#vague post season nine noises... | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

borisbubbles · 4 years ago

Text

17. CZECH REPUBLIC

Benny Christo - “Kemama”

youtube

So first off, thank you for the nice commens. 😇The past few months haven’t been the happiest time for me, so thank you for your patience as I scraped my bearings together for another post! 😁

So I will now extend that same sympathy to Benny Christo, whom I think I damn fucking underrated. Let’s jump in~

ENTRY ANALYSIS

As one may expect i INSTANTLY liked “Kemama” because you know, it’s a fun, laid-back, tropical afro-breeze, completely different from anything else we would see in NFs and the year. EXACTLY the type of song I was hoping the Czech NF would deliver (and deliver they did, see NF Corner). This level of mild like swung into strong unironic like upon realizing that the title is a contraction of “Okay Mother” 😍 and the song deals with the subject of overcoming racially-tinged discrimination and rising above the hate. That just feels very poetic and apt? “Kemama” felt like the entry that had to overcome the highest odds in order to earn the respect it so fully deserves, and still hasn’t fully reached it.

.In our Western European bubble, comprised mostly of gays and left-liberal straights, we have a very grateful and universal acceptance of many different kinds of [lizard] people that make up Eurovision casts. Yet with “Kemama” we may have reached an unusually grimy undercurrent of coded racism.

Of course nothing I read was outrageously rancid, than Cod for that. The worst statement I read was a double-whammy of “EWW THIS ISN’T CARIBBEANVISION” and “WHY WOULD SOMEONE FROM *KENYA* WANT TO REP CZECHIA IN EUROVISION?”, and yes they first got the continent wrong and then *also* got the country wrong in the follow-up post and then they were torn limb from limb by a pack of aformentioned left-liberals. I’m sorry but i can’t not have any other response than laughter in the face of yet another fucking MORON faceplanting themselves with words like a... racist JK Rowling if you will?

Still, while I never read something outright vile about Benny doesn’t mean I found his deniers really annoying and they were! Think “Ew Solovey is ‘Too Aggressive’ it will NEVER DO WELL IN ESC”, a statement that isn’t coded nor racist (and yet extremely false and misguided), functioned as a similar idea by the same minds. A statement borne from the same breed of narrow-minded stubbornness which has caused elitist morons to be all “there is **SOMETHING** about “Kemama” i do *NOT* like and I cannot lay my finger on it... but I **DO NOT** like it at ALL. It won’t ever qualify because everyone will think the same way I do” -- Eurovision snobs, tiptoeing around racial coda in January 2020.

They would also insist that Benny was “arrogant” because he was seemingly impervious to their (de)constructive criticism. Like, if you were a biracial butterfly living in a slavic country who had to deal with statements such as the above on a regular basis, you WOULD block out the noise. And if you heard them often enough you will start to block them out pre-emptively. DO YOU NOT KNOW HOW COPING MECHANISMS WORK?? (oh wait you’re white-privileged. Nevermind 🙄)

So naturally, when Benny decided that he would revamp “Okay Mother” by adding in MORE African elements it only made me love him even more lol. 😍 Was it a bull-headed, contrarian and possibly really stupid decision? Yes, yes and absolutely yes. Was it worth it? Well he managed to incite even more meltdowns in a group of people I feel nothing but contempt for, so hell yeah? Eurovision was cancelled anyway so who cares how much ‘worse’ “Kemama” actually got.

Okay, so we’ve arrived at the revamp.

Granted, it wasn’t the best ‘vamp, I’d be a fool to deny it. The new elements threw a wrench in the melodic balance of the song. Out went tropical laid-back fun, IN went that fucking guitar oh my god this is some Hotel FM piano levels of overbearing I swear. (nb: this still didn’t stop me from ironically stanning Hotel FM’s lame asses anyway 😍). However, it made the personal backstory that I loved and savoured take a backseat to the now inferior composition. 😭

Regardless, New Kemama was fundamentally the same song, and I fundamentally liked Old Kemama, so whatevs, it made no different to me. In the eyes of many Eurovision diehards we were experiencing WORST PRESHOW SEASON EVER (after three songs... lol) and nothing clinches this brainworm more than a revamp announcement. “OH MY GOD HE WILL RUIN IT! I CAN GUARANTEE YOU I *WON’T* LIKE IT”. Self-fulfilling prophecies, ya know? It certainly didn’t help when the official channel accidentally uploaded a vid with broken soundmixing (‘OMG HORRIBLE LAST IN THE SEMI!!!!’ calm the ever-loving HELL down) and took another FULL WEEK to upload the correct vid. The damage had already been done. Typing "SEE I TOLD YOU THE REVAMP WOULD BE SHITE HA HA HA” in the Kemama comment box really just is the ESC equivalent of reponding with “Actually, *all* lives matter :smug:” to a BLM support pamphlet, isn’t it?

NF CORNER

While not my favourite NF of the bunch, I found the Czech NF to be lowkey epic. Not epic enough to remember its name but regardless Czechvision or whatever marked the end of an era because it was also the last selection spearheaded by Jan Bors :o

I think I’ve made it clear enough in the past that I’m somewhat mixed on Bors Era Czechia - Lake Malawi were a toetapping good, Ickolas was a pockmarked, skin-crawling evil and the other three inhibit a purgatory somewhere between “moderately nice” and “moderate timewaste.”

Still, I have great respect for the man who orchestrated Czech’s comeback after scoring NINE POINTS TOTAL across three years with the mindset of “So what? Why says we can’t win?” so ofc I was all into the idea of the “EIGHT INDIE ANGELS, HAND-PICKED BY BORS HIMSELF” NF that would serve as his swan song.

Naturally things went down the drain the second Bors left, with one of the eight peacing and his successor cancelling the live broadcast (does anyone remember what exactly happened? I vaguely recall one was the cause of the other but lol it’s July can’t be bothered to factscheck (Factsczeck?) anymore, bitches.

Anyway, ON TO THE GOOD STUFF, and yes, there was plenty.

We All Poop - “ All the Blood (Positive Song Actually)”

youtube

Yes, as you can imagine I ofc IMMEDIATELY fell into like when I saw that chyron and invisioned the inevitability of the Czech Rep’s Rep immediately alienating every parent just based on their name alone <3 😍 w/e WAP quickly became that “Good but not great” song you find in every NF that everyone gushes over because it’s the whitest option available. Like, yes, “All the blood” is good, but musically it’s identical to Green Day and Twenty-One Pilots and god name ANY 90s-early00′s American Punk Rock band. For me the enjoyment came from the fact that WAP were openly crazy vegan fundamentalists and the VC clip actively condemns the use ANY animal protein by replacing the cattle and game with LITERAL HUMAN BEINGS. 😍 :fusedmarcintensifies: :kasiamosage:

Pam Rabbit - “Get up”

youtube

Ohhhh YES a glorious experimental Synth-Trap song only I could love and ofc I did. God what is there even to say; the provocative darkness of the verses combined with the swirling amorphousness of the chorus gives me LIFE. LUFF THIS SHIT <3333 Ftr, this was also the fave of Slovene Juror duo / synth angels / Boris faves ZALAGASPER, further proving their pathetic naysayers that they own all things music and the haters can suck a series of-

Barbora Mochowa - “White and Black Holes“

youtube

Lol, yes even with a “Get up” existing, there was a song I liked even more. Barbora proved a very competent Lana del Gay last year, but I was a YUGE fan of this year’s... Kate Bush-Björk blend of ethereal awesome. It is so soothingly beautiful and the rare example of a song that I find completely free of flaws. Were the competition not such a hard place, I’d be pissed she didnt win (at least she won the jury vote MASSIVE KUDOS to every alum on that) but w/e this selection had opions and I’m rather robbed of a “Kemama” than I am of a BRILLIANT IRREPLICABLE AETHERBALLAD. ~Danse balance sûr les white and black holes~

Elis Mraz & Cis T - “Wanna be like”

youtube

I *VERY* strongly felt that if the Czech Republic wanted to win ESC, they should have picked Elis and even now I STILL believe she could have won. That isn’t to say I gushed over “Wanna be like” because I find it kind of annoying lol. Yes, I LOVE an annoying female voice (:Tones&Icackle:) but Elis’s reaches a Camilla Cabello sort of place for me (good lord get Senorita OFF the fucking radio) and the Scat + White Guy Rapping middle-eight. 😬. However, the second I opened up the video clip for this paragraph and was immediately BLASTED by Elis murdering a ukelele and wearing a “schoolgirl” outfit straight from a Japanese tentacle porn movie and OH MY GOD THE AGGRESSIVE TWERKING made me reconsider that hey, this min-sized Meghan Traynor actually kinda highkey owns, yo! Yet, I’m not at all bothered we lost her in the Czech NF because we got UNO DOS QUATRO CINCO SEIS :fatmansplit: fill up the megameme slot instead, so...

Eurovision 2020 vs Eurovision 2021

BENNY RUINED HIS SONG AND NEVER WOULD HAVE QUALIFIED. jk I’m not a moron. Sure, “Kemama” wasn’t an easy sell because you know AFROBEAT in a contest where half of the people watching are fash (ie: all of Eastern Europe, who watch out of ~Nationalistic Sentiment~ 😬), but there are Kemama live renditions out there and he owns them SO hard lol. A few soundmixing issues really would not have stopped Benny from qualifying in that RIDICULOUSLY WEAKSAUCE SEMIFINAL are you fucking kidding me. He probably would’ve bombed in the Grand Final, but I mean it’s Czech and it’s not Ickolas so ofc it would have.

And Czech renewed him for 2021 regardless of the sceptics, woohoo! I think part of it was due the Czech not wanting to re-organize an ENTIRE NF from scratch without Jan Bors, but probably also because Benny owns live when he isn’t engaged in psychological trench warfare with actual human detritus <3 and also because the Czech fucking CARE about their artists and don’t drop them like a sack of rotten potatoes wtfshitprus.

Can’t wait for the moment when he qualifies and Efendi does not, etc, etc.

FREAKY! FRIDAY! FACTOR!

I’d say that the core around which the Ben Drama spun was pretty standard fare: niche fave beats out the concensus fave, meltdowns ensue, people convince themselves it was the WRONG decision because it wasn the result they wanted, try to disown the song and make a fool of themselves because the song slaps, sorry. Even the revamp drama felt more of less generic for me, because yawn fantards melting down over a revamp of a song they don’t even like what else is new.

However, what I do take away that the revamp was ENTIRELY Benny’s idea which he told no one about (cue to JAN BORS having a social media meltdown like he’s Caesar at the Ides of March 💔) added MORE afrobeat just to troll his haters even more <3 God, I’d say it was bad from a musical perspective but this level of in-your-face defiance is fucking iconic and hilarious, sorry. This entire this year is so batshit bonkers that the concept of a someone potentially shooting themselves in the foot and “torpedo’ing” their qualification chances (not rly, he would’ve Q’d anyway lol) JUST to take the moral high ground in a racially coded argument only HE took seriously may not even be the craziest concept in the year! (lol it definitely isn’t. Look at the pics I haven’t greyed out yet)

This and more yield Benny some well-earned Senheads! Yay!!

Score: 3 Senhits out of 5.

#Eurovision #Eurovision 2020 #Eurovision Song Contest #Czech Republic #Czechia #Bohemia #Ben Christovão #Benny Christo

27 notes · View notes

amwritesitall · 4 years ago

Text

Sarah’s AHS Characters (+Alice and a Ship) as Songs I’m Vibing With

Masterlist

Instead of a collection of songs from one artist these are songs I’m currently vibing with? Here’s the playlist if you wanna listen (warning it fluctuates a lot because it’s just songs a vibe with at the moment). I skipped the songs I used in artist posts.

Billie Dean Howard

“24 / 7/ 365″ by Surfaces

Met, this girl down by the vine Had long tan legs and big brown eyes Seemed the type I would wanna make mine

She said nine to five, I'm killing time But twenty-four-seven, three-six-five I have to be where I feel your sunshine

One to two-step, three-step, four She's everywhere out on the dance floor She's everything you could ever want and more

Picture it. Billie Dean is at some event. She spies a girl who’s mesmerizing, killing it on the dance floor. Realizing this girl is absolutely the person she wants to be with. The line “I have to be where I feel your sunshine”!! Big Billie Dean vibes right there. In the darkness that her job sometimes entails, she’s drawn to the light of her lover. A ray of sunshine if you will.

“Heaven Falls / Fall on Me” by Surfaces

Woke up early in the mornin' Just to feel the light of day Had to open up my window Get the shadows out my way Banana pancakes for my problems Find me jamming old Jack Johnson Swear I heard them angel calls Lay outside

As Heaven falls Heaven falls

If you can’t tell, Surfaces really makes me think of Billie Dean. This goes with my explanation for the other song. Billie’s job gets pretty dark and intense. Although she never completely gets a break from her job (because she can’t just turn off being a medium) she tries to use her time away from filming and darker locations to focus on the lighter aspects of life, savoring all around her and her lover. I have no idea if what I said makes sense though.

Lana Winters

“Let’s Fall in Love for the Night” by FINNEAS

Let's fall in love for the night And forget in the mornin' Play me a song that you like You can bet I'll know every line I'm the boy that your boy hoped that you would avoid Don't waste your eyes on jealous guys, fuck that noise I know better than to call you mine

This song gives me Lana vibes in the sense that she doesn’t really want to get too attached to people. This also makes me think of how Lana is the type of lover that someone’s conservative/strict family wouldn’t want them with (because of the gay). When you go this route, it’s hard for me not to picture teenage Lana when listening to this.

Fun fact: I have a vague idea for writing a Billie Dean Howard x Reader imagine over this song.

“me & ur ghost” by blackbear

I'm not alone It's just me and your ghost And this cripplin' depression I thought I learned my lesson But, I threw out my phone And I burned all your clothes And now I'm not alone It's just me and your ghost

Now hear me out. Post break up Lana dealing with all of her memories of her ex and then burning all of their shit because Lana is lowkey that bitch. It’s a bit of a stretch, but that’s just my humble opinion on the matter.

Cordelia Goode

“If We Were Vampires” by Jason Isbell and the 400 Unit

It's not the long, flowing dress that you're in Or the light coming off of your skin The fragile heart you protected for so long Or the mercy in your sense of right and wrong It's not your hands searching slow in the dark Or your nails leaving love's watermark It's not the way you talk me off the roof Your questions like directions to the truth

It's knowing that this can't go on forever Likely one of us will have to spend some days alone Maybe we'll get forty years together But one day I'll be gone Or one day you'll be gone

Cordelia knows that one day she will die. There will be another Supreme after her and she can’t live forever. This is her coming to terms with the fact that maybe it’s for the best that she won’t stay around forever. Not being immortal allows her to live in the moment and savor all the time she has.

“PlantedInMyMind.Memo” by Charlie Burg

Saying things I don't believe And your love casts it's shadow on the things I do And I can hear so clearly all the words I'd wish I'd said You're stuck in my head But I only think of you Will we be together soon? I'm thrown on the wayside You're planted in my mind But I don't wanna be ok without you

This makes me think of an angsty Cordelia relationship like post “In Another Lifetime”?!?! Cordelia being stuck on her lover from the past

Also makes me think of Cordelia x Misty after the events of season 3

Bette and Dot Tattler

“prom dress” by mxmtoon

I can't help the fact I like to be alone It might sound kinda sad, but that's just what I seem to know I tend to handle things usually by myself And I can't ever seem to try and ask for help

I'm sitting here, crying in my prom dress I'd be the prom queen if crying was a contest Makeup is running down, feelings are all around How did I get here? I need to know

I guess I maybe had a couple expectations Thought I'd get to them, but no I didn't

I’m not going to lie, this is a bit of a stretch.

I’m kind of getting Bette and Dot wishing they could be like everyone else. They just want that normal teen experience?

Sally McKenna

“Teeth” by 5 Seconds of Summer

Call me in the morning to apologize Every little lie gives me butterflies Something in the way you're looking through my eyes Don't know if I'm gonna make it out alive

Fight so dirty, but your love's so sweet Talk so pretty, but your heart got teeth Late night devil, put your hands on me And never, never, never ever let go

The angst! The tension! The passion! SPICY TIMES WITH SALLY

“fuck, i’m lonely” by Lauv, Anne-Marie

I call you one time, two time, three time I can't wait no more Your fingers through my hair, that's on my mind I know it's been a minute since you walked right through that door But I still think about you all the time

Sally just wants love. She’s sick of being lonely and wants to be with the person she loves. Being a ghost sucks and she wants out of that damn hotel.

Dealing with her ex that is still alive while she’s not.

Audrey Tindall

“Prom Queen” by Beach Bunny

Shut up, count your calories I never looked good in mom jeans Wish I, was like you, blue-eyed blondie, perfect body Maybe I should try harder You should lower your expectations I'm no quick-curl barbie I was never cut out for Prom Queen If I get more pretty, do you think he will like me?

Teen Audrey. I will stand by this.

Now I’m thinking about teen Audrey and my heart :(

Ally Mayfair Richards

“I Needed You” by blackbear

When I needed you the most, I needed you I fucking needed you the most, I needed you, the most Now I won't be there to give you what you need Now I won't be there, no

You know this was never really about us And everything was always 'bout you You never knew a thing about trust And I knew everything about you, what's happening Three whole years, they can go by In a blink of an eye, and you won't know it, but What a damn waste of time

You can’t sit there and tell me this doesn’t sound like Ally dealing with Ivy’s betrayal. No. There is no way this song doesn’t give off those vibes. Like sis was dealing with a ton of shit and where was her wife??? Off gallivanting and murdering with a cult because she voted for Jill Stein.

Wilhemina Venable

“Lovesong (The Way) [feat. Bluets]” by Charlie Burg

Now you're away with nothing to say My heart aches like never before Filled with desire, you've inspired me to write another verse

I think we're alone now You can tell me it was all just a game Yes, we're alone now But the feeling's slightly changed

But you take your time, my love Don't ever tell me that it just takes time to love As long as I'm writing this song about my love for you Is it too much to ask For a reply? Or a text? Or a way to tell you love me like before

I don’t knooowww. This just makes me think of Mina trying to deal with her feelings and possibly her significant other kind of giving up because they feel like Mina will never reciprocate their feelings. Mina does love them but it’s hard for her to express it.

“Someday” by Peach Tree Rascals

I hate the fact that you Run on mind, all damn day There she goes

Girl won't you wait for me

I settled down, I'm better now I never knew what this life was about Days got too plain, colors got dull All of the roses fell on to the floor I'll pick them up, wipe the dust Need a chance for your love For your love, for your love, ooooh I've been floating between oceans And the darkness in the sky I've been lonesome in this old shed And it's burnin through my mind

Similar to the song above, Mina hates the fact that she’s stuck on this person, but she eventually realizes that she needs this person in her life. This love really out here making her appreciate life and all the good things in it.

Basically Mina is turning into a softie.

Alice Macray

“Mariposa” by Peach Tree Rascals

I can't wait for you To come my way I've been far away But I'll keep runnin' Just to find a way to you til' then

I been running from it Tired of running from it Scared of feeling something now I'm stuck and tryna get up out of this hole

Surface level this song has some good vibes like our baby Alice. Over analyzing level is not as good vibes. This song is kind of like our baby Alice running from her feelings for someone because the thought of such strong feelings is scary for her.

Billie Dean Howard x Audrey Tindall

“Channel Orange in Your Living Room” by Charlie Burg

We met when I was drunk That party didn't actually suck You made fun of how slow I drank

But now I can't stop thinking about you Each moment passes and my thoughts return to you And the memory of us too As we listen to Channel Orange in your living room

Even when you're away That album makes me feel like you stayed To listen now would make me a fool again for you

Without a doubt, I always think of these two when I listen to the song and that’s one of the reasons why I love it so much. I’m just picturing the two of them meeting a party together and Billie taking Audrey back to her place. Then they end up thinking of each other long after the night is over.

You might like: Sarah Paulson AHS Characters as Hozier Songs or Sarah Paulson AHS Characters as Rex Orange County Songs

32 notes · View notes

aion-rsa · 4 years ago

Text

Star Trek: Lower Decks Episode 6 Easter Eggs & References

https://ift.tt/eA8V8J

This STAR TREK: LOWER DECKS review contains spoilers.

Trying to catch all the references and Easter eggs in any given episode of Star Trek: Lower Decks is a little like trying to count all the times Spock does anything with his eyebrows in The Original Series. It’s possible, but even when you think you’ve spotted everything, the second you blink, he raises his eyebrow again.

In the sixth episode of Lower Decks, there aren’t any references to Spock raising his eyebrow, but there are plenty of eyebrow-raising Easter eggs. Here’s everything we spotted, from holodeck characters to retro-23rd century designs, and one shout-out to the greatest helmsman in Starfleet history.

Ambient Warp Drive Noises Are the Best White Noise

For years, Trekkie superfans have pointed out that the soothing, ambient noise of the Enterprise-D is a sonic genre of white noise in it of itself. Several white noise simulators exist online to help you recreate this noise, while a few fans have tried to create devoted YouTube channels to the various different “ship sounds.” The person who designed all these sounds, and recorded them (often using heavily modulated freezer sound recordings) was Jim Wolvington. From TNG through Enterprise, nearly all ‘90s sound design was overseen or created by Wolvington. In this Lower Decks scene, the gang tries to create the sounds of the Enterprise-D and Voyager.

How the Lower Deck-ers would know what Voyager sounds like at warp is somewhat questionable, considering the ship was missing in the Delta Quadrant for most of their careers. Maybe they visited one of Barclay’s holographic reconstructions?

An Antares-type ship from TOS

The ancient Starfleet wreckage in this episode features a ship with the registry NCC-502. In the TOS episode “Charlie X,” the ship Antares was retroactively given the registry number NCC-501. This designation and starship design is also based on ships seen in The Animated Series episode “More Tribbles, More Troubles.”

Sonic showers

Lower Decks makes its second joke about the fact that most people on Starfleet ships probably use waterless “sonic showers.” The sonic showers were first glimpsed in Star Trek: The Motion Picture, but we’ve almost never seen anyone use them. Because water can apparently be replicated, we’ll never really know why 24th Century starships still used the sonic kind. Either way, Dr. T’’ana has a point, using sound vibrations to get cheese out of fur sounds like a drag.

Boimler has something in common with Jean-Luc Picard

When Fletcher and Boimler joke about their Academy days, we learn that Nassicans tried to eat Boimler’s heart at one point. This references the TNG episode “Tapestry,” in which Nassicans stabbed Jean-Luc Picard through the heart, right after he’d graduated from Starfleet Academy.

TOS communicators

Tendi references the classic era of TOS when she says that among the old Starfleet wreckage, she hopes to find “ the original communicators, you know the clamshell design?” When Dax traveled back in time to the 23rd Century in “Trials and Tribble-ations,” she talked about an old tricorder having “classic, 23rd Century design.” Even in Star Trek, people are fans of the design aesthetic of TOS.

Wy can’t they just beam all the wreckage?

Because there’s so much space junk to clean-up, Tendi wonders why they can’t just beam-up the debris using the cargo transporter. In TNG, we saw the cargo transporter in episodes like “Datalore,” but we rarely saw it used in a salvage operation. Rutherford tells her “that stuff’s too massive” to be beamed by the cargo transporter, which could answer a very old fan question: Why can’t starships beam other starships to other locations? Apparently, size is an issue.

All your favorite holodeck parties

Before taking Tendi to the holodeck, Rutherford points out that the Holodeck is not just for fun, and then lists a bunch of ways people have used the Holodeck for fun. As he says, “The Holodeck is not just for hanging with..” and then Rutherford drops a litany of characters who have appeared in Trek, occasionally on the holodeck, but not always. Here’s the list of characters and which episode they appeared.

Sherlock Holmes: Data played Sherlock Holmes in the TNG holodeck episodes “Elementary My Dear Data,” and “Ship in a Bottle.” A holographic version of Sherlock Holmes was never seen in these episodes.

Robin Hood: This seems to reference the TNG episode “Q-Pid” in which Picard is put into the guise of Robin Hood by “Q.” This was a weird alternate dimension simulation, but it wasn’t on the holodeck.

Sigmund Freud: In the TNG episode “Phantasms,” Data took advice from a holographic version of Simgun Freud.

Cyrano De Bergerac: Cyrano De Bergerac does not appear as a holodeck character in Star Trek, however, holodeck addict Reginald Barclay was playing the role of Cyrano for one of Beverly Crusher’s theatrical productions in the episode “The Nth Degree.” In that episode, Barclay later merged his brain with the ship’s computer, which, of course, led to him becoming terrible. The larger plot of “Terminal Provocations,” at least for Fletcher, is pretty much the same.

Einstein and Stephen Hawking: Data played poker with holographic versions of Einstein, Stephen Hawking, and Isaac Newton in the TNG episode “Descent Part 1.” Stephen Hawking played himself.

Leonardo da Vinci: On Voyager, Janeway frequently hung out in a holographic reconstruction of DaVinci’s workshop. The Voyager hologram of Leonardo da Vinci was played by John Rhys-Davies.

Socrates: The Greek philosopher Socrates was also mentioned in the episode “The Nth Degree,” mostly because Cyrano claims to have met him. But, in the Voyager episode “The Darkling,” the holographic doctor created a hologram version of Socrates who played Kal-toh (or Vulcan chess) against the Vulcan T’Pau. We most recently saw a Kal-toh game set in the season finale of Star Trek: Picard.

Delta Shift

It’s been previously established that the USS Cerritos seems to be on a four-shift duty rotation. This was an idea first introduced in “Chain of Command,” where Captain Jellico temporarily ordered the USS Enterprise on a four-shift rotation instead of three. Delta Shift is, presumably, the night shift.

Holodeck safeties

When Tendi and Rutherford enter the training program, the shipwide failures cause the holodeck safeties to be disabled. This concept goes back to the first season of TNG, in which the holodeck safeties were disabled in the episode “The Big Goodbye.” Arguably, even before that though, in the episode “11001001” an upgraded holodeck was used as a trap to lure Captain Picard and Commander Riker away from the bridge.

Load Bajorian Marketplace

Tendi and Rutherford are briefly in a holodeck recreation of a Bajoran marketplace on the planet Bajor. Though it’s not clear which province or city they’re in, it’s definitely not one of the bigger cities. Despite the fact that the space station Deep Space Nine was originally in orbit of Bajor, we didn’t get down to the planet all that much.

Evasive pattern Sulu alpha

When the Cerritos is in trouble, it’s time for some evasive maneuvers. Naturally, saying “Evasive pattern Sulu alpha,” references the flight controller (or helmsman) of the USS Enterprise NCC-1701, Hikaru Sulu.

Fletcher hooking his brain up to the computer

If it’s not obvious by now, the plot of “Terminal Provocations” is mostly lifted from “The Nth Degree,” insofar as Fletcher hooking his brain into a computer is similar to what Barcarly did in TNG. That said, aspects of the AI monster in this episode are vaguely reminiscent of other rogue AI hybrids, including Nomad from the TOS episode “The Changeling,” and naturally, V’Ger from Star Trek: The Motion Picture.

Transfer to the Titan

Fletcher is sent to the USS Titan at the end of this episode. This means the person who “fired” him from his job is almost certainly Captain William T. Riker. In 2280, Riker has been the captain of the Titan for probably less than a year. We know Will and Deanna went to the Titan after Star Trek: Nemesis but we never actually saw what they did there. It’s also a good bet, that at this point in time, Riker is an expectant father.

Considering that Ron Docent’s secret password in the previous Lower Decks episode was “Riker,” it feels very possible that we could be getting a Number One cameo very soon. Or, at least, we can hope!

cnx.cmd.push(function() { cnx({ playerId: "106e33c0-3911-473c-b599-b1426db57530", }).render("0270c398a82f44f49c23c16122516796"); });

Star Trek: Lower Decks airs new episodes on Thursdays on CBS All Access.

The post Star Trek: Lower Decks Episode 6 Easter Eggs & References appeared first on Den of Geek.

from Den of Geek https://ift.tt/3m7nfrh

#aion-rsa #Den of Geek

2 notes · View notes

welllpthisishappening · 7 years ago

Text

Tripping Over the Blue Line (30/45)

It’s a transition. That’s what Emma’s calling it. She’s transitioning from one team to another, from one coast to another and she’s definitely not worried. Nope. She’s fine. Really. She’s promised Mary Margaret ten times already. So she got fired. Whatever. She’s fine, ready to settle into life with the New York Rangers. She’s got a job to do. And she doesn’t care about Killian Jones, captain of the New York Rangers. At all.

He’s done. One more season and he’s a free agent and he’s out. It’s win or nothing for Killian. He’s going to win a Stanley Cup and then he’s going to stop being the face of the franchise and he’s going to go play for some other garbage team where his name won’t be used as puns in New York Post headlines. That’s the plan. And Emma Swan, director of New York Rangers community relations isn’t going to change that. At all.

They are both horrible liars.

Rating: Mature Content Warnings: Swearing, eventual hockey-type violence AN: Casino Night. Caaaaasino Night. Casino Night emotions! I cannot quite believe there are thirty chapters of this story on the internet or that you guys keep clicking on this, but I am so grateful for both. Y’all are the best. As are @laurnorder, @distant-rose & @beautiful-swan who made this better. Living on Ao3, FF.net & tag’ed up on Tumblr.

She was mumbling.

Or talking to herself.

Definitely talking to herself and that was kind of depressing and just a bit alarming because everything was going to be fine. Mary Margaret had promised it would be and Emma believed Mary Margaret by default. Ruby had promised too and Merida as well and Emma should probably trust Merida the most because she’d been charged with keeping track of the schedule that night and making sure she didn’t have some sort of Casino Night mental breakdown in the back corner of Gotham Hall.

God, this place was enormous.

Emma knew that going in. She knew that when the season started and they told her Casino Night was hers in some sort of professional-possession type of way, but now it didn’t just look enormous, it felt enormous – even chock full of those tables they’d gotten out of storage a few days before and there were fans filing in through the enormous doors with comically large handles and the team was supposed to start getting there in a few minutes, a string of town car arrivals that were listed, in order, on that schedule Merida was carrying around.

“It’s fine,” Emma muttered, leaning against the wall in the far corner of the main room, tugging on the laces around her wrist out of habit. “It’s all going to be fine.” “Are you having some sort of episode?” Ruby asked and Emma jumped when when she met her gaze. “Uh oh, you’re totally talking to yourself, aren’t you?”

“I’m fine.” Ruby twisted her eyebrows and even crossed her arm, tapping the toe of one of her undoubtedly expensive shoes. “Yuh uh,” she said, sounding as unconvinced as Emma felt. “You know if you keep using that word, it’s going to lose some of its meaning.” Emma groaned, resisting the urge to sink down the wall she was leaning on until she’d crumpled up into some sort of incredibly unprofessional heap in the corner of this absolutely enormous building.

And Ruby was totally right – she’d used fine so many times in the last two weeks that Emma wasn’t convinced it was actually a word anymore, just an idea she’d come up with as some sort of coping device.

She mumbled under her breath again, sighing softly when her phone buzzed in her hand and Mulan wanted to know if she should be outside waiting for team arrivals or taking pictures of fans and Emma didn’t really want to answer.

She wanted to go home. She just wasn’t really sure where that was – and that might have been even more concerning than the madness she was quite obviously falling into if she kept talking to herself.

She missed the idea of a home and the feeling she’d gotten whenever she’d walked through the door of that apartment on Amsterdam Ave, far too big for just one person, but maybe just big enough for two. She’d lost control of her thoughts.

Fine, it seemed, was a much bigger lie than Emma had even realized it was.

She missed the pillows.

Emma missed Killian. And that was the first time she’d actually allowed herself to think that. She was actually going to slide down the wall.

Ruby was still staring at her, eyes narrowing just a bit when Emma’s thumb tugged on the laces that didn’t match her very fancy, very expensive dress covered in theme-appropriate fringe. Emma sighed again, answering Mulan – because she was a goddamn professional and the guys weren’t supposed to start getting there for another fifteen minutes, at least.

She had fifteen minutes to organize her entire life.

“So,” Ruby said slowly, moving next to Emma to brush her shoulder against her. “On a scale of one to ten how not fine is fine?” “Did those words make sense in that order?” Emma asked.

“The fact that you have to actually ask me that leads me to believe you’re sitting somewhere around one on the fine list.” “I have no idea what you’re saying to me.” “Sure,” Ruby said sarcastically, dragging four letters out until they sounded like the entire Gettysburg Address. “You know I talked to him.” “Jeez, Rubes I can’t do this right now.” Ruby eyed her skeptically, those stupid eyebrows doing something completely stupid again, and Emma groaned loudly, not even caring about the growing crowd of fans and season tickets just a few feet away.

“When exactly would you like to do it?” Ruby asked.

“Not during the biggest charity event this team does every year,” Emma answered and her phone was vibrating again. Mary Margaret and David were there.

“I thought that was your game.” “Oh my God.” “I talked to Regina too,” Ruby continued, seemingly unimpressed with any of the noises Emma was making in protest of this conversation.

“I don’t care.” Emma was getting very good at lying – or at least she thought she was until Ruby actually laughed in her face, a loud, obnoxious sound that probably shook some of the paint off the very fancy walls of that very fancy building.

Fine. Fine. Fine. Everything was going to be fine.

“Yeah,” Ruby laughed, nodding towards Mary Margaret and David when they somehow worked their way towards the other side of the room in a few seconds flat. “That’s absolutely why you keep tugging on those laces or why you haven’t taken those laces off despite the fact that everyone on this stupid team read The Times story.” “It wasn’t true,” Emma reasoned and that seemed to catch Ruby by surprise. “He’s not going to LA.” “Yeah, he said that too. Then what’s the problem here?” Emma didn’t answer, just closed her eyes and shook her head, plastering the same almost-honest smile she’d had on her face for the last two weeks.

They’d swept the western swing – and Killian had points in nine of his last ten games, snapping Robin’s goal drought when he set him up in front of the net against the Oilers. The tabloids were going nuts.

Emma read about it that morning, the back page of The Post claiming Killian Jones was The King of New York just a month out of the trade deadline and the Rangers were still sitting in the first Wild Card, closing in on the Blue Jackets for third place in the Metro.

And she couldn’t remember him playing as well as he had in the last two weeks, some sort of other level talent that had Ruby working overtime with all of the media requests for one-on-one interviews as soon as they got back to New York.

Which might have explained why, the three days they were actually in New York – a home game against the Caps coming in the middle of the road trip – Emma hadn’t actually seen him any more than in passing, a flash of dark hair and blue eyes moving out of the locker room as both Ruby and Regina tugged him from interview to interview.

Or, maybe, Emma was just a giant coward who’d actually overscheduled herself during those three days so she didn’t have some sort of emotional reaction in the middle of Madison Square Garden.

It was fine.

And, well, she’d totally needed to work those days – she had to finish prep for Casino Night and there were an absurd amount of auction items, not to mention another meeting with Hopper at the Piers and a meeting with Zelena about the meeting with Hopper.

Emma was busy. Too busy for emotions. And she was going to pull her laces apart if she kept tugging on them.

“You’re an idiot, you know that,” Ruby said sharply and Emma’s eyes widened out instinct. “I’m sorry, what?” “An idiot. And you’re not going to be able to schedule yourself out of the conversation tonight. You’re going to have to figure this out.” “I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Emma said quickly and Ruby laughed in her face. “Sure.” The room was starting to fill up and Mary Margaret was rushing towards Emma, eyes scanning her hair to make sure none of the several thousand bobby pins had fallen out of place. “You look incredible,” Mary Margaret announced to no one in particular and her eyes were just a little bit glossy when she met Emma’s gaze.

“Jeez, Reese’s, you saw me a couple of hours ago.” Emma said, not quite able to stop herself from laughing. “You’re the one who did my hair.” “And your makeup.” “And my makeup.” “I know, I know, but your dress fits into the theme so well and your hair hasn’t fallen out of place yet and you look really good.” Emma smiled – and it almost, almost felt legitimate – but then she remembered everything she had to do and everything she definitely didn’t want to do and there wasn’t really a way to avoid either one. Mary Margaret, however, didn’t move, just pulled Emma’s fingers away from her wrist and squeezed – tightly.

“Did Ruby tell you she thinks you’re an idiot yet?” Mary Margaret asked, something that almost resembled amusement flashing across her face.

Emma’s mouth hung open, breath rushing out of her in one quick, vaguely unprofessional exhale, and she didn’t have time for this. Her friends, however, did not seem to care. And maybe she hadn’t been quite as fine as she’d promised.

Maybe she was somewhere in the realm of vaguely terrified and that was vaguely overwhelming.

“Did you guys coordinate on this?” Emma asked, eyes darting between her two friends and the matching looks of not-quite-innocent on their faces. “Oh my God, you did, didn’t you? Was there a schedule? Let Ruby get in there first, get the insults out of the way, the slightly abrasive start so I was more receptive to Reese’s good cop scheme?” “It’s not a scheme,” Mary Margaret muttered and David scoffed under his breath. That earned him a glare from all three of them.

“It’s not really, Em,” Ruby said and Emma got the distinct impression she was being placated. She felt like one of Mary Margaret’s fourth graders. She’d kind of been acting like one. “We just...you know might have talked about it a little bit.” “Sounds like you’ve been talking to just about anyone who will listen,” Emma accused. “Where’s Mer? I need a drink.” Mary Margaret looked disappointed – as if the idea of staging some sort of Emma Swan intervention in the middle of her charity event without alcohol was a good idea. Ruby just kept glaring at her.

“It’s not like that, Emma,” Mary Margaret said softly as David waved down one of the waiters who’d started circling the room. He handed Emma a glass, doing his best to look supportive without Mary Margaret actually noticing and it didn’t really work.

Ruby kicked at his ankles.

“No?” Emma challenged, downing half her champagne in one gulp. Mary Margaret’s eyes widened. “Because that’s absolutely what it feels like.” “Well, you’re being stupid,” Ruby reasoned. She didn’t drink her champagne as quickly as Emma did, but they’d both need refills in a few minutes if they kept going like they were. “I talked to him. I talked to Regina. No one from the Kings has even talked to him.” Her champagne was gone. “David, I need more to drink.”

He tried to move, but Mary Margaret tugged on the back of his tuxedo jacket, pulling him up short before he’d even gotten a complete step away. “No,” she said sharply and Emma made a face, glancing at a suddenly repentant looking David.

“Teacher voice,” Emma mumbled.

“Emma, I’m serious.” “I can tell.” Mary Margaret rolled her eyes, but it wasn’t the sarcastic expression it had been on Ruby’s face. And that probably came from four years of college and a decade of being able to read each other’s minds and Emma still hadn’t left the loft, hadn’t even tried to leave the loft because the loft kind of felt like home too.

Fine was somewhere sitting out on the sidewalk at this point – probably getting run over by the players who were scheduled to start arriving at that very moment.

Emma’s shoulders sagged, a fresh glass of champagne pushed into the hand that wasn’t holding an empty glass of champagne and she shot a grateful look David’s direction. He winked at her.

“He wants to stay,” Mary Margaret said softly, but Emma heard them as clearly as if they’d been shouted at her. It kind of felt that way.

“Ok.” “Emma.” “I know, Reese’s. These are all things I’m aware of, painfully so, but that doesn’t mean they’re an option!” Her voice cracked on the last word and Emma felt three pairs of vaguely stunned eyes land on her face. She bit her lip and stared at her shoes – red, they matched her dress. And she absolutely hadn’t bought a red dress because he’d noticed the red dress in the restaurant that very first night.

Emma Swan wasn’t a sentimental fool.

She was just the biggest liar in the entire world.

Mary Margaret’s mouth formed a small ‘o’ and Ruby scuffed her heel along the tiled floor and Emma licked her lips before she could will herself to look back up.

“It’s fine,” Emma whispered and Ruby made a noise that sounded like a mix between a groan and a scoff.

“You tell him any of that?” Ruby asked. “Because I promise he doesn’t know.” “You didn’t need to yell at him for me.” “I didn’t. I just spoke with very direct words and a very specific focus. At least I didn’t punch him in the face and get a five-minute major for it.” Emma rolled her eyes, but that knot of whatever that had been sitting in the pit of her stomach for the last two weeks, three days and, somewhere around, six hours, seemed to loosen just a little bit. She, at least, felt like she could take a deep breath.

That was, however, until the lights in the hall dimmed and the fans that had filed in in the last few minutes exploded into cheers and the TV broadcast crew started announcing players by name and position as they took their predetermined spots on a stage that cost an absolutely ridiculous amount of money to rent.

Mary Margaret’s fingers found Emma’s arm, wrapping tightly around her wrist and pressing the laces against her skin and neither one of them tried to pull away from each other – four years of college and a decade of this, the kind of support Emma hadn’t ever really allowed herself to believe in, appearing just when she needed it the most.

David’s hand fell on her shoulder and Emma almost breathed easily as they continued making their way down the roster, Ruby moving just on the edge of her vision.

And fine didn’t feel like a complete lie.

He was last.

Of course.

Emma gulped the rest of her champagne, appreciating the soft buzz that she felt in the back of her mind and maybe her veins and, God, he looked good.

The tux fit perfectly, but it wasn’t black, it was navy and there was a pocket square and a tie that Emma kind of already wanted to tug off and she probably should have talked to him before Casino Night. He looked nervous, the fingers on his left hand tapping out an impatient rhythm while he stood in front of the crowd and listened to a list of his most recent accomplishments, that back page flashing up on the screen behind him.

“You did that on purpose,” Emma accused, leaning around Mary Margaret to glare at Ruby who just shrugged in response. She’d been in charge of one thing – getting clips and photos for the screen behind that ridiculously expensive stage – and it shouldn’t have surprised Emma that she’d pulled The Post back page from that morning.

“I’m pleading the fifth,” Ruby answered easily.

“Yeah, that’s not how that works,” David laughed and his hand tightened on Emma’s shoulder. He didn’t seem to realize he’d done it.

The TV broadcasters announced the official start of Casino Night – as if it hadn’t been going on this entire time, every single moment of the entire goddamn thing planned by Emma – and the players moved towards the tables they’d been assigned and the crowd was probably going to cheer for the rest of the night.

“Boss,” Merida shouted, jogging towards them with a clipboard in her hand and a headset pressing down on her curls.

“Still on schedule?” Emma asked.

“Oh, yeah, yeah, everything is good. The guys that are supposed to be at the tables are at the tables and then some of them are doing that Instagram thing we set up and the stragglers are auctioning things.”

“Instagram thing?” Mary Margaret repeated and Emma knew she didn’t imagine the note of pride in her voice. “We’re making them pose. You know like they do on the award shows? They’ve all been told to act as ridiculous as possible.” “That’s a really good idea.” “It happens from time to time.” “All the time,” Mary Margaret said, squeezing Emma’s forearm again.

Emma rolled her eyes, but she could still feel that buzz in the back of her head and she was half certain it wasn’t because of the champagne. “So if we’re all on schedule, what’s the problem, Mer?” Merida pressed her lips together and Emma tried not to let her impatience show on her face. “There’s a couple asking for you.” “Who?” “Van...something.” Emma bit her lip tightly and, now, four pairs of curious eyes were staring at her and she could use some more champagne.

She hadn’t forgotten – not really. She’d sent the tickets before the All-Star break, had gotten an actual thank you note mailed to her office from Mrs. Vankald after, but Emma hadn’t really considered the possibility of seeing them during Casino Night, certain, when she sent the tickets, that she’d have a few other things going on.

She hadn’t considered the possibility that she’d come into Casino Night riding two weeks, three days and, now, closer to seven hours, of avoiding Killian Jones. Except for that one phone call, but Emma wasn’t certain anyone else knew about that.

She certainly hadn’t told anyone about that.

“They were wondering if you were around,” Merida continued slowly, staring at Emma like she was some sort of emotional bomb.

It kind of felt that way.

“Ok,” Emma said quickly and maybe a bit breathlessly, but she didn’t pull her arm away from Mary Margaret.

Ruby moved before any of them, shooting Mary Margaret a conspiratorial glare that all but confirmed Emma’s suspicions that they’d planned something, and slung her arm around Merida’s shoulders. “C’mon, Mer,” she said. “Let’s, uh, let’s go shout things at the guys while they try to pose for the internet.” Merida stared at Emma, clearly waiting for further instructions, and she tried to make sure her voice didn’t shake when she spoke. “It’s fine, Mer,” Emma said, wincing slightly at that word. “We’re all on schedule, go see what’s happening out front and I’ll check on the auction after I say hi to the Vankalds.” Mary Margaret actually gasped and Emma’s stomach did something she wasn’t sure was medically possible, pressing her heels into the floor so she didn’t run – again. “It’s fine, Mer,” she repeated. “Seriously.” “If you say so.” “I just did.” Ruby made a face, lower lip sticking out slightly as she pulled Merida back towards the front doors, shouting, “Don’t be an idiot, Emma,” over her shoulder.

Emma still didn’t move. “You invited his parents?” Mary Margaret asked softly, tapping her thumb meaningfully against Emma’s wrist.

“I mean, not technically,” Emma argued.

“Yuh huh.” “And they want to talk to you,” David pointed out.

Emma’s neck cracked when she moved her head back, staring at the ceiling like that would, somehow, help her. “Well, I haven’t seen them since Christmas.” “And haven’t talked to Killian in weeks.” “Rude.” “Honest.” “Have you guys just been plotting these conversations since I got back from LA?” Emma asked and neither one of her friends had moved away from her side. There was a cliché in there somewhere.

“No,” Mary Margaret said and David made a noise that wasn’t quite the disagreement it probably should have been.

“Yeah, that’s what I figured. It’s almost nice. Almost.” “It’s super nice, Emma, and you know it,” David said. “And it’s not like you’re the only one who’s upset and just a bit terrified.” His eyes widened as soon as the words were out of his mouth – like he’d just given up state secrets. “Wait, what?” Emma snapped and her head was on a swivel at this point, bouncing between Mary Margaret and David and both of them had squeezed their eyes shut.

“Reese’s,” Emma continued. “What did you guys do?” “I didn’t do anything,” Mary Margaret promised, finally letting go of Emma’s arm so she could hold her hands up in the air, pleading innocence with one, quick movement. “This has all been David.” “Thanks a lot,” he muttered and Mary Margaret didn’t drop her hands. “To be fair, it’s not like I sought him out. He came to me.” Emma’s heart had fallen on the ground and her stomach was there too and maybe her jaw because it had dropped open so quickly it actually was starting to hurt. “What?” Emma whispered.

David smiled sadly at her, pulling her against his chest without a word and he couldn’t really cup the back of her head – Mary Margaret’s quick gasp about her hair making him rethink the movement almost immediately – but he wrapped both his arms around her and held on tightly and that was enough.

“He texted me,” David muttered. “And called and asked what he should do and if you were ok. He’s worried you’re not ok.” “What?” She needed to come up with another word.

“I think you terrified him just a bit, Em.” “But….what? I mean, how?” “Are you serious?”

Mary Margaret made a noise, smacking at David’s shoulder slightly. “Emma,” she said slowly and the teacher voice was back. “He could probably go anywhere in the league, right?” Emma nodded. “He doesn’t want to. You’ve changed that.” And somewhere in the back of her mind, Emma knew Mary Margaret was right – knew Killian had told her the same exact thing in that alley in Los Angeles – but two weeks of feeling like she was walking on the edge of something had left Emma without much confidence in the NHL’s free agent market.

“He looks at you like you are...everything,” Mary Margaret continued. “You just have to believe that.” Emma scoffed and they’d gotten to the center of the issue in a way that she hoped they never would. She did – and that was why she’d run.

Emma didn’t do maybe’s and hopefully’s and max-deal negotiations. She did schedules that she had memorized for the better part of the last two weeks.

She wanted something certain and Killian Jones was far from certain.

“Why didn’t you tell me he called?” Emma asked, staring at David.

He shrugged. “Would it have made much of a difference?” “Probably not.” “You were mad, Em. And so disappointed you practically reeked with it and I know you. You ate an entire box of pop tarts in two days. That’s, like, other level. So he called me and I told him you’d be fine eventually and then they had to go back on the road and he couldn’t really do anything, so there didn’t seem to be much of a point in adding to your pile of very obvious worries.” “I’m fine.” “You are a horrible liar.”

“Is that why you’ve made pancakes every other night? Because you totally knew?” “Obviously.” “And bought that extra box of hot chocolate,” Mary Margaret added.

Emma laughed under her breath and the Vankalds were making their way towards them now – God she was the worst girlfriend in the world. Oh, fuck, was she still a girlfriend? She hoped so.

“How do you guys do this?” Emma asked suddenly, head snapping up almost painfully.

“Do what?” Mary Margaret asked.

“Be so certain...in each other? I mean you guys turned around one day and just knew. How is that even possible?” “That’s not what happened.” “I was there.” “Well, ok,” Mary Margaret admitted. “It kind of happened that way. But you’re forgetting David being a jerk that whole semester and it’s not like it’s perfect. You think I’m just ok with him going out and maybe getting shot every day?” Emma’s eyes widened and she’d never heard Mary Margaret be so blunt in her entire life. “I’m not,” Mary Margaret continued. “I am terrified. I jump every time my phone rings while he’s on patrol. Even when I know he’s sitting at his desk. He could leave and just never come back.” “So what do you do?” “Believe.” “You make it sound so easy,” Emma sighed.

“It’s not. It’s not even in the realm of easy, but if you want this, Emma, the way he seems to, then you’ve got to let yourself believe. It’ll be worth it. Love is always worth it.” Emma’s breath caught in her throat and she blinked quickly so she didn’t actually start showing a ridiculous amount of emotion in the middle of Casino Night, dimly aware of the fans around her and the sounds of roulette tables spinning a few feet away. David’s hand landed on her shoulder again.

“That was one of your better ones, Reese’s,” Emma mumbled, hugging her friend close to her and Mary Margaret chuckled against her.

“That was just off the top of my head.” “What am I going to do?” “Tell him the truth,” Mary Margaret said evenly.

“And maybe introduce us to his parents,” David added. “Vankalds incoming at two o’clock.”

Mrs. Vankald was wearing feathers in her hair and Mr. Vankald’s tux actually had tails on it and Emma couldn’t stop the smile from forming on her face as soon as she saw both of them, something that almost resembled contentment snuffing out the anxiety that had been lingering in the pit of her stomach.

It was all Mary Margaret’s fault – she was far too good at those hope speeches.

“Emma,” Mrs. Vankald said, smiling as she greeted her. Emma’s feet moved before she was quite ready, David’s hand falling away from her shoulder just quickly enough that Mrs. Vankald didn’t inadvertently pull him into a hug as well.

“Hi Mrs. Vankald,” she mumbled, voice stuttering just a bit as she tried to stay upright on her heels. Emma glanced up to smile at Mr. Vankald and his tuxedo tails – or at least try. It felt a bit nervous.

She was a bit nervous.

“It’s so nice to see you,” Mrs. Vankald continued and if she had any idea about the whatever that was going on between Emma and Killian she didn’t show it. Or sound it. She looked genuinely happy to see Emma. Huh.

“This is incredible, Emma,” Mr. Vankald added. David’s hand was back on her shoulder. Older brother, pride mode, activated. “So much better than the one Casino Night we went to before.” “You only remember that because they ran out of appetizers at the one Casino Night we went to before,” Mrs. Vankald muttered and maybe this could be normal if they all kept laughing like that. Emma should probably talk to Killian.

Hope. Hope. Hope. Hope.

Mr. Vankald made a noise in the back of his throat, a scoff that didn’t quite ring true, and Mrs. Vankald smiled at Emma again, glancing at David and Mary Margaret in unspoken question.

“Oh,” Emma started, waving her hands quickly. Mr. Vankald’s head tilted slightly when her laces shifted on her wrist, falling down her forearm slightly and she’d definitely need to get them re-tied at some point because they kept doing that. She should also probably stop tugging on them in emotional moments. “Um, Mr. and Mrs. Vankald, these are my two best friends, David Nolan and Mary Margaret Blanchard.”

Mary Margaret’s eyes did something meaningful at the title Emma so casually dished out and she resisted the urge to roll her eyes – or pull on her laces. David just stuck his hand out, waiting for one or, maybe both, of the Vankalds’ to take it.

Mr. Vankald did.

“It’s so nice to meet you,” David said and everyone in this conversation sounded so sincere Emma wasn’t sure it could possibly be real.

“Are you part of the team as well, David? Front office?” Mrs. Vankald asked and Emma did roll her eyes at that, David’s eyes almost flashing at the question.

“Just a fan,” he answered, disappointment obvious in his voice. “And Emma’s food supplier.”

Mrs. Vankald lowered her eyebrows at that and Mary Margaret wasn’t all that great at conspicuous, very clearly elbowing David in the side.

And it kind of felt like Emma was introducing the Vankald’s to her parents.

“He’s a detective,” Emma supplied and, well, if David could do pride then so could she. And maybe thank him for buying her several boxes of varying pop tart flavors over the last two weeks. “Saves us all, all the time.” Mary Margaret was absolutely going to start crying in the middle of Casino Night – Emma was certain – and David was staring at her like she’d only recently been abducted by aliens, eyes wide and mouth slightly open and he hadn’t stopped shaking Mr. Vankald’s hand yet.

“Swan?”

David pulled his hand back to his side, palm colliding against the side of his tuxedo pants like it had crashed there. Emma wondered if there was any truth to that whole scientific idea that when one of your senses was dulled, the rest seemed to enhance, because she’d absolutely lost the ability to speak, but she could hear everything clearly and her eyesight had suddenly turned 20/20, picking up on every single detail in Killian’s face when he looked at her.

She felt her mouth open, hopeful the words were just on the tip of her tongue and maybe she wouldn’t sound like a complete fool when she actually said something.

No such luck.

“Is your tie...shiny?” Emma asked. Mary Margaret made some sort of strangled noise and Mrs. Vankald’s smile got even wider.

“I’ve been told on very good authority that metallic is in,” Killian said. There was a smirk – of course there was a smirk – but it looked a bit nervous and his eyes didn’t stop moving, tracing across Emma’s face and she knew the moment they landed on her lips.

He rocked towards her, one foot moving in front of the other before, it appeared, he thought better of it, sticking his hands back in his pockets and staying exactly where he was a few feet away from her.

“Doesn’t seem to really go with the theme,” Emma pointed out. She needed to stop talking. Or, at least, stop talking about his tie.

She needed to talk to him – without his quasi-parents there, without her quasi-parents there. No one moved.

“Ah, well, not all of us are as confident in our fashion choices as Mr. V here,” Killian laughed, nodding towards the man next to him. “Where’d you even get a jacket like that?” “Oh, leave him alone,” Mrs. Vankald chided, flicking her finger on Killian’s shoulder. “He’s just excited to be here.” “Ah, well, that makes two of us.” Killian’s shoulders moved when he took a deep breath, eyes flitting back to Emma. She bit her lip and she was totally going to ruin Mary Margaret’s makeup job. “It looks incredible, Swan.” Emma just nodded, far too aware of Mary Margaret’s stare on the side of her head and David’s hand lingering in the general area of her shoulder and when she blinked she was positive she’d imagined that look of frustration on Killian’s face.

“The, uh, the appetizers should start circulating in a couple of minutes,” Emma said, rushing over the words quickly and ignoring how blue Killian’s eyes looked with that stupid, navy suit and shiny tie. “We won’t run out of them this time, I can guarantee that. I’ve just, uh, got to check on the auction stuff and make sure the broadcast guys stick the script we gave them. I’m so glad you all could make it.” Mrs. Vankald just kept smiling at Emma, muttering something about being busy and enjoying yourself when you have some time and Mr. Vankald nodded in approval at the idea of never-ending appetizers.

Mary Margaret and David looked disappointed.

“Alright,” Emma snapped and she nearly tripped over her heels backing away. “I’ll see you all later. Eat, there’s an absolutely ridiculous amount of food.” She moved as quickly as she could, spinning on the spot and her lungs felt tight and her throat felt dry and her vision swam in front of her eyes as she took a few steps forward.

God, there were a lot of fans. They were still cheering – although most of them were cheering for blackjacks and red 22 and someone a couple of feet away yelled about the green square – and the wait staff, all of them with theme-appropriate uniforms that Emma had signed off on weeks ago, was starting to make their way through the crowd. That only made it more difficult to get to the back room, a hallway that, maybe, hopefully, would be just a bit quieter.

And maybe Emma could remember how to breathe.

She got to the hallway and it was, at least, ten degrees cooler there than it was in the main room, but silence, it appeared, was a commodity she couldn’t quite afford.

“Swan,” Killian said and Emma’s head snapped to her side when she heard the edge in his voice. “What are you doing?” He was already closer than he had been during that entire conversation with the Vankald’s and Emma’s lipstick was a lost cause at this point, a casualty of nerves and an attempt at hope.

“Are you following me?” Emma asked.

He blinked, eyebrows low and something that probably could have been a sneer on his face. He was frustrated – again. “What? No, well, kind of, but only in a sense to make sure you’re alright.” “I’m fine.” She’d answered quickly, words falling out of her mouth easily and she hadn’t really looked at him yet, just stared at the opposite wall and tried not to focus how she could feel him standing next to her, lingering just a few feet away like he was nervous to come any closer.

Killian hummed in the back of his throat, a sound that was so familiar now Emma couldn’t stop the smile from forming on her face even if she tried.

He was holding glasses – she hadn’t noticed that before, far too focused on the wall and her shoes – and she heard him exhale softly before he turned on her, nervous smile tugging on one side of his mouth.

“Don’t make a man drink alone,” Killian said softly, tilting one of the glasses towards her.

“I’m not all that interested in a drink. Or a man. I’ve got a job to do. Several, in fact.” “I think the waiters can move trays without your assistance, love.” Emma huffed, rolling her whole head so she could really drive the point home and Killian’s smile wavered. He sighed again, crouching down to put the glasses behind him.

“You’re going to spill those,” Emma said and she was back to staring at her shoes.

“I’ll remember they’re there.” “Ok.” It felt a bit like that phone call – when she’d watched the Vancouver game with her mouth hanging open and her eyes going wide, breath catching in her throat as soon as Graham’s fist landed on the side of Killian’s face. There was still the ghost of a bruise just under his eye, skin slightly more purple just above his cheekbone than it should have been if everything was as fine as Emma kept promising it was.

They’d danced around it then too, stuttering through the conversation in a way they hadn’t since the first set-up and the silence Emma had been so desperate for just a few moments before felt oppressive in the middle of the hallway.

Killian pressed his thumb into the back of his left hand, rocking on his heels and Emma forced herself to look up at him – a mix of disappointment and frustration and hope on his face.

“I’m sorry,” he said, voice finding its way into every inch of her. “I know you’ve had the weight of the world on your shoulders and that story couldn’t have come out at worse time, but you’ve got to trust me here, Swan. I want to be in New York. With you.” “Wait, what?” Emma asked, a picture of well-spoken responses.

“I need you to trust me, love.” “I do.” Killian lowered his eyebrows and he was absolutely going to knock over both of those champagne glasses if he kept rocking on his feet like that. “Somehow I’m not getting that,” he admitted.

“You think that’s what this is about?” Emma asked incredulously and Ruby’s voice echoed in her head. I promise he doesn’t know.

“Isn’t it?” “No,” Emma said, half sighing out the word. “I, mean, not now at least. It was in LA, but that was just because I wasn’t expecting the story and Neal was all self-important about you going to the Kings and I kind of lost my perspective a little bit…” “Wait, Neal? Neal showed you the story?”

Emma nodded slowly. “I guess we never got to that part of the explanation.” “We did not.” It wasn’t getting any easier to breathe, particularly when Killian took another step towards her, the toes of his exceptionally polished shoes just a few inches away from her red heels and Emma kept her hands trained at her side so she wouldn’t tug on his belt out of instinct.

“Of course I trust you,” Emma continued. “That’s why I called in the first place. I was...I was worried about you.” “Then why this?” Killian waved his hand through the space between them, eyes widening just a bit when he met Emma’s gaze. And he might be in one of the best scoring streaks of the season, but he didn’t look like he’d slept much during it either. He looked as exhausted as Emma felt. “Why do you keep pulling away from me?” “Because everyone left,” Emma said, nearly shouting the words at him. “Everyone. All those families and the houses and Neal and Walsh and even Reese’s and David will at some point. I’ve got to get my own apartment eventually and they’ll get married and they’ll...they’ll leave. And I can’t.” She paused, closing her eyes and she didn’t see him move before his fingers traced over the back of her hand. “I can’t lose you too.” Killian’s hand twisted, fingers lacing through hers and she felt his thumb come up underneath her chin. “Emma,” he said softly. “Come on, look at me.” She did and she wasn’t entirely ready for everything she saw – nerves and frustration replaced with something Emma was convinced, just a few moments before, only existed in movies and young adult novels. It made her breath catch again and her stomach do something impossible and her heart beat so hard it actually hurt, thudding against her ribs until she was certain it was the only sound she’d ever hear again.

His thumb moved across her cheek, brushing away the tears she didn’t realize she was crying and Emma’s mouth opened when she realized it was his left hand.

“You don’t have to worry about me, Swan,” Killian continued and his voice cut right to the very center of her, lingering there like someone had lit a tiny fire in the pit of her stomach. “I’m not going anywhere.”

He tugged on her hand – fingers still wrapped up in Emma’s – and she all but crashed into him, letting out a soft oof when the beading of her dress hit up against her legs. And then there was just him and his hand on her hip and his lips on hers and Killian sighed against her, like he’d been waiting for her to catch up to the moment.

He probably had.

Emma moved with him, or maybe against him, out of instinct, heels popping out of the back of her shoes so she could reach him better and his fingers traced across the line of her spine, leaving a trail of goosebumps in his wake.

And if she’d been trying to find that feeling of home in the last two weeks, three days and, now, seven and a half hours since the story and the nerves and the fear, Emma had found it as soon as Killian Jones kissed her again.

He lingered in her space when oxygen became more of a necessity than continued making out in another abandoned hallway, hand still moving up and down her back like he was trying to make up for lost time when it came to touching her.

“You can’t promise that,” she mumbled and, someday, she’d find some sense of consistent confidence. “I just did.” “But,” Emma argued, shaking her head and, God, she was still crying. “You can’t. It’s not like you can just demand a contract extension.” Killian shrugged. “I can help my own cause though.” “Is that what this has been about?” “What?” “The scoring streak and King of New York back pages. You’re trying to prove yourself to the New York Rangers front office?” “In part.” “What’s the other part?” Killian grinned, eyebrows doing something wholly unfair for the emotional conversation they were having. “Well,” he said slowly, leaning forward to drag his mouth against the curve of her jaw and Emma could feel every letter of every single word. “There’s this community relations director and she’s kind of thrown everything on its head.” “Was there a compliment in there? And don’t forget fan experiences and events.” “I’m getting there, Swan.” “Ah, of course. Go ahead.”

He chuckled against her neck, both hands heavy on her hip at this point and Emma wasn’t sure when she’d been backed against the wall, but that’s where she’d ended up. “I am one-hundred percent showing off for you,” Killian said.

“That so?” “Unquestionably. How’s it going?” “Better now,” Emma muttered, voice catching when he actually started kissing behind her ear.

“Good.” He kissed her again or maybe she kissed him and they probably moved at the same time because that’s how the night was going, staying in each other’s space even after they’d actually pulled away from each other.

“I do believe you,” Emma said, hands pulling on the front of his tuxedo jacket. “I know you want to stay.”

“More than anything.” He smiled at her and Emma nodded, but she knew what was coming before he even said anything else. “You’re still worried.” “Aren’t you?” “Of course I am. And I know half the reason we’re in this entire situation is because of me and what I wanted and didn’t want, but I’m going to fix this, Swan. I’m going to keep scoring goals and we’re not that far out of first really, if you look at the standings, we could make a run at the President’s again, and then we’re going to win a Cup.” There was no way to argue the conviction in his voice, no way to doubt the certainty in every single word and she let we linger in the air for a few moments before responding.

“You’re almost as good at those motivational speeches as Reese’s.” “That’s why they pay me the big bucks. Or, at least, will. In theory.” “They will,” Emma said, tugging on his jacket for emphasis.

“Confidence, Swan?” She shook her head slowly and Mary Margaret would be disappointed that the bobby pins had given up, a piece of her hair hitting up against Emma’s forehead. “Hope.”

They auctioned off every item Emma had gotten signed and the VIP meet-and-greets for the game at the Piers sold for an amount that would probably make her eyes widen for the rest of her life, the self-satisfied smirk on Killian’s face when she told him the number making her roll her eyes as well.

“Ah, well, who could deny themselves the chance to watch me lead a team to victory?” he asked and Mrs. Vankald flicked at his shoulder again.

“You guys didn’t have to bid on anything,” Emma said for what felt like the tenth time. They’d bid on everything, Vankald seemingly written on every other line of the silent auction when Emma went to check between rounds of appetizers.

They only actually won one thing, however – a signed stick by the Rangers front line and Will had laughed about that for a solid five minutes, appearing after he’d wrapped up his required roulette duties.

Robin asked Killian about it on camera, making sure to jab him about his parents buying his merchandise during the special Casino Night edition of Locked in With Locksley. Killian had thrown his microphone towards the other side of the room.

Mrs. Vankald brushed Emma off – again – and squeezed her hand. “We wanted to,” she promised. “It’ll go downstairs with everything else.” “Just don’t tell Liam how much his stuff sold for,” Mr. Vankald muttered. “Elsa won’t ever hear the end of it.”

Emma nodded seriously and, that time, Killian rolled his eyes, wrapping his arm around her shoulder without a word. She might have leaned into it. “Deal,” she promised.

“And I’m glad you didn’t run out of appetizers this time.” “You and me both.” Mrs. Vankald hugged her again and Mr. Vankald might have winked, clapping Killian on the shoulder before they both made their way to the doors and the street and for as crowded as Gotham Hall had been that night, it was almost as empty then, fans gone and most of the front office gone and there was still an arm wrapped around Emma’s shoulders.

“Did David and Mary Margaret leave yet?” Killian asked and Emma hummed in response, forehead brushing against his jacket when she shifted against him. “And you didn’t go with them?” “I have a key.” “Oh.” “What are you getting at?” He smiled at her and Emma’s stomach flipped. “That I’d very much like you to come home with me. And stay there so I can get some goddamn sleep.” And her stomach might have flopped at that.

“Romantic,” she mumbled and it wasn’t the insult it might have sounded like.

“I sleep like garbage when you’re not there.” “So you said on that message.” “You got that?” Emma nodded and did her best to ignore the way his eyes ducked down when he realized she just hadn’t responded.

“Hey,” she said quickly, resting her palm flat against his chest. “I’m sorry for running. I just...you’ve caught me by surprise and I wasn’t ready to want as much as I do and that was kind of terrifying because there’s no promise this is going to work.”

He lowered his eyebrows and, well, there it was – the admission she hadn't said, too caught up in the kissing in the hallway before. “I trust you, implicitly,” Emma continued, staring at the floor. It was going to take forever to clean this place. “And I believe you want to stay in New York, but what happens if you don’t? There’s no…”

She trailed off and he turned her towards him, hand lingering on her shoulder when he stared at her.

“Yes there is,” Killian countered, clicking his tongue when Emma opened her mouth to argue. “I don’t mean a contract, Swan. I mean you and me. No matter what happens. I’m not going anywhere.”

“Yeah?” she whispered, hating how small her voice sounded in that giant room.

“Yeah.” She believed him.

“Can we go home?” Emma asked, pulse picking up almost audibly when she used that particular word. “I’d really like to sleep.” “I can’t imagine how tired you must be, love. This was incredible. I actually didn’t hate Casino Night this year.” “That’s not what I meant.” “Hmmm?” “I meant, I sleep like garbage when you’re not there.”

She felt him breathe against her, chest moving slightly as he tugged her tighter against his side and his answering smile was enough to power the generator to several small islands in the Pacific Ocean.

“Yeah, Swan,” Killian said, arm still around her even after they’d found their way into the backseat of a cab. “Let’s go home.”

#cs ff #captain swan ff #ouat ff #cs #csbb #blue line #i cannot possibly overstate how much i love casino night #it's the absolute best

83 notes · View notes

reprehensiblewombat · 7 years ago

Text

Space (and Waffles)

(For Day one of Jane Foster Week: space)

“So,” Jane said.

“Yep,” Darcy replied.

“This isn’t good,” Jane said.

“I’m so glad you recognized that,” Darcy said sarcastically. “Now maybe use that big brain of yours to get us out of here.”

The comment stung a bit, but Jane couldn’t really blame Darcy for being angry. “Here” was a “safe room,” one of the many that dotted Stark Tower… Except, for reasons Jane couldn’t explain, instead of being in Stark Tower like it had been a few seconds ago, their safe room was floating in what appeared to be an empty swath of space. Sure, Jane could probably explain it given adequate data but sadly that data was unavailable at the moment. She and Darcy were basically floating in zero-g inside a box, and the only equipment they had available was a pencil and a few notes Jane had managed to snatch as Darcy dragged her into the safe room after the alarms went off.

Jane would be angry herself if she wasn’t still stuck in the denial stage of “holy shit we are lost in space and about to die.”

“Uh… yeah,” Jane said, frantically wracking her brain for anything, literally anything, that would help them. All she was coming up with were Douglas Adams quotes. “At least Stark built these safepod things really… well?” It was kind of a miracle they weren’t dead already.

“How long until our oxygen runs out?” Darcy asked.

“Oh, don’t worry about that,” Jane said. “It’s not lack of oxygen that will kill us. Carbon dioxide buildup is a more immediate concern.”

(Read More)

“Great,” Darcy said. She curled in on herself, floating in zero gravity in the fetal position.

Jane had to admit, despite everything, it was actually the zero g that was bothering her the most. The last time she’d been all floaty like this had been Aether-related, and Jane had been doing her level best to suppress those memories ever since it had happened.

“When I get out of here,” Darcy said after a few minutes of silence, “I am going to make out with Captain America.”

Jane snorted. “Seriously?”

“Yes,” Darcy said. “Life’s too short not to.”

“Just gonna jump him?”

“I’ll ask nicely first. I’m not a heathen,” Darcy said.

“I don’t remember you asking Ian before jumping him.”

“He had previously made it very clear that he would like me to kiss him, and also I thought we agreed not to mention the Last Intern ever again.” Darcy and Ian had been going out pretty steadily, until an accident transported Ian back in time. Jane and Darcy would have saved him, had he not sent a letter Back-to-the-Future-II style explaining that, instead of a daring rescue, he preferred to go off and marry a lady named Rose Roberts, so would they please leave him be?

Darcy had yet to fully sort out all of her Feelings about this development. Jane was sort of hoping she’d decide to go through with the rescue anyway, but it wasn’t looking like that was going to happen. Mostly because they were apparently going to die in outer space.

“Well, when we get out of here,” Jane said, changing the subject, “I’m making chocolate chip waffles.”

Darcy snorted. “Seriously?”

“Yes,” Jane said. “And I’m putting banana slices on them.”

“I have literally never seen you do anything more complicated in the kitchen than pour milk over cereal.”

“I can cook!” Jane said. “I just don’t… usually. But I can! And I’m making chocolate chip waffles, and you and Steve are invited to help me eat them.”

Darcy was silent for several minutes before she did a little somersault and uncurled herself, looking at Jane with big blue eyes that betrayed her fear far more than her voice had. But Darcy smiled at the scientist, despite everything. “Your post-rescuing fantasy isn’t very interesting, Jane.”

“It’s not a fantasy,” Jane said. “We are 100% getting out of here, and I am 100% making waffles for you and whomever you choose to makeout with.”

“I love you, Janey,” Darcy said.

Jane wrinkled her nose. “Don’t say it like we’re going to die.” “For real though,” Darcy asked, smile slipping off her face, “what are the odds of us getting rescued?”

“Two to the power of two hundred and seventy-six thousand, seven hundred and nine to one against,” Jane said.

Darcy blinked. Then she frowned. Then she spoke. “How could you possibly know that?”

“I don’t,” Jane said. “I’m just quoting Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy.”

Darcy snorted. “You’re such a nerd.”

Jane was about to reply when both women were suddenly slammed into what had been the floor until the lack of gravity caused that word to lose its meaning.

“Did we just get gravity back?” Darcy asked.

The two women started floating again. “No,” Jane said. “I think that was inertia.” She pushed herself toward the tiny window in the bolted and, apparently, airtight door. Previously, it had shown her only blackness speckled with unfamiliar stars. The view now was the same, save that instead of drifting slowly, they were apparently moving much faster. Jane couldn’t tell whether they were going the same direction or a different direction. “We’re moving.”

“Where?” Darcy pushed herself beside her friend. Jane moved slightly so Darcy could also see out the tiny window.

“I don’t know,” Jane said. “What do you think?”

“Maybe we’re being abducted by aliens,” Darcy said.

“It’s not Asgardians,” Jane replied. She was pretty familiar with most Asgardian modes of transportation by now, even Loki’s secret backdoors. Whatever was happening, it was too mundane to be Asgardian.

“Maybe we’ll finally get to meet some aliens that don’t look exactly like humans,” Darcy said.

“The Chitauri and the dark elves didn’t look exactly like humans,” Jane pointed out.

“Maybe we’ll finally get to meet some aliens that don’t look exactly like humans and don’t want to murder me,” Darcy amended.

“Fingers crossed,” Jane said. Mostly to the second part. So long as they were interested in keeping the two women alive, she could care less what these aliens looked like.

Eventually, they saw the walls of something vaguely garage-like pass in front of their window. “Probably a spaceship!” Darcy said.

“I told you we were 100% getting rescued,” Jane said.

Both Jane and Darcy watched the light change and then… bam! Their safe room and everything that had been floating inside it, including the two women, slammed down. Down, in this case, being what Jane had previously thought of as up, as she and Darcy both landed on what was supposed to be the safe room’s ceiling.

“Ow,” Darcy said.

“Yeah,” Jane said, pulling the pieces of her pencil out from under her butt. She had broken it when she landed on it, but better a broken pencil than a broken her. “Hey! Gravity again! That’s a good sign.”

A face appeared in their little window. A scruffy, male human-looking face, with red hair and blue eyes. The human-looking face smiled brightly at them and moved his mouth as though trying to speak. Jane wasn’t hearing anything. She looked at Darcy, who shrugged. Jane looked back at the guy, pointed to her ears and shook her head.

The guy with the scruff turned to say something to someone else. Then he appeared to be shoved out of the way by someone Jane couldn’t see. Then…

“Uh,” Darcy said. “Jane?”

“Yeah,” Jane said.

“Are you seeing what I’m seeing?”

“Is what you’re seeing a raccoon with a blowtorch?” Jane asked.

“Yeah.”

“Then yes, I’m seeing what you’re seeing.”

“Okay. Just checking.”

The raccoon with a blowtorch was moving its mouth as it attacked the door of their safe room with a carefully controlled flame. Eventually, something red hot popped out of the door to land on the floor-that-had-previously-been-the-ceiling, and three things happened simultaneously.

1. Air rushed through the hole the raccoon made, pushed there by the difference between the heavier atmosphere inside the spaceship and the sparser atmosphere inside the safe room.

2. Whatever had been sealing the door shut unsealed itself with a deeply unpleasant squelching noise. And finally,

3. Whatever Stark did to make the safepod things soundproof gave up the ghost and both women could hear the noises the raccoon was making to accompany the movements of its mouth.

Strangely, it was speaking English.

“-had to go and make these things locked up so goddamn tight you could lock a creclapt in one during its mating season and it wouldn’t even-”

“We can hear you now,” Jane said as the door swung open. “Do I want to know what a creclapt is?”

“No,” Darcy and the raccoon said at the same time.

The human-looking one appeared again. “Hi! I’m Peter, and this is Rocket,” he indicated the raccoon, “and we’ve just rescued you!”

“Stark hired us,” Rocket said.

“He has agreed to pay us with the coveted Terran cheeseburger!” a new voice said, sounding very excited. Gingerly, Jane stuck her head out of the safe room too see a female-looking humanoid with black eyes and antennae.

“Here,” said Peter said, helping Jane through the upside-down door. He did the same for Darcy. “That’s Mantis.”

“Thank you,” Jane said. For the helping, not the introductions. “Thanks,” Darcy said, then turned to Mantis. “So… the coveted cheeseburger, eh?”

“Oh yes,” the female said. “We have heard much of Terran food from Peter. He especially praises the cheeseburger and the milkshake.”

Jane appraised Peter carefully. “How do you feel about chocolate chip waffles?” she asked.

He blinked and then grinned widely. “Very positively,” he said.

“Good. Because I’m making some as soon as I get back to Earth. You and everyone else who wants to come are invited to eat them with me,” she said. “I’m going to put banana on them.”

“I’d be careful about accepting that offer,” Darcy warned. “I haven’t actually seen any evidence that Jane knows how to cook.”

Peter leaned in and whispered to Darcy, “I don’t think anyone except you and me’ll notice the difference,” he said.

“I can cook!” Jane said. “And I won’t burn them.”

Spoiler alert: She totally didn’t burn them. But that turned out not to matter much when Rocket convinced an alien named Drax the chocolate chips were a far less palatable substance, and it took a lot of effort on the parts of Jane, Peter, and a green woman called Gamora, to convince him otherwise. Jane had to create a slideshow on the history of cacao. Darcy was no help. She was too busy making out with Steve.

#Wombat Writes #janefosterweek #Jane Foster #guardians of the galaxy #Marvel #This story doesn't really have a point to it.#it just exists #idk #day one of jane foster week #and she's playing a damsel in distress again #I'm mad at myself for that #but I also don' think it's physically possible to escape from this situation with just a pencil #waffles are great #I haven't had waffles in so long you guys...#our waffle iron is in the basement #I ought to get it out and make me some chocolate chip waffles #I'm clearly craving them

16 notes · View notes

podcake · 8 years ago

Text

Must Listen May: Mabel Review

An interesting piece of trivia I’d like to offer to you all before starting this review is that this show officially premiered nine days after my nineteenth birthday. And when I think of September, the first thing that comes to mind is how much I enjoy doing September in Review and how long it took for me to figure out whether or not I wanted to squeeze Mabel into it.

But the siren’s call of horror has been a strong one this month, and I was compelled to go with my instincts on the SABLE and Mabel match up for the end of spring. Also, I like rhyming as much as I love perfect timing.

Mabel is a podcast that is, as vaguely as the real description puts it, about “ghosts, family secrets, strange houses, and missed connections”. It is primarily centered around Mabel Martin, a troubled young lady with a dark secret as a woman named Anna Limon, our main narrator and the caretaker for Mabel’s frail grandmother, tries to get in touch with her.

This is the first audio drama brain child of esteemed writer, tarot card reader, and now podcast producer Becca De La Rosa, and as far as debuts go, Mabel is a fairly eclectic little number.

For starters, the episodes are done entirely in missed voice mail messages that provide a surprising amount of depth and a general synopsis of what we’re in for. So if you’re always looking forward to Night Vale’s “The September Monologues” episodes or those certain mini episodes of The Bright Sessions, this might be up your alley from the get-go.

I’m honestly surprised more people haven’t taken advantage of this simple but effective format as it makes for some natural but memorable monologues.

As far as audio editing goes, it’s as modest as it needs to be with the ongoing “beep!” noise being the only constant alongside subtle sound effects and melancholic music to back the narration which is all used to help make the show as heavily atmospheric as possible.

If there’s anything Mabel has plenty of its eerie silence and the kind of ambiance that’s equal parts calm and creepy, a central theme woven into the story from the start that’s strengthened by its choice of horror tropes.

And the horror trope Mabel has in mind, beyond mysterious old people and endless phone calls, is that of sentient houses. This alone brings back memories of reading Mark Z. Danielewski’s House of Leaves, one of my favorite novels and a door-stopper thick with some of the best surreal horror descriptions and dialogue. Not a podcast but an excellent book that I can certainly say Mabel drew some inspiration from.

It’s not everyday I can recall a book to describe an audio drama so kudos to De La Rosa for the homage to some quality literature.

I’m also a fan of the idea of a protagonist who plays straight man in the beginning but ends up coming off less and less stable overtime as their sanity becomes questionable.

This all the more to do with the aforementioned spooky house thing I mentioned before, making Anna less than comfortable in her surroundings though something implies there’s something else simply off about her despite the unsettling nature of her job.

But the descriptions don’t just stop at the house and the elegant streaks of face juice likely gracing Anna’s phone screen as Mabel has an interesting take on fairy tale motifs as symbolism and imagery that correlate with fairy folk, princesses, and being trapped in towers comes up more and more in Anna’s narration.

Along that are some haunting and equally beautiful descriptions connecting to roses and roots, some place called Fairy Hill, and any symbolism that can be squeezed out of bodies of water.

As someone who has grown use to audio drama descriptions ranging between strange town locations, apocalyptic wastelands, and the insides of spaceships, I had to say the visuals here were equally chilling and refreshing to imagine.

The same way I took some grisly delight in SABLE’s love for twisted storytelling, I get a similar and slightly softer variation of this with Mabel, a show abundant with images freaky more in that metaphorical sense.

This still being a dual review month, I feel compelled to draw at least some type up comparison between these two shows beyond the obvious horror with a rhyming thing. And it turns out that I did find something that the two didn’t just have common, but one glaring feature that made them distinctly different from one another.

In my review of SABLE, I mentioned how the excessive gore can become overwhelming but doesn’t weigh down otherwise simple tale while Mabel seems to have the opposite problem. It’s not a particularly violent show and works around a more whimsical-psychological thing, though the contrast comes to mind with how underwhelming it can be.

Everything is so subtle and quiet and soft all the time that it can take awhile to fully understand what’s happening even if we know we’re meant to be given a complete picture composed out of a lot of tiny, tiny pieces. This can make an average listening lean more on the tedious side as we try to meticulously pick apart the central narrative and as to what exactly is going on.

An interesting mental exercise, certainly, though an often grating one that makes tuning in quite a chore if one is just looking for a story they can sink their teeth into without choking on the tough exterior.

It’s a show that requires your full attention as a lot can be said in just a few minutes, with little agency from the narration to imply how important it really is, and is the equivalent of walking a very thin tightrope for a vaguely implied promise of a prize at the end. It can be a lot of thinking and concentration for not much of a reward, forcing one to tune into the next episode more out of sheer confusion than curiosity.

And it can be hard to stay focused with so many bewildering details, red herrings, and imagery being presented in a way that straddles the line between purple prose, some pretty good poetry, and a casual one-sided phone conversation.

I understand that this is all for the sake for keeping the main mystery as vague as possible but the execution just doesn’t have that right effect.

Unfortunately, Mabel just is not as eerie yet fantastical as it wants to be, making for a listening experience that doesn’t quite fall flat as much as it fails to really get a rise out of itself. It’s a story overwhelmed by its own complexity that can make for some great background noise if you’re just here for the pretty music and nice words but a trial to completely comprehend even when going through the current stretch of episodes available.

Which is a pity because I really love the ideas here, I just wish the execution was better than some appealing but not particularly interesting window dressing. In short: I didn’t get it.

The truth is that Mabel is a very acquired taste, incredibly niche even in a niche crowd that it puts itself in. And I know for a fact I’ve said this often and are the first to sing praises to strange ideas, testing out new genres in an audio format, and getting as much beautiful, elegant world building out there as possible and Mabel should very much be in my ballpark for doing all of this.

And yet I find myself not being as enamored as I expected to be. There’s a very good story and a contained, gorgeously written set up to keep all its pieces in place, and yet it still left me feeling all sorts of dizzy and at a complete distance from what it wanted to share.

As a big fan of less than sane content, be it dealing with time travel, dimension tearing shenanigans, and mole people-I honestly surprised myself to see I wasn’t registering the same genuine intrigue that made me enjoy those titles to begin with.

With some thinking I realized exactly why that is.

What Mabel lacks that, to name a few, the post-apocalyptic camp story of Our Fair City and the sci-fi reality bending time travel tale of Ars Paradoxica, is that despite their bewildering plots and one of a kind narrative, is a sense of coherency.

These shows both work around the rules of chaos and trying to make sense of it, allowing listeners to put the pieces together and make the big scary puzzle in the end look a lot more simple.

There’s a central purpose and underlying kind of human sanity that doesn’t completely alienate you from what’s going on, something Mabel has yet to fully commit to.

Not that Mabel lacks a central narrative, just that it’s so bogged down by its own setting and single, unchanging, eerie tone that it lacks any sort of punch that it’s been slowly winding up from the beginning of season one. It may just be because it’s only the first season and second season to work off of, but I have yet to...how do I put this, get the point.

Perhaps a show of this style, if one can call it a style, is beyond my realm of intrigue and is meant to be appealing to people who just aren’t...me. I do love non-direct storytelling and mysteries that press and press on, but the way Mabel handles these ideas doesn’t quite engross me in its world and instead pushed me into the sidelines to watch from afar.

Above all, Mabel has a pretty good sense of suspense and budding tension with some gorgeously presented visuals, but its slow pace and confusing writing might leave more people behind locked doors.

#mabel #mabel podcast #review #must listen may #ars paradoxica #our fair city #sable

46 notes · View notes

fire-toolz · 6 years ago

Link

This Nonlocal Forecast Mix Offers Smooth Jazz Fit for Tears and Bong Rips

The Chicago-based artist best known as Fire-Toolz shares a mix of sounds from the world of her proggy computer jazz record ‘Bubble Universe!’ 

The Weather Channel isn’t really designed to be watched actively. It was part of the fabric of my Florida upbringing, a constant presence amid the stressful storm prep that accompanied hurricane season every year. As cyclones inched closer to our part of the state, my sisters and I would play board games with it on in the background. Some poor man in a poncho holding a microphone would be getting blown down the street in Boca Raton as our parents mulled whether or not this was a natural disaster worth fleeing the Tampa suburbs over.

That went for their musical direction as well. During their local weather segments, the station programmed these beautifully chintzy jazz tracks, borderline muzak so distinctive to the station that they began selling compilations of it. Those compilations don’t really hold up all that well, but there’s this memory in my head of emotionally layered and unrelentingly uplifting music that accompanied these segments. It’s probably some construction of nostalgia for simpler times, when even something as grave as a natural disaster was part of the background noise of childhood. But I feel an affection for the spirit of music like this nevertheless, all these years later.

A tape released earlier this year by Angel Marcloid—a Chicago-based musician who’s best known under the moniker Fire-Toolz—proves I’m not alone. The name she chose for the project, Nonlocal Forecast, is telling of its sonic motivations. In an interview with The Wire this week, she said that she too grew up with The Weather Channel as part of the background of her home environment, which developed into a genuine love of these sorts of sounds—emotional, swooning, and dramatic as they are. “I didn’t really end up finding out the names and faces until years later when the classic Weather Channel website popped up and nostalgic fans would upload recordings of old forecasts,” she told The Wire. “I remember back in maybe 2011-2012 scouring that website and writing down every single name.”

Bubble Universe!, the tape that resulted from her years of appreciating these sax-laden mood-setters, is a fair bit stranger than Weather Channel jazz compilations. Marcloid, who grew up a drummer, consciously evokes proggy rhythmic contortions and computer music editing trickier to create a surreal version of the sounds that one might hear on Local on the 8s. It’s sort of like when a digital TV broadcast glitches out and blurs things up a bit. You can still tell there’s a meteorologist on screen, but the colors are a little more vivid—the boundaries a little more jagged and twisted.

It’s a wonderfully strange record, and today, she’s offering another peek into her love for this music with a mix of fusion-y new age sounds. It’s beautiful, sweeping stuff, that Marcloid says should be fitting for just about any pleasant activity you can imagine doing, including, but not limited to: staring out of a window, crying, and taking bong rips. Listen below alongside an interview with Marcloid about the project.

NOISEY: How are we meant to enjoy the mix? What’s the perfect setting? 

Nonlocal Forecast: Although this mix is generally uplifting, it’s an emotional roller coaster for me. For some reason the first song makes me cry every time I hear it so I can’t listen to it at work. But then other songs are pretty adventurous. Track 2 makes me see lightning. In my world, it’s the perfect accompaniment to whatever you love doing the most. Sitting by yourself and listening to a light rain shower beating against your window. A windy chilly walk through a meadow where the sun is warming your skin. Driving through the desert. Floating in space. Sucking down bongs in your room with a nice pair of headphones on and a cat in your lap.

Was there any specific concept to the mix?

 I have a lot of music, and I acquire a lot at once. I throw it all on shuffle. Songs will stick out like sore thumbs, so I drag them to a folder. This process leads to getting lost in full albums of course, but this folder of songs just becomes so fucking charged. I took songs from that folder.

Do you have a favorite moment on this mix? 

Perhaps the violin solo build-up in Jerry Goodman’s “I Hate You.” My least favorite moment however, is when Goodman chose a name for the song.

Is synesthesia a real thing? If so, what color is this mix? 

My experience is that I see shapes, textures, colors and shades, emotional qualities, sentiments and values, recollections of past experiences, all sort of molded together in one matrix. It’s quite a rainbow of things if I look at the mix linearly. As a whole, it’s warm, glowing, glassy, full of green growth, completely safe, watery and flowing, cushy and fluffy, soft but refined. Blankets, rivers, lens flares, stuffed animals, wide open night skies, cats purring, maybe a little facing traumas with LSD as an aid.

When we chatted about the last Fire-Toolz release we talked about the function the more peaceful moments served on that record. What does it mean to you to do a record like Bubble Universe! that’s more consistently focused on that sort of headspace? 

That album flowed out of me so quickly and easily. I felt an effortless flow and peace putting it together. The drive to create was because I had just finished my next Fire-Toolz album and felt a strong momentum to keep going. Writing Bubble Universe! I felt no need to be hyper-focused on the compositional detail I put into Fire-Toolz productions. I guess to some people Fire-Toolz sounds like a mess while Nonlocal Forecast might sound meticulous and intricate in comparison. Screenshots of the programs I use would convince you otherwise. I felt like I made no conscious decision in composing this record besides deciding what preset to start with. Play a chord, next preset, play a chord, next preset. Next thing you know I had a full length. No second thoughts, no months of going back and forth and tweaking like I do with any given Fire-Toolz track.

I know I’ve seen you post tracks on Twitter before that are kind of like this mix and sound a bit like the stuff you’ve done on the Nonlocal Forecast record. Do you, as your name implies, have specific memories about hearing this stuff on the Weather Channel?

 The name Nonlocal Forecast has a double meaning. It is a reference to classic Weather Channel vibes, but it is also (and mostly) a reference to the phenomenon of Quantum Nonlocality, and viewing it through the lenses of both ancient spiritual wisdom and cutting edge physics.

I didn’t have this idea to make a record that intentionally ~channels~ the sounds of 80s and 90s new age, jazz fusion, and easy listening. Nor did I have the idea to adopt a Weather Channel theme. I just wanted to make some music and this is what came out organically and naturally. Probably because I haven’t listened to much of any other genres in the past several years.

As a listener, what specifically catches your ear in songs like these? 

There are melodies or chord progressions that will emerge out of these songs that stop me dead in my tracks. It’s what makes me drag them to my favorites folder. I really love the saxophone as a melody instrument, but somehow a lot of guitars and violins wound up on this mix to fill that role. Sonically, it’s all about the spaciousness, that unapologetically saccharine lead, and the timbre of popular 80s digital synthesizers and MIDI instruments. Put them all together with some jazzy chords and I’m drooling or crying.

Ninety-nine percent of the synth sounds on the Nonlocal album come from VST’s of the Korg M1 and Wavestation, and those instruments are scattered throughout the mix and staples of 80s music in general. I was definitely able to translate vastness, oneness, peace, vivid color, observing the beauty of weather patterns, inner-eye gazing into natural micro/macroscopic marvels, experiencing humanity as a single being. However I am nowhere near the jazz geniuses some of these artists are, and I couldn’t possibly have come up with their melodies and progressions if I tried. I’m coming at jazz fusion from a terribly unseasoned perspective. I’ve no legit jazz background. The Weather Channel raised me, but I was playing metal, punk, emo, noise. I rejected Tony Williams and Buddy Rich and embraced Chad Sexton and Mike Portnoy instead. Yes, Chad Sexton, and that gorgeous-sounding snare drum of his.

New age music sits at this interesting boundary between being functional music (whether for meditation or commerce) and like vaguely spiritual practice. Does any of this inform the way you listen or approach making music like this? What aspects of the packaging—for lack of a better word—of this stuff do you feel resonates with your approach?

 For some artists making new age music, spiritual or nature-themed track titles and artwork was a marketing trend. But for many others, they felt personally drawn to nature, relaxation, simple beauties and pleasures, presence and awareness, love and devotion. Often this music would be specifically presented as an assistant to a spiritual practice from a mystical and contemplative tradition. I think things like nature, relaxation, and spirituality are tight as hell. So naturally this music meshes well with my interests and passions. However my love for the music came long before I uncovered an unquenchable thirst for understanding the nature of reality and experiencing higher vibrations.

It’s all extremely functional music to me. It doesn’t blend into the background. It’s not shallow or plastic. It has a significant personality and value. Even the most bland, directionless sax solo over the most generic 80s electro-pop tune has an emotional depth and safe harbor to it that I could never finagle language to describe.

So this being a pretty focused genre-exercise, do you have any more projects like this kicking around your head? Are there other new directions you want to pursue outside of the Fire-Toolz stuff?

 I didn’t even want to do a new project at first. I felt completely fulfilled with Fire-Toolz and MindSpring Memories because I can do anything I want with Fire-Toolz and it still sounds like Fire-Toolz, and I can use songs I already love as my toolkit with MindSpring Memories. Nonlocal Forecast happened because that emotionally intuitive creative stream was flowing, and I was whining to Max from Hausu Mountain about how annoying it is trying not to get too backed up with new Fire-Toolz material. At the time I wouldn’t have a new LP out for another year and I was in raging MIDI mode, ready to translate insights into rectangles on a grid. I sent him some songs I was working on that were originally intended to be a new direction for Fire-Toolz. He told me to just pick a different moniker, forget the vocals as to separate it further from Fire-Toolz, and they’d release an album of it. Two months later Bubble Universe! was fully produced and mixed. I felt like I had just taken a big pee. All over Max.

There are a lot of sounds that I haven’t explored enough. New age ambient ska with death vocals and mixer feedback maybe? No new monikers, though. Exploring new things is what Fire-Toolz albums are for.

Tracklist: 0:00:00 Fowler & Branca - Etched In Stone (Etched In Stone, Silver Wave Records, 1993)  0:04:40 Brian Bromberg - Sedona (Brian Bromberg, Nova Records, 1993)  0:11:00 Jerry Goodman - I Hate You (It’s Alive, Private Music, 1987)  0:15:54 Tom Grant - Journey Within (The View From Here, Polygram, 1993) 0:21:04 Doug Cameron - Vertigo (Passion Suite, Spindletop, 1987)  0:24:32 Tom Scott - Water Colors (Flashpoint, GRP, 1988)  0:29:47 Checkfield - Live At Five (Through The Lens, American Gramaphone, 1988)  0:34:34 Christophe Franke - Black Garden View (Pacific Coast Highway, Virgin, 1991)  0:39:13 Trammel Starks - Old Town (Gentle Storms, Intersound, 1995)  0:43:48 Victor Biglione - Za-Tum (Baleia Azul, WEA, 1987)  0:49:00 Dancing Fantasy - Happy Harry (California Grooves, Innovative Communication, 1991)  0:53:16 Allan Holdsworth - Dodgy Boat (Wardenclyffe Tower, Restless, 1992)  0:58:42 Maxxess - Castle On The Mountain (Landscapes [1990-1995], Klangdesign, 2011)

0 notes

simplyadorkable-blog1 · 8 years ago

Text

Season 6, Episode 21 - “San Diego”

Jess continues to stay with her father in Portland, where they unexpectedly help one another with their love lives; Nick asks Aly for help with his relationship with Reagan; Schmidt contemplates using his first name.

Here we are, so close to the season finale and this episode did not disappoint. Schmidt begins by worrying that his dream is dead. He wanted a way to show his peers that he makes so much money that he can throw it away on strangers through the “Schmidt Charitable Trust.” Unfortunately for Schmidt, that name has already been taken by Cranston Schmidt in 1948 in his creepy old attempt to promote nudity in restaurants. Damn that Cranston Schmidt and his naked waitresses! Though not all hope is lost when Cece suggests that Schmidt use his… gasp… first name! I really don’t want to know. It’s like not seeing Wilson’s entire face in Home Improvement. After Cece has shocked the world by reminding us that Schmidt even has a first name, we see that Jess has witnessed this entire exchange via FaceTime/Skype/whatever and agrees with Cece. In the background, we hear Bob Day complain that Jess hasn’t moved from the couch and is moping and the two begin to argue. Honestly, it had me laughing out loud the entire time. Jess’ voice cracking while she screamed that he’s embarrassing her and to not talk to her friends was comedic genius.

This episode treats us with another situation we didn’t know we needed: Nick and Aly bonding time. Or as Aly later puts it: Hell. This begins when Nick wakes up Aly by clearing his throat and shouting, “Achoo!” She finally wakes up to his pestering and Nick launches into asking if she wants to hear something deeply personal. Despite her protest, Nick immediately rambles on that he needs to break up with Raisin but he doesn’t know how. He explains that their disagreements came to a head last night when he wanted to talk to her and she wanted to have sex. Oh, how the turn tables. Now roped into the situation, Aly tells him to deal with it himself using some kind of train analogy before trying to go back to sleep. But not before Nick can nudge her again to ask if the weird alien mural behind her looks like a monster’s butthole. Turns out, it does, gross!

Meanwhile at Associated Strategies, Schmidt stands facing the wall in a conference room where he apparently requested Winston to meet him. He dramatically turns around, wowing Winston, to reveal that he wants his name back. He is… Winston Schmidt. I am shook. Who knew his name was Winston the entire time?

In Portland, Bob has finally convinced Jess to leave the house to get ice cream at a local diner. We get a brief mention of the sister that hasn’t been heard of since her weird thing with Schmidt post-prison. Anyways, Bob introduces Jess to their waitress, Priscilla. It’s clear that the pair get along swimmingly, something that Jess takes note of. When Jess says that she knows what it’s like to be alone, Bob confides in her that he does too. He and Ashley broke up six months ago.

Before we can hear more about that, we return to the loft where Raisin is angrily yelling on the phone. Pharmaceutical reps, am I right? As if Nick wasn’t already terrified enough to break up with Raisin, he definitely is now. In fact, instead of breaking up with her, he stutters through an invitation for a train trip to San Diego. He explains this odd happening to Aly, who had officially been woken from her sleep. Aly, like the rest of us, is confused how that even happened. Nick is equally as confused and blames Aly for bringing up trains and that it is all her fault. I would think all this yelling would alert Raisin, but we already know she doesn’t listen to Nick. Aly defends herself and tells Nick that this is the stupidest thing she ever heard and she feels like she needs to call San Diego to warn them about him. Nick totally caught me off guard when he asks her if she believes in God. I’m unsure of where that was going because she responds with, “I believe in Hell and I’m in it.” Nick gets angry and storms out of the room. This is the classic, goofy Nick that we’ve all been missing!

Back at the diner in Portland, Bob tells Jess that he should’ve known from the start it wasn’t going to work with Ashley. She pushed him in front of a shark in the ocean during their honeymoon, for goodness sake! Jess encourages him to get back out there even though he’s an old man with a band-aid on his hand. She even goes as far as to ask Priscilla on a date for him. Priscilla accepts and the rest is history. Bob wants to repay the favor, but Jess happily leaves the pair to plan their date.

Winston and Schmidt have moved to Schmidt’s office to discuss their name. Winston tells Schmidt that there can be only one Winston, they found that out the hard way during Homecoming Weekend 2002. We are treated with a brief flashback to Fat Schmidt, Winston, and Nick in their college dorm where Schmidt and Winston break into a fight over their shared name. Back in the present, Winston lists every single variation they had tried on their name, “Fat Winston, Thin Winston: Too derogatory. Black Winston, Jew Winston: Obviously problematic. Hot Winston, Ugly Winston: That nearly tore us apart.” That’s why they came up with the one-Winston rule. Schmidt pushes forward for double Ws in the most Schmidt tone possible. Winston concedes and they shake on it.

Now on the train, Nick puts out a real murdery vibe to Raisin, implying that he’s going to return home and she’s not. Raisin even asks if he would tell her if he’s going to murder her. Nick continues to act cagey until he literally jumps off the train at the next stop. Of course he walks right to where she can see him out the window. She yells at him through the glass and he runs off weirdly with his hands to his sides.

Later that day, Jess is back at her dad’s house FaceTiming Cece when she hears the sound of someone moving a refrigerator. It turns out that the noise is her dad boning and she rightly freaks out and inadvertently knocks over all of his cans. This alerts Bob to Jess’ presence and he comes out to talk to her, thankfully wrapped in a robe. Jess calls him out for putting out on the first date and we know where Jess gets her big heart when he claims that he’s in love. Bob wants to return the favor and tries to find someone to hook Jess up with using his Rolodex, conveniently located in his kitchen. Jess tells him that she can’t move on, she loves Nick. The hurt in her voice is so clear, it’s heartbreaking. Bob wonders what she sees in Nick, saying, “He looks like the only while waiter in a Chinese restaurant.” I can see it. Jess explains that’s it’s not logical, but it just is. She loves him so much.

At the loft, Winston and (cringe) Winston are telling Aly and Cece that they are both going to go as Winston. It’s super confusing for all of them and Cece suggests that Winston Bishop goes as “The Bish.” Aly refuses to call her finacé “The” anything. It’s odd to think that everyone has known his name the entire time, sans Aly, but we as an audience had no idea. Aly suggests that Schmidt go by his middle name, but he can’t because it’s Saint-Marie. Aly says that’s hilarious and she’s 100% correct.

Nick suddenly bursts in, without Raisin, in an agitated state. When he explains that he jumped off a train, leaving Raisin behind when he planned on breaking up with her, Schmidt asks why he didn’t know. Nick tries to answer using Schmidt’s name to which Schmidt explains that he’s now going as Winston. Nick immediately argues that there can’t be two Winstons, it nearly destroyed them. Cece interjects, asking if they can go back to the part where he jumped off a train. “Sure, you find that part interesting?” Yeah, Nick, we do. It’s a wonder he’s an author. Aly, as an officer of the law, has to ask where Raisin is. Nick says that she probably got off on the next stop and will be back for some sort of reckoning. He claims that now she’ll be the one to break up with him so problem solved. Schmidt senses that Nick is spiralling and says, “Give Winston a hug.” Of course because of the name confusion, Winston hugs Nick which starts a fresh argument over the name. Nick even runs through a confusing scenario of asking Winston to dinner where both of them try to answer. In at attempt to end the discussion, Schmidt tries to claim the name and he and Winston start fighting over it. “Yet somehow all the Michaels in the world manage to deal with this everyday,” Aly observes.

What I can only assume is minutes later, Nick calls Bob’s house in a desperate attempt to reach Jess. He admits to Bob that he’s breaking up with Raisin and really needs Jess’ help, citing that she always knows what to say. Bob interrupts Nick’s pleading by asking him what he would do if he was in the ocean with Jess and a shark started coming towards them. Despite his vague scenario, Nick says he doesn’t know what he would do but if Jess was with him, he knows they would be okay. She has a giant heart that’s part compass and part flashlight and she’s the greatest person he’s ever met. This answers Bob’s question.

At this moment, Raisin shows up. He retells the story to Aly later in the kitchen where he’s on his fifth beer in as many minutes. But don’t be impressed, he once drank nine beers in five minutes. He tells Aly that he didn’t say anything and Raisin broke up with him without confrontation. But he still feels terrible. Aly tells him that’s because his relationship with Raisin meant something and he ended it like it didn’t. Nick feels like they bonded and I agree. Unfortunately, Aly does not, it was one of the most frustrating days of her life.

With his tail between his legs, Nick goes to talk to Raisin. He apologizes for leaving her on the train and tells her the truth: he didn’t know how to break up with her. She admits that she wanted to break up with him too and they wanted different things. They aren’t good at goodbyes so Nick stands in his closet while they awkwardly say goodbye to each other and Raisin leaves.

Later that night, at Jaipur Aviv, Winston shows up to formally gift his name to Schmidt to help him get where he’s going. He even admits that he considered using Saint-Marie and Two-Shoes before settling on The Bish. Schmidt, warmed by Winston’s gesture, turns to invite Winston inside but when he turns back, Winston has vanished. That man is an enigma. Even later that night when Schmidt and Cece are lying in bed together, Cece utters the words, “I love you, Winston.” This freaks the pair out and they storm back to the loft to shove the name back in Winston’s face. Of course Schmidt does this by saying that Winston is the worst name in the history of names and instigates another fight between the two. Aly and Cece watch on, wine in hand.

We quickly get a look at Jess collecting cans on the sidewalk to take to the recycling center when Bob finds her. He informs her that Nick called and he finally sees what she sees in Nick. When Jess tries to protest that he’s dating someone, Bob continues to explain that Nick and Raisin broke up and he thinks that Nick doesn’t even realize that he still loves Jess.

The Jess/Nick train continues to build speed when Nick sees off Raisin in front of the building. She heads off in a cab and Outside Dave appears to put an arm around Nick and say, “There she goes, off to college, circle of life.” We conclude with another look at Jess. She’s now in the back of her dad’s car looking at The Pepperwood Chronicles. Specifically the “Meet the Author” page that features an image of Nick. She’s going to go home and profess her love to Nick and I cannot wait.

Originally Aired 3/28/2017

#New Girl #Season 6 Episode 21 #San Diego #Recap #Breakdown #Spoilers #Zooey Deschanel #Jake Johnson #Megan Fox #Hannah Simone #Max Greenfield #Lamorne Morris #Nasim Pedrad #Episodes #simplyadorkable

4 notes · View notes

junker-town · 7 years ago

Text

A guide to the 2017-18 college basketball season for diehard college football fans

So you’ve been too distracted by football to pay attention to college basketball. That’s ok. You’ve missed a lot, but there’s still plenty of time to catch up.

I know why you’re here. I don’t really understand it, I absolutely don’t approve of it, but I accept it.

I know you only watched bits and pieces of the Maui Invitational because it was an alternative to Thanksgiving family interaction. I know you’ve only seen Trae Young in brief highlight videos on YouTube. I know you have, at best, a very limited understanding of who Pantelis Xidias is.

I know you’re only here because college football is over. It’s cool. You’ve been missing out, but it’s cool. That overtime was crazy.

Thankfully, we at SB Nation college basketball have been living and dying with every dribble that has occurred since the evening of Nov. 10, and we’re here to answer every question you would have asked if you hadn’t been so consumed with SEC rage for the last five months.

Hit me with some questions.

Ok so who is good?

Uh, well you’re actually joining the fray at a bit of an awkward time for that. Sixty percent of the teams in the AP poll lost at least once last week, including four of the teams ranked in the top five. We’ve had three different No. 1 teams, and all three have been knocked from that pedestal after being beaten by an unranked team.

Villanova is 14-1 and back on top of both the polls for the second time this season. West Virginia and Virginia, two teams that also have just one loss, each got votes for the top spot from the AP this week as well. Duke and Michigan State have each lost twice, but both are still safe bets to be in contention for No. 1 seeds a couple months from now.

So what’s the deal with this Trey Young guy?

It’s actually “Trae.”

That doesn’t seem right.

It is.

You’re the expert. So, whatever, go ahead. I guess.

A freshman point guard at Oklahoma, Trae Young has been the biggest thing in college basketball for the season’s first two months. Even though he wasn’t a top 20 player in the class of 2017, Young enters the second week of January leading the country in both points (29.4 ppg) and assists (10.2 apg). The only player in the history of Division I to lead the nation in both those categories at the end of a season was Dick Groat, who averaged 26.0 points and 7.6 assists per game at Duke during the 1951-52 season.

Because of his size, feel for the game, lightning quick release and propensity to pull up from just about any spot on the court, Young has already drawn numerous comparisons to Stephen Curry. Like Curry, Young also figures to have an opportunity to make an even bigger name for himself come March. Oklahoma went just 11-20 last season and wasn’t supposed to do anything overly significant this year. Thanks in large part to Young’s play, the Sooners are currently 12-2, ranked in the top 10, and looking like they’ll be a top five seed come NCAA tournament time.

Weren’t there supposed to be some other really good freshmen though?

Yes. Young’s brilliance has taken some attention away from just how good freshmen like Duke’s Marvin Bagley III and Arizona’s DeAndre Ayton have been.

Bagley, the top-ranked player in the class of 2017, has been every bit as good as advertised. The versatile 6’11 big man is averaging 22.5 points and 11.5 rebounds per game for Duke, and has had four games this season where he’s scored 30 or more points and grabbed 10 or more rebounds.

Ayton is a physical freak who is also averaging better than 20 and 10 (20.4 ppg, 11.6 rpg). He might be getting more attention if Arizona, the No. 2 team in the country to start the year, hadn’t gone 0-for-3 at the Battle 4 Atlantis in November. They ripped off a nine-game winning streak after that, but were dealt an upset loss by Colorado over the weekend. Still, yeah, Ayton is really, really good.

Wasn’t there another kid, though? Fultz or something?

Markelle Fultz is a rookie in the NBA now. He was the No. 1 pick in the draft last year.

But I don’t remember him playing in college at all.

That is completely understandable. You’re not alone.

Who am I thinking of?

My guess is Michael Porter Jr. of Missouri, the guy who was the No. 1 player in the 2017 class before Bagley reclassified.

Reclassifying is so weird to me. Like, you can just decide that you’re done with high school before you even start your senior year and everyone is just, like, “cool, go get ‘em in college?”

Yes, reclassifying is very weird, but we don’t have time to get into that.

So what’s Porter’s deal? How good has he been?

Well, it’s a little tough to explain.

Porter started Missouri’s first game of the season, but played just two minutes before being pulled because of a mysterious injury. That injury kept him out for the next week and then later kept him from even sitting on the bench because Missouri said it was too uncomfortable for Porter to sit, so he had to watch the games lying down in the locker room.

Eventually, it was announced that Porter would have microdiscectomy surgery of the L3-L4 spinal discs. It was also announced that the procedure would keep him off the court for three to four months, basically meaning that Porter’s college career lasted an entirety of two minutes.

ALTHOUGH, for the last couple of weeks, Porter has been making vague social media posts hinting that he might be back for Missouri before the end of the season. It could be a worthwhile cause for Porter. The Tigers are 11-4 with a couple of decent wins and no atrocious losses. Porter’s return could be what gets them back into the NCAA tournament for the first time since 2013.

Show me come cool dunks.

Ok. Unnecessarily demanding and also not a question, but ok.

youtube

So how bad is the SEC this year? SEC basketball fever, right? haha.

Umm, actually the SEC sort of might be pretty good at basketball this year. Kentucky doesn’t look quite as formidable as they have in years past, but Florida, Texas A&M, Tennessee, Auburn, Georgia, Mississippi State, Arkansas, Missouri and Alabama all have the potential to make the tournament and potentially make some noise once they’re there. It should be an extremely competitive conference, and one of the most fun leagues to follow for the next two months.

So it’s the best conference?

I wouldn’t go quite that far.

The Big 12 currently has four teams ranked in the top 12 and five in the top 16. The league posted the best combined record in non-conference play, and each member of the league is currently at least four games above .500.

Kansas gonna win it for the 7,000th year in a row?

It does not appear to be a sure thing this year, but if Kansas does win at least a share of the Big 12 regular season for the 14th year in a row, it would break a tie with UCLA for the most consecutive league titles all-time.

So they’re gonna do it?

Yeah, probably.

Hey show me some buzzer-beaters.

We’ll start with William & Mary’s Oliver Tot, who had played 18 minutes without recording a single stat before doing this:

youtube

And then we’ve got a little bit of Stanford’s Daejon Davis for your brain:

youtube

And then we’ll wrap things up with this different buzzer-beater from Florida’s Chris Chiozza:

youtube

How’s Rick Pitino’s team doing?

Pitino was fired just before the start of the season after an FBI probe into college basketball revealed that one of his assistants had been working with adidas to funnel money to a recruit. Former player and assistant David Padgett is serving as Louisville’s interim head coach.

FBI probe into college basketball? Tell me more.

We don’t have time. Here’s a summary of every team, coach and player that has been affected.

Gonzaga good again? I bet Gonzaga’s good again.

Gonzaga’s pretty good.

Wichita State?

Even better.

DePaul?

Nope.

Ahh, I was just testin’ ya. Any chance the Big Ten breaks that national championship drought?

It’s possible. The conference on the whole isn’t especially great, but both Michigan State and Purdue would seem to have a realistic chance at winning six straight in March. They’ll also have an extra week to prepare for the Big Dance. The Big Ten is playing its conference tournament at Madison Square Garden a week earlier than the other power conferences are playing their league tournaments.

Only in New York.

What about the West Coast streak? Any chance a team out there can win it all and break that streak?

Also possible, but less likely. Arizona State has been one of the most pleasant surprises of the season, but lost its first two Pac-12 games. Arizona is still one of the most talented teams in the country, but hasn’t been able to put it all together just yet. Gonzaga, as mentioned earlier, is good again, but they don’t seem to be quite as built for March as they were a year ago.

So what’s your Final Four?

We’re not doing this.

Why not?

It’s pointless to pick a Final Four when so much of who makes up the Final Four is based on tournament draw. I could wind up picking three teams that all end up in the same region on Selection Sunday.

Just do it.

Duke, Michigan State, Villanova and ... someone wild ... give me Seton Hall.

Did Rumeal Robinson really get fouled in 1989?

We’re done here.

0 notes

welllpthisishappening · 7 years ago

Text

Tripping Over the Blue Line (8/45)

They are both horrible liars.

Rating: Mature Content Warnings: Swearing, eventual hockey-type violence AN: I broke my own schedule because starting work again is nuts and that’s just my life now. Here are some more characters. As always, @laurnorder, @distant-rose & @beautiful-swan are gifts I do not deserve.

Also living life on Ao3, FF.net & tag’ed up on Tumblr.

“Make a fist.” Killian lifted his eyes away from his phone – and the fifteen text messages he had – to stare pointedly at Ariel and he tried not to groan. She didn’t move. Of course she didn’t. She never moved. She was a wall, impenetrable to groans and glares and Killian’s desire to get out of this chair and back on the ice.

“Red, I have made a fist ten times today at least,” Killian sighed, doing it anyway as soon as Ariel raised one eyebrow and brushed her hair off her shoulders.

He knew that look.

He’d already lost.

“So do it eleven times then,” she said, tapping on his wrist for good measure. He did it, making a face to to hide the face that, somehow, this still managed to hurt. Ariel noticed – of course – tilting her head slightly in a way that almost looked she was about to dive into a string of pity that was wholly out of character and wholly unnecessary.

It was fine.

His hand was fine.

So it still hurt and he still couldn’t really touch his thumb to every finger without wincing just a bit, but he could hold his stick and shoot the puck and after that first vaguely horrible practice, Killian had found his on-ice footing again.

Three weeks into the preseason and he hadn’t actually punched Will yet – despite that look on his face that practically screamed he knew something – and they’d whittled down the roster to an almost league-regulated size and Arthur’s whistle didn’t actually make him cringe anymore. He’d gone to PT on time for the last two appointments and almost, almost, had a full conversation with Gina about a contract extension before rolling his eyes and having to deal with her muttered opinions about throwing his life away.

And, in news that was absolutely, totally unrelated to anything regarding Killian’s sudden positive approach to everything going in within the confines of the New York Rangers organization, he’d saved Emma Swan’s number in his phone.

She’d texted him and he texted back and he wasn’t sure when it had become a thing, but Killian was glad that, somewhere in the last four days, it had. She asked about practice and he asked about wedding planning and it was...nice.

That was a stupid word and every single person on this entire stupid team would have probably cackled if he said it out loud, but it was.

It was nice.

She was one of the fifteen text messages he hadn’t responded to yet.

The other fourteen were Anna and Elsa demanding to know more about his sudden shift in personality, but that had nothing to do with Emma.

None of it had to do with Emma.

Of course not.

He was, simply, taking a different approach.

To win a Cup.

Obviously.

It was definitely about the Cup.

And not even remotely about the name and the number in his phone or the way his breath caught in his throat every time his phone made noise now, nerves on almost constant-edge that she might have texted him.

That would have been absurd.

His phone went off – lighting up and vibrating on the edge of the chair he’d thrown it in a few minutes before, and Ariel’s eyes nearly fell out of her head when she saw the name flash across the screen.

Swan.

“Oh my gosh,” she laughed, bordering dangerously close to hysterical already. “Are you for real?”

“Shut up,” he grumbled in Ariel’s direction. Killian shot her a glare and she didn’t shut up, laughed even louder when he swiped his thumb across the screen and pressed the phone in between his shoulder and his ear.

“What?” Emma laughed and he squeezed his eyes shut. Ariel had actually thrown her head back in laughter. “I didn’t actually say anything yet.” “That wasn’t actually directed at you, Swan.” “Good to know,” she said. She was smiling. He could hear her smiling. He was an idiot. “Hey, are you busy right now?” “PT, why?” “Oh, never mind then.” He sat up a bit straighter and Ariel tapped on his wrist, tugging his fingers apart. He was only dimly aware of what she was doing until she pressed her thumb against the back of his palm and he hissed in his breath sharply. “Jesus, Red,” Killian muttered.

“What was that?” Emma asked at the same time Ariel practically shouted, “Did that hurt?” “I’m fine,” he said, pulling his hand out of Ariel’s grip and readjusting his phone with the curve of his shoulder. “What do you need, Swan?” “The kid is here.” “Already?” Emma hummed in the back of her throat and he knew she wasn’t smiling anymore. She might have been leaning against the wall, mouth twisted in frustration and fingers tugging on the ends of her hair.

He shouldn’t know that already.

“There wasn’t as much traffic as they were planning on,” she continued, voice a bit rueful at the idea that a second-straight community event had ended up slightly off schedule. “He was supposed to get here after you guys got on the ice.” “Who?” “The kid.” “Wait, wait, wait, I thought it was a group.” “No, didn’t I say that?” Killian shook his head – Ariel’s eyes heavy on him, he ignored her. “It was going to be a group, but then, well like twenty other things happened, and now it’s just one kid and he’s here and…” “And?”

“And he’s got a Jones jersey on.” “I’ll be right there.” Emma exhaled slightly and it only then hit him that this would be the first time they’d actually seen each other since they’d been in her office on Thursday and somewhere in the dozens of text messages and seemingly never-ending conversation, they hadn’t really actually talked about it. Either time.

They didn’t have to.

It didn’t really need a definition. It could just...be. It was good as it was.

They were, quite obviously, attracted to each other – they were just acting on that attraction. And talking nonstop and she was calling him for help now.

Killian refused to dwell on that. If he did, he was certain, it would be decidedly overwhelming and Ariel would probably start laughing at him again.

No definition. Just more kissing. Oh, fuck, he wouldn’t be able to kiss her when he saw her.

That was probably easier, less complicated, less against the rules they were absolutely breaking. If they gave it a definition, it became something and Killian didn’t need something else – and he absolutely didn’t need a something that made him want to stay in New York.

That was the part that made Regina mumble about throwing away his career and he hadn’t actually told anybody else.

Elsa probably knew, because Elsa seemed to know everything, but she hadn’t actually said anything and Killian had only brought it up with Regina a few weeks before the season started.

He wanted out.

He’d win a Cup – or at least try and win a Cup – and then he was done. He was done with New York and the noise and the distinct lack of noise as soon as he got back to his apartment. He was done being the face of the franchise and everything that went along with it and he was done with teammates who kept calling his brother to provide updates on his seventh-wheel status.

He was done.

He’d finish out the season and then it was on Regina. He wanted to go to Colorado. He wanted to find an apartment and some air that didn’t smell like garbage every single day of the year and he’d be able to play Chutes and Ladders with the twins in person instead of whatever system they’d managed to develop over FaceTime.

Regina thought it was a stupid idea.

You could get a max deal. They love you here. You could probably take over the team if you wanted to.

He didn’t.

Killian didn’t want any of that. He just wanted to stop feeling guilty for...everything. And he was ninety-nine percent certain he’d be able to do that in Colorado with a piece of garbage hockey team that no one really cared about.

There was a metaphor about the mountains and wide open spaces in there too, but even Killian had to draw the line somewhere on sentimentality.

He hadn’t told Liam yet.

And he’d pointedly ignored that tiny little voice in the back of his mind that claimed he had a family here, even if the air always smelled a bit like garbage, and Emma Swan had told him he didn’t need to feel guilty anymore.

“Killian?” Emma asked, voice muffled a bit and she sounded like she was crouched in a corner.

“Yeah, still here,” he said quickly, refusing to meet Ariel’s persistent stare. “Where do you need me to be?” “Are you done with PT?” “I am now.” “Killian,” she repeated, but this one sounded a bit like a sigh and the sound seemed to reverberate in the back of his head, like he’d been waiting his whole life to hear it. The line between real and sentimentality had just blurred a bit more.

“Where, Swan?” She didn’t answer immediately and he would have bet a good chunk of his salary that she was tugging on her hair again – a tell, Emma had a tell and now Killian could picture her in front of him even if he closed his eyes.

Maybe he wanted to define it just a bit more than he was letting on.

His phone vibrated in his hand, a short, quick series of buzzes that had him biting his tongue so he didn’t actually groan or fall back on the table in the middle of Ariel’s office. They were probably all from Anna.

“What was that?” Emma asked.

“Nothing, love, it’s fine,” Killian said. Ariel nearly fell out of her chair. “Come on, I’m halfway out Red’s door already, tell me where I’ve got to go or I’m just going to wind up wandering around sections in the arena and that’s just depressing.”

She laughed. And that felt a bit like a victory. “We’re in the store now, getting our fill of team-branded merchandise and then...I don’t know…” “What?” “Maybe take him in the locker room?” Killian narrowed his eyes at that, not entirely certain springing a Garden of Dreams appearance on the entire locker room ahead of the last practice before the preseason opener was really in the best interest of anybody. He could see the headlines now Rangers ruin small child’s innocence by swearing every other word and planning out all the different ways to cross-check Soyer without getting whistled for it.

That probably wouldn’t fit in print.

“ How old is this kid?” he asked.

“Eleven.” He shifted his weight between his heels and clicked his tongue against the back of his teeth as he ran his hand through his hair. “Get your hand out of your hair,” Emma mumbled. He nearly dropped the phone.

“What?” “Was it not?” “What?” Killian asked again. Emma laughed, soft and knowing and the line was totally gone now, he’d fallen face first into sentimentality. “I mean, yeah, but...how?” She must have shrugged because he could hear her hair brush over the end of her phone and she was still laughing when she answered. “You have a tell,” Emma answered simply. “It’s a good thing you have to wear a helmet on the ice or everybody’d be able to know exactly what you were thinking before you crossed the blue line.”

He scoffed, but it was true and Emma knew it was true and Ariel, who was absolutely listening to this conversation, knew too. “Give me five minutes to walk downstairs, text Locksley and make sure Scarlet is on his best behavior and we can bring the eleven-year-old into the locker room and he can stick around for practice.” “And sign his jersey?” “And sign his jersey.”

“Thank you,” she said softly and her voice was low and serious. It made his heartbeat do something ridiculous and Killian wondered when the last time was someone had done something nice for Emma Swan.

She seemed consistently surprised to encounter it in New York.

“Five minutes, love.” “Ok.” He hung up, ignoring the dull buzz of another four text messages from Anna or Elsa or maybe even Regina, and stuffed his phone back in his pocket, moving towards the door and a set of stairs at the far end of the hallway. “See ya, Red,” Killian mumbled, hoping beyond hope that he’d be able to get away that easily.

Of course not.

“No, no, no,” Ariel sputtered, reaching out to tug on the back of his t-shirt. “What was that?” “There’s a GD kid here.” “You called her love. Was that Emma? Are you calling Emma Swan love now?” Ariel’s voice picked up with each question and this was exactly what he’d been trying to avoid. Killian leaned against the doorway, grabbing his phone again and typing the message to Robin, making sure he was aware of the plan and his duty as babysitter of a vaguely foul-mouthed defenseman.

“I’ve got to go to practice.” “No, you just said you were going downstairs. What is going on?” “Nothing that concerns you.” “Ohhhhhh,” Ariel said, wide-eyed and knowing and Killian huffed before he could stop himself. “Who else knows?”

“Knows what?” “That you’re totally in love with Emma Swan.” “Jeez, Red.” “I’m serious!” “I know you are, that’s the problem. Listen, I’ve got to go meet this GD kid and then I really do have to go to practice. I’ll see you when we get back from Pittsburgh, ok?” Ariel grumbled, muttering something that sounded distinctly like I’ll ask Mary Margaret, and Killian rolled his eyes, stepping back into the office and letting his hand fall on her shoulder. He bent over before he’d realized what he was doing, head tilted slightly when he kissed her cheek and Ariel didn’t seem quite as frustrated with him anymore.

“Just…” he said, not quite sure what he would actually describe it as. His vocabulary wasn’t that impressive.

And Emma Swan had managed to get under his skin in three weeks and a half a dozen text message conversations and he couldn’t stop thinking about kissing her again.

Ariel nodded once, pulling her hand back up to wrap around his wrist and squeeze – tightly. “Yeah, ok.” He made it down the stairs in seventy-four steps and two minutes to find the main lobby of Madison Square Garden relatively abandoned.

Relatively in the sense that the seemingly ever-present, camera-sporting tourists were taking pictures just inside the doors and there were two people in tickets and one security guard who’d probably walked the same figure-eight path for the last four hours.

And Emma.

He could just make out the top of her hair over a rack of Knicks t-shirts, leaning against a display of knockoff sticks, head turned towards someone...who wasn’t taller than the rack of Knicks t-shirts.

Killian’s hand was halfway back in his hair before he realized he’d stopped walking and had never actually answered Anna. She’d probably call soon.

He shifted on his feet again and he never quite got used to this – people, kids, wearing his jersey and wanting his autograph and Garden of Dreams was always telling him about someone or something or some group that wanted him to sign several different things because he was everyone’s favorite. Will made fun of him for it and Robin smiled knowingly as if being captain of the New York Rangers wasn’t enough responsibility, he needed to be something else for a group of kids who didn’t have anything.

He didn’t ever say that out loud.

He hated even thinking it.

Killian had been lucky – the Vankalds had given him everything and Liam had given even more and the least he could was sign some GD kid’s jersey.

Jeez, he was an ass.

He took a step into the store, nodding towards the one attendant that was there in the middle of the afternoon in the middle of September and someone gasped when they noticed him. “Whoa,” muttered a kid a few feet away, sporting a Cup finals jersey and a smile so wide Killian was actually nervous about the state of his jaw.

“Hey,” Emma said, a smile on her face as well when she took a step towards him. “This is Aurora, she works for GD. She helped get Henry here.” Killian stuck his hand out towards the woman in front of him – brown hair and soft eyes and an enormous ring on her finger. “It’s so nice to meet you,” Aurora said, hardly letting him take a breath before diving into introductions. “Phillip talks about you non-stop.” “Phillip?” Killian repeated. “Like rookie Phillip?” Aurora laughed softly, nodding. “He’s trying to come to terms with that nickname. It’s a work in progress. I think he’s mostly just happy to still be on the roster.” “So you’re…”

“Fiance.” “Right,” he said, but it came out as a sigh and Aurora’s smile was just a bit tighter than it had been during the handshake. Emma rolled her eyes and made a face at him and that, somehow, felt significant.

“Anyway,” Emma continued, tugging the jersey-sporting kid closer to her side and his eyes hadn’t gotten any smaller. “Henry, this is Killian. Jones, this is Henry. He’s your biggest fan.” “That so?” Killian asked, earning himself an enthusiastic nod. “Well, it’s nice to meet you Henry. Swan said you’re eleven?”

Another nod, this time with an additional noise that sounded a bit like Henry was wavering on the specifics. “Almost twelve. I’ll be twelve like a week after the season starts. You guys play the Bruins that night.” “Look, Swan,” Killian muttered, eyes darting towards Emma. “He tells time like we do.” “Obviously it’s the best way to do it then,” Emma said.

“So, Henry, what’d you get then?”

He took a step back, head snapping up and he looked a little stunned at the question, like no one had ever really asked him that before. “A new jersey and a stick and gloves. I’m gonna get to watch some of practice, too.” “Some?” Henry shrugged. “Emma said maybe the locker room too?” “Yeah, yeah, of course. We’ll get ‘em all to sign your stick.” The wide-eyes were joined by a gasp and Henry’s jaw actually cracked when his mouth dropped open. Killian could feel Emma’s eyes on him and he resisted the urge to move half a step closer to her, instead opting to crouch down until he was level with Henry, hand falling on the shoulder of the jersey. His jersey. The kid was wearing his jersey.

“You ever been on the ice before, Henry?” Killian asked.

The kid’s eyes were going to fall out of his head, Killian was sure of it, but Emma was smiling, teeth tugging on her lower lip and maybe that had kind of been the point. “I don’t know…” Aurora said slowly, eyes darting between all of them. “We need parental permission for something like that. There’s insurance issues and…” “I don’t have any parents for you to ask,” Henry mumbled, but Killian heard him as perfectly as if he’d enunciated every single letter.

“Well, that settles that, doesn’t it?” he asked, squeezing Henry’s shoulders and nodding encouragingly towards him. “Come on, Kristoff can find you some skates and you can run warmups with us. Arthur won’t mind.” Aurora opened her mouth to argue again, but Killian shook his head deftly, slinging his arm around Henry and tugging him towards the door. “We’ll see you on the ice, Swan,” he called back, turning just enough to find her still smiling at him. “We’ll be the ones scoring all the goals.” Kristoff didn’t just give Henry skates.

He found him a practice jersey that didn’t quite make it past his knees or swallow him up whole and a helmet that, somehow, managed to fit and Will didn’t swear once while Henry was in the locker room.

In fact, no one swore or mentioned anything about Pittsburgh or cross-checking and Henry couldn’t seem to stop smiling, head on a swivel as he tried to take everything in and make sure he didn’t trip over his skates.

And, so, maybe Killian was a pushover and one sentence and a distinct lack of parents and parental supervision had changed his entire view on whatever situation he’d been roped into that afternoon, but Emma kept smiling and she’d asked him for help and Henry didn’t want to wear the new jersey they’d given him.

It wasn’t Killian’s.

He wanted to wear Killian’s jersey.

It was a miracle he managed to skate once they made it to the ice, a mess of thoughts and emotions and practices weren’t usually open – with the exception of the few times near the end when a camera would come in – but he saw Emma as soon as he stepped onto the rink, feet twisted up underneath her in one of the seats at center ice.

She waved, hand moving quickly, arm still pressed up against her side so no one would notice and Killian barely managed to keep his balance.

“You’re going to corrupt this kid,” Robin mumbled, coming up short as he tapped his stick on the back of Killian’s legs.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” “Of course not.” Robin moved his stick again and this one was less a tap and more a jab, nearly making Killian’s knees buckle. “You showing off?” “Hmmm?” “Alright, I know you don’t want to talk about it and that’s fine, don’t talk about it if you don’t want to, but I’ve got one question for you.” “What’s that?” “Is this serious? Because there’s a kid here who won’t take off your jersey and you got him on the ice and somehow got Arthur to be cool with that the day before a game, so I’m assuming, this has to be pretty serious. Or at least you think it’s serious. Which is impressive considering it’s been three weeks.” “You honestly think I’m using a GD kid to get a date?” Killian asked, twisting his neck to stare at Robin who just shrugged in response. “Jeez, no, Locksley I’m not. And you asked like three questions and made several wide-sweeping statements just now.” “Any of them stick?” “No.” “No in response to the questions about you and that look you got on your face when she waved at you or no to the other question?” “You’re a very frustrating guy, you know that?”

Robin hummed in the back of his throat and made a face that seemed to scream I know and Killian rolled his head back, eyes closing slightly so he didn’t have to look up at the enormous screen and remember he was in the World’s Most Famous Arena.

Arthur blew his whistle – as shrill and obnoxious as ever – and Killian breathed an almost audible sigh of relief. There was some mention of skating and circle to circle, but Killian mostly ignored that, leaving Robin without an answer to any of the half a dozen questions he’d asked as he moved towards Henry.

He was pressed up against the glass, just to the right of the only net they’d actually brought on the ice – practices before games, even preseason games, weren’t much more than glorified walk-throughs and Killian had known Arthur wouldn’t have cared.

Henry, however, seemed just a bit overwhelmed by it all, eyeing the players with a mix of awe and fear and anxiety that Killian understood well.

“You’ve never skated before, have you?” Killian asked and Henry made a noise that should probably be patented by every eleven-year-old boy in the entire world. “How’d you end up a Rangers fan?” He made the same noise again and tried to scrape the back of his blade into the ice, nearly falling over in the process. Killian gripped his arm tightly, tugging Henry back up and he muttered something under his breath.

It was always loud on the ice – even in a glorified walk-through before a preseason game – skates scraping and pucks hitting sticks and crossbars and, when there wasn’t an eleven-year-old kid there, more swearing and jabbing and screaming than some sort of raucous port tavern in a 1950s pirate film.

And, usually, Killian loved it. He loved the noise and the organized chaos that was this stupid sport, but then, with an eleven-year-old standing next to him, muttering under his breath and looking just a bit overwhelmed, he wished it was a little quieter.

Henry looked like he could use some quiet.

“You know,” Killian chanced, digging the toe of his skate down. “I wouldn’t have been able to get parental permission either.” Henry’s head snapped towards him, wavering just a bit on shaky legs and not-quite-stable skates. “What?” Killian hummed in the back of his throat and ignored the feel of Robin’s stare from the other side of the rink.

They didn’t really publicize it.

And no one had ever really asked who the two very nice, very respectable people standing in the back corner of every single press conference either Jones brother had ever attended were. People just assumed.

They were normally wrong.

“My brother and I were on our own for a little while and, well, we got very, very lucky and we found a home, but they weren’t ever really our parents. I remembered my mom still, despite all the things they did for us. So, well, I get it.” He should have been better at this – this emotional conversation he was having with an eleven-year-old in hushed tones so the rest of his teammates wouldn’t actually hear him – but he wasn’t. He was an awkward, stuttering mess with half a smile on his face and the hope that, maybe, it would make Henry feel better.

“Emma said the same thing,” Henry mumbled.

He hadn’t been expecting that and something that felt a bit like betrayal shot through Killian's system – which was just as absurd as it sounded, even in his head. He hadn’t told Emma she couldn’t say anything, especially to a parentless kid from Garden of Dreams. He just...hadn’t expected her to.

“Swan told you about the Vankalds?” Killian asked, falling into the nickname without even realizing it.

“Who?” Killian blinked once. He’d lost complete control of this conversation. “The uh...Vankalds. The ones...Liam and I lived with them. Wait, what are you talking about?”

He might not have been able to push off the glass or even keep perfect balance on his skates, but Henry was perceptive and Killian knew he wasn’t going to get a straight answer as soon as he saw the eyebrows move. “We were just talking.” “Yuh huh.” Arthur’s whistle blew again and they were going to run drills and plays and Henry really couldn’t be on the ice anymore. Emma had moved from her seat, back behind the door that swung open and the hallway that directed back towards the locker rooms – on the other side of the ice. Henry took a deep breath, scrunching his nose at the expanse of ice and required skating in front of him.

Killian felt the ends of his mouth tick up, memories of that rink at Chelsea Piers and a patch of ice in Central Park, and he moved back away from Henry quickly, half a foot in front of him now. “One foot in front of the other,” he said, nodding towards the skates. “And don’t lift your feet. That’s how you fall.” “Don’t you lift your feet when you breakaway?”

“You gotta walk before you can run,” Killian laughed. “Push off so you’ve got some momentum going.”

Henry nodded, bending his knees as he moved and Killian thought he heard him take a deep breath before he pushed away from the boards. He didn’t fall – immediately. He made it to the edge of the faceoff circle before the front end of his skate got caught up underneath him and he landed, very soundly, on the ice.

“Fuck,” Killian mumbled under his breath, moving quicker than he had all preseason to grab Henry and pull him back to his feet. “You ok?” He was laughing.

The kid was laughing – bits of ice stuck to the front of his jersey and, somehow, a few pieces had found their way into his hair and he looked like he’d just won the goddamn Cup. “Great,” Henry promised. “Can I try and score?” Arthur blew his whistle again and Killian shook his head quickly, smile threatening to overtake his entire face at this point. “Maybe next time. Arthur’ll kill me if I don’t get you off the ice.”

“Next time?” “Sure.” “Is that how it normally works?” Killian shrugged. It wasn’t. Normally the GD kids showed up and he never really thought about them again, but none of them had ever come on the ice either. Or refused a brand-new jersey so they could keep wearing Killian’s.

“Let Swan and I worry about that, ok?” he asked, moving around Henry to push on his shoulder and move him across the ice.

Henry nodded, ice starting to melt in his hair, as he took a cautious step through the doorway in the boards and grabbing Emma’s outstretched hand. “You ok, kid?” she asked, eying his now-damp jersey critically.

“Great!” “We’ll watch for a little while and then Aurora’s got to get you back downtown, ok?” “Ok,” Henry agreed, but there was a disappointment in his voice that made Killian’s eyes dart towards Emma. He wouldn’t ask. He wouldn’t push. There were rules and lines and invisible walls that he was certain prevented him from asking about what she’d told Henry in the team store. He wanted to know. “Hey, Killian,” Henry continued, turning back around quickly towards him. “It’s because it’s always been there.” “What has?” he asked.

“Hockey. That’s why I like the Rangers. I’ve been able to watch the games, or at least some highlights, in every house I’ve ever been in. It’s there.” Killian’s throat felt too tight and it was, suddenly, too warm on this ice and he should have been able to come up with something to say, something profound or role model-y. He didn’t. He just nodded.

Emma was biting her lip.

“Let’s go, Jones,” Arthur shouted. Killian flashed an apologetic smile Henry’s direction, but he didn’t seem too put out by the practice going on in front of him.

“Don’t forget your stick’s in Kristoff’s office.” “I won’t.” “Good. See ya, Henry.” “Bye!”

He was totally showing off.

It was supposed to be a walk-through, moving through plays and possible defensive schemes they’d see in Pittsburgh the next night and Killian was absolutely showing off – flying through run-throughs and past barely-trying defenders and Will kept rolling his eyes dramatically enough that it was obvious what he was doing even behind his visor.

Killian had beaten Phillip the Rookie five times.

Henry cheered on the last one.

“You’ve answered my question, you know,” Robin said, lining up against him in the faceoff circle. Arthur actually sighed, mumbling curses under his breath. His accent was even stronger now, frustration audible in every syllable, even the ones he didn’t want his players to actually hear. “God, will you two shut up?” he muttered. “You know they have the best faceoff man in the league in ‘Burgh?” “Jeez, are we calling it ‘Burgh, now?” Killian asked, glancing up at a visibly amused Robin.

“And it’s a preseason game, Arthur,” Robin reasoned. “No one’s actually going to try in faceoffs.” “You are,” Arthur said and it sounded a bit like a command. “That is, after all, what your wife touted as your greatest strength during contracts last season. Prove it.” Robin glared at Arthur long enough to miss the puck drop and Killian won the faceoff easily. “Again,” Arthur hissed. That was a command.

They went again another two dozen times until Robin had won six straight and Arthur finally seemed, relatively, satisfied. And when Killian glanced back up at the seats, Emma and Henry were gone. It shouldn’t have been nearly as disappointing as it was.

The flight was scheduled to leave three hours after practice – a hop from JFK to Pittsburgh – and by the time Killian finally got off the ice and out of his practice gear, all he wanted to do was sleep for the hour and a half they’d spend in the air.

That, however, seemed impossible as soon as he stepped in front of his locker, ends of his hair still wet from the shower and team-branded t-shirt just a bit baggier than usual.

Robin was already there, phone in one hand and and bag at his feet as he lounged on the bench with his feet stretched out in front of him. “You want to talk?” he asked, but the look on his face seemed to prove he already knew the answer.

“Nope,” Killian answered, shoving Robin out of the way as he grabbed the sweatshirt just behind his shoulder. “And there’s not anything to talk about, you said I already answered your question. Seems fairly wrapped up.” “Anna texted me. Said you’re ignoring her.” “Oh my God.” “Are you?” “I’ve been kind of busy. Camp and practices and...stuff.” “Stuff?” “Yeah stuff.” Stuff, in this case, were hour-long text message conversations with Emma that seemed to be cutting more and more into his allotted eight hours of sleep each night, but Killian wasn’t about to announce that fact in the middle of the locker room, even with Robin staring at him.

Killian rolled his eyes, sighing loudly and he heard the footsteps before he felt them – a six-year-old colliding with the side of his leg again. He bent down to grab Roland around the waist, slinging him over his shoulder and he felt the tension that had settled at the bottom of his spine ebb just a bit when he felt the laughter.

“What are you doing in here, Rol?” Robin asked, tugging on the sleeve of his son’s shirt. “You know the rules. You’re supposed to wait outside.” “Gina was talking to somebody. And I wanted to see Hook. Hi, Hook!”

Killian winced slightly when the greeting was screamed in his ear, shifting Roland’s weight on his shoulder until he’d induced a fresh round of laughter. “Hi, Rol,” he said. “You watch practice?” “No, I had to go to school.” “Lame,” Will said, his own bag slung over his shoulder, and Robin shot him an exasperated look. “Don’t do that anymore, Rol.”

“You’re no help at all,” Robin muttered. Will just shrugged. “Who was Gina talking to, Rol?” “Your friend from before.” Roland hummed against Killian’s shoulder, kicking slightly against his chest. “Descriptive,” Killian laughed. “What she look like, Rol?” “She had yellow hair. You were talking to her before when we were at practice.” He almost dropped Roland, stuttering slightly at the description and Will laughed under his breath, doing his best to turn it into a cough when he faced the combined glare of both Killian and Robin. “Go,” Robin said, nodding towards the door. “I mean you did already answer my question.”

Killian nodded once, grabbing his bag off the ground and stuffing his phone in his pocket and he was out the door in six and a half steps, coming up short when he found Emma sitting cross-legged on the ground in the hallway.

Gina was gone – probably trying to find her kid or talk to someone about Killian’s career-ruining idea – and Emma glanced up when he heard the sneakers on the hallway, smile inching across her face when she met his gaze.

“Hey,” she said.

“I, uh, I thought you’d be gone,” Killian stumbled, eyes tracing down the line of her, leather jacket on over a light-colored shirt and dark-wash pants and boots that hit just below her knees. She shifted against the wall, propping her head on her hand and eyeing him speculatively and it was even louder in this hallway than it had been on the ice.

“And pass up the chance to actually meet Regina?” Emma asked, laughter tinging her voice. “Did Roland find you? He was very concerned about that.” “He did. And his dad, which is probably more important in the grand scheme of things. Gina’s going to lose her mind when she finds out Rol worked his way into the locker room. He broke about eight different rules on that one.” “Eight? That’s impressive.” “Yeah, well, he’s not supposed to come into the locker room.” “You’re like a picture of parental control up there.” “I don’t want to get yelled at by Gina.” “She did seem kind of intimidating.” Killian barked out a laugh, tossing his bag back at his feet and sinking next to Emma, arm brushing against hers when he sat down. She tapped her fingers against the back of his hand and he did his best to resist the very real urge to lace his own through them, to squeeze her hand or wrap his arm around her shoulders.

“She’s not always like that, just when Rol’s concerned,” Killian said.

“And your contract.” “What?” “She mentioned you’re a free agent at the end of the season. I didn’t know that.” It didn’t sound like an accusation, but he could have been at the other end of the hallway and still hear the change in her tone. The way her eyes ducked away from his and she pulled her arms across her chest were just an added bonus.

“It’s not exactly something we’re broadcasting, love.”

“Are you worried?” “About?” Emma shrugged. “Throw a dart. FA’s not exactly a set-in-stone kind of thing.”

She was right and Killian hadn’t entirely considered what would happen if the Av’s weren’t particularly interested in letting him live out some sort of grizzled-veteran fantasy for the final few years of his career, or what the response would be like in New York when he just packed up and left.

Or what Emma’s response would be.

“I'm not worried,” Killian said, another almost-truth. “Gina’s good. It’ll be fine. I’m mostly just concerned about the season.” “That was good,” Emma mumbled.

“What was?” “You’re PR-perfect response for when you’re inevitably asked that after every game.” “Were you interviewing me, Swan?” “Not intentionally.”

She tried to smile at him, but it didn’t quite reach her eyes and only made it about halfway across her face before she tugged her arms even tighter, leather crinkling a bit at the movement. He didn’t think. He couldn’t let himself think. If he did he’d lose his nerve and probably realize this was pushing and he wouldn’t be able to grab her hand and tug her arm back towards his side and wrap his fingers around her.

Emma didn’t flinch, didn’t even turn her head completely to look at him, but the smile was real now and she twisted her wrist slightly until her fingers were twisted up in his. They hadn’t actually moved off the floor yet.

“You want to take a walk, Swan?” Killian asked, nuding his shoulder against Emma’s.

“Don’t you have a flight to catch?“ “Not for awhile.” He didn’t wait for an answer, just pushed himself back up and didn’t let go of Emma’s hand and she was next to him half a second later. “Come on.” They moved back down the hallway, the opposite direction of the pre-flight noise and the vague chaos that came with the very first – preseason – game of the year and he’d walked them back into the arena without even meaning to, just looking for somewhere that was quiet and close and Killian didn’t really care where it was as long as Emma didn’t let go of his hand.

“You just trying to show off your ability to sneak into the rink?” she asked, laughing slightly when he moved them towards the bench. The tension was back in his shoulders in half a breath and a few words and the sound of her laughter and Emma lowered her eyebrows when she saw it all play out on Killian’s face. “What?” “I am,” he said, sounding a bit like he was admitting to something. “Showing off, that is.” “Yeah I kind of figured when you started scaring Phillip the Rookie for life.” “He’ll get over it.” “He better tomorrow or Arthur will probably make him run sprints in full pads.” “You could be the coach, Swan.” She rolled her eyes, leaning back slightly on the bench so there was room next to her. “You don’t have to, you know.”

“What?” “Show off.” “Youngest child syndrome,” he said, sitting down next to her and his heart absolutely didn’t stop when Emma turned towards him.

“Even so. You don’t need to. You’re two-for-two on saving events of mine, so consider yourself with several marks in the hero column.”

Killian made a face, but he couldn’t bring himself to argue with her, the way her hand fell on top of his and his scarred fingers without even realizing it. And maybe he should figure out a way to ask her to take a walk in a way that didn’t entirely seem like he wanted to date her, but also like it did and he just wanted a few minutes alone with Emma Swan.

Away from hockey.

That was a strange change of pace.

“You did all of this, Swan,” he said, leaning forward half an inch until he could make out just how green her eyes were and he couldn’t focus on that too long or he wouldn’t be able to get a single word out. “This wasn’t anything I did, this was back-to-back things you’ve saved, even when they’ve all changed in a moment’s notice.” “Charmer,” she mumbled, ducking her eyes towards her boots, but her hand didn’t move away from his.

“The truth.” “Today was a complete disaster. There were supposed to be five kids and it was like eighteen different reasons for why they couldn’t come and GD wanted to move the whole event since there’d only be one kid, but it just didn’t seem right to switch everything. Even if it was just one kid. He...he deserved to get his day.” Emma smiled sadly, like she was remembering a memory or a moment and Killian’s mind danced back to what Henry had told him. That’s what Emma said. He didn’t ask. He wanted to, wanted to know every single goddamn thing about her, but it had only been three weeks and they couldn’t seem to define this and he didn’t ask.

“It was not a complete disaster,” Killian countered, arguing instead of asking. “You made sure a kid got what he wanted. That’s as far away from a disaster as it could possibly be.” “You helped.” “Ah, well, you asked. And I think we make quite the team, don’t you?” It felt like it happened in slow motion – Emma’s eyes moving back up his face and meeting his gaze and darting back down towards his lips, her hand pulling out from underneath his until her fingers found their way to the back of his neck and the bottom of his hair and Killian wasn’t entirely convinced he was still breathing.

Eventually he’d look back on that moment, in the weeks and the months and the everything that would follow, those few seconds spent on the bench in the arena, and he knew that was the moment when everything changed and things seemed to shift or recenter and, well, she’d asked. So, Killian did whatever he could to fix it and make sure it worked and it was a trend he didn’t particularly mind continuing.

Three weeks and a few moments and this moment and he was, officially, a lost cause.

Emma shifted again, sliding a bit closer towards him until her other hand had fallen on his chest and her thigh was pressed up against his. “Thank you,” she mumbled, leaning forward and Killian could practically feel the words in front of him.

“I wanted to.” “Well, for what it’s worth, you looked fairly good showing off. All goal-scoring and everything.” He chuckled under his breath and he could have rested his forehead against Emma’s if he moved another half an inch, a breath of space between them that was too much and too little all at the same time. “Is that the technical term, love?” “Not your love,” she mumbled.

He moved or she moved and they might have even moved at the same time, but the words were no sooner out of her mouth than they were a mess of hands and lips and, fuck, teeth and his fingers worked their way under the edge of her jacket and the bottom of her shirt. She gasped when he hit skin and pressed his palm against her back, pulling her even closer and it didn’t really need a definition if it kept ending up like this.

He was wearing more than she was – a sweatshirt and team-branded t-shirt and grey sweatpants that cost some ridiculous amount in the store Henry had been in before – and Killian was fairly certain he hadn’t heard anything he enjoyed more than the sound of Emma’s vague frustration when she tried to work through the layers of fabric.

Three weeks and one set-up in the corner of the restaurant and he still didn’t know enough about her or anything more than what she was willing to share via text messages, but Emma didn’t seem to mind and Killian couldn’t think about anything but the heady way she kept rocking against his front, like she was trying to desperately find some friction.

If he were still slightly coherent he’d add this to the reasons he should ask Emma somewhere, anywhere, that wasn’t the Garden or the practice facility upstate or a surprise party she didn’t want and Killian cursed just about every religious figure he’d ever heard of when her foot wrapped around his calf.

“You are just…” she mumbled, a bit breathless when she spoke. Emma groaned slightly when she couldn’t come up with the word, hand falling away from the front of his sweatshirt to push against the top of his pants and he nearly jumped off the bench when her fingers landed on the curve of his hip.

“What, love?” Killian stuttered, calling her that on purpose, just to see her eyes flash up at him. “What am I, exactly?” “Infuriating. And just…” He pulled away from her face, studying her for a moment and she looked as conflicted as she sounded, eyebrows pulled low and breath coming in short pants. “What?” Killian prompted. “I mean we’ve already covered charming.” Emma rolled her eyes, but she didn’t move back onto the bench and she wasn’t really sitting on the bench anymore, balanced more on his thigh than anything else. “We’re breaking the rules,” she muttered, whispering out the words as her head fell against Killian’s shoulder. “I just…” “These half sentences, Swan,” Killian said, doing his best to keep his voice light as he nudged his shoulder up. She still wasn’t looking at him and that feeling of dread was back in the pit of his stomach, a stark contrast to the metaphorical tsunami of feelings he’d experienced when he was kissing her – again.

“I’m not sure I care,” she whispered, tugging her gaze back up towards his.

Killian felt the smile practically explode across his face, moving before she could as his lips crashed against hers. Emma rocked against him again and he bit back a groan, squeezing his eyes shut as his hand worked its way back into her hair and across her neck and if they never left this bench it would have been ok.

“Me either,” he added, mumbling the words against her neck and appreciating how she shivered just a bit.

His phone went off. Of course his phone went off, the buzzing sounding almost ridiculously loud in the arena with the added bonus of vibrating against the bench through his pocket. “Ignore it, ignore it,” Killian muttered, tugging Emma back towards him. It was probably Anna anyway, the phone call he’d been certain was inevitable after he’d ignored over a dozen text messages.

The noise stopped – and started again five seconds later, somehow sounding louder and even more insistent.

“God fucking damnit,” he said, earning a quiet laugh out of Emma as he shifted slightly to pull his still-ringing phone out of his pocket.

It wasn’t Anna.

“What?” Killian snapped as soon as he held the phone up to his ear.

Robin clicked his tongue on the other end of the line and it was the most fatherly thing Killian had heard in the last week – including the moment Liam had tried to discipline one of the twins while still on the phone with him two days before.

“People are asking where you are,” Robin said.

“And?” “And where Emma is. So, you know...put two and two together and come back here because we’re going to leave soon.” “Hours. We weren’t going to leave for hours.” “Bumped up. Something about a storm and wind. I don’t know, I’m not a pilot. I’d just get back here before people start talking even more and Roland remembers what he saw in Tarrytown.” Killian’s mouth hung open and Emma looked at him quizzically, one eyebrow lifted. “Your kid’s got a very big mouth, you know.” “I know nothing,” Robin promised. “Just that you’ve been ending up alone with Emma several times now. I’m just trying to make your life a little bit easier.” Killian sighed dramatically, head falling forward slightly. Emma’s fingers ghosted over the back of his neck and that made it a bit easier, even if six-year-old Roland Locksley saw something and people were talking.

This wouldn’t happen in Colorado.

Except Emma Swan wasn’t in Colorado.

“Like five minutes, Killian, tops,” Robin said.

“I’ll be right there.” He didn’t even try to put his phone back in his pocket – certain it would probably just start ringing again anyway – and Emma, finally, moved back to the bench, smile tugging on the corners of her mouth.

“You’ve got to go?” she asked.

“Something about a storm and a bumped up itinerary and a search party to find me.”

“Ah, well, they can’t lose their captain, can they? Insert cliche about being a fearless leader here or whatever.” “Definitely whatever.” Emma scoffed and tugged her shirt back in a slightly more respectable and even direction. “Can I ask you a question?” “Of course.” “Why does Roland Locksley call you Hook?” It wasn’t the question Killian had been expecting, so, naturally, he probably should have. He hadn’t really expected anything to go the way it had in the last three weeks. “Oh,” he laughed. “Two reasons actually. When I got hurt my hand was in this huge cast for like months and then there was a brace and it was just this ridiculous contraption and, according to Rol, he remembers it looking like a hook. He was young, barely even over a year old, and the memories are mostly what Locksley and Gina have told him and photos, but he knows so no one really argues with him.” “What’s the second reason?” “I throw a very good right hook.”

Emma’s laugh made her whole face shift, bright and happy and shoulders rolled back just a bit when she stood up to look at him like he might actually be the most interesting person she’d ever met. “I didn’t think you were the fighter on this team.” “Only when the situation calls for it.” “You think it will tomorrow night?” “It’s a preseason game, Swan.” “That’s not an answer.” Killian shrugged. “We’ll see.” Emma nodded slowly, lower lip pushed out slightly and he wondered when he’d been able to start reading her thatwell. “What’s wrong?” “Nothing.” “Swan.” “Just, you know, be careful or something.”

He stood up at the way her voice shifted, eyes falling back to the ground and the small pile of used paper cups in the corner of the bench. His hands moved up and down her arms, leather bunching underneath his fingers and Killian ducked his head to force himself into her eyeline. “It’s a preseason game, Swan,” he repeated. “I won’t even get ten minutes.” She hummed in agreement, forehead brushing against his shoulder.

“Let me know when you land?” Emma asked, eyes widening and breath catching just a bit when she realized what she’d asked.

“Of course,” Killian said. He kept his voice even, doing his best to sound as sincere as he was, while still managing to walk that fine line of two people just breaking the rules and not actually talking about it. It all kind of proved pointless though when he brushed his lips over her forehead and that didn’t seem like whatever.

“You should probably go.” “Probably.” Killian’s hands felt back on her hips and he had to actually bend his knees to reach her when he kissed her, but he could still feel Emma’s smile when he did. “I’ll text you later, ok?” Emma nodded, lips on his cheek and standing on tiptoes and if he said he didn’t think about that moment the entire hour and a half he was on the plane to Pittsburgh, it would have been a lie.

#cs ff #captain swan ff #ouat ff #cs #csbb #blue line #just....throws more characters at you #there are so many characters in this story

83 notes · View notes