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sylvie-writes · 4 years ago

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❅ Christmas Gala ❅

❅ pairing: ransom drysdale x reader

❅ prompt: “Out of all the seats, and you willingly choose the one beside me? Should I be concerned?” @/coffin-prompts

❅ summary: ransom has a plus one to take to the gala, so he decides to extend the invitation to his assistant. it’s nothing more than business, right?

❅ warnings: slight age-gap, a few curse words and that’s about it.

❅ word count: 2,424

❅ author’s note: i know i have a lot of requests to write, but i needed to get the gears turning if that makes any sense. i’m trying to test the waters here. once again, i’m not going to be cranking out fics every week, but here’s me shooting my shot. the story may seem slow in the beginning, but it will pick up, i promise!

(gif below is not mine, nor do i take credit for it)

***please excuse any mistakes***

December 24th, the night of the annual Christmas Eve Gala. Every year, prestigious and wealthy families were invited to the charity event held at the Center for the Arts in Boston. Among those who were invited, were the Thrombeys and Drysdales. Your boss, Ransom, also happened to be invited to the event and for some unusual reason, he decided to extend the invitation to you as the invite included a plus one.

A knock on the door of your apartment distracted your thoughts from your focused typing. Standing from your seat at the table, you curiously made your way to the front. You hadn’t invited anyone over and rarely did you receive solicitors.

Taking no time, you opened the door to be greeted by an older man, holding a gorgeous red midi dress hanging inside of a plastic dry clean bag. With furrowed brows, you quickly shot your eyes to the tag on the man’s uniform. The name of the local dry cleaner embroidered onto the pocket.

“Delivery for (y/n)?”

Nodding uneasily you reached forward and took the dress from the smiling man who left as soon as the dress was in your hold. You held the hanger with one hand and with the other dug to see the ticket along with the Michael Kors tag.

You only knew one person who would do such a thing, and reading the name on the receipt confirmed your suspicions.

Ransom.

There was an hour and a half till Ransom would be here to pick you up. Honestly, before you were surprised with the dress, you were contemplating not going altogether. Diligently, you finished up Ransom’s schedule for the week and shut off your laptop, running to go and get ready.

The person staring back at you in the mirror made even you swoon. Ransom had surprised you once again by having selected the correct size for you. A flattering sweetheart neckline fell comfortably on your chest as the off the shoulder sleeves hugged you just enough to where they didn’t slide. You ran your hands over the sides of your body, smoothing the dress out. Bringing your gaze down to your feet, you stepped forward to sleep your feet into the heels in front of you. Taking one last check in the mirror, you were satisfied with the look and decided to once more head to the front door.

Searching through the small coat closet, you rummaged through the many jackets, eventually finding your most prized possession. Practically brand new, you slipped on the tan trench coat that you had bought with your first real paycheck a few years back. Right out of college, you hopped onto this job and for the past five years, you’ve worked for Ransom. The pay was good and you couldn’t complain.

To some, this trench coat wouldn’t be anything, but to you, it was the most expensive thing you owned as it was also the first designer piece of clothing you had ever owned and purchased. Once the jacket covered your shoulders, a knock sounded on the door. With Ransom’s usual impeccable timing, you correctly assumed it was him as it was exactly 8 o’clock on the dot.

You opened the door to see the man out of his usual sweater and slacks, but instead wearing a suit and tie, making your mouth water. Apparently he felt the same way as Ransom’s jaw slightly hinged opened and you giggled. Taking two fingers and gently pushing it back up.

“You’re staring, boss.”

Ransom shook his head and muttered out a quick “right.”

He held out an arm for you and you latched on, the two of you heading for his car.

Arriving, you were met with Joni’s “friendly” shriek of your name. Linda paid no mind to your entrance and her scowl made you cower into Ransom’s hold. He reassuringly squeezed your arm and walked even closer to the family. In his usual cold manner, Ransom greeted his mother and then turned his attention to his father who was currently arguing with Walt. How all of them managed to piggyback onto the perks of having the Thrombey name, you’ll never know.

As Ransom fueled his father and uncle’s argument, you wandered off to Meg who gave you a small smile. Currently, she was trying to get Jacob to talk, but he was too invested into whatever was playing on his phone.

With a defeated sigh you went back to Ransom, running to him like a little mindless sheep. As much as you hated it, leeching onto Ransom around was the only thing to do since you felt so out of place at this event.

For what felt like a good hour, you were on your feet and unknowingly becoming Ransom’s arm candy. You both had made your way from the family and to the crowd. Filled with unease, you downed more flutes of champagne than you could count. All you knew is that jaws were moving and yet you didn’t hear or care to listen to a single word.

At some point even Ransom had somehow managed to ditch you and with no one else to run to, you eventually found your way into the theater. The usher politely showed you around to a seat even though they were not assigned. You plopped down into the seat, taking off those awful heels seeing as no one else was in the theater.

You sat in the empty space for what must have been a good half hour. Save for your phone, you were extremely bored and most of all tired, already fighting your eyelids that were heavily falling. At some point, chatter fell upon your ears and you quickly blinked the sleep out of your eyes.

A few rows over, you could spot Linda and Richard, and then as you turned your head the other way, the rest of the clan was in sight. They all came from different directions, but ultimately ended up sitting behind you. Your eyes sifted through the crowd, although there was no sign of Ransom.

You had expected he’d be off with someone by now, but for some reason a small part of you had been expecting him to stay with you. A sad sigh left your lips and you then delicately crossed your legs over each other, leaning back in the chair. If Ransom was going to leave you all alone, you might as well enjoy the free show and hell, enjoy yourself. After all, it was once in a blue moon that you got all dolled up like this and truly had a good time.

As much as Ransom acted like he didn’t care about you, you both knew that was the complete opposite. The little things he did allowed you to see that. Sometimes he would order you your favorite meal, or make you a cup of coffee for when you arrived at his house. As for tonight, Ransom knew how much you enjoyed plays and dances, hence why he invited you. In Ransom’s own way, that’s how he showed his love, through money and such. The man was raised that way which gave him the idea that this was the only way to love. Your heart ached for him as he didn’t know that there was more to love than money. Honestly, sometimes you did try to show him that, with sweet hugs and such. Like a grumpy old man, he’d grumble and try to push you off of him, but he really didn’t try hard enough. Just like a few hours ago, when he had let you hang off of his arm, which was a sign that Ransom was slowly easing into the whole idea.

The doors to the theater were harshly shut and the sound bounced off the walls, grabbing your attention. You lifted your head to scan around the room for Ransom’s face one last time when a hand grasped onto your shoulder.

“Looking for me, sweetheart?”

A cheeky grin was on the man’s luscious lips and it took everything in you to not lean forward and kiss away said grin. Instead, you just crossed your arms over your chest and scoffed with faux annoyance. Ransom threw his arm around your shoulders and brought his fingers up to the side of your face. With gentle strokes using the very tips of his soft fingers, Ransom brushed some hair behind your ear. Trying not to be bothered by his actions, you decided to speak up.

“Out of all the seats, and you willingly choose the one beside me? Should I be concerned?”

As the lights go down and the show begins, you see Ransom shake his head with a slight smirk. As he does so, he lowers his hand from your hair and starts lightly tracing shapes on your bare shoulder.

“I’m offended you’d think such a thing, (y/n). Can I not just sit with my lovely assistant who I love so much?”

Ransom was whispering in your ear at this point, but you could still hear the playfulness in his voice. A quiet laugh fell from your lips and you just shook your head disapprovingly.

“No, not after you ditched her in the lobby.”

Before Ransom can apologize, the show begins and your attention is now drawn towards the beautiful opening number.

The show goes on, and you grow sleepy. It’s not that you weren’t enjoying the performances, no they were captivating, but you were just exhausted and definitely not one wired for these high strung events. You were tired from just merely pretending to be friendly and kind around these people. They had barely turned an eye to you since your last name wasn’t from an affluent family and you surely didn’t have a silver spoon resting on your lips. Especially with the title of “Ransom’s assistant” virtually floating over your head, the people you had met could have cared less if you were instead a dog on a leash.

Ransom still had his arm wrapped around your shoulder and his dancing fingers were lulling you to sleep. With a soft yawn, you riskily laid your head on Ransom’s own inviting shoulder. He smiled sweetly at your trust and turned his head to place a delicate kiss on the crown of your head. Although the other Thrombeys surrounded you both, Ransom didn’t care. As far as he was concerned, their heads were too far up their asses for them to even notice your interaction with the man.

You hummed in content and snuggled a bit into his side.

Once the show ended, Ransom gently shook you awake before anyone could see you had fallen asleep. He rose from his seat first and held out his hands for you. Sleepily, you placed them in his as the man helped you from your own seat. Unfortunately, the row of seats you were sitting in was long and you had sat smack dab in the middle, meaning you’d be standing a long while. At the moment, your back was turned towards Ransom. His radiating warmth made you more susceptible to the cold air of the room as it hit your once warm skin. Ransom noticed your chilly shaking as you ran your hands over your arms in a desperate attempt to warm yourself. Wasting no time, the man hurriedly shed off his jacket and draped it over your shoulders since your back was facing him. He placed his hands on your now-covered shoulders and leaned down to quickly kiss the base of your neck. Just as you were about to turn and face him, the line before you started to move, leaving you no time to do so.

Eventually you made it back into the lobby, where neither you or Ransom decided to speak up about the events that had just occurred. He hastily grabbed your hand and led you to the family where you had assumed you’d be socializing once more. With your free hand, you rubbed the sleep from your eyes, accidentally smearing your makeup and internally groaning as you did so. You were about to let Ransom know you were heading off to fix your makeup when instead you heard the man bidding goodbye to the family.

“Ransom, where are we going?”

The man walked with determination and pulled you along with him, the two of you showing up at the coat check. The attendant reached over the counter as Ransom took the two jackets from the young man. He turned towards you and simply responded, “We are going home.”

You cocked your head to the side, confused as you thought he’d still want to socialize a bit. The night was still young as Joni liked to say and she said way more than you liked, too.

“I thought you’d want to hang out a bit more, Ransom?”

He continued walking out the door, but still held up his end of the conversation.

“I saw how tired you were and figured we should head out before it got any later.”

Stopping dead in your tracks and right outside of the building, you turned to the man with an unreadable expression. The freezing night wind hit your face like needles, yet you still stood in your place.

“Seriously? If that’s the case I could have just taken an Uber, you know. I’m not here to be a pain in your ass.”

Ransom shook his head and you looked up at him with squinted and suspicious eyes.

“You could never be a pain in my ass. Especially with all of the things you do for me.” The man looked down on you now. His eyes meeting your own.

“First off, I would not have you ride in an Uber this late,” bringing his hand to your chin, he continued, “and second, this is what you do when you love someone… right?”

He looked almost sheepish now and you had to refrain from making some cutesy expression at his adorable face. Proud of his realization, you excitedly nodded and with great confidence, pressed your lips to his.

Ransom brought his hands to your waist and pulled you even closer as if he could lose you by not doing so. The two of you then leaned away after some time, small and sweet smiles on both of your faces. Ransom held his hand out for you, leading you to the car and eventually to his house, where you’d spend your first night together enjoying precious time spent in each other’s company.

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#ransom drysdale x you #ransom drysdale x reader #ransom drysdale imagine #ransom drysdale #Chris Evans #chris evans x reader #chris evans imagine #sylvie writes christmas celebration

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lilacerull0 · 4 years ago

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Scrapbooks of flowers

the third photograph: scrapbook of lotuses

"Story to story Building to building Street to street We pass each other on the stairs" - The Stairs, INXS

Revelius Sparks looks pleasant enough. His smile that tries almost too hard not to be a smile, his hands in his pockets and his eyes occasionally offering her an unreadable look. His sweater, on the other hand, looks rather disturbing. Improper. Disheveled. Messy. There are tiny colourful stains all over it (paint?) and there's a little hole on his shoulder. A hole revealing a bright yellow shirt he has underneath. Audrey Claire finds it weirdly comforting unacceptable. Her coming here was also unacceptable. But then again, wasn't that the idea? Wasn't she supposed to be doing something drastically different? And Revelius Sparks is someone she normally wouldn't have crossed paths with. There were days when he would come to school with his longish hair sprinkled with glitter. There were days when he would attend classes in mismatched shoes. Sometimes, he would come wrapped in a giant, ridiculous, red scarf that looked like it came straight out of his grandma's closet. As opposed to that, there were days when he would look completely normal. Jeans, shirts, jackets, neatly crafted hair (suddenly cut short), no glitter in sight. She knows these things because everybody knew them. Everybody might not have particularly enjoyed Revelius Sparks (he seemed to be... too much of... everything, you know?), but everybody knew who he was. Although, apparently, life goes on after high school and people usually turn out to be much more than one dimensional paper dolls once given a chance (at least that's what she's heard and she's trying out new things). So, Audrey Claire stands up from her recently found seat at the coffee shop and softly taps the shoulder of the so called Revelius Sparks, who's the last one waiting in line to order something. Three times, three times barely grazing his improper, disheveled, messy, unacceptable sweater. One. Two. Three. - Hi, I'm Audrey Claire, we used to go to the same high school. It's utterly absurd, the statement, considering how they were the souvenirs of that very same high school weeks not decades ago. Revelius Sparks doesn't seem to acknowledge the absurdity. His eyes are glossy and his cheeks are lightly freckled, she notes. - Oh, hi, I'm so happy to see you. Another absurdity, she thinks. How could you be happy to see somebody that you never properly met? Were never properly introduced to? - Nice seeing you. She mutters and turns around, ready to leave (and avoid any further discomfort). She hears him say something in response, but she's already out of the foreign lands. Task: (technically) failed.

*** She tucks her hair behind her ear a lot. The right one. Or she's been told. She's never actually picked up on it herself. Her hand holding a pen, a paper in front of her. She's only doodling various dresses, dresses she would like to own, dresses she would like to create. She might have been a designer if things were different, but even then, she isn't sure if that would have been the right thing to do. She's supposed to go to law school in the fall and be a lawyer because that's what she was always supposed to do. You are most certainly coming up with assumptions now, something like: "her parents are forcing her into it" or another cliched idea like "she's doing it to honour her late late grandfather Walt who was a lawyer back in the day". Guess what? She isn't doing any of that. Her grandfather's name is not Walt either. It's only something she's always talked about, the only thing she could see herself doing. Fancy blazers, marvellous court rooms... It all seemed extremely Audrey-like. At least, that's who Audrey Claire was at school. She never picked up on it before, just like she never picked up on the hair thing, but Audrey doesn't know how to be Audrey without school. You must think she's mad. Well, she ought to be. Who in their right mind misses school assignments and studying for exams and writing three page essays? Yes, she's going to college to learn, but it's not the same, isn't it? It's more about her future and less about getting gold stars for the sake of her future. And now, when she earned her future, she doesn't have to earn any more gold stars. That's supposed to be a good thing. That is a good thing. The drawings are nice. Fairly simple, but quite nice. She picks them all up and throws them in the pink trash can beside her desk. It's not like anybody is coming to check them out. Audrey crosses her arms, let's herself fall even deeper into the chair and closes her eyes. Next thing she knows, she's dreaming of stars. *** "She's spinning and spinning and spinning. Her dress swirling around her, her feet barely touching the ground. The grass is so green and the sun is so bright and she is spinning. People have forgotten about the beauty of the natural world but she never did. She's coming from whenever, breathing in wherever, she's dreaming of a different age. She's spinning and spinning and spinning and whole, entire, wonderful worlds are spinning along with her." Audrey Claire doesn't know why and how she ended up here. The only thing she's aware of are the words that Revelius Sparks is sharing with her and the rest of the room. She's surprised that the town theatre is open this late in the night, but then again, she's never been to one. Not as a (theoretical) adult at least. Revelius Sparks is sitting on the very edge of the stage, his leg rhythmically swaying to a beat she presumes must be the one only he is able to hear. She can't quite figure out if he's singing, reciting or acting. It might be all three. Once he's finished with his little performance, he gets up, adjusts his funny colourful scarf and smiles. The few people that are in the room are clapping, but it's obvious that he's not smiling at them. It's not that he's smiling "at no one in particular" either. It's more like he's smiling at something that should be there but tragically isn't. Audrey doesn't get up from her seat. Not even when everyone else is gone. She can't move. All she can do is think about these people and how they all were in here together for one fleeting moment. All breathing the same air, all hearing the same words. And now they all went home. They all went home to hear different words and breath different air. They all went home a tad bit different. They all went home and she's still there. *** Audrey keeps visiting the theatre. Her appearances aren't scheduled. Her legs simply decide that the only correct option is to bring her there and she goes along with it and she comes and each time she discovers another way to listen. Another way to be.

Sometimes, she doesn't even pay attention to the meaning of the words spoken by whoever is on stage. It all sounds wonderfully interesting, and the chairs are so wonderfully comfortable and she's so wonderfully there. She isn't the one to explain it, but it feels quite important. Doing something without a clear purpose. Revelius isn't always present. But when he is, he talks? sings? recites? about endless fields full of flowers, souls too free to be kept away and voices too long forgotten not to be heard. Those are all his descriptions and she remembers them because she's good at remembering and she even writes some of them down. She doesn't try to understand them and never does she go through them once they are written. But something about notebooks filled with various little words makes her feel happy and content. Revelius refers to himself as a "wanderer of flowery youths and incadescent hearts". Audrey thinks his "stage name" has no right being that long and of course she finds it (almost) unbearably preposterous but it's also kind of funny and pronouncing it out loud, when she's all alone with nobody but herself to hear, brings her immense joy. It reminds her of all those poems she had to learn for school. She never properly meets Revelius. They never talk, she never looks for him and he never notices her (or anybody else for that matter) while he's fulfilling his duty as a wanderer. They never randomly run into each other. They never have a deep conversation that magically resolves all of their respective issues. They never watch the sunset, buy each other sweet unnecessary expensive things or kiss in the rain till they're both out of breath. They never fall in love. The truth is, Audrey doesn't feel the need to meet him. She's just really really glad that he's around. *** She's dressed in black, but her freshly discovered scarf is screaming in bright yellow. The sidewalk is wet and slippery. People are walking, shouting, running, talking and exchanging. Moving. Her sparkling red suitcase is following her and her brand new shoes are ruined. Her feet are completely soaked. Her hair is a bit messy. She can feel tangled strands of it all over her face. She wasn't expecting rain today. But then again, she didn't exactly plan on paying a visit to the train station, let alone catching an actual train. The city looks different once fall comes. The leaves are crunchy and dressed in various colours. The air is colder. Everyone's cheeks are flushed. Once fall comes, people turn into portable paintings. Audrey takes a few seconds to admire the unlikely art exhibit. Her hand moves to position the scarf around her neck. Too tightly wrapped and a bit crooked it was, she thinks. Exactly three minutes pass and she's in the train, glittery notebook in hand. She doesn't open it, but she recalls the coordinates of each and every word gracing its pages. "What a wonderful collection of incadescent hearts...", she mummers under her breath and the woman across from her shots her a confused look, but Audrey doesn't notice any of it. She's too busy experiencing creations much more pleasant. She lets her head rest against the window frame.

And when her gaze welcomes the glorious landscape on the other side of the glass, her eyes are full of gold coloured stars. "You are beautiful and sad" I said finally, not looking at him when I did. "Just like your eyes. You're like a song I heard when I was a little kid, but forgot I knew until I heard it again." - Maggie Stiefvater

#scrapbooks of flowers #art #music #coming of age #ocs #my writing #flowers #flower meanings #youth

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lambourngb · 4 years ago

Note

If you are still doing this, to make it through (with hearts and wrists intact)

combining the wip ask with WIP Wednesday ! Alright, so there’s two remix challenges going on right now, but I didn’t sign up for either of them because I have enormous anxiety about deadlines and I’m also kind of a control freak about my work. I do love the concept, so I decided to remix my own work.

to make it through (with hearts and wrists intact) is a remix of Last Years Wishes. It is completely the fault of @haloud who mused aloud about what if Jesse got to use the shed on Michael. You guys remember what I did to the shed in LYW right? Yeah. Poor Michael. So while Alex is waiting at the Airstream, talking to agents Ross and Rollins, this is how Michael’s day is going....

[warnings: canon divergent within 1x13, mention of Michael’s feelings for Maria, but nothing happens past the discovery of Rosa’s body in the cave ]

“Old man, you are calling me on my day off,” Michael yelled into the receiver of his cell phone speaker over the rushing sound of air after picking up the call.

The windows were down because his AC in his truck went on the frizz again sometime during when Max had stolen-borrowed it to drive Liz home from Texas, leaving him behind to share a long awkward ride with Maria in her classic Chevy. Awkward because he had been buzzing from the encounter in the desert. He hadn’t slept with anyone in weeks, not since Alex, and that had been a ridiculous attempt for him to pine in celibacy considering just how little the other man had missed him. Some things end in a whimper.

Texas had been about hope, about maybe finding someone who was connected to him on a species level. He hadn’t realized how deeply Max’s enthusiasm had sunk into him until the fraud had been revealed and disappointment had set in. Between Alex’s brusque brush off and realizing they really were alone on this planet, Michael hadn’t thought he could feel even lower with the weight of Isobel’s salvation fully on his shoulders (and Liz’s). Then shining like a bright star in the night sky, he had found Maria.

She had effectively chased away the touch starved ghouls that had haunted his skin that night, he could still barely believe they had dropped right to the rocky ground and scratchy blanket to fuck. It was the type of raw passion he had with- no, in that particular moment he hadn’t thought about Alex but afterwards? He couldn’t avoid the connection the next morning, particularly when she had sworn him to secrecy, and then had reinforced it when she had fully kicked him out in the cold after he had returned her repaired necklace.

It was unfortunate for her that he was already wired to enjoy a push-pull hot-cold dynamic.

Ten years of Alex Manes meant Michael had learned to read past a blustering denial to see the real truth. She really liked him, she just didn’t want to admit it, and good god, if that wasn’t a déjà vu moment for Michael, he didn’t know what was. Maybe it was stupid to believe it would work out any better with her than it had with Alex, but with Noah dead, his m- his reason for building his ship gone, what did it hurt to try again?

His healed hand curled around the grip on the steering wheel with a shiver of disorientation at the new flexibility, but he pushed it down to concentrate on that meager bubble of hope of what was ahead for him. Maria. Normalcy. When he had offered to leave her alone at the gala, she had refused to take him up on it. That's the problem, I never do.

It had felt good to hear that, that he was wanted, even as he heard the conflict in her voice over what she desired versus what she thought she deserved to have. That was also painfully familiar to Michael as well.

Caulfield had seeped into his skin, three layers deep in the worst type of burn. That brief moment of his mother, wrapping around his mind with her love and sorrow and hope, and then she was gone. The screaming, that he had heard from outside the chain link fence, suddenly disappeared as the explosion moved outward in a shockwave. For a few minutes he had stood on solid ground in that prison, for the first time since a sweet boy had returned his kiss at seventeen under a galaxy of plastic foam planets, and then it was over. His mother was gone, and in her stead, he had Alex telling him that -

Michael forcefully pushed that thought away and returned his attention back to the cranky drawl of Walt Sanders, “I know kid, but I’m already out with the wrecker in the other ass-end direction, so I need you to go help this cry baby who can’t change a flat. Help me make some money, so I can afford to keep your ass employed.”

“Fine, tell me the location, but this is holiday pay, not overtime.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Sanders muttered, before rattling off the mile marker and the highway. “It’s a Lincoln sedan, black. Probably some old geezer out on a drive to church who ran into trouble.”

“You calling someone else a geezer is funny to me, I hope you know that,” Michael replied, hitting his turn signal to make a left to pick up the state road. It wasn’t as if he had a planned time to see Maria, the lunch hour and official opening of the bar was still an hour away. A little delay that made him some extra cash was doable.

“Shut the hell up kid, and get going,” Sanders griped good-naturedly, before hanging up on Michael.

The sun was bright overhead, the storm from the night before having washed the land and sky clean of clouds. Across the pavement ahead, the heat and the brightness, cast a mirage of dark shimmering water that creeped just out of reach as he drove toward his new destination. His mind ticked over the set of priorities ahead, to make a little money with a tire change, then to drop in on Maria to make his case, and finally, he knew he needed to swing by Isobel’s to check on her in the aftermath of Noah’s betrayal. Somewhere in all of that, he knew he would need to make it home to see Alex for that promised talk, but there was plenty of time for that because Alex rarely came by during the day to see him.

“I’m still fighting his battles, not mine.”

Michael flexed his hands on the steering wheel again and pushed down the heaviness in his heart that accompanied thinking about Alex. Ten long years of waiting and wanting him. If Michael cared to count up all of the trips to Roswell that Alex had made on leave, the two weeks together after the class reunion that frankly felt like a hallucination to Michael, all of those hours spent together would add up to a month. A month that stretched out over ten years, 520 weeks, or 3,650 days.

Counting the distance to the nearest star was in light years, but when it came to counting the distance between the stash of wedding rings he had purchased for Alex over the years and what he had been actually allowed to have with Alex, well, that was a calculation beyond the redshift spectrum. It would take energy to transverse that distance one more time, and Michael had nothing left inside to fuel that journey. He couldn’t afford to be lost in the black again, not with Isobel in free-fall from Noah’s years of manipulations, not with the prospect of telling Liz they had found Rosa’s body on the horizon. It was just too hard to believe that this time, with Alex calling him family, with Alex throwing back the closest declaration to love that he had ever made, actually meant he was ready to move toward Michael and work to cut the distance between them on his own.

It was better to head forward in a new direction, than to look back like Max had said. Besides, every other time he had failed to be enough of a reason to help Alex bridge his own chasm between what he wanted and what he had allowed himself to have. What could have changed? Caulfield had just cemented the complications for them both.

A dark shadow in the distance, parked just off the road caught Michael’s attention. He glanced down at the odometer to mark the mileage and started to ease up on the gas. That must be the motorist Sanders had fielded a call from earlier, he realized. The ‘old geezer’ in the black Lincoln with a flat tire. He glanced in the rearview mirror to check for traffic but the road behind him was devoid of other vehicles.

Michael hit the turn signal and hazard lights on his truck, turning briefly to the side to check that he had some spare water bottles for the customer and his toolbox within reach and then turned onto the shoulder of the highway. Mentally he was already five steps ahead of himself as he stepped out of the truck to approach the car, thinking about the size of socket to fit over the lug nuts for the Lincoln’s wheels, whether his torque wrench was even in his box, or if he would have to camouflage his telekinetic efforts to change out the tire, that it took a moment to realize the tires on the Lincoln were whole and unharmed on the driver’s side.

Puzzled, Michael slowed his approach, and started toward the passenger side of the car. The windows were rolled up and dark, the tint was straddling the threshold of legal for New Mexico. There was still no sign of defect in the tires, he noticed as he was halfway around the passenger fender. Faulty tire gauge, he mused before he noticed the engine was rumbling almost inaudibly. Fucking hybrid, which meant whatever issue it had been definitely beyond the parts available at Sanders.

It was a little odd that the driver hadn’t stepped out to greet Michael, but not terribly unusual when it came to elderly customers who seemed to have a healthy paranoia about everyone they encountered. Still, Michael pasted a smile on his face and tapped on the window.

The automatic window slipped downward in an expensive whisper, but it wasn’t a helpless old man on his way to church at the wheel.

Jesse Manes smiled at Michael flashing his teeth, “Surprise.” Before Michael could do more than step backward, Jesse lifted a large gun-shaped object and fired. Yellow particulate matter exploded into the air, enveloping Michael completely. Pulling his arm to his mouth to attempt to block the pollen, did little good as he felt the sedating effects almost immediately.

He coughed into the open air, scrambling back toward his truck on weak legs as he tried to clear his lungs of the fast-acting poison. Behind him, he heard the car door open, and the crunch of boots on the loose gravel from the road’s shoulder as Jesse approached him. Though his powers were gone and his strength was waning fast, Michael had never backed down from a fight in life.

Certainly, not a fight for his life.

Swinging with all of his might, he hurled his heavy toolbox at Jesse blindly. There was a thump and a curse, but the footsteps kept coming. Animal-like terror set in as Michael crawled now on his knees toward the cab of his truck. He had to move, he had to live, he wasn’t going to die here on the side of the damn road- Suddenly a black boot came down on his hand, pinning him place and lighting up a fierce agony of pain in its wake.

“I like the fight, Guerin, I do,” Jesse remarked with a quiet menace. “Shall I make this hand match your other-”

It was on the tip of Michael’s tongue to point out the obvious, but then Jesse saw it for himself. His left hand, healed and pristine, clutching at the hot blacktop surface.

“I see.” He barked out a laugh that chilled Michael. “I knew it. I knew you weren’t the only one in Roswell. I thought about killing you right here you know, but now, you might finally serve a purpose in your useless life. You thought you could use my son in your perverted schemes? Well now it’s your turn to be bait.”

Michael’s vision was already fading into blindness with the pollen taking hold, but he managed to spit out between numb lips, “Go fuck yourself.”

“Not today. You’re the one who is fucked.” A hand grabbed a tight hold of Michael’s hair, wrenching him backward, and then it was merciful darkness.

***

#malex fic #wip wednesday #last years wishes universe #wip meme #michael guerin #jesse manes is his own warning #Anonymous

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cosmicclownboy · 4 years ago

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Okay I actually wrote something today so here’s a lil drabble I guess.

Something Alex has come to know about the man he loves is that he doesn't like charity. Having to become independent at a young age, Alex understands maybe in a way that Michael's siblings don't it's not their fault they had better childhoods there's just that disconnect. He catches the look of sadness on his face as Isobel smugly presents Michael with expensive western boots or how he grimaces at Max thrusting a scotch at him that is three weeks worth of pay checks. So when it came to gifts, Alex was cautious about what to get him. He knows he could buy a better heating system of better wi fi for the airstream but he doesn't want that face of sadness so he opted for something else.

The aliens come to celebrate their birthday as the day they landed so it's often a group affair between the three of them and well this year Isobel spared no expenses she rented the drive in there are lights coined everywhere and everyone in the know is invited. Jenna and Isobel are doing shots of tequila with Maria.Max is staring wistfully at Liz and pretending he isn't and Michael is setting up the screen for whatever Isobel coined as appropriate. Eventually, everyone winds up in the same space handing out gifts. Liz gets Michael an embroidered lab coat, Isobel a spa certificate to her excitement and Max a first edition of one of his favourites that she found in California. The exchange of yearning enters the air and Isobel quickly diffuses the sad tone by shoving shots in their hands. It's not long before it winds up being his turn and Isobel is eyeing him suspiciously. "What did you get us Manes, a secret bunker perhaps?" "Considering your brother blew up the last secret bunker I provided and had the air force up my ass I went for a different kind of gift". "But here I was thinking you were the Manes that liked things up his" "Is"

Michael looks at him with an apology on his face his fingers softly tracing the brown paper. He looks nervous as he does without the sweaty palms that have Alex rubbing his hands up and down his jeans. He allows a moment to pass between them before ushering all three aliens to open. When all three have taken the gift out of the wrapping he decides to explain. "I know you can't physically own stars but you can name them, uh there's one for each of you next to each other and Louise and Nora. It's their day too. If It's silly" "No" Isobel looks at his eyes warm and soft "It's not". She looks to Max first who's reading the details then to Michael who's pulling out a couple of pieces of paper. Michael is quiet. "Michael? What is it?" For the first time since he looked down from Isobel's reply, he looks up to check if Michael is okay. He looks wrecked his eyes watery but he holds the pages close to his chest and closes his eyes. He opens his eyes after a couple of moments seeking him out and offering him a heart-warming smile. Before offering his attention back to his sister who keeps profusely nudging him for a response he passes the pages to her. "In Tripp's journal, he said that he introduced my mom to some music these were her favourites. I can't believe you remembered. This must have taken you-" He waves him off. A silent understanding passes them both and the moment sifts into something warm and unyielding. Unconditional love burning at it's brightest. The moment is of course broken up by Jenna who comes over with taco's but it continues to linger throughout the night.

When the movie starts he expects to see Michael with his siblings huddled close together but he doesn't spot him anywhere. "Looking for someone?" Of course. "Have you seen this one before?" "August Rush? A film about a genius street kid. No but I can relate" Alex pats a space for him to sit and Michael offers up the popcorn in his hands. "How so?" "The kid's searching for something doesn't know what it is but thinks it's something else" Alex nods. "He doesn't want the fame or the fancy school. He wants to feel like he belongs somewhere" "Do you always have to talk in metaphors?" Eyebrows quirked he hopes he's used a soft and teasing tone. Michael smiles pops a piece of popcorn in his mouth. He needs him to know because if he doesn't know then Alex will fling every inch of his body and soul so Michael does. "You belong here. You do know that, right?" Michael's chews are softer slower he's contemplating something. He's twenty-nine years old still looking at Michael hoping he'd open his heart with him. Michael reaches for his hat exhaling as if he's been holding something close to his chest for a while. Much to Alex's surprise Michael hat winds up in his lap Michael nervously reaches for his fingers to grip to it then places his hands over them. He moves in closer. "For a long time, I didn't. I used to look at the stars hoping someone missed me. Someone wanted me. I'd spend most nights alone doing that. It was a way to have some control I guess cause I had none. Then this emo kid yoinks a guitar from me when we're kids and suddenly there was someone to look at the stars with. With everything I found out about my mom and Walt I realised maybe I always was wanted and people did miss me but I was so angry at being left behind that I maybe I couldn't see anything else". Michael's fingers are strong and calloused raw and unnerving but they feel firm and warm against his. His eyes are watery full of regret a tear about to fall. He reaches out for his face brushing it away. He keeps his hands cupping his cheeks softly stroking them in place. "I know. But I'm keeping you so don't go getting any ideas to go on space quests without me, okay?" Foreheads and fingers brush this time they both exhale. "Okay".

By the time the movie ends with Evan meeting his parents Isobel looks over to Michael and Alex holding hands. Oh she definitely chose the right film this year.

#Malex #malexfic

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maevesdarling · 4 years ago

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Take me home tonight - Chapter 2

Wohoo, since I’m finally done with the semester, I found some time to finish the next chapter. It’s pretty emotional, so be prepared. I can’t tell you when the next chapter will come out but I’m planning on having it done by the end of the month so... fingers crossed!

Pairng: Walt Breslin/ Sal Orozco

Warnings: Nightmares, Canon typical violence, mentions of minor character death, blood, character injury, character death (only in a dream tho), PTSD, Beginning of smut (at the end of the chapter)

Walt spend the next two days cleaning the house as best as he could. He fixed the broken door in the guest bedroom, that hadn't been used since he moved into the house, and put new sheets on the old bed, dusting off the furniture and cleaning the windows. He wasn't exactly sure how long Sal wanted to stay and the couch wasn't the most comfortable place to sleep on so the guest bedroom would do.

Then he went and got groceries. Fresh vegetables, some pasta and cheese in case he felt like cooking for Sal and himself.

He knew fixing the entire house in two days was nearly impossible, but when he sat down on the couch on Thursday evening, the dog by his side, Walt was impressed with himself and the work he'd managed to get done in such a short time.

"I know you can get anxious around new people, but I promise this friend of mine we're meeting tomorrow will treat you well, so no barking, you understand me?" Walt asked the dog sternly. Fucking hell, I really should go outside more, I'm talking to a dog. He thought, rubbing his eyes tiredly.

To say he was a nervous wreck was an understatement. His heart was beating so loud, he was sure Sal would be able to hear it all the way from San Francisco or wherever the hell he currently was, and there was a slight tremor in his hands that just wouldn't go away. Even the animals started to notice that something was wrong, the dog wouldn't leave his side and slept at the end of his bed, his one eye constantly following Walt wherever he went, and the chicken flocked together more than usually when he went to feed them. They came up to him, clucking in excitement and when he got up to leave, a few of them always tried coming after him. Only the goats seemed unbothered by his behavior, they sat in their pen, eating grass and occasionally tried to tackle one another.

That night, for the first time in months, Walt had a nightmare.

In his dream, he was back at the airfield.

It's dark and the only source of light is coming from the stars and the distant car headlights behind him. He's panting, his lungs are stinging with every step he takes, the gun in his hand feels light, too light. He's out of bullets.

A shot rings through the air and somewhere behind him, a body falls to the ground, just as Walt reached the safety of the woods. He turns and his heart seems to stop.

The figure lying a few hundred feet from him is Sal.

He's bleeding from his leg. It looks bad, there's already a large pool of blood forming on the grass, he thinks the bullet might hit an artery. There's no way he'd get Sal all the way back to the safehouse with a leg like this and yet, he turns on his heel to get to Sal. Except the bushes around him seem to have come to life, some of the vines have curled around his legs, he tries, he really does, but he can't move.

His finger claw at the vines, the more he rips at them, the stronger they get. His heart is pounding in his ears. A car is approaching, he's gotta hurry!

The gun falls to the ground and gets swallowed up by leaves and roots, yet, Walt is still fighting. He manages to fall and tries to pull himself forward with his arms. He needs to free himself quickly because there's a figure approaching Sal, oh god, he can never make it in time, where the hell was his gun? With one arm, he's searching his pockets for the pack of extra ammunition, with the other, he's frantically pawing at the dirt underneath him to find the gun, only there was none. How could that be?!

He can hear Sal pleading in the distance. This is wrong, his brain tells him. Your brain is just messing with you! Sal made it off the airfield alive, it was Amat who got shot by Calderoni, not him. Only it feels so real!

The sound of a gun makes him flinch, Walt stops in his motion. He feels like he can't breath, like his heart has stopped beating. Sal is lying motionless in the grass, blood, brain and pieces of his skull scattered around him. The figure who shot him comes into view and looks directly at Walt. An identical pair of eyes is staring back at him. He's looking at himself, towering above a lifeless Sal, the gun he used to shoot him still smoking ever so slightly in the light of the car's headlights.

"You did this." He can hear his own voice shout at him. "You killed him. Just like you killed the others because everything you touch dies!"

Walt wakes up with a scream. He yerks off the bed and topples to the floor with a groan. The darkness from his dream has found it's way into the real world. He forgot to pull the blinds shut again and outside the window, clouds have pulled a tight curtain around the full moon that was previously illuminating the sky.

The dog whines and jumps off the bed to check on him, licking his face in a calming motion. "It's alright, bud. Just a bad dream." He mumbles, scratching behind the dogs sand colored ears.

He sits up, noticing that, just like in his dream, he can't move his legs. They're tangled in the bedsheets. He sighs and begins to untangle them before shuffling into the kitchen to pour himself a glass of water.

His throat stings even after he finishes the cup and he contemplates drinking straight from the tab to satisfy his bodies needs, but then he decides against it and refills his empty cup instead. He's leaning against the kitchen counter dressed only in his boxers and a loose fitting t-shirt, his bare feet are stinging from the cold tiles.

He finishes his second cup and makes his way into the bedroom once more. The dog is lying on his previous spot, watching him. The brunette gives him a little pat on the head before slipping under the covers.

Still, sleep won't come to him. Walt is lying in bed, tossing and turning around, yet every time he closes his eyes, the memory of a lifeless Sal lying in a pool of his own blood comes back to him.

Out of the corner of his eye, he thinks he can see Danilo standing in the corner of his room, half hidden behind his wardrobe, one half of his face is covered in blood, there's a pitch black hole where his eye used to be. The ghostly silhouette doesn't move, he's just watching him with a pitiful look that is deeply unsettling to Walt. He pinches his eyes closed and tries his best to ignore the horrors his mind has come up with. Thinking instead of all the work he's got to do come morning. In his head he goes over each task. Feed the dog, let the chicken out of their coop, refill their water… After what feels like forever, he falls into a light slumber.

By the time the sun is rising above the old apple trees in his backyard, Walt is long up and sitting in the chicken pen outside, nursing a bottle of beer in his hand. He shouldn't be drinking this early in the morning, yet he can't stop himself either. It's the only way the tremor in his hands will stop.

He's holding one of the hens in his arms, stroking her soft brown feathers while she is making happy noises and turning her head from side to side. He's still shaken up from the night but the fresh air helps him clear his mind. Outside the chicken pen, the dog barks and reminds him that it's time for breakfast. He's not feeling very hungry but gets up to make himself a cup of coffee nevertheless.

Morning comes and goes and he's not really doing anything. There's hardly any noise from outside, almost like the entire farm is holding their breath in anticipation.

He briefly falls asleep on the couch, which isn't a good thing given that his back was just feeling better but he can't blame himself after the night he had.

4pm rolls around and still no Sal. He hasn't eaten anything all day and his stomach is growling, reminding him to take care of himself so he pushes himself off the couch and starts working on a sorry looking sandwich that he eats in front of the tv, there's a telenovela he doesn't pay attention to on.

At around 6pm, just when he's slowly drifting off to sleep again, the sound of a car moving up the gravel path towards the house startles him. The dog jumps up from his bed and sprints over to the door, barking at the intruder.

"It's alright, boy, calm down." He says, gently and yet firmly pushing the dog out of the way to open the door.

A black SUV is parking on the gravel in front of the house, the drivers door is open.

"Walt!" Sal's voice comes from the barn. "There you are… Hi…" Emotions threatened to overcome him. There, standing on the gravel was Sal. He didn't look much different than the last time Walt saw him. He wore a tight, black shirt and an old, worn leather jacket Walt vaguely remembered him wearing before, jeans and some boots. His hair was a bit shorter than usual, he must have had it cut recently, but he still wore the same type of moustache, and he still had the same smile on his face. This was Sal. His Sal, in flesh and blood. He was here.

Suddenly, Walt's throat felt incredibly dry. For the first time, realization kicked in. This was real. His best friend, his partner, his lover, was here.

Before he had the time to even consider if he was going to hug Sal or simply stick out his hand in greeting, Sal had already wrapped his arms around him, squeezing him ever so slightly. Walt was physically unable to breathe. His body was frozen in place. Instantly, Sal pulled away, watching him in concern. "Shit, I- I'm sorry-"

"No… Please, don't say that…" Walt whispered. There was something wet on his face and when he touched it, he realized he was crying. "I missed you so fucking much." He sniffled.

"Walt…" Sal breathed, he looked like he was close to crying as well.

"Let's- let's get inside, okay? Can't have the neighbors seeing me like this." He huffed, furiously wiping his eyes.

The dog was waiting for them by the door, with his tail between his legs he was watching Sal approach. " 's alright buddy." Walt tried calming him down. "Let him sniff your hand, he doesn't like strangers but he doesn't bite I promise."

Doing as he was told, Sal held out his hand for the dog, allowing the sand colored animal to take in his scent. He relaxed a bit but was still a bit uneasy. "Sorry, he'll calm down eventually…" Walt remarked, pushing the front door open and ushering both Sal and the dog inside.

"You want something? A coffee maybe or a beer?"

"Thanks, I'm good." Sal said, taking in the living room. Walt followed his eyes as they landed on the dresser. There was an old snow globe he had found in the attic, a dying plant, a picture frame with a picture of Walt, his brother and their family, on of him fishing on one of the many lakes surrounding the property. The dog was sitting in the boat besides him, they were both facing the camera and even the dog looked like he was smiling. Another, smaller picture showed Sal, sitting inside Walt's old truck. He was wearing sunglasses and leaning against the window, smiling softly into the camera. The warm midday sun illuminated his face and gave the picture a warm look. Walt had taken the picture on one of their many stakeouts and kept it with him through all the years. The picture had deep lines from being bend over the years and one corner was slightly chipped.

The brunette could see Sal's thoughts racing. His eyes wandered from the picture frames to the old couch, and from there back to the dog that was by now standing behind Walt, hiding from the intruder.

"You… This is a really nice house, Walt."

The brunette nodded. Damn, this was awkward, Walt hated the distance between them. The fact that he felt like a stranger was talking to him. This was Sal for fucks sake, the man who knew him best on the entire fucking planet. Who'd seen him at his lowest, and at his highest, his best friend, who went fishing with him, who spend hours teaching Walt how to cook, even if it was just a simple omelette, who made sure that he was taking care of himself. This was the man who shared his bed with him more times than Walt could count. Who held him during the night, whispering sweet nothing into his ear. No amount of time could erase those memories, this was not a stranger, Sal was his home.

"Please-" He started, not really knowing where he was going. Silence fell once more between them. "Where have you been, Sal?"

Sal's shoulders sacked in defeat. It seemed like there was a weight on his chest, pressing him down. He sighed, sitting down heavily on the couch and burying his head in his hands. "It's a long fucking story, Walt."

The older man pulled out a chair from the kitchen and sat down, facing Sal. "We've got some time." He said, instantly feeling guilty for the way his words had come out. He sounded like he was interrogating Sal. "Sorry, I- just tell me what happened… Please?"

Sal nodded, visibly searching for the right words to start. "… Okay… So you remember I was going to San Francisco? I took a job offer and- shit- okay I wasn't honest with you… I told you it was a simple desk job, it wasn't. I was an undercover agent for almost three years."

Walt inhaled sharply, resting the urge to jump from his seat. "W- You didn't tell me?! Sal!"

"Please! I wanted to tell you! I wrote a letter that I planned on sending, but I almost got found out sending it off so I decided not to contact you any more. Walt! Everything I did was trying to protect you! If they'd found out I was an undercover cop, shit I don't care whatever they'd have done to me but they would have hurt you as well and I- I didn't want that to happen. It was so fucking hard, staying away from you, all that time, I- I didn't even knew if you where still alive, if you wanted to ever see me again or if you found someone else-"

Now, Walt did jump up from his chair, fast enough to make the dog whine in discomfort. "You thought I'd replace you with someone else?! Why? Why would I do that? I thought I made it clear that there is no one else for me, I tried, Sal, it didn't work. There's no one I'd want to spend the rest of my life with… Except you…" His voice faltered at the last words as he sunk down on his chair again, the tears from earlier had returned and where running freely down his cheeks.

"I'm sorry." Sal sobbed, his voice sounding like a child that had been scolded. "I'm sorry I didn't tell you…"

"What if something had happened to you? You talk about protecting me, but who protected you? What if you'd died? I would have never found out, I would have spend the rest of my life looking for you…"

Wrapping his arms around himself, Sal cast his gaze towards the ground, unable to look at Walt any longer. This was unlike anything Walt had ever seen his partner. Sal was usually the emotionally stable one, the strong one, the optimist, who picked up the pieces when Walt shattered internally, who held him and told him that everything was good to be okay.

"No more of this." Walt said in a determined voice, crossing the distance between himself and the younger man. "We can discuss this again tomorrow, if you like. But no more of this, please. I can't stand to watch you fall apart."

Wiping a tear from his eyes, Sal gave him a loop sided smile. "I've been falling apart ever since I left you."

"Well," Walt said a bit dumbly. "You're here now. And I ain't letting you leave any time soon." That earned him a tiny laugh.

This close, Walt caught his partners familiar scent. He was still using the same fragrance as he had four years ago. "Shhh…" The brunette tried, sitting between Sal's legs and stroking along his arms. He had always loved Sal's forearms. They where muscular and and soft and fitted perfectly around the brunette's waist when they were lying in bed.

The touch seemed to calm Sal down, he stopped crying, dark eyes meeting Walt's.

"Kiss me." Sal breathed into his ear, asking, no begging, for Walt to touch him, to show him how much he still meant to him.

And Walt did.

He poured in all the love he still had for Sal, all the pent up feelings he had tried to keep at bay for the last four years.

His hands found Sal's face, cupping his cheeks and mapping the familiar territory. Every hair, mole on his face, every line, it was all still there, still so familiar. They both moaned into the kiss, melting against each other.

Only when the need for air was stronger than the need to continue kissing, did they pull apart, panting. A trail of saliva still connecting their mouths.

"I love you, Walt. I love you so fucking much it hurts, I-"

"I love you too, Sal, I love you, I promise."

"Show me. Please."

#narcos mexico #walt breslin #sal orozco #walt/sal

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thejollyroger-writer · 5 years ago

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what stranger miracles (1/1)

SUMMARY: Young Killian Jones, a member of Captain Nemo's crew, longs for a life beyond the small journeys he is allowed to join in on, a life where he is free to explore. Princess Emma, daughter of the King and Queen of the Sea, dreams of a life where she can explore more than just the world she has grown up in. Will their dreams come true when they find each other?

Rated G // 10k // on AO3

“To me, the sea is a continual miracle; the fishes that swim—the rocks—the motion of the waves—the ships, with men in them. What stranger miracles are there?” -Walt Whitman

The first time he sees her, it’s an accident. He’s not even the one supposed to be bringing in that day’s catch, but he had pulled the short straw after losing that night’s dice game, so he was stuck not only with dish duty, but then out on the dock by himself at dusk, pulling in the nets.

He’s drawn the short straw more times in his life than he would like to count, even at only seventeen, though many of them metaphorically. Sold to the sailors alongside his brother to pay off the debts of his father almost ten years before, treated as nothing more than a slave for most of that time, until the old foreman drowned and was replaced with Captain Nemo. At least under Nemo, he and his brother were treated like humans, welcome on some of their smaller adventures on the sea but always asked to stay behind if they planned to be gone for more than a few days.

At first, he took it personally, thinking that the captains and their crews had something against him, leaving him at home with the other men who were no help on longer journeys, with the men who have families of their own or duties to someone other than Nemo — or the eccentric Captain Shakespeare, with his airship and his constant humming and his uncanny ability to always know how Killian is feeling without him ever saying a single word. But it was Liam who finally explained it to him one night, a night the rest of the crew was set to embark on one of these very missions and Killian was unable to keep his anger to himself:

“They care about you, Killy. Care about both of us, more than anyone in our lives has managed to do since mum passed. They leave us here to keep us from harm, to protect us. You understand that, right?”

Finally, he did understand it. Captain Nemo taking over was not one of the short straws of Killian’s life. In fact, he’s come to learn, it was quite the opposite.

Physically pulling the short straw and standing out on the dock by himself tonight, however, he’s still a little unsure about.

At first, he thinks it’s his imagination — his exhaustion — anything other than real life. Because in real life, in the stories that he’s heard around too many fires and too many poker tables, she is the strongest omen of death to a sailor. When you see a mermaid the only thing that can follow is a painful downfall. But there she is nonetheless, sitting on the other side of the breaking waves, her blonde hair reflecting the colors of the sunset. She almost blends into the water, with the reds and golds of the dusk, but something about her catches his attention.

A mermaid.

There’s no way. It’s not possible. She has to be a figment of his imagination, or maybe a lost swimmer, because she can’t be—

And then she moves, ducking back under the waves, and there’s no way to deny what he is seeing anymore when her large, shimmering green tail breaks the surface of the water as she dives down.

“Gods above,” he mumbles, but can’t even bring himself to say the rest of it what’s on his mind:

A mermaid.

He has to tell Liam.

He can never tell Liam.

-- -- -- --

She shouldn’t have done it. She knows when the leg-walkers bring in their nets and has been told of the dangers of approaching the shore her whole life, but her curiosity got the best of her for the first time a few weeks before, and now she is unable to help herself.

This is the first time anyone has seen her, though — at least, to the best of her knowledge. Because if the stories her parents tell her are true and those leg-walkers — those men — really believe her to be a monster, then she can be sure that someone would have acted already, would have tried to attack her, tried to catch her the same way they take so many fish from her ocean.

But she saw the way the young man had looked at her tonight, his eyes not filled with fear, but filled with the same curiosity that she herself knows all too well. He’s not the monster her parents have told her he is, can’t be a monster with eyes like that, she's sure of it.

Of course, no one would believe her. If anyone even learned of her trips to the surface, she would be barricaded in her room in the castle, held under lock and key and only able to leave under the watchful eye of her parents.

So she keeps her thoughts to herself, though sometimes she’s so overwhelmed by them that she feels like she’s suffocating. She’s even too afraid to tell Ruby, her best friend, her confidant — not in fear of Ruby taking the news to her parents, but in fear of her friend insisting on joining her on one of her escapades.

That has become her time away from the palace and her royal duties and everything she has ever known, everything she has been taught will someday be her whole life. Not always at dusk, but whenever she can manage to get away long enough without raising any eyebrows. Ever since her nameday, she’s been allowed certain freedoms, and that has come to include time away from her responsibilities — though she knows her mother would immediately revoke the privilege the moment she learned how Emma was spending it.

“What’s the point of being princess of the whole ocean if I’m never allowed to go into any of it?” she asked Ruby one night, a night that they could see the colored lights reflecting on the water. These nights had become theirs, long before Emma had any thoughts on royal duties or responsibilities or anything of the sort, when she was still free to just be a girl and live her life.

Ruby just laughed, her eyes shifting up to the surface where the lights danced upon the water. “Everyone desires things they can’t have, Em,” she said softly, but if she had more than that on her mind, she kept it to herself.

Emma already knew what Ruby was thinking, though. Emma was a princess, a fact that she was never allowed to forget, however much she sometimes wanted to — but she was a princess aware of the unfairness of the world around her, aware of the struggles of her people and the fact that, though Ruby had become her best friend, it was almost destined to be that way with Ruby’s family employed at the palace. Ruby’s anger towards her situation was not new to Emma, was in fact something that she had taken out on Emma on more than one occasion — and it was on Emma’s mind every time she complained about something to her friend.

But Ruby’s words are true, either way: everyone does desire something beyond what they are able to have.

And before too long, Emma found herself not desiring a life where she was free to explore, not a life without royal responsibilities, but a life spent with the young man with the shining blue eyes who lives with the fishermen.

-- -- -- --

He has to see her again. How can he explain to his brother that he has been spending all of his free time over the last four days by the water in hopes of seeing a mermaid? Liam already thinks he spends too much time in his head, and he only fears this would make it worse.

“Liam,” he calls over his shoulder, tucking his book under his arm. “I’m going down to the dock for a while!”

Liam only lets out a small laugh, not even raising his attention from his own book as he lounges in one of the hammocks out behind the house. “Be back before dinner, little brother!”

In any other situation, he would turn around and correct Liam’s little brother to younger brother, especially since his last growth spurt shot him up to almost the same height as Liam. But not today.

Today, he barely hears the words as they leave his brother’s mouth, his head already looking out over the ocean waves in hopes of seeing her again.

It’s insane. Absolutely mad, he knows. He can only imagine what Liam — what the other sailors — would say to him if they were to learn. But he doesn’t care, at least not right now.

Right now, all he cares about is seeing her again.

So he positions himself on the end of the dock, one hand holding the book up on his chest and the other dangling down, barely grazing the water, with his satchel tucked under his head like a pillow. It’s not the most comfortable position, but with his mind already struggling to focus on the words of his novel with his looking out over the water every few seconds, his comfort is one of the last things he cares about.

There really is no reason for him to be this nervous. What are the odds that she returns to the same place again for the fourth day in a row, what with the whole ocean hers for the taking? He knows that if he had that sort of freedom, the last thing he would want to do is stay in one place. He would want to explore, would feel the same urge to explore that he feels humming under his skin even now. It’s one of the reasons he is so eager for Shakespeare to bring him on one of his journeys: his time at sea, seeing new places and experiencing life away from land, is exhilarating, but he can only imagine what it must be like in an airship, soaring high above the clouds and looking down at the land, knowing that you’re no longer trapped in one place.

Sure, he’s asked Shakespeare before, in moments of vulnerability, moments that he only shares with his brother and the open, caring white-haired man that splits his time between the clouds and their run-down little camp perched at the edge of the ocean. But Shakespeare has always just laughed — not to make fun of him, he knows, but just because he is the kind of man who laughs to let others know he is not angry — wrapping his arm around Killian’s shoulders or reaching across the table to set his hand on his arm, and smiled warmly at him.

“Someday, lad, but not yet,” was always his answer.

Maybe that is why he finds himself here, perched on the edge of the dock waiting for a mermaid — his deep-rooted longing for adventure, knowing that his life will someday be more than fishing and this camp and the few days at a time he is allowed to spend on the sea. Whenever his eyes make their way out to the crashing waves again, he knows that is what he craves more than anything, and possibly what he hopes to find with the arrival of the creature that everyone around him tells him should not exist.

Somehow, though, between the warm sun on his face and the calming sound of the waves, he finds himself unable to focus on either the words or the waves, nodding off under the afternoon sun.

-- -- -- --

She has to see him again. Yes, she has her royal duties and her responsibilities around the castle, but she rushes through them as quickly as she can, barely able to contain her energy during the meeting with some of the council members, until she is finally done.

Free to go.

She tries to keep her calm as she swims away from the castle, knowing that if anyone were to see her hurrying away, it would only raise suspicion and would most likely get back to her parents before she even returned.

But once she is on the other side of the rocks, away from what is technically the dominion of the castle even though her parents rule the whole ocean, she picks up her pace, her heart pounding faster and more wildly in her chest than she ever remembers it doing before.

Not only from the excitement of it all, but with the thrill of getting caught, she realizes, changing her trajectory to head closer towards the surface. Because she wants to see him, yes, but she also knows the consequences were she to get caught, were someone to see her scurrying towards the land — sometimes even towards the surface, depending on how strict her mother feels at the moment. Her pounding heart only makes her swim faster, and her increased pace only makes her heart pound faster, closer and closer to the surface until, finally, she breaks through the water to feel the warm sun on her face.

There is nothing like that feeling, even when the sun warms the water, and she smiles, allowing herself to pause for a moment as she lets it wash over her. And then, the moment is over, and she pulls her head back under the surface to take off once more towards the shore.

There really is no reason for her to be this nervous. What are the odds that he returns to the same place again for the fourth day in a row, what with the whole world his to explore? She knows that if she were allowed that sort of freedom, the last thing she would want to do is be tethered down. She would want to explore, would feel the same urge to explore that she has felt humming under her skin for as long as she can remember. The same urge that she feels getting pushed further down with every council meeting and every dinner with a potential suitor (even though both of her parents refuse to admit that’s what they are) and every mention of her someday taking her mother’s place as the ruler of the seas. It’s why she takes every chance she has to get away from the palace, whether it be longer journeys with her father to see other parts of their large realm or these small opportunities to have time alone and potentially see the boy with eyes the color of the sea.

The boy laying at the end of the dock not far from where she breaks the surface, one arm extended down to where it just grazes the water and a book spread open on his chest, though he seems to be asleep.

For a while, she does not dare to move, forcing herself to stay where she is instead of letting the tide bring her closer to the shore. Is it fear? Shyness? Her nerves getting the best of her? A mix of all three, she believes, between hoping she is not naive enough to be putting herself in harm’s way and being nervous about seeing the boy who has not left her thoughts since first seeing him the previous day. Finally, when she has convinced herself he really is asleep and not just baiting her to come closer to the dock, she begins to slowly move towards him, no faster than the calm current will take her, though sometimes fighting it to stop for a moment or two, her eyes never leaving him.

And then she is there, within arm’s reach of him, and he still has not moved. If not for the steady rise and fall of his chest, accentuated by the upside-down book, she would believe him dead, having stayed unmoving for so long. But it is also this, the obvious unwavering deepness of his slumber, that convinces her that no harm can come from just a single touch — though, not until she has committed the details of his face to memory: the way his long, dark eyelashes rest peacefully on his light cheeks, the curve of his nose and the crease in his forehead between his dark eyebrows and the small dimple in his cheek that forms when he smiles in his sleep. His hair moves slightly in the soft breeze off the water in a way Emma had never seen before, and she is halfway through the motion of reaching up and running her fingers through it before she can stop herself. It is soft in a way she has never experienced, between being dry and free of the salt from the ocean, and she finds herself repeating the motion a second time, then a third, lost in the small movements of his face in response to her — so much that she almost doesn’t notice when his bright eyes finally open, startled awake by her.

But once they meet hers, wide with fear and surprise and a handful of other emotions that Emma doesn’t have time to process, she realizes the mistake she has made and dives back under the water, swimming away from the shore as quickly as her tail will allow —

Though she does not miss the loud splash of the water as he finds himself so startled by her existence, and her proximity to him, that he falls off the edge of the dock.

-- -- -- --

Gods above. At first, he doesn’t believe it, trying to right himself in the water at the end of the dock. But, once the shock from the water has passed, he is able to focus on the questions moving a mile a minute through his mind:

Was it a dream? He knows he was dreaming about her, and it certainly felt real enough — but then the dream ended — or, he thought it did, but she was still right there, right in front of him, just inches from his face as she ran her fingers through his hair.

What was real? What wasn’t real? Given that he was still unsure that she was real in the first place, his mind is reeling as he pulls himself back onto the dock. He’s lost in the same daze as he makes his way back to the house, hoping that the sun will dry out his clothing enough to keep him from arousing suspicion. He hopes to quietly make his way to his room, not catching the attention of anyone — but, in a house as filled as this one, he is not surprised by his failure.

“Hello, yoing Mister Jones,” the familiar voice calls to him from the table, though his eyes never leave the book he holds in front of him. Shakespeare? How could Killian possibly miss his airship floating above the house? Was he really swimming that deep in his own thoughts that he missed that?

But the man sitting at the table, a small smile slowly spreading across his whisker-covered face, proves it. “Hello, Captain.”

“How are you on this fine afternoon?” he asks, only raising his eyes from the book for a moment, but the still-growing smile on his face is all the proof Killian needs to know that the Captain has noticed the wrinkled state of his clothing, knows that it meant he was in the water when he most likely did not plan to be. Killian tries not to show his embarrassment on his face, but he can feel the warmth begin to spread across his cheeks. “Went for a nice dip, I see,” the Captain adds, which only adds to his embarrassment.

Without realizing it, he feels his hand raise to scratch behind his ear, as if he has no control over the movement. “Uh, yes, sir. I had a bit of a… falling in… with the water.”

Killian certainly intends for the joke, though he tries to keep himself from laughing at it, seeing which of them breaks first.

He wins, the Captain’s smile faltering before filling his face, his eyes squeezed shut as he lets out a soft chuckle. So Killian breaks, too, leaning against the chair beside him at the table.

“Sit with me, lad. Tell me about her.”

Killian’s jaw drops — again, his body reacting without his permission, his blush quick;y reaching the tips of his ears. “I don’t — I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he tries, but he knows it is futile.

Shakespeare shakes his head. “You know you can’t lie to me. Especially not about love. So,” He pushes the chair next to him out with his foot, moving Killian with it. “Sit with me and tell me about her.”

For just a moment, he is still, holding on to the hope that he can get out of his situation.

But he can’t. So, with a sigh, he takes a seat.

“I’ve only seen her a few times now, and I haven’t — haven’t found the nerve to speak to her yet,” he starts, though he is still too embarrassed to meet the man’s eyes. “So I keep going out in hopes of… wanting to see her again. Because she’s beautiful, the most beautiful sight I’ve ever seen.”

“And where are you going out in hopes of seeing this lady again?”

“The marketplace.” He knows it’s a lie. Killian can tell right away that he knows it’s a lie — but he says nothing about it, knitting his eyebrows low on his broad forehead.

For a moment, the two of them sit in silence, Killian hoping that he stops asking questions and Shakespeare hoping for the boy to tell him more. When neither of them break, Shakespeare sits back in his chair, his arms folded across his chest. “I am of the belief that you should allow yourself to fall in love whenever possible, young Jones, and to seize any and all opportunity to have that love reciprocated.”

Killian doesn’t know what to say, but with Shakespeare’s advice, he is sure of one thing: she is real and that she returned to the dock that day specifically to see him — and that the next time he sees her, he is going to try to talk to her.

-- -- -- --

“Oh, come on, Emma!” Ruby says — again — as they make their way away from the palace. “I know you’re hiding something, just tell me what it is!”

Emma rolls her eyes, but a smile quickly spreads across her face. It’s embarrassing, really, to be smitten with this dark-haired sailor boy who she’s never even spoken to, but the more she thinks about him, the more she knows it’s true.

But how does she tell Ruby? Sure, Ruby would be the one she would go to with any sort of boy trouble — if anyone knows boys, it’s her best friend. This feels different somehow, though, a secret that she doesn’t want to share with anyone including her best friend, like talking about it will make him disappear. At first, she knew it had to be a coincidence, even after she found him sleeping at the end of the dock, but after he continued to be there on the dock the next few times she made her way to the surface, after she took the chance to talk to him and he didn’t run away in fear, she knew it was more than just a coincidence.

It was a sign. A sign that just kept repeating itself every time he came to the shore to see her, with every conversation they had and every beautiful, bright smile he shared with her.

“It’s a boy, isn’t it?” she asks, most of the upset in her voice replaced with excitement. Emma doesn’t answer, but with the blush quickly spreading across her cheeks, she doesn’t need to say anything. “Oh my god! It is about a boy! Emma, tell me everything! Who is he? Is he someone I know?!”

Emma shakes her head. “No, it’s not — it’s no one you would know.”

“Emma!” she yells in a much higher pitch than usual. “How do you — wait.” She stops swimming, gripping her hand around Emma’s arm. “How do you know someone that I don’t? Unless—” Her eyes grow wide, somehow filled with more excitement than they were before. “Is he — oh my god, tell me that he’s a prince!”

Pulling her bottom lip up between her teeth, Emma realizes that this lie is much better than the truth, so she nods. “Yeah, he’s — he’s a prince. I’ve only seen him a few times, on diplomatic missions with my father, but I can’t —” The excitement that she feels, though, is real, and not every detail of her story has to be a lie, she tells herself. She smiles. “I can’t stop thinking about him, Rubes.”

“Tell. Me. Everything.”

Emma laughs, feeling much lighter now that she’s shared her secret with Ruby, even if she’s not able to tell the whole truth. “Fine, fine, but can we keep going? I don’t want to miss the sunset tonight.” Nodding, Ruby keeps swimming. “Alright, well, his name is Killian. He’s — he has an older brother, and he likes to read and to explore and—” Even she is surprised by the giggle that slips through her lips. “Plus he’s super cute.”

Her mind goes back to one of the first times she was him, when she dared to approach him at the end of the dock and ran her fingers through his soft hair.

“Well, what are you going to do?”

Really, this is the question she was afraid of. If he really was a prince, someone that she met on one of her trips with her father, she would be able to be courted and wouldn’t have to hide her secret from everyone.

But Killian is, of course, not a prince of another realm. He’s not a prince at all. He’s a sailor, an orphan, not even old enough to go on every trip with the sailors he lives with.

What are you going to do?

“I’m not going to do anything for now.” That, at least, is the truth. “We’re just — we’re friends for now, and I don’t think I’m ready for anything beyond that.” Okay, that’s also the truth. At least, Emma thinks they’re friends. Why else would he continue to try to see her? “What would you do?”

If anyone could give her advice about relationships, it would be Ruby. Her best friend, just a few years older than Emma, has far more experience with relationships than she knows what to do with.

“I mean, I’m not a princess, but I think if you want to be with him, and he feels the same way about you, then there’s no harm in seeing what comes of it. Especially before you’re even more trapped in a life of royal responsibilities.”

Ruby’s right, she realizes, though she’s not surprised about it. If she’s going to dare to follow her feelings for Killian, she needs to do it quickly, before her parents decide the time has come for her to have more responsibilities, before she can no longer leave the palace every night to watch the sunset and spend time with her blue-eyed sailor boy.

-- -- -- --

“Emma, I can’t —” he says one afternoon at the end of the first month, laying on his stomach at the end of the dock while Emma rests in the gently-moving tide below him, the tips of his fingers softly moving through the ends of Emma’s golden blonde tresses. “Something’s been bothering me lately.”

“Hm?” Emma hums, her gaze set on the changing colors of the sky as the sun makes its way below the horizon.

“You have the whole ocean to explore, and are able to explore further than just between where you live and this little shore, but you’ve been coming back here instead of taking advantage of that freedom.”

When he says nothing further, she turns to face him, a soft smile on her face as she presses her palm against his cheek. Her skin is colder than his, just as it always is, and slightly damp from the water, but it is a feeling he has come to love. “Maybe I’ve found all the adventure I need for now right here, on this little shore,” she says, softly smiling when he meets her eyes.

He has known since that very first time he saw her sitting in the waves, watching the sunset, that she was the key to his desire for adventure, but this was the first time he felt brave enough to bring it up. Over the last three weeks, since the first time he got up the nerve to call out to her as she sat in the surf, they have learned a lot about each other, spending as much time as either of them dared out here by the dock. Though they live very different lives, they’ve learned that they share a desire to see the world, to be beyond the limitations set by those around them, even though they may not understand the things holding the other back.

“I’ve told you before, Killian, I can’t just leave my family behind and explore the oceans, just like you can’t just leave Liam. Just because I dream of far away places doesn’t mean I’m ready to go out by myself.”

“One day, I’ll have a ship of my own and the ability to go wherever I want, wherever we want, and we could — well, I don’t know exactly how it would work for you, love, what with the tail and all, but we could see the world together. What do you think of that?”

For a moment, he can swear that he sees a flash of sadness in her eyes, but it disappears before he can decide whether it was real or not. He expects her to argue with him, really, to provide some sort of rationalization for this thought as she always seems to be doing when he talks about his dreams, though this is the first he’s spoken of his desire to one day be the captain of his own ship. But that’s not what she does.

Instead, she pulls herself closer to him, her arms wrapped around his neck, and presses her lips against his. He feels a blush rise into his cheeks, to the very tips of his ears, but tries his very best to memorize every detail of the way it feels to kiss her, from the soft tickle of her hair against his cheeks to the feel of her fingers around the back of his neck, not to mention the warmth of her lips where they meet his. It only lasts a few seconds, a few beats of his pounding heart, but he hopes to be able to hold onto that feeling for much, much longer.

“What do you think of that?” she whispers, though she has only pulled away from him enough to speak, her forehead still pressed against his. He’s glad to see that she also has a soft rosiness to her cheeks now that matches his, plus a new brightness in her shining eyes that he almost allows himself to define as love. It takes him a moment to realize that she is simply repeating the last thing he said and not really asking for his feelings towards their first kiss, but he answers in the only way he can think of, a smile on his lips as he finds hers with them again.

-- -- -- --

“There’s a big storm coming,” Ruby comments, and Emma nods, though her focus isn’t on the change in temperature in the water or the darkness of the sky above them as they continue to approach the surface, but on the hull of a ship not too far away. A ship that, once she breaks the surface, she recognizes immediately, her thoughts immediately turning to Killian, who she knows was planning on joining some of the sailors on a trip on the Nautilus in the next few days, the very reason she’s out in a different part of the realm with Ruby in the first place. But it’s too late — the ship has already met the storm, and the storm has won, the ship already sitting in pieces on the thrashing waters. How neither of them realized what was happening just beyond their vision is a mystery, but she can only spare a moment to stop and watch it before she’s on the move, swimming as fast as she can towards the wreck.

“Emma, no!” Ruby calls out, but follows her nonetheless. “The queen is going to kill me,” she mumbles under her breath — which may be the truth, but Emma has always swam towards danger and not away from it.

Most of the sailors are already under the crashing waves, unconscious, the ones who have not been knocked out trying their best to tend to them and keep their own heads above water. Emma focuses her powers to calm the waters under the surface, hoping to aid these men in whatever way she can. She is helpless against the waves caused by the winds of the storm, but she can still the waters beneath the shipwreck, making sure none of the drowning men are hit by the quickly-sinking debris before Ruby can help them to the surface. Emma is searching the whole time for her young, blue-eyed sailor, and is relieved when she does not find him.

But that doesn’t stop her from sitting in the surf, away from the storm that took down the ship, still searching for any sign of him

“Emma, we shouldn’t stay here,” Ruby says, trying to pull her back under the surface, but Emma is unmoving, her attention focused on one of the sailors as he frantically searches the beach. She can’t hear what he is saying, but he keeps yelling for someone — someone that he is unable to find, and she fears the worst, practically paralyzed by the thought that she somehow missed Killian in the wreckage.

Ruby can wait no longer, afraid of what may happen to her if the sailors realize they are sitting out there, but also knows that going back to the palace by herself would raise suspicion, so she quietly slips back beneath the surface, only planning on going back to the debris to see what she can find.

Emma’s eyes are still on the shore, barely realizing that Ruby has left her behind, when she sees another ship, this one moving across the land through the sky, land just beyond the shore in front of her. She’s heard tales of this ship before, many of them from Killian himself, but has never seen it with her own eyes until now. She knows this means that men have come to rescue those she helped out of the water, knows the danger this poses to her — but she is still paralyzed, even as she sees their heads start to appear, only able to dip her head closer to the waves.

This is where she watches them from, hoping that she is hidden enough in the sea to be safe as the small handful of men begin to tend to those on the beach. One of the older sailors, who she recognizes as one of the two who walk down by the tide together on the calmest evenings — the one with the heart tattooed on his cheek, with the soft blue eyes who recites poetry as he walks along the shore — finds the younger sailor, tears wetting his cheeks now, his face obviously pained with a fear so strong Emma can recognize it. They share a few words before the older man embraces him, turning his eyes out towards the water, almost as if he is looking specifically for her, she realizes as he meets her eyes, pleading with her. She knows somehow, as the younger sailor calls out for his brother once more, that Killian is the one he is searching for, and is not among the men taken to the shore.

-- -- -- --

By the time the storm wakes him, he fears all hope is lost. He was fast asleep below deck, alone and not awoken by the storm until it cracked the mast and splintered some of the deck above his head.

The floor beneath his hammock is gone, replaced by rushing water, he realizes as he swings his feet over the edge; and when he plunges himself into it, he's not ready for the shock to his body from the icy coldness. The few moments he takes to allow his body to adjust to the water prove futile, as the water begins to rise rapidly as more wood cracks and splinters around him. Pushing through it, the water almost up to his chest already as he moves across the room and tries to pull open the door to the crew’s quarters. At first, he can’t get it to budge, and his heart sinks in his chest, until, finally, he is able to pry the door open, using as much of his strength as he is able to find between his fear and the shock to his system.

He pushes through the water on the other side, slightly shallower than that in the cabin for the first few moments, but quickly finding equilibrium, once again at chest level. He pushes through the water as best he can, trying to keep his footing as he makes his way down to the end of the hallway. But, he realizes as he quickly loses hope, the hatch at the top of the stairs is stuck shut, the cracked mast having landed directly on top of it.

To get to the other exit, he must dive under the water and avoid the debris, a challenge that becomes harder the longer he waits, so he takes as deep a breath as he can manage before diving under the surface, his lungs feeling like they’ve collapsed once his head is under the water, surrounded by a new, eerie silence in comparison to the rushing waters around him in the air pockets — but, between the shock, his body still reacting to the cold shock of the water, and the remaining grogginess from his sleep, the task is almost too much for his body, and moving through the surging waters only becomes harder as he pushes to the other side of the ship, trying to find the pockets of air where the ceilings are highest.

He can feel his freedom, his hands against the hatch, relishing in the few inches of air left here — but this hatch won’t open, either, and moments later, water begins to rush through the holes in the grate.

One last gulp of air, and he ducks back under the water, trying to think of another exit, another option, but can think of none. There is nothing he can do, really. If no one has come to save him yet, he can’t imagine that anyone is coming now, hopefully all having found their own freedom and — rightfully — forgetting about him below deck as they tried to save themselves. Even Captain Nemo.

Even Liam.

In the last moments before he gives up hope, he squeezes his eyes shut, seeing both Liam and Emma, the two closest things he’s ever had to friends, before everything begins to fade to black, his body succumbing to the much stronger pull of the water — and then he feels arms around his chest, barely registering what is happening, half-unconscious. He wants to open his eyes, wants to find out who is saving him, how they got in and how they are getting him out, but he can’t, only feels himself slowly slipping into a deeper unconsciousness, even as he feels air against his face.

When he opens his eyes, the first thing he sees is Emma, hovering over him. Her hair is dry (though he’s unsure why this is what he notices), and when he meets her eyes, they go wide, the green there flashing with excitement.

Behind her, he notices both Liam and Captain Shakespeare, the former with his arms crossed over his chest, noticeably confused, and the latter smiling broadly.

The three of them simply cannot be in the same location, and with this thought alone, Killian is sure that he didn’t actually make it out of the shipwreck, that he had been pulled beneath the waves and is sitting dead at the bottom of the ocean, still stuck below the decks of the Nautilus until the end of days.

“Killian,” she whispers, resting her hand against the palm of his cheek. Every other time they have touched, her skin has been cold, clammy, from being in the water, but that is not true right now, almost as if — (same with her hair, he thinks) — she has been out of the water for a while, her legs curled up beneath her on the sand as she leans over him.

Legs?

Before he has a chance to process this new information, with Emma’s hand still pressed against his cheek, Liam rushes towards him and wraps his arms around him from the side. These things together, Liam and Emma both touching him, feel too real, the burning in his lungs feels too real, and though he can barely believe it, he thinks he may actually be okay.

When he tries to talk, he coughs up a mouthful of salt water before any of the words he is trying to ask. “What — what happened?” he manages, focusing on Shakespeare, still standing on the shore behind Emma with a large smile spread across his face.

Instead, Emma answers, gesturing out into the water, where Ruby is keeping her head above the waves, and Ruby waves back. “Ruby and I saw the shipwreck from afar and rushed to help save everyone we could. Once we had everyone on shore, I stayed behind, uh, looking for you—” Her cheeks begin to glow a soft red, which Killian meets with a soft smile. “But Ruby went back to the debris, searching for anything she can salvage. Instead, she found you, and she thought it may have been too late, but she brought you back to shore anyway, though away from the other sailors, who were starting to gain consciousness. Somehow this man,” she looks over her shoulder, smiling at Shakespeare, who wiggles his fingers at them in a wave. “Knew where to find us, and they recuscitated you.”

“Why doesn’t she come ashore?” Liam asks, pointing out to where Ruby is still sitting on the other side of the tide.

Emma opens her mouth to answer, but is stopped by the sound of Shakespeare laughing behind them, and when they turn their attention to him, he is shaking his head. “You lads really don’t know much about your mermaid lore, do you?”

Confused, both Liam and Killian shake their heads, and Emma and Shakespeare share a smile.

“Well, Killy, I don’t know how to break this to you, but it seems that your mermaid love is also the princess, who is able to come ashore when she chooses.”

Both Jones boys are stunned, Killian by this new information which Emma never shared with him, and Liam by the fact that his little brother is apparently in love with a mermaid.

“Princess?”

“Pardon?”

Shakespeare laughs again, resting one of his hands on Emma’s shoulder. “It appears we have some things to teach the young Jones brothers here, your highness.”

-- -- -- --

Three days have passed since Emma and Ruby came across the Nautilus' wreck, and so far, no one seems to have any more suspicion about where she has been spending her time away from the palace as they did before. She has spent more of these three days around her parents, hoping to quell any questions that they may have been keeping to themselves, and she feels like she has succeeded. Until—

“Emma,” August says, softly knocking on the door to the library as he pops his head into the room. “You parents want to talk to you.”

Sighing, she closes the book she has on the table in front of her, knowing this can’t be good — and having a growing fear that it may be about her time on the shore and her relationship with Killian. “Did they tell you what it was going to be about?”

August only shakes his head.

But when Ruby is the only other person in the room, unable to meet her gaze, she knows what happened. She completely ignores the matching glares on the faces of her parents, shaking her head as she crosses her arms across her chest. “Really, Ruby?” she asks.

“I’m sorry, Em, but your mother —”

With a light laugh, Emma nods. “Yeah, I know, Rubes.” Finally, her friend raises her eyes to meet hers, and she puts as much forgiveness in her eyes as she is able; none of this is Ruby's fault, and she never should have put her friend in the position she currently finds herself.

“Emma!” her father yells, and she remembers why she’s here. “You went to the surface?”

“We were just going up to watch the sunset,” Emma says — the complete truth.

“And then you helped humans!” Now it’s the queen’s turn to be angry. "You went to the shore!"

“They were drowning! They were going to die!”

Her father takes over again. “Emma, you know that’s not what we’re angry about,” he says, his voice soft but stern. “Ruby told us about the boy.”

Emma snaps her head towards Ruby’s, eyes wide with anger — though not at Ruby, she hopes her friend realizes — but Ruby just gives her a sad shrug. Emma’s been interrogated by the queen before, knows exactly how impossible it is to keep any secrets from her once she knows something is being hidden. It’s a good characteristic for a queen, but Emma would prefer her mother to be better at seeing through her lies.

“What were you thinking?” Her mother’s anger is back. “A human?”

“I wasn’t — I didn’t even approach the shore right away, I stayed in the waves the first few times! Actually, I’ve never even been out of the water in front of him until we saved them from dying!”

“But you should have known better than to be out there in the first place.” This is, apparently, one of those arguments where her mother is going to do all the talking, with her father standing behind her with a stern expression. He always was the softer of the two, the one who is first to crack whenever she is asking them for anything, and she wonders — in the moments between her mother’s angry words — if this argument is going to be the same way. "You put your life in danger, and for what? A human?"

"He's not like the men in the stories you tell! None of them are. None of them are monsters, we've just been taught to believe that they are — and they've been taught to believe the same about us!"

"I don't want to hear it, Emma! You broke our rules, broke our trust, and you've let us down. I'm disappointed in you. I thought we taught you better than that.”

This is Emma’s in; the easiest way to break her parents is to bring up their true love, to use their teachings against them.

“You two have always taught me that the best thing for me to do is to follow my heart, so that’s exactly what I was doing!”

This was exactly the right thing to say, and the queen’s shoulders slump in defeat. For a few moments, the room is silent. Until King David smiles, wrapping his arm around his wife’s shoulders.

“She’s right, my love,” he says, always the one to end the argument, and usually in Emma’s favor. “She’s only taking our advice.”

Emma’s eyes go wide; she didn’t expect it to work, especially not this well, and certainly not this quickly.

"But it's for a human!" her mother argues, not even seeming to care that Emma is still there.

"We don't always fall in love with the people that we are expected to."

The queen — who fell in love with a common man and had to convince her parents to allow her to marry him instead of one of her suitors, a story that they are both very proud of — knows this is an argument that she is going to lose. Because, no matter how difficult it is to admit, Emma is just doing as she has always been taught to do: following her heart, even if it leads her down a different path.

When Emma finally breaks the silence that has filled the room, her voice is soft, believing that if she speaks too loud, the moment could shatter before her. “So, uh, what does that mean, then?”

The king and queen share a look. “Well,” her mother says, “We haven’t actually thought about that yet.”

“Obviously you still have to be here for your royal duties, meetings and dinners and those sort of things,” the king says.

Emma can feel a soft smile slowly growing across her face as she realizes that this is real — that her parents are really discussing how she can spend time on land… with Killian. “Of course,” she agrees.

“Plus diplomatic missions,” her mother adds, and Emma nods in agreement. “And he’s a sailor, right?” Emma nods again. “So when he’s out on the sea, I expect you to stay here at the palace.”

“I’m not going to make you take a guard with you to the surface, but if anything ever happens, know that will be the first change we make,” King David says with a definitive nod. “We’ll add to these rules when things come up. But for now…”

When Emma’s smile grows larger, her parents answer it with bright smiles of their own. She rushes forward to wrap her arms around them both. “Thank you,” she whispers, trying her best to hold back to happy tears she feels welling in her eyes. “Thank you both.”

-- -- -- --

Liam Jones is nowhere near as understanding when he finally talks to Killian about the situation. He asked the Captains to come with them to the shore to discuss everything, but Liam has always been hard-headed — not to mention overly protective of his little brother.

“I just — I can’t see any way that this works out for you,” he says, not for the first time, resting his hands on the back of his head while he paces across the sand. “She’s a mermaid, and a princess on top of that. There’s not — there simply cannot be a way for the two of you to be together.”

“Well, it certainly won’t be possible if you don’t give us a chance,” Killian argues from where he has taken a seat on the beach.

"But how? How would it even work? She lives under the sea, Killian, you do realize that, right? She can't just — just pack up her things and move to a little cottage like the rest of the sailors' wives. This is — you live in two different worlds, it just seems impossible."

“Sometimes you learn to do impossible things for love,” Shakespeare cuts in.

Nemo chuckles softly from behind him.

This is exactly how the conversation has been going, around and around in circles: Liam unable to change his point of view, Killian pleading for the freedom to pursue the feelings he feels so deeply in his heart, and Shakespeare giving half-helpful one-liners while Nemo stands silently on the sidelines.

And this is exactly how Emma finds them when her head breaks the surface of the water, bursting with the excitement from her agreement with her parents. Killian sees her first, and he jumps to his feet.

“Look, here she comes now! Maybe talking with her will change your mind about it all.” Killian rushes out into the tide to embrace her as she approaches, and the bright smile that covers his face is the most genuine Liam has ever seen.

“Doubtful,” Liam huffs under his breath, now crossing his arms across his chest as he watches them (though secretly hoping that Killian is right.)

“Emma, darling, what are you doing here?” Killian breathes, barely audible over the crashing of the surf, but Emma just smiles.

“I come with good news for all of us,” she says, sharing her smile with the rest of the group as Killian leads her onto shore, his hand on the small of her back. “Hopefully,” she adds, meeting Liam’s eye, though he does not share her smile. “My parents have given me permission to pursue this, though there are some stipulations when it comes to my royal duties. Those still come first, of course, but as long as I am not needed at the palace or on a diplomatic visit with my father, I am free to come ashore and, well—” She reaches her hand out to find Killian’s, turning completely towards him for the end of her announcement. “And be here, with you.”

In a fit of excitement, Killian wraps his arms around her, lifting her off her feet as he spins them together. “Oh, Emma, this is — it’s more than we ever imagined.”

Emma nods in agreement, and uses this moment to press her lips against his, Killian’s cheeks immediately reddening in the presence of his brother and his father figures.

Liam is still not convinced. “How could this possibly work, little brother? How much time is left over after you’ve seen to your royal responsibilities?”

“Every sailor’s lover has their own responsibilities, lad,” Nemo finally speaks up, wrapping his arm around Shakespeare’s waist as they share a smile. “Finding the time between them all is a challenge that every couple must go through.”

“Besides,” Emma comments. “We’ve managed to find the time to have a relationship without either of our families finding out for the last few weeks, I’m sure we can continue to find time for each other now that we’ve gained everyone’s blessing.”

Liam rubs his hand against his cheek before carding his fingers through his hair. “So, what, your parents — the king and queen of the sea — though I don't understand how that works, because there's a hell of a lot of ocean — are fine with this? They don't think that it's all a ploy for the monsters who live on land to take down the princess of the ocean? Isn't that what you said mermaids are taught to believe we all are?” They're all very valid questions, though Killian would appreciate if his brother could take some of the sarcastic scorn out of his voice.

Killian rolls his eyes, but Emma just shakes her head. “Well, my parents — who, by the way, are the king and queen of the whole ocean but allow many of the other realms to self-govern, so it's not like they have to watch over the whole thing all the time — are the definition of true love, or whatever, so they want to give me the chance to find that for myself. Isn’t that what you want for your brother? A chance for him to be happy?”

This, finally, is what makes Liam cave, though he takes almost a minute's time to think about it, pacing across the sand once again before turning to them with a sharp nod. "Okay. I know — I know I can't make all the rules for you anymore, little brother, but if this is what you want, I suppose the least I can do is be by your side through it, though I may not understand exactly how it's going to work."

A wide smile spreads across Killian's face, and he releases his grip on Emma's hand to wrap his brother in a hug. "That's all I want from you, brother," he says softly, looking over his shoulder at Captain Nemo, who is watching as his husband embraces Emma. "All I could want is the chance to see how this works for us, and to know that you are always by my side through it all."

On Emma's twenty-second name day, almost five years after the first time she saw Killian pulling in the fishing nets at sunset, she takes her place as Princess of the Sea, ready for more responsibilities handed off to her by her parents — but they honor the agreement that she has at least two days a week, as often as they can spare it, where she can go to the shore and be with her love. It's slightly less time than they've gotten used to during the time they have been together, but they never expected being together to be easy.

Killian is twenty-seven, Liam thirty-one when the Captains plan a large dinner party, inviting all of the sailors from both their crews along with their families. This includes both of the Jones brothers, Liam's wife Belle, and not only Emma, but also her father, though the invitation was extended to both the King and Queen. It's something that has never been seen in the remembered histories of both men and mermaids, to have the King on land for a non-diplomatic reason — but King David sees it as an opportunity to finally meet the man that he believes will one day become his son-in-law.

And to witness the moment when the men he calls his fathers, two older, grey-haired gentlemen in matching powder blue waistcoats, announce their plans to finally retire from their lives of adventure and move to their own little cottage along the sea until the end of their days.

The moment when the Jones Brothers are offered the ability to become captains of their own vessels, Liam's in the sky — a concept that the King of the Sea finds absolutely maddening, yet intriguing — and Killian's on the sea.

The two men accept the offers, of course, both of them finally moving closer to seeing their dreams come true — especially Killian, who is now able to plan his journeys in accordance with his lady love's schedule, even finding her sometimes able to join him on his vessel, allowing him to take her to far-off lands.

(And even when she is called away to the palace, she sometimes still manages to surprise him, finding his Jolly Roger on the water and catching his eye as she sits on the waves, just as she did that very first day.)

tagging: @shireness-says @thisonesatellite @let-it-raines @captainsjedi @kmomof4 @ohmightydevviepuu @profdanglaisstuff @pepperspotts @stahlop @teamhook @scientificapricot @irememberyoufern @carpedzem @gingerchangeling @superchocovian @nightskylover @lfh1226-linda @xarandomdreamx @nikkiemms @ultraluckycatnd @darkcolinodonorgasm

#captain swan #lieutenant duckling #cs ff #cs au #mermaid au #fathership #my writing #wordsbymeganmichael

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disneyat34 · 4 years ago

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The Three Caballeros at 34

A review by Adam D. Jaspering

Mickey Mouse is, and always has been, the face of the Walt Disney Corporation. Perhaps it’s because of legacy or favoritism, because Donald Duck has often proven himself more popular. To expand on a quote from Walt Disney, it all started with a mouse, but a duck pays the bills. Never was this more apparent than in the 1940s.

As morbid as it seems, World War II was a great boon to Donald Duck’s popularity. Mickey Mouse represented an unflappable, upbeat everyman. He became popular during the Great Depression when people needed their morale lifted. Donald Duck was an angry fighter who got knocked down, and stood right back up, fists swinging. That sensibility was celebrated by many during the war. Seeing the influence he had, Walt Disney capitalized on his creation.

Donald was commissioned by many sources during World War II. The US Treasury, the United Way, and the Canadian Film Board all commissioned cartoons from Disney Studios. His likeness was merchandised in countless other places. Within months, Donald Duck was promoting war bonds and celebrating American resilience coast to coast.

Later, Donald joined the US Army, encouraging enlistment. As an act of patriotism, Disney produced seven of these shorts at cost for the armed forces. Why he opted for Donald to join the Army as opposed to the Navy, as is often suggested by his sailor outfit, is a mystery. Donald wasn’t the official face of the war effort, but not for lack of trying.

In 1944, three separate events lined up. First, World War II was still ongoing. Second, Disney Studios was celebrating Donald’s tenth anniversary. Third, the follow-up to Saludos Amigos was nearing completion. It was time for another cinematic saga of comradery in the western hemisphere, this time featuring Donald Duck front and center.

Saludos Amigos was a rush job. Disney Studios churned it out for immediate financial returns. The writers and animators had unused ideas leftover. Some ideas were more dynamic and required money and time, not available in 1941. Now with a foot-hold on the Latin American film market, the studio was able to make a proper follow-up. That was The Three Caballeros.

The Three Caballeros uses the 10th anniversary of Donald Duck’s creation as a framing device. Throughout the film, Donald opens a multitude of gifts from friends and well-wishers. Each gift prompts or frames a new vignette. Like Saludos Amigos, the vignettes of The Three Caballeros were created to foster international goodwill between Latin America and the United States.

The first gift is a projector and film canister. The movie is The Cold-Blooded Penguin. It features a penguin named Pablo who dislikes living in Antarctica. Pablo hates the cold, and wishes to live in a tropical climate. One day, he pools his resources, and sets out on an ice floe for warmer weather.

Astute readers will notice the error immediately. What on Earth is a cartoon about a penguin doing in a film about Latin America?

It’s true, Pablo’s journey takes him around some of the coastal geographic features of South America’s west coast. These aren’t so much landmarks as name drops. We hear the narrator mention the Straits of Magellan, Cape Horn, Juan Fernandez Islands, Vina Del Mar, Lima, and the Galapagos Islands. But what’s depicted onscreen are rather nondescript landforms. These could be any straits, any coasts, and any islands.

The Cold-Blooded Penguin’s ties to South America are incredibly tenuous. Plainly, it does not belong as part of the film. So much so, it’s not even worth commenting on the animation or story. You could make the greatest rotisserie chicken in culinary history, but if you serve it atop an ice cream sundae, no one will care how the chicken tastes.

The short shamelessly tries to mask itself as an extended cutaway from a larger feature called “Aves Raras,” or “Rare Birds.” The non-penguin half of this short does indeed focus on the indigenous fauna of South America. Somewhat farcically, but also with an informative nugget. This infotainment is what The Three Caballeros aspires to be, and achieves in certain quantities.

Unfortunately, the filmmakers either get lazy or distracted. Strewn among the cultural aspects are nonsense and unsupportive jokes. Either the filmmakers were padding the film or afraid of losing the attention of a younger audience. The end result bogs down quality with unnecessary jetsam.

The highlight of the Rare Birds segment is the Aracuan Bird. This bird has a high-pitched, sped-up voice, and a warbled laugh. He has a screwball sense of humor, and an innate ability to antagonize all those who he comes into contact with. He has a bright red crest, a yellow beak, and oversized eyes. He debuted four years after another cartoon bird with alarmingly similar characteristics: Woody Woodpecker.

Woody Woodpecker first appeared in the 1940 short Knock Knock. Walter Lantz created the character, and licensed him to Universal Studios. The similarities between The Aracuan Bird and Woody cannot be ignored. I can find no information explaining this coincidence. There were no complaints filed, and no legal action by Lantz or Universal. It’s rather unlikely Disney’s animators resorted to plagiarism; we can only assume it was an unintentional, subconscious reproduction.

The Aracuan Bird appears here, and in two more brief scenes. He then disappears for the remainder of the film. One would think he would be a running gag, appearing regularly throughout the movie. Or at the very least, he would be a main feature in his own vignette, his other appearances being callbacks. He would certainly be more on-theme than The Cold-Blooded Penguin.

The Aracuan Bird is an unpleasant reminder that The Three Caballeros was a pile of ideas leftover from Saludos Amigos. He is introduced, then subsequently forgotten. The movie was the production of different animators and writers, working independently. They each had their own ideas, and didn’t seek consultation. These ideas are threaded together as best as possible, but big gaps in style and substance exist.

The next vignette is The Flying Gauchito, set in the pampas of Uruguay. It is the story of a child, looking for the approval of the gauchos of his village. The boy goes on a hunting expedition, finding the rarest game of all: a winged donkey.

The donkey is named ‘Burrito,’ the Spanish word ‘Little Donkey’ (which existed long before the popular Tex-Mex dish). Gauchito returns home with his newly acquired winged steed. Rather than show him off, Burrito is entered in a horse race. It’s one thing to show-off your luck. It’s another thing to demonstrate your worth.

What makes The Flying Gauchito special isn’t its story. Will and determination overcoming the established norms is a common moral. The true strength of the short is its utilization of an unreliable narrator. Gauchito’s journey is narrated by his older self, narrating from an omniscient standpoint in the future. It would be easy for him to tell the story accurately. Instead, he’s forgetful, indecisive, and admittedly unsure of specific details.

This narrative style creates not only a humorous structure, but humorous accompanying animation. Whenever a detail is “corrected” or second-guessed, the corresponding imagery is swapped out. In quick succession, the characters onscreen are left helpless as their world is ad hoc corrected. They must endure a shifting landscape and environment before they can react accordingly. This gives them a sense of instability, like they’re wearing roller skates, or walking a tightrope. It’s an advanced narrative technique, and it’s executed well.

With two and a half shorts finished, Donald Duck moves onto his next present. Inside is his friend and Saludos Amigos costar Jose Carioca. Jose is just as jovial and passionate as ever, but now smoking a giant cigar shamelessly for all children to see. We’re a long way from the warnings of Pleasure Island.

Jose introduces Donald to the Brazilian city of Baia. In a combined mood of nostalgia and admiration, Jose begins a long musical serenade. As his memories and thoughts are manifest to reality, we are swept away in the romantic imagery. The pinks and purples of the city at sunset are wonderfully done.

The two avian friends find themselves at a celebration on the streets of Baia. They’re joined by singer and dancer Aurora Miranda, plus a small army of samba dancers. The interplay of cartoon and human is outdated by today’s standards, but to an audience in 1944, it must have seemed groundbreaking. The technique is used extensively throughout the remainder of The Three Caballeros, and to great effect. It’s a gimmick, but a gimmick employed and accomplished well.

Exiting the glory of Baia, Donald opens his next gift from a stranger in Mexico. The unfamiliarity is temporary. Inside the gift is the loud, ecstatic, pistol-packing Panchito Pistoles. This firebrand is so eager to meet both Donald and Jose, he declares the trio “The Three Caballeros.” Finally, forty minutes into the picture, well past the halfway mark, we meet the last of our title characters.

After a fiery song and dance number, Panchito introduces Donald to the piñata. Panchito identifies it as a Mexican Christmas tradition (The Three Caballeros was scheduled for a December release date). Until this point, Panchito has been a quite vocal and boisterous individual. Hearing him tell a reverent and humble tale of Christmas tradition displays his hidden depths. Panchito could have been a shallow and one-note character. Instead, we see him capable of many things.

Cracking open the piñata, Donald is treated to a tour of Mexico’s most popular sights. Panchito summons a serape, which flies like Aladdin’s magic carpet. The Three Caballeros visit the exotic locales of Pátzcuaro, Veracruz, and Acapulco.

Until this point, both Donald and Jose were nothing more than enthusiastic partygoers. They enjoyed the celebrations and sights of their destinations. And they never shied away from the pleasant company of a gorgeous woman. For whatever reason, upon visiting Mexico, something stirs in the mind of Donald.

Going forwards, every woman Donald encounters is an object of lustful desire. Singing girls, dancing girls, sunbathing girls; Donald wants them all. Jose and Panchito do their best to subtly remind Donald he is a cartoon duck in a G-Rated movie, but Donald is driven by his id.

It’s a common cartoon trope for a character to be so blindsided by a woman’s physical attraction, they lose control. From the works of pre-Hays Code Betty Boop shorts, to the then-contemporary Tex Avery, it was a well-established joke. Donald, however, is completely insatiable and unstoppable. It starts funny, gets ridiculous, and then turns downright disturbing. Donald Duck is insatiably in love with these Latin beauties, and cannot be tamed. It’s a running gag that runs far too long. Panchito shouldn’t have shown Donald a hot beach, he should have shown him a cold shower.

The movie ends in quite an interesting way. Instead of a traditional song and dance number celebrating Mexico, the remaining twenty minutes of film is a surreal, avant garde display. More than ‘Toccata and Fugue’ from Fantasia. More than ‘Pink Elephants on Parade’ from Dumbo. Things are odd, formless, wild, and baffling. And lots of fun.

The Three Caballeros’s primary problem is how unbalanced it is. Any ten minute stretch is vastly different from any other. But it is unbalanced in a linear fashion. As the movie progresses, it becomes more cohesive and more audacious. Things are always building towards the (literally) explosive climax.

It begins with one short that doesn’t belong in the film at all. It moves onto a second short that, while more appropriate, could easily be excised. Jose is introduced, giving the movie more structure and narrative harmony. With him, more advanced animation techniques are employed. Panchito is introduced, giving the film a solid shape and definition. Finally, we’re treated to a grand tour de force. Disney’s animators use every trick to deliver a mindboggling trip for the eyes and ears.

The Three Caballeros as a group existed as Disney second-stringers for many years. Donald Duck remained as popular as ever, but it was rare to see Jose or Panchito acknowledged by the studio. Early in the 21st century, the cult popularity of the film prompted a resurgence for the forgone trio.

The Three Caballeros are featured at the Mexican Pavilion of Epcot Center (despite only one of the three members being Mexican). Don Rosa wrote two sequels for the trio, published in comic form. They’ve appeared in Disney television shows, such as House of Mouse, and 2017′s DuckTales. They even star in their own series on Disney+, where they become globetrotting fantasy heroes.

The Three Caballeros expands on the ideas of its predecessor, Saludos Amigos. A multitude of animation techniques continues the celebration of harmony in the Americas. Music, laughter, and a love of exploration unite us all. While the end result is something of a mixed bag, the highs are demonstrably high. It will stimulate some viewers while outright confounding others. But in the end, the wild, surreal adventure is a voyage worth taking. Hasta luego.

Fantasia Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs Pinocchio Bambi The Three Caballeros Dumbo Saludos Amigos

#The Three Caballeros #Walt Disney #Walt Disney Animation Studios #Disney #disney studios #Film Criticism #film analysis #review #movie review #Disney Canon

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whole-dip · 4 years ago

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My Trip to Omega Mart

Opened in 2021, Omega Mart is an immersive art experience that utilizes numerous artistic mediums to tell a layered and thematically rich story to guests. A story that actively involves the guest in various different ways, challenging their sense of physical space, as well as eliciting questions of consumerism, family, love, and even the nature human connection. This story is told within a massive space comprised of roughly four main physical spaces, each with their own smaller spaces wherein guests may engage with physical media to the level of their interest. Omega Mart was developed by an artist collective known as Meow Wolf, a group formed in 2008 that specializes in immersive art experiences that are often referred to as psychedelic, dreamlike environments. Previous works include The Due Return, an immersive art experience depicting an alien ship that travels through time, The House of Eternal Return, an immersive experience showcasing a house that seemingly exists in multiple dimensions, and various other immersive art experiences across the country. I visited Omega Mart, located in Las Vegas, recently and this piece will focus on my visit. Please keep in mind that Omega Mart is often updated in small ways and some of my account may not totally reflect your visit, be it in the past or future. Along with that, I will be going into great detail about my experience and if you plan to visit Omega Mart with no prior knowledge, you may not want to read this until after you visit.

Omega Mart, is located within Area 15, an immersive art space located near the Las Vegas strip. As you enter, you’ll find yourself in massive blacklit warehouse that’s a sort of psychedelic mall. Individual kiosks show glow in the dark shirts and various other rave theme toys. To the left, lies the massive front entrance of Omega Mart. Flanking the entrance are walls with various advertisements for Dramcorp products that you’ll find inside. The entrance itself takes the form of an omega symbol, the central arch being a sort of portal inside. Once you enter, you find yourself inside, where else, Omega Mart. All around you are neatly organize aisles of typical products like cereal, household cleaners, salt and spices, like any other mall. The produce section lies to your left, meats to your right. A bluish glow from the fluorescent lights above gives the same sense of blah that you’d find in superstores like Wal Mart; inoffensive smooth jazz warbles out from speakers above you. It’s all drab and expected, until you pay closer attention. The products are all hilariously surreal, and there are truly hundreds of them on the fully stocked shelves. You’ll find cans of tattooed chicken, bottles of gender fluid, even zalg “America’s forgotten vegetable!” As you inspect the items their enticing labels show something more sinister going on. Most continue the absurd humor but a few seem to break brand style and urge you, beg you, to wake up from what you’re doing, to run away from where you are, to get back to reality, if it even exists any more. At times, the music will seemingly forget its place and skip incessantly as it repeats the same few seconds of music over and over to a maddening degree, only to go back to normal as though nothing happened. At other times, we hear Walter Dram, former CEO and founder of Omega Mart, and parent company Dramcorp, talk through the speakers. He’s exhausted, coughing and barely able to speak, halfheartedly assuring us that Omega Mart is the best supermarket in the universe, the he is Omega Mart, Omega Mart is him. He almost stumbles over his words, telling us about savings and being endlessly lost in the store. This story continues in the produce section, where on video, Walter advertises Omega Mart’s Valley of Plenty in-store brand. There, he, along with daughter Cecelia (heir apparent to Omega Mart and Dramcorp), showcase the incredible fruits and vegetables available for sale. He describes how he found the valley of plenty and admired the hard working local farmers as, taking the opportunity to share the fruits of their labor with the world. Just as the promo video ends, Walter drops his commercial persona and turns into his true exhausted self. He asks if he has to do it again. Cecelia reminds him that it’s his job, that soon she’ll take his place and that for now it is his duty to work. Walter sighs, resigned to his fate. Moments later, the commercial begins again, Walter repeats his spiel.

As you explore, you’ll find various hideaways that take you to different locations. One such vestibule is the janitor’s closet, which houses nightmarish creatures made from brooms and mops. Their wood handle necks twist around and their fringed rag tails drip with glowing slime. Once you pass through, you enter the Dramcorp factory floor. Unlike the clean(ish) plastic of Omega Mart, the factory is a metallic horror of purplish browns, machines groan all around you as vile liquids ooze through pipes. On the floor above lies Dramcorp’s corporate offices with ominous glows seeping out from its closed doors. Here in the factory, you learn that Dramcorp has been utilizing something called, “Source” to develop and manufacture new products. Omega Mart itself is somehow fully infused with the dreamy, psychotropic qualities of source, but Dramcorp has refined it to make products addicting on a spiritual level. In one hidden corner we find a glowing orb that once was Walter Dram. He laments about his greed and how he went too far in his pursuit of profit. Now, his daughter Cecelia runs Dramcorp and he can only watch as she continues to be woman he raised her to be. Throughout the factory you’ll see that the refinement process is messy and various factory machinery are in disarray as employees try to clean up emotional messes and bliss outbreaks. Signs warn you of rooms with giant bugs or maddening corridors. In another corner, a particularly broken machine is spilling source runoff as a river out of the factory and into Seven Monolith Village.

Seven Monolith Village is a small valley community in the Nevada desert where Dramcorp’s source runoff pools. Here, the psychedelic energy of the source has transformed the sleepy town into a living Alex Gray painting. The sun bleached rocks crack open with bright colored lines and massive desert wildlife like wolves and snakes now glow in fractal patterns. Giant humanoids made of pure energy slowly appear around you, only to disappear from our plane of existence moments later. Exploring the village leads us to find that the town has been ravaged by Dramcorp’s pollution and is near uninhabitable. One of the few people left Charlie Dram, owner of the local gas station and estranged brother of Walter. In his small gas station, we see that Charlie has begun a new business of collecting source runoff and selling it as a sort of psychedelic elixir. His phone regularly rings with calls from regular customers looking to make purchases from Charlie, many of them Dramcorp employees looking for an escape from their corporate lives.

Next door to Charlie is a small shack that’s home to Marin Dram, grandniece of Charlie and daughter of Cecelia Dram. Looking through her room we learn her story. Years ago, Cecelia, along with her father Walter, discovered the original, raw source, a remnant of ancient visitors to our Earth from a parallel dimension. Drinking of that well, Cecelia and Walter discovered receive a divine vision for how to make Omega Mart the most profitable supermarket in the multiverse. From there, they tirelessly worked to study the source, finding that it is the wellspring from which all life emerged and all ideas come from. With this knowledge, they developed Omega Mart’s products as addicting and powerfully satisfying. Along with that however, came Marin, an immaculate conception born of both Cecelia and source, with strange abilities unseen by anyone before. Marin was raised by Charlie while her mother was busy running the company, but Cecelia began taking an interest in Marin and the potential for her to lead Dramcorp and Omega Mart into a new age of even greater prosperity. Pushed too far by her mother’s need to groom her into the next CEO, Marin opened a portal and fled our world for somewhere else, and everyone has been looking for her since. The only remains of Marin are lingering projections of her dreams, surreal music videos of being tormented by her mother, teen heartbreak, and visitations from ethereal beings. Now, all of Seven Monolith Village and Dramcorp alike are searching for Marin, to save her, or use her.

Nearby in another home within 7MV you are drafted into the fight against Dramcorp by an anarchist group fighting against the capitalist propaganda and the abuse against human lives, as well as the earth itself. You must venture back into Omega Mart, as well as Dramcorp’s factory, and hack into their systems before you finally enter the corporate offices.

Dramcorp’s offices are a nightmarish cavern of cubicles, computers, and offices. The executive portraits have haunting smiles and smoke billows from all around as lights flash in strange patterns. Behind each test facility door are horrific sounds and lights. Each office tells a small story of business drones that work tirelessly in hopes of one day ascending into management nirvana where they will exist fully with the company. All the while, employees drown themselves in the very same poisonous runoff elixirs that they sell in the store downstairs. After hacking into all three branches of Dramcorp’s reach, my involvement with Meow Wolf’s story was complete, though I suspect more is yet to come were I to visit again in the future.

Omega Mart is rich with themes that comment on capitalism, spirituality, emotional relationships, and much more. The biggest difficulty that has always pervaded immersive art experiences, even those that can be found at theme parks like Walt Disney World, is the difficulty in having thematic density when the audience is not guaranteed to be interacting with the art as intended. While other mediums have the benefit of standardized ways to consume them such as film or literature, immersive art spaces have no set path in which the guest should traverse the space, nor even the guarantee that guests will be able to have the time to interact with the art in ways sufficient of fully understanding the plot. Because of this, many immersive experiences rely on using a heavier hand with its themes and utilizing narrative devices that directly speak to the audience. Commonly, this comes in the form of narration that speaks directly to the audience. Meow Wolf however, takes the risk of the audience not being able to experience the story in the event that they miss key elements. Meow Wolf mitigates this by making it clear through the use of electronic media and hiding certain show elements that guests should be in somewhat of a scavenger hunt mindset. While most of the guests I noticed on my visit had no prior knowledge of their Omega Mart experience involving a story, it was very clear upon entering to everyone that a major aspect of their visit would be interacting with the story should they choose. Meow Wolf themselves have stated that they look to make their stories accessible to all people on the level of the audience’s choosing. A visitor to Omega Mart would not feel ripped off by having not experienced the full story, but rather someone might feel as though their ticket gained value for having fully experienced the depth of Omega Mart’s characters and world.

Even so, there is still a challenge when designing the story that comes with the nature of the medium of immersive art. Truly, there is no one specific art form that takes center stage here. Each room in Omega Mart could potentially involved artistic use of light, sound (musical and practical), wood work, print design, sculpture, painting, writing, and much more. The challenge in designing Omega Mart is to not only make individual pieces of art that resonate with the audience, but to bring them together within a space that is narratively cohesive rather than just a series of interesting things in a large room. Meow Wolf’s artists were able to pull that off. A common example of that level of connectivity is the referential nature of each space, details in one room would be seen in other rooms, often with new contexts and plot information that would provide greater thematic depth. Many of the humorous gag items available in the grocery store’s aisles could also be found in Dramcorp’s development offices where they could be viewed not as the silly puns you originally saw them as, but now as cynical totems designed on a molecular level to be addicting to consumers. Even more than that, the overall story itself would only be possible by intricately weaving a story throughout the space in a way that guests could understand how each room referenced the other together to create the whole. The end result being an experience in which guests can fully feel as though they visited specific places, met complex individuals, and had meaningful interactions, all of which I did during my trip.

One of my biggest concerns before visiting was that Omega Mart’s story would be told in a way that said overarching ideas that were ultimately hollow. I dreaded that the only message Meow Wolf would leave me with is the trite “Corporation Bad” that so many hollow pieces of art tout. While a far more nuanced anticapitalism message is a major theme of Omega Mart, the story itself smartly anchors itself within the story Marin Dram. Marin’s story is one that I personally found to be profoundly relatable. The echoing dream in her bedroom mirror has stuck with me for days after my visit, along with the incredibly vaginal nightmare in a nook nearby. Marin’s story reflects each of the themes of Omega Mart’s message, that of feeling used by other, tied between two worlds, and the commodification of bodies for the sake of industry. There is a terrible sadness that I felt in my core as Marin cried at the school dance, only moments later to be covered in milk and cereal by her mother in some feeble attempt to become one with the family business. More than that, the Dramcorp, and the Dram family’s Cecelia and Walter themselves, tout plastic products as the quick fix solution to loneliness. We’re urged to question how we fill our own emptiness with products, or even how we use others as a means to an end. Walter and Cecelia use and consume their loved ones for their goals in much the same way Omega Mart’s customers are primed to use ridiculous products. There is a sadness to the way Cecelia can only connect to others through consumption. She can only connect to her daughter by offering products, she puts her father in the source well to be consumed by the store, ultimately she’ll be consumed herself by whomever is her successor as CEO. Everything in Meow Wolf’s Omega Mart experience is punctuated by the ways they can be balled up in put into your mouth for digestion.

As an aside, I am somewhat disappointed in how prevalent the discussion of Omega Mart’s lore is both at the experience and online. Much of the discussion’s online is primarily about dissecting the origin of the source, the details of dark nula and light nula, and various other inconsequential details related to the world that props up the thematic meat of Omega Mart. Omega Mart, while not bashing the audience with its message, is not particularly subtle with what it wants to say. It is abundantly clear that Omega Mart’s messages of anticapitalism and reverence for emotional connection are the intended takeaways. One of the biggest drawbacks in how Omega Mart tells its story is the moments in which, typically on phones, the audience is given a neat summary on everything in the story so far. This is very much a personal gripe.

Omega Mart’s most prominent medium is perhaps space itself. The uniting factor in every individual piece of art that makes up the whole is the unification of space itself, and the clear delineation of crossing the threshold from space that is wholly not Omega Mart, into a space that wholly is. Within that space, Omega Mart’s guests will find themselves walking, climbing, crawling, and even sliding at they traverse the location. We see this create transitionary vestibules like the janitor’s closet from earlier, but also a space bending soda freezer or even a staircase from the store to the offices that has the numbing drone of music fade into haunting groans with each step. As guests traverse the space they also find themselves crossing paths with staff and other guests, all of which flesh out Omega Mart just by the vary nature of being there together. Guests will find themselves falling back into the same patterns and habits they exhibit when visiting real grocery stores, struggling to pass each other in cramped aisles, knocking baskets accidentally and apologizing, all the motions of a grocery store, but none of the actual purposeful substance of visiting a normal grocery store. This contrasts with the purposeful halts guests will make when experiencing the dreams in Marin’s room, stopped and fully enraptured by a story beat. While Omega Mart as an experience is easily considered hard to describe, the actions guests take while there, reading, talking on the phone, navigating a blog, walking up stair, are all deceptively simple.

However, this comes at a cost. Omega Mart, like much of Meow Wolf’s previous work, is not particularly accessible to many different types of people. The House of Eternal Return has been criticized in the past for not being wheelchair accessible. Omega Mart remedies this by always having multiple ways to access new areas including wide open pathways and an elevator, but the thrill of tunnels, rock climbing, and narrow passages are impossible to experience. Really, anyone who is not able bodied and below a certain size will have challenges when experiencing Omega Mart. Not only that, Omega Mart’s usage of the full emotional spectrum means that some experiences, specifically those that utilize sensory overload to intentionally elicit anxiety in guests, would be almost impossible for many neurodivergent guests, or just guests with sensory difficulties. None of the main experiences and plot requires guests to directly engage with intense rooms or inaccessible spaces, but there still might be a disappointment in some guests when finding that they are unable to fully experience every inch of Omega Mart.

Meow Wolf has been around since 2008, but beginning with the opening of House of Eternal Return in 2016, Meow Wolf has exploded in popularity and is noted by the theme park industry as a group to watch. House of Eternal Return even received an award for outstanding achievement by the Themed Entertainment Association, one of the industry’s highest honors. While many people are oblivious to the small movements within the themed entertainment industry, the larger pushes done by groups like Disney and Universal do get noticed by the general vacationing public. Some have noted that what Meow Wolf is doing today, could in fact be what Disney is doing a few years from now. Meow Wolf’s principles could be most applicable in the upcoming Galactic Starcruiser experience that also promises to be similarly immersive and engaging to guests. More than that, Meow Wolf does consider their work to be made for the general public rather than niche crowds of art lovers and theme park fans. This is clearly evidenced by how many guests I saw at Omega Mart surprised to find out there was a story at play, some of which actively chose to not engage with in out of disinterest. One does wonder if a version of Meow Wolf’s immersive experiences, bigger than an escape room but not quite EPCOT, that tells a complex story with characters and themes, could be common relatively common place for most people to visit. Meow Wolf is wholly unique in their execution, but spaces of play, even for adults, aren’t. At the same time, while Dave and Buster’s and barcades may be popular, how likely is it that middle class office workers would clock out and head to something like Omega Mart? Even beyond that, Meow Wolf actively updates their experiences in various ways and their website encourage guests to visit at least once a year. I certainly would not be opposed to visiting again in a year, but the experience would be less akin to going on a rollercoaster a second time and more like rewatching a movie. I can’t see typical socialization, small talk and the like, occurring in a place like Omega Mart.

Ultimately, Omega Mart sets out to, and very much does, create a thematically rich experience that is truly mind bending and challenges the ways we consider our traversal of space, and our connections with others. While everyone will likely come out with a different experience to varying levels of intensity, I personally found my trip to be one of the most spiritually intense experiences of my life, one that drastically made me rethink my relationship to others, as well as to myself. I don’t think visiting Omega Mart should require pre and post consultation with a therapist, but I do encourage guests to be prepared to have at least one of their ideas about the world to be radically challenged. Time will tell if Meow Wolf’s continued work in the world of immersive art experiences is sustainable with an audience, but for now Omega Mart is unlike anything you’ve ever seen before and afterwards you may find yourself to be unlike you were when you entered.

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kalypsichor · 5 years ago

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five��s a crowd [ beatles x reader ] part five

chapter summary: It’s time for some apologies (aPAULogies!). You and Paul have a chat about student debt, Parliament, and showers. John tries to convince everyone that he won’t break the telly (again), Ringo tries to convince everyone that he’s NOT an old man, and you just wish George would drop that goddamn towel.

warnings: george is almost naked but not naked enough (sigh)

masterlist and parts one | two | three | four

these chapters are just getting longer, huh. also, queen makes a more... definitive appearance.

Paul’s chosen the corner booth. It’s the spot that you all usually cram into, obnoxious and loud and always on the verge of being kicked out. Sitting there all by himself with nothing but a cup of coffee, he looks very small and lonely and you feel a pang of guilt.

He glances up when you sit down next to him. “Back for round two?” Paul says, and despite this he still scoots over to give you more room.

“No.” Sighing, you resist your fight-or-flight instinct. You’ve always hated confrontation. “I just wanted to apologize. I probably overreacted today and I shouldn’t have, um… ”

“Ripped me a new one?”

You laugh. “Yeah. Sorry about that. I’ve just been so stressed about midterms and all that--which isn’t an excuse for being an asshole, I know. It’s been such a long day, with Ringo having to go to the hospital and John almost killing us in your car and George, uh… actually, George hasn’t done anything. But… forgive me?” You try your best puppy eyes, although that’s more of Paul’s forte.

He pretends to think about it, but he’s already got that smile on his face. It’s soft and accentuates the roundness of his cheeks and you can see what John fell in love with.

“Of course I do. I could never stay angry at you for too long.” You let out a sigh that you didn’t know you were holding. “And I’m sorry, as well. I hope some of your papers were salvageable? I’ll pay for your textbooks, really--”

“With the thousands of pounds of student debt you’ve got? No way.” You nudge Paul teasingly. “No, it wasn’t that bad. Besides, if I don’t have most of that stuff memorized by now I’ll be fucked for midterms.”

“It’s the damn Tories, I tell you!” A businessman at the table over shoots him a dirty look and you have to muffle your snort behind your hands. “Anyway, we’re not here to talk politics. How’s George?” At the last bit, Paul leans in, raising his eyebrows conspiratorially.

Just great, still want to snog him senseless. Nothing new. “Why don’t you ask George yourself, you live with him. He’s still pretty pissed about having to take cold showers in the morning.”

“Please, no more. I’ve gotten yelled at about it enough already.” He throws his hands up in mock surrender and you’re reminded uncannily of John. They really are two sides of the same coin… “Morning’s the only time I can shower, anyway. It’s not fun waking up early, you know, but I do have to get the studio time. I’ve got, like, a million art pieces to turn in next week. It’s killing me.”

Though he says this with a rueful grin, you can see there’s bags under his eyes. With all the drama going on, you hadn’t stopped to think about what Paul must be going through. You internally scold yourself not to be so wrapped in your own concerns next time.

“I didn’t realize.”

“Yeah, well. The woes of an art major. But when I asked about George, I wasn’t talking about our little row.”

You ignore that. “Showering every day is bad for your skin, y’know.”

“First off, that’s my phrase. Secondly, you’re changing the subject.”

“You’re the one changing the subject!” Don’t blush don’t blush don’t blush. “Look, can’t you try and compromise with him? Like, taking turns or something. You can have the first shower every other day and ditto for George!” You smack the table excitedly. “Damn, I’m a genius.”

Paul laughs and downs the rest of his coffee. “Alright, alright. I’ll talk to him about it.” Standing, he stretches and tosses the cup into the trash. “You think the flat is safe enough to go back?”

You mirror his actions, donning your fleece jacket. “Probably. I’ll protect you, though, don’t worry.”

“My hero!” He swoons and loops his arm through yours as you step out of the cafe. The rest of the walk back, he doesn’t mention George again and you think he’s forgotten all about it. That is, until you reach the apartment. Paul unlocks the door and gestures for you to go first. When you brush by him, he leans down to your ear and says it so casually you don’t even register the meaning at first.

“I’ll get the truth out of you one of these days, y’know.”

Paul winks and though he doesn’t say exactly what the ‘truth’ is, you think you have a pretty good idea what he’s talking about.

***

The next day, you’re sat at the kitchen table over a bowl of cereal and some salvaged papers, not unlike yesterday morning. John is once again swiping through his phone. Ringo’s there, too, having scrutinized the entire kitchen floor this time before sitting down.

“TikTok is a load of shit,” John announces, throwing his cell down.

“Yet that doesn’t stop you from being on it for hours on end.”

“It’s addicting! All that… hitting the woah and- and grenade stuff.”

“You mean renegade.”

You both shoot a surprised look at Ringo, who pouts. “What? I can be hip too.”

“Okay, the fact that you said ‘hip’ kinda contradicts that.”

Ringo sticks his tongue out at you and you snicker. John clears his throat, steering the conversation back to him. Attention whore.

“Aaaanyway. As I was saying. Our phones are all the government’s rubbish way of brainwashing us. And that’s why I propose… drum roll, please.”

Ringo obliges. You note that he keeps a rather good tempo.

“Game Night Part Two!”

He’s met with silence.

“Uh, let me think about it-- no.”

“What? Why not!”

You tap your finger to your chin. “Did you already forget getting piss-drunk and missing your American Lit quiz the next day? Or spilling Fanta all over my /nice/ white tee? Or doing that?” John’s gaze follows your gesture to the tv in the living room with a great crack down the middle.

“And you’re a sore loser,” Ringo adds. John frowns and throws a cornflake at him.

“George was definitely cheating-”

“Abupbupbup! I’m not done.” You point at his sour expression. “Don’t you remember the noise complaint we got from our neighbor?”

John actually pauses at this. “You mean Paul’s classmate? The one that does graphic design? Not that you’d know it from the way he dresses like a fashion major.”

“His name is Freddie.” Ringo supplies helpfully. Ringo was always good at names.

“Yeah, he actually knocked on our door and everything. That was embarrassing, John.”

A scoff makes its way through John’s pursed lips. “He’s got no right telling us to keep the noise down when his bloody flat houses an entire fucking band. I can hear them going at it until two am sometimes and I don’t call the police on them.”

“They’re quite good.” As if to accentuate his point, Ringo taps a familiar rhythm with his spoon. Must be from one of their latest songs.

John inhales and you can tell that this’ll turn into a scuffle if you don’t steer the conversation away soon.

“Anyway! We don’t want another repeat of last month’s shenanigans. I’d like to be able to keep watching Netflix on a functioning telly, thank you very much. You’re outnumbered, Johnny.”

“Well, actually.”

You both swivel to look at Ringo: you in horror and John with glee. The oldest boy is usually the tie breaker, the swing-state if you want to be American about it. If he throws his weight behind John, it’ll be over.

“I think it would be a good idea. For morale, you know. We’ve been at each other’s throats all of yesterday, and havin’ another Game Night might get everyone on good terms again.” Damn you, Ringo, you think, damn you and your altruism. John, in every sense of the saying, looks exactly like the cat that’s got the canary. He swings to you with the stupidly smug look on his face.

“The match goes to Lennon! Take that,” he gloats, and you fight the urge to strangle him across the table.

“When you fail Professor Ono’s midterms because you’re too hungover to tell Walt Whitman from Langston Hughes, don’t go crawling to me,” you hiss.

John makes to retort but he’s cut short by the sound of footsteps running down the hall. Your brain barely has time to conjure up the weird feeling of deja vu before George skids into the kitchen.

He’s wearing nothing but a towel. Again. But this time, he’s smiling, and the brilliance of it cuts through your sleep-addled brain and curls up somewhere below your rib cage.

“I just took a shower!”

“Good for you, mate,” John snarks, staring ruefully at the phone in the center of the table--did he change his phone case or something? It looks different, somehow. You can see his fingers twitching toward it.

George ignores him. “I just took a warm shower. A real shower with warm water.”

Yes, you can see that from the bit of steam still rising from his shoulders and his hair, which is now curling slightly in the colder temperature. There’s a droplet of water making its way from George’s very naked chest down to his very fit stomach--how he has abs, you have no idea, since the boy inhales food like Kirby--and you look away sharply before your gaze can wander any further.

“A warm water shower,” he repeats.

Ringo nods. “Ah, yes. The poison. The poison for Kuzco. The poison chosen specifically to kill Kuzco.” He pauses, looking you in the eye rather seriously, and you say the next bit together.

“Kuzco’s poison.”

The two of you double over, giggling like schoolgirls. George, however, looks confused.

“What are they on about?”

“Some American film.” John finally gives in and snatches up the phone laying on the table. Something flashes across his face. You know that look, and nothing good ever follows it. “Smile, Georgie.”

There’s the click of a photo being taken.

“Hey! What was that for?”

“Nothing.” John pushes his chair from the table and stands up rather abruptly. The look on his face is growing into something… wicked. “Nothing at all. I will be in Paul and I’s room. Doing nothing.” He surveys you all once more with that good-for-nothing grin, cradles the phone to his chest, and then sprints down the hall past an even more confused George. The door closes and locks with a decisive click.

The three of you look at each other questioningly. Ringo grunts something unintelligible and shovels more cornflakes into his mouth. George shrugs and turns to head back to the bathroom.

He’s already halfway down the hall before he freezes.

“Wait a minute. Was that my phone?”

#beatles fanfic #george harrison x reader #ringo starr x reader #paul mccartney x reader #john lennon x reader #the beatles x reader #mclennon #five's a crowd #kalwrites #crack

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