job at capturing photos than the iPhone 6 Plus does. Some smartphones like the Panasonic Lumix CM1 are more cameras than smartphones and would obviously offer amazing image quality in comparison. But again, that’s not what I bought the iPhone 6 Plus for anyway. If I really need to produce a higher quality photo, I would use a real camera, not my phone…

iPhone 6 Plus + iPhone 6 Plus back camera 4.15mm f/2.2 @ 4.15mm, ISO 32, 1/2000, f/2.2

My wife Lola is a much better photographer than me, particularly when it comes to shooting with a smartphone and she has been doing all kinds of fun stuff like this with her iPhone 6 Plus.

8) More Image Samples

iPhone 6 Plus + iPhone 6 Plus back camera 4.15mm f/2.2 @ 4.15mm, ISO 32, 1/500, f/2.2

iPhone 6 Plus + iPhone 6 Plus back camera 4.15mm f/2.2 @ 4.15mm, ISO 50, 1/120, f/2.2

iPhone 6 Plus + iPhone 6 Plus back camera 4.15mm f/2.2 @ 4.15mm, ISO 80, 1/4, f/2.2

iPhone 6 Plus + iPhone 6 Plus back camera 4.15mm f/2.2 @ 4.15mm, ISO 32, 1/950, f/2.2

iPhone 6 Plus + iPhone 6 Plus back camera 4.15mm f/2.2 @ 4.15mm, ISO 32, 1/1800, f/2.2

Apple iPhone 6 Plus Camera

Optical Performance

Features

Build Quality

Focus Speed and Accuracy

Image Stabilization

Value

Image Quality

High ISO Performance

Size and Weight

Metering and Exposure

Movie Recording Features

Dynamic Range

Ease of Use

Photography Life Overall Rating

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Apple iPhone 6 Plus Camera Review – Photography Life

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dust2dust34 · 8 years ago

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Pieces of Always: November 2021 (FICoN ‘verse)

Life continues after Forever is Composed of Nows.

by @so-caffeinated and @dust2dust34

Summary: A parent/teacher conference with Jules' teacher doesn't go entirely as Felicity expects.

An ongoing non-linear collection of family moments for the Queens. (You do not need to have read FiCoN to enjoy this, but it will spoil the end. Please see the first installment for additional author notes. Thank you @jsevick and @alizziebyanyothername for the amazing beta!)

A/N: Please see the first chapter for an important Author’s Note, as well as under the cut for an additional one.

A/N: I am taking a beta role for right now. The effervescent @so-caffeinated is fully in the driver’s seat and she’s kicking all the ass, so please go send her your love!

(read on AO3)

November 2012 - Schooling

After six months of weighing the pros and cons, Oliver and Felicity had settled on public school for their girls, but that hadn’t happened without a whole lot of debate.

Oliver’s experiences at Starling City Prep alone had been enough to make him wary. The sheer number of classmates whose parents had wound up on his list was a definite indicator that something was wrong there that standardized tests could never measure. They’d toured a few private schools anyhow, all of them more than happy to welcome the Queen family and the Queen money. But, looking around, the demographic had been so incredibly narrow. Felicity hadn’t seen the awards on the walls or the state of the art equipment. All she’d seen were the kids. She felt like she was watching children of Stepford wives and she couldn’t, for all their money, imagine Jules fitting in here.

Security had been the biggest factor in seriously considering private school, something she’s taken even more seriously since local party leadership had approached Oliver about running for the soon-to-be vacated state representative seat. He still says he’s not sure if he’ll do it, but she is. She knows her husband. He’ll run. She’s kind of surprised he hasn’t reached that conclusion himself yet, but he’ll get there.

They’re very high profile, will be even more so when he runs for office, and they both worry about the media hounding their kids. They’re a curiosity to the public and they know it. And, the press has proven time and again that they don’t care about boundaries.

So, they’d gone back and forth as he trained in the lair or when she managed to get away from the office to meet him for lunch. Neither one of them had been certain on what to do until one day Felicity had sighed and said “Oliver, if public schools aren’t safe enough for our girls, what are we even doing in this lair? You don’t save a city by removing yourself from it.”

And that had done it.

They’d registered Jules at Three Oaks Elementary the next day and - in the first year and a half Jules has gone there - Felicity’s only complaint has been the lack of any oaks whatsoever on the premises.

Honestly, it’s a highly misleading name.

There have been a few incidents she and Oliver have been called in for, but it’s mostly been due to Jules, not the school. Their little girl has something of a temper and there’s been the occasional playground tussle that’s left one kid or another in tears - usually not her. When she gets angry, she lashes out and when she gets hurt, she shuts down. The older Jules gets, the more of herself Felicity sees in the little girl. Or, the way she used to be, anyhow, before she’d learned the hard way that she wasn’t doing herself any favors. Some nights she lies awake, trying to figure out a way to help Jules grow up without making the same mistakes she did. All she gets for her effort is frustration, though.

“She’ll find her own way, honey. Get some sleep,” Oliver tells her on a regular basis, his voice only half awake as he curls his arm around her and pulls her closer, pressing his lips to her hair.

It soothes her, but she can’t help worrying, wanting better for her daughter. Maybe that’s just what being a mother is. Maybe she’ll always want more for her children, want things to be easier, happier for them.

There haven’t been any midday calls about behavior so far this year, though, so maybe things are improving. She’s anxious to see what Jules’ teachers have to say at the parent-teacher conference today.

“Where’s Ellie?” Jules asks, exiting the front doors of the school and looking around like maybe the three-year-old is about to pop out of the bushes or something. It’s not an unfair thought, really. Ellie is absurdly active, hiding and climbing and running absolutely everywhere. What they’d been thinking when they’d bought a four-story brownstone to raise their children in, Felicity can’t remember at this point, but those stairs have surely given her calves she’s insanely proud of after running up and down them to the girls’ rooms umpteen times a day.

It’s gonna be a whole lot harder in the next few months.

Her stomach rolls as if on cue and she pushes back a wave of nausea. She’s only two months along with her newest pregnancy and they’ve told no one yet, but that’s getting harder and harder with a morning sickness that’s really an all-day sickness.

“She’s with Grandma Donna,” Felicity tells the little girl, trying to force herself to feel centered. It sort of works. Jules doesn’t notice. The six-year-old just shifts slightly, adjusting the frayed strap of her backpack. She’d refused to get a new one this year and had kept her battered Priscilla the Pirate Princess bag from kindergarten. “I have a meeting with your teachers today, remember?”

“Oh yeah…” Jules says, her brow furrowing a little. Some days Felicity would give anything to read her little girl’s thoughts, but even as a first-grader Jules keeps things to herself. It’s not that she’s quiet, exactly, but she’s something of a closed book at times and getting her to share what she’s feeling is like pulling teeth. “Am I going too?”

“No,” Felicity tells her, taking the little girl’s hand as they walk back into the school against the crush of kids pouring out. It’s like fighting to go upstream against a huge school - Ha! School… that’s appropriate - of minnows. “We’re meeting Digg and Sara on the playground. He and I are taking turns with our conferences and watching you two.”

“Okay,” Jules agrees. She leaves it at that. She and Sara get along just fine, but they aren’t especially close in spite of how much time they spend with each other. It had surprised Felicity, really, and disappointed her a bit, not that she’d ever tell Jules that. But Sara is an interactive and imaginative extrovert while Jules is happier playing hopscotch by herself or drawing with chalk than playing make-believe with Sara.

“How was school?” Felicity asks as the throng of children gives way to an empty hallway.

“Fine,” Jules tells her. It’s a standard reply and Felicity bites back a sigh because would a little detail kill her?

“What did you do today?” she prods, giving the girl a nudge.

“Played on the playground,” the little girl supplies.

Long conversations with Lyla and her own mother have assured her that this is every child ever’s response to what they did in school and it’s not just Jules being tight-lipped.

“And I had art lit,” Jules adds, surprising her and pulling her attention. “I liked that,” she follows up in a near whisper.

It’s a huge admission from Jules. For as loud as she can be sometimes, for how brash she comes off, it’s the quiet things she says that are the most meaningful.

“Art lit?” Felicity asks.

“Yeah,” Jules agrees. She bites her lip and looks up with a little half shrug. “Art literacy. We learn about lots of artists and paint and stuff. I like it. It’s fun.”

Two ‘I like it’ declarations from Jules in as many minutes is fairly unprecedented and Felicity can sense how important that is, but she’s so thrown by it that she doesn’t immediately know how to respond beyond a, “Good… that’s great.”

There’s an uneasiness about Jules, and Felicity lets go of her hand to wrap an arm around her, tugging her closer instead of answering in words. Jules never looks up when she does this, but she does lean in closer, like she wants the affection but doesn’t want to admit to wanting it. That only makes Felicity want to hold onto her more, but she knows this little girl so very well and she’s well aware that holding on too tight will only mean Jules pulls away harder.

“Christmas and Hanukkah are right around the corner,” she points out after a minute. “Art supplies might make a nice gift to ask for.”

“That’d be nice,” Jules agrees, looking up almost shyly. “Maybe Santa could bring me an easel?”

Yes… yes, he absolutely will. Felicity’s decided this before the words are even finished passing through Jules’ lips. Her daughter doesn’t ask for much, never begs for candy or toys. When she does express wanting something, it’s exactly like this - an almost embarrassed request, like she doesn’t like admitting to wanting anything.

“I bet the elves could manage that,” Felicity reassures her.

Jules’ cheeks turn a pleased, ruddy hue as she bites back a smile. Her skin is so fair and her hair so dark that it stands out brightly in contrast. She’s so very beautiful when she’s happy and Felicity finds herself taking a mental snapshot of the way she smiles at her toes. It’s such a rare moment to see that kind of unabashed joy on her little girl’s face and she’s going to savor it for all it’s worth.

A lot. It’s worth a lot.

Despite slowing her gait to lengthen the moment, they reach the doors to the playground soon enough and she can already see Digg playing with Sara, both of them making their way across the monkey bars. It’s ridiculous. Even with his legs bent, Digg’s knees nearly brush the ground.

“You’re gonna break that thing,” she shouts over to him. He lets go with one hand to wave at her.

“It’s okay,” he counters. “You’ll just buy the school a new one.”

She would, but she’d really rather not highlight exactly how much money she and Oliver have donated to inner city schools this past year. A lot. It’s a lot, even to them. She doesn’t regret it in the least, but it’s incredibly hard to stay anonymous.

“How’s it going, Jules?” Digg calls over.

“Fine,” Jules responds - back to her customary answer - as she starts towards the swings.

��Hold up, little miss,” Felicity announces, hands on her hips as Jules stops and looks at her expectantly. “Don’t I get a hug or anything?”

Jules smiles, shakes her head like she’s humoring her mother and runs back for a quick hug. Or, at least she means for it to be quick. But Felicity holds on tightly and kisses the top of the little girl’s head.

“Mom,” Jules laughs with a long-suffering sigh. Felicity lets her go and she scurries off toward the playground, calling out hello to Sara and tossing her bookbag onto the mulch-covered ground before climbing up onto a swing and pumping her legs.

“Have fun, Julie-bug,” Felicity calls out before checking her watch and looking to Digg. “Fifteen minutes?”

“Take your time,” Digg tells her, which is code for ‘we both know sometimes meetings about Jules run long.’ “We’ve got half an hour before my meeting.”

Felicity breathes a sigh of relief at that and blows Jules a kiss before turning and walking into the building. If someone had told her eight years ago how thoroughly intertwined her life would get with the handsome man who lied so terribly as he asked for her help and his quiet, hulking bodyguard, she’s pretty sure she’d have laughed in their face. But from parent-teacher conferences to infiltrating organized crime conferences, she, Digg and Oliver have each other’s backs in every possible way. Others have been added to the mix of Team Arrow since then, of course, chiefly Lyla and Roy, but the core of the team remains as solid and unchanged as ever. She’s so intensely grateful for that some days that it astounds her.

Making her way into Mr. Clarke’s classroom, she’s practically assaulted by a blinding splash of primary colors. It makes her eyes hurt and her head spin a bit, but she knows enough to brace for it by now. Kindergarten had been much the same. She’d expected that. What she hadn’t expected, however, is more than one teacher greeting her.

“Hi…” she says in a long, drawn out word as the two teachers stand and smile, gesturing for her to come in.

“Mrs. Queen, come in,” Mr. Clarke says.

“Felicity, please,” she corrects, as she does every single time. She will always be proud to be a Queen, to be Oliver’s wife, but if there’s one place she doesn’t want all the weight that comes with her last name, it’s here. In this space, she’s not a CEO, not the mayor’s daughter-in-law, she’s just Jules’ mother.

“Felicity,” he amends, but he still looks at her like he knows she’s the reason the computer labs have all new machines. “This is Mrs. Perrins. She’s our art teacher here. You may not have met her before.”

“No,” Felicity agrees, putting down her purse and shaking the woman’s hand. “It’s good to meet you. Jules was just telling me how much she enjoys art class.”

“Oh, no, it’s a pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Queen,” the art teacher says. Felicity bites back a sigh at the losing battle for the use of her first name. “Your daughter is an absolute delight.”

That has Felicity pausing mid-handshake. Jules is a whole lot of things and Felicity loves her little girl with her whole heart, but she’s not certain she’s ever had anyone refer to her as a ‘delight’ before.

“Thank you,” she manages, through her surprise.

“I wanted to be here at this meeting because I just had to ask you where you had her studying art,” Mrs. Perrins says.

Felicity’s thrown off kilter by this because... what? Her eyes shift from Mrs. Perrins to Mr. Clarke and back again. Both of them look at her expectantly and she fumbles as she responds with a fantastically ineloquent “What?” Her brain really hasn’t gotten beyond that word, yet.

“Her grasp is so far beyond the fundamentals,” Mrs. Perrins expands, flooring Felicity a bit more. “Obviously she’s in a position to be exposed to some tremendous art” - Felicity can practically feel her smile tighten in place because this woman is saying ‘you have money and I know it’ even if that’s not what she’s saying - “but her instruction has obviously been so very effective and I have one or two other students who might benefit from some extra art instruction outside of school. I’d like to recommend whomever her other teacher is.”

“That’s not…” Felicity starts, flustered and starting to feel a babble coming on. “There isn’t one. She takes dance and she went to daycare at my office, but she’s not… we’ve never had her in an art class. I haven’t even taken her to an art museum. Should I take her to an art museum? Is that a thing you do with six-year-olds?”

With the way Mrs. Perrins’ eyes bug out, you’d have thought Felicity had told her they were funding an effort to rebuild the school out of cheese or something.

“I beg your pardon?” the art teacher asks.

“She’s never been in an art class,” Felicity says again, looking between the two instructors. “She’s good?”

“Mrs. Queen…” Mrs. Perrins says, shaking her head a bit. “She’s a great deal more than ‘good.’”

“...Really?” Felicity asks, because this isn’t sinking in. Jules isn’t much for coloring. It’s usually been Ellie who’s presented them with scribbles for the fridge. If her daughter is some kind of art prodigy, isn’t that something she should have known?

“We’ve been studying a different artist every week,” Mrs Perrins tells her. “Discussing their styles and what makes them noteworthy. Then I have the children try to emulate their approach to art. Most of them can grasp use of shapes or color, to some extent. Jules is lightyears beyond them. She hones in on brush strokes and patterns and shading. And she can explain why she’s doing it! She is, by far, the most gifted art student I have ever taught.”

Felicity is pretty sure she looks a bit like a fish, standing there slack jawed and blinking at the teachers. What a wonderful impression she’s making.

“She’s six.” It’s the only thought that’s clear in her head.

“Imagine, with the right instruction and practice, what she’ll be like by sixteen,” Mrs. Perrins adds in astonishment. “I brought some examples of her best work, if you’d care to see?”

“God, yes, of course,” Felicity replies, flustered and suddenly desperate for this extra glimpse into her little girl’s life.

Admittedly, Felicity knows very little about art. It’s never been her interest, but her life these days means she’s attended enough charity events to be able to identify a few of the more well known artist’s works on sight. Mrs. Perrins narrates for her why each painting is exceptional, but Felicity tunes her out almost entirely.

She doesn’t need to hear that. She sees it.

Jules isn’t just good. She’s incredible.

She’s still young, of course, and that shows, too. But Felicity can look at these paintings and she can see which ones are modeled after Picasso, Degas, Monet, van Gogh, Klimt… When the teacher’s words register dimly, moments after they were spoken, she can see more details, too. The way Jules used shading here or blended her own colors there, the use of perspective and focal points, the technique. She seems to have grabbed the basics of so effortlessly.

“Jules did these?”

She probably interrupted the teacher, but she can’t even hear the words coming out of the other woman’s mouth. She’s just so astonished, so impressed.

“She did,” Mrs. Perrins nods, looking incredibly pleased. A surge of tremendous pride washes over Felicity as she looks back down at the piece in her hand, a self-portrait in the style of Frida Kahlo. “Mrs. Queen… I can’t overemphasize how incredible her work is for someone of her age. Her grasp of the basics is so very impressive. If she has the time, I’d like to work with her some after school a few days a week.”

Felicity’s nodding before she even realizes she’s doing it. “She has dance twice a week but if she wants to, I think that’s a great idea. She’s obviously doing well under your instruction and she likes working with you… I’ll e-mail you and we’ll work out the details.”

The rest of the meeting passes in a blur. They talk about other things, socialization being the biggest problem, which comes as no surprise at all. She’s doing well at math, but lags in reading. She doesn’t always follow the rules and often doesn’t finish her class assignments on time. But, Felicity knew all that and she finds herself staring at the pile of paintings in her hands more than listening to Mr. Clarke.

It takes a moment for her to realize he’s stopped talking and she looks up somewhat bashfully to find him smiling at her.

“I’m so sorry,” she scrambles, her cheeks burning in embarrassment. “I swear I care very, very much about all of Jules’ schooling, I just… I didn’t expect…”

“To be told your daughter is an exceptionally gifted art prodigy,” he finishes for her. “Yes, I imagine that would be something of a shock.”

“It’s just… she barely even colors at home,” Felicity says.

Mr. Clarke opens his mouth to say something but shuts it just as quickly with a soft sigh and a quiet smile. Felicity has the distinct feeling that he’s holding something back and she’s not about to let that stand.

“If you’re not saying something because I’m big bad Mrs. Queen, please, please don’t,” she near begs. “I swear I’m only scary in the boardroom… or occasionally with my mother-in-law. I’m just Jules’ mom and I promise that whatever you want to say, I want to hear it.”

He recalculates right in front of her eyes and for the first time since she stepped into his class, she finds she feels like she’s just another parent to him. Thank god.

“Jules is more reserved than most kids,” he tells her. “There’s nothing wrong with that, but she’s obviously not comfortable expressing herself. She’s a private person, even with you. She is in class, too. I’m not surprised to hear she loves art and dance, but I’m also not surprised that she doesn’t often share it. She’s the kind of person who craves approval, but hates to admit she wants it.”

Yes… that sounds very much like her little girl.

“I think she’d benefit a lot from hearing how impressed you are with her art. I think she needs to hear that a lot about any way she chooses to express herself,” he elaborates. “It doesn’t come easily to her.”

“Of course,” Felicity says, nodding hard in agreement as his words soak in. “Thank you. Sometimes it’s hard… she acts like she doesn’t care…”

“She does,” Mr. Clarke assures her. “I think your approval means more to her than anything else in the whole world. That’s why she’s so scared to ask for it.”

“But I’ve never…” Worry floods through her again for the millionth time. She knows, logically, that Jules can’t remember how bad her mother’s postpartum depression was after she’d been born. She can’t possibly recall how gutted Felicity had been to realize she’d been secretly hoping her daughter would be Ellie, just born earlier, and how very inadequate she felt in the face of motherhood, how much she’d believed Jules deserved someone better than her as a mom. Those first few months were so very hard, but that’s all it had been - a few months. Well before Jules had even been crawling, things improved dramatically.

Still… she can’t help but fear that her own initial distance from her daughter had created the foundation for her little girl’s often closed-off nature. “Has she said anything? Does she think I’m not proud of her? That she doesn’t have my approval?”

“No,” Mr. Clarke counters. “No, this isn’t you. It’s just part of who Jules is. She’s a wonderful little girl. Really, she is. And while she’s a bit behind in some areas of class, I have no doubt she’ll catch up. But she’s not someone who shows vulnerability easily. It scares her. And she needs your support and encouragement even when she acts like it doesn’t matter.”

A sense of resolve works its way through Felicity’s body and she finds herself standing, extending her free hand to the teacher and shaking firmly.

“Mr. Clarke… thank you.” She hopes there’s enough emphasis in her voice to convince him she means it. “I appreciate your candor very much. Now, I think we’ve gone over time and I’m sure you have another parent waiting outside… and I need to go remind my daughter how very proud of her I am.”

He nods approvingly. “I think that’s an excellent idea, Mrs. Queen.”

“Please, call me Felicity,” she asks again.

“Not likely to happen, Mrs. Queen,” he smiles.

She huffs and shakes her head as she walks out of the room. A mom she doesn’t recognize hovers outside the door - she was right, she’d been holding Mr. Clarke up from his next meeting - but she barely offers an apologetic glance. She’s too entranced by her little girl’s art for much more than that.

It’s beyond her. That’s the crazy thing. She looks at it and it’s pretty… she can see the effort, the emotion put into it, the dedication. But this is something she could never do, can scarcely even understand. Her idea of art is a string of beautifully written code.

Luckily, her feet know the way to the playground by heart and she winds up there without thinking about it. Pushing through the doors, she finally looks up from the art in her hand to glance around. It’s a gorgeous day, cold but clear. Sara’s found a pair of twin brothers to play with, the three of them kicking a ball around the field. Jules is playing hopscotch off to the side. Digg leans up against the wall next to the door, watching them both.

“Sorry, that got kind of long,” Felicity apologizes, wincing as he gives her an amused smile.

“Can’t say I’m surprised,” he replies dryly. “Everything okay?”

“Yeah…” Felicity responds, looking over at Jules, then down to the papers in her hand before meeting Digg’s eyes again. “Turns out my daughter’s a genius.”

“Well of course she is,” Digg grins broadly. “She’s your kid, Felicity.”

She bumps his shoulder good-naturedly with hers. He’s like a brick wall, though, and she sort of rebounds off of him and has to catch herself. He doesn’t even bother to try to hide his laugh at that.

Rude.

“I’ve got the girls,” she tells him. “Your meeting is in like thirty seconds or something, isn’t it?”

“More like five minutes, but you’re right. I should get going,” Digg agrees. “I’ll just go say goodbye to Sara. Be back in a bit.”

Felicity hums in agreement and gives a little wave as he walks off toward the field where his daughter’s playing. For her part, she’s drawn to Jules. The six year old bends down, scoops up the rock she’s been using for her game and stands back up, ready to toss it again when she spots her mother.

“Hi, Momma,” she says. “Are you all done with your meeting?”

She looks nervous, like she’s expecting to be told something’s wrong or she’s not good enough, and for the life of her Felicity can’t understand where this comes from with her little girl, but she wishes more than anything else in the world that she could make her more secure.

“All done,” Felicity replies, smiling back at the girl. “And do you know what I found out?”

“What?” Jules asks, wariness and tension taking over her tiny frame. God, she looks so much like Oliver sometimes. More like she remembers him back when they first met than he is now, but the likeness is uncanny, in spite of the fact that she physically looks a great deal more like her mother.

“That you… are a pretty awesome kid,” Felicity tells her glibly. “But, I told Mr. Clarke I already knew that.”

Jules raises both eyebrows and cocks her head to the side in a disbelieving look that’s pure Thea Queen shining through, but like when her Aunt Thea does it, Felicity can see the happiness beneath it.

“C’mere a second. Sit with me?” Felicity requests as she tilts her head toward a nearby park bench. Jules drops the rock and follows. She sits immediately by her mother’s side, but Felicity hauls the little girl up onto her lap instead. That’ll be a whole lot harder to do in the near future, but her pregnancy is nowhere near showing and Felicity is going to relish the presence of an actual lap while she still has one.

“I’m not a baby,” Jules protests, even as she leans into her mother more.

“Nonsense,” Felicity replies, wrapping an arm around Jules’ tiny body and kissing her soundly on the cheek with a loud pop. “You’re my baby.”

“Mom,” Jules half-groans, half-laughs, wiping at her cheek.

“It’s true,” Felicity tells her, glancing briefly toward Sara to make sure she’s still happily occupied. “And you know what else I found out about my baby today?”

“That she’s almost seven and too big for sitting on your lap at school?” Jules challenges.

So much sass with this girl, good lord. She can practically hear Oliver making his opinion known about which side of the family tree that came from. Frankly, he doesn’t give Thea enough credit in Felicity’s opinion. The Dearden genes are strong with both of their girls.

“No,” Felicity replies primly. “I definitely did not learn that yet.”

“Don’t you think you should?” Jules deadpans.

“Hush, you,” Felicity chastises lightly. “We’re having a moment here.”

“Fine, sorry,” Jules replies. It doesn’t escape Felicity in the least that her daughter is all talk. If anything, the little girl’s leaning more heavily against her and there’s absolutely no mistaking the happy pink glow to her cheeks. “Go on.”

“Thank you,” Felicity tells her. “So today, I learned that you are even more amazing than I thought you were.”

Jules snorts in disbelief.

“It’s true,” Felicity tells her.

“Okay, Momma,” Jules rolls her eyes.

“No, really,” Felicity insists. “So, check this out.” She holds up the art in her free hand and Jules’ whole demeanor changes. The good-natured, easy-going thing they’d had quickly shifts and her little girl is a bundle of anxiety and nerves. “You - my friend - are a really, really incredible budding artist.”

Jules gulps, bites her lip and scarcely glances up at her mother before her eyes drop back down to the paintings.

“It’s… it’s just painting,” she says after a moment.

And, oh, it’s painful how much this means to her. Felicity can see it all over her daughter’s face, but for whatever reason, the girl has such a hard time believing it when others see the best in her.

“Honey… this isn’t just art,” Felicity tells her. “At least, not to me.”

That catches Jules’ attention, probably because it shifts the focus off of her and she’s only ever comfortable being in the spotlight when it’s about something she doesn’t take seriously.

“What is it to you?” she ventures. Those big, ice-blue eyes of hers project every last thing she’s feeling and there’s no guessing how big this split second in time is for the two of them. Felicity knows to the depth of her soul that she needs to make this moment count, for both of them.

“It’s you,” she tells Jules. “That’s why it’s amazing, because you are. And that’s why I love it, because I love you.”

She pauses as she sees the cracks in Jules’ facade. There’s a tiny triumph that wells up inside her at the idea that this is actually getting through to her little girl, but she’s not done yet.

“I can see how hard you worked on these, how much focus and dedication you put into them,” Felicity tells her. “And it’s amazing. It’s better than I could do.”

“Momma…” Jules says in disbelief.

“It’s true,” Felicity tells her firmly. And she means it. Jules must recognize that because her face turns thoughtful again and those cracks in her demeanor start to widen into chasms. “Jules, you put so much of yourself in these paintings, into your dancing... It’s beautiful to see. I really love it. I think it’s brave.”

That perks Jules’ interest further. She looks like she’s weighing the truth of her mother’s words. Felicity can’t remember the last time Jules took anything at face value and it doesn’t surprise her that this is no different.

“Daddy’s brave,” she declares. “And Uncle Digg. This is just some paint.”

“There’s all kinds of bravery,” Felicity tells her, glancing around quickly to make sure no one else is nearby. “It isn’t always jumping off of rooftops. Sometimes bravery is just letting people see who you are on the inside. That’s what you did here. That’s what you do when you dance. And I love that about you, Jules. I love how much of yourself you give to your work, even when it’s hard, even when it’s scary. I think that’s something very special about you.”

Jules flushes at that and presses her cheek against her mother’s shoulder. It’s a cuddle. It’s an actual cuddle from her older daughter. Felicity sets the art down next to her on the bench and wraps both arms around her little girl, letting her eyes slip shut as she rests her cheek atop Jules’ head. She has never been a cuddler, never been much for open affection at all. Felicity can still remember the sinking feeling of disappointment when Jules had been three and advised her she really didn’t like doing the cocoon, that she’d rather fall asleep in her own bed ‘like a big girl.’

“She’s not Ellie, honey,” Oliver had told her softly after they’d bid Jules goodnight and headed back to their own bedroom.

And she’d known that. She had, but she’d also never been prepared for how different her daughters would be - she hadn’t understood - and her expectations had fallen flat more than once.

Ellie has always been so openly affectionate, so very loving. The difference in their demeanors has left Felicity wondering, in her darkest moments, if her older daughter even likes her at all.

But this… oh, this is different. This steals her breath and makes her want to hold on with everything she has.

“Thanks, Momma,” Jules mutters against her collarbone in an almost unheard voice that’s muffled by her coat. “Love you, too.”

Felicity’s throat clogs and tears well up in her eyes as her fingers sift through the girl’s silky straight dark hair. Without even thinking about it, she finds she’s rocking them slightly, the way Ellie had liked when she was just a baby, but had so rarely soothed Jules. The little girl - and she is still a little girl, though she tries to act so big and so strong - tucks her legs up, her whole body finding the security and warmth of her mother’s lap, and her fingers curl into the edge of Felicity’s coat, like she’s holding on because she wants to.

It would be impossible for Felicity to be more grateful that she’d taken the afternoon off of work for a parent-teacher conference.

But the moment ends - as moments do - when Jules pulls back and offers up the softest smile imaginable. It feels like the most fragile and tentative of bonds forms right there and Felicity wants to grab onto it with both hands and handle it as gently as possible for fear of destroying it.

“I’m glad you like it,” Jules tells her. “If I draw some with the chalk… would you maybe want to see it?”

“Absolutely,” Felicity tells her emphatically without even thinking about it. Something lights up in Jules’ eyes at both the speed and decisiveness of her answer. “I’d love to.”

“Okay,” Jules says, sliding off of her mother’s lap and smiling before running over to grab some chalk and sitting cross-legged with an intense look of concentration on her beautiful little face.

She could watch this forever, Felicity realizes. She could soak in this brilliant, quietly happy look lighting up her little girl’s eyes for the rest of her life and be so very happy about it.

It’s so entrancing, so absolutely captivating that she doesn’t even register Digg’s back until his hand sets down on her shoulder. She jolts, looks up at him in surprise and wipes just beneath her eye with the back of her hand. It comes back dry, but she knows that’s just timing. A few moments ago, it wouldn’t have.

“Everything good?” Digg asks, concern plays out across his face as he takes in the sight of no doubt red-rimmed eyes.

Her eyes dart back to her daughter and Jules shoots her an honest to god smile. Felicity finds herself grinning back in return.

“No, actually,” she replies, looking up to Digg. “Everything’s absolutely perfect.”

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