#what is up with the romance scenes having the silliest expressions | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

catxsnow · 4 years

Text

BROKEN ROSES - DAMIJON

Summary: Damian hated Valentine’s day more than anything. Jon thought it was romantic, he wanted Damian to be able to appreciate the holiday just as much as him.

Warning: fluff, angst, mentions of blood and Damian beating up a thug while Jon’s a cutie.

A/N: Happy Valentine’s Day everyone! I, much like Damian here, don’t like it very much but me and my mututals decided to do a little secret santa for Valentine’s day and I got Ms. @screennamealreadyused and went with a little Damijon

I know it’s not my usual writing but I thought I would post it nonetheless, I hope you all enjoy!

Word Count: 4k

Valentines Day had to be one of the silliest days of the year.

It was simply an excuse for couples to get out for the night and go on a date or drop the kids off so parents could have a night to themselves. To put it lightly, it was just a day that forced pressure on boyfriends and girlfriends to waste money on chocolates and roses. Not to mention it left all those who were single feeling lonelier than ever.

It wasn't like Christmas where you got to spend time with family or Halloween where you could dress up and go party. Even St. Patricks day was better than Valentine's Day. The holiday was something that was easy to dread as it rolled around each new year. Holiday, if you could even call it that.

Maybe the reason that he hated it so much was because every couple he knew soaked up the twenty-four hours of pure romance. If they were truly in love, they'd spend every day of the year treating each other like they would on the fourteenth of February.

Single people everywhere found themselves alone in their room or making a desperate attempt at a bar to find someone for the night. It was pathetic, almost. Why should they feel the need to suffer just because they hadn't met their match yet? Why should those lucky enough to fall in love get to celebrate? Didn't they have enough already?

The other reason he hated it so much was because he never had a reason to understand it. Never in love, never feeling loved by that one person that was supposed to mean everything to him. Never being brought flowers or gifts because someone was so head over heels in love that they wanted to express it in every way possible.

Valentine's was just another day of crime-fighting and sore muscles. A night of saving couples from greedy thugs or saving young women who had the unfortunate of running into desperate men. A night of coming home with bruises and an empty room. A manor that was far larger for just three people.

Selina was meant to drag Bruce out on some extravagant night in the town on Valentine's day. Dick and Kori had their own plans in San Francisco. Tim and Steph even wanted to go out on a date even if their relationship had been anything but stable at that point. Jason himself probably had some sort of plans to lounge around a bar until a woman joined his side.

That left Damian home alone in a massive manor with no plans and a heart filled with hatred. He'd spend another night of saving lives just to feel like something was missing in his own. There was always something missing. Something that kept him up at night wondering what the big deal about love really was.

He dreaded the next day.

"It's ridiculous! Why would anyone want to come up with such a silly way to spend your day?" Damian's cape snapped in the harsh winds. The cold winds felt as if it was cutting through his skin as he ran across rooftops. Another night of Gotham's winter, another night of taking down worthless thugs.

His face burned with the cold. Joints sore as he jumped down the emergency stairs on the side of an old building when hearing screams. He could barely feel the hits on his knuckles when beating up the fool that tried to fight him instead of running. Only when he remained on the ground, blood pouring from his nose did Damian stop.

"I think it's cute," Jon finally spoke up. The drastic change of Jon’s words and the scene before them nearly made Damian snicker. "Mom and Dad always go out on dates, he buys her flowers, makes breakfast. They've been doing it forever. How could you hate a day that's supposed to be filled with love?"

"If true love really exists," Damian pulled his grappling gun from his belt and shot it up to the building ahead. He landed on top of the roof once more, waiting for his friend to join him. "Why does there need to be one day to express it? Why not every day?"

"It is every day, Robin," Jon tried to explain. Trying to explain something like this to Damian was like talking to a brick wall. He refused to see the joy in it and wouldn’t admit that someone could love a little extra on a designated day. "When someone's in love every single day is dedicated to make them happy - even when you don't even realize that you're doing it. You don't get to see what someone's like when they're in love. Your parents..."

Damian narrowed his eyes. There was love between Bruce and Talia, at one point in their loves. It was never true love - no, it was far from that. It was a love of power, strength. Nothing like how Clark and Lois were. If Bruce was lucky, he would finally have found that in Selina - or if he didn't fuck it up before he got the chance to find out.

"It's idiotic."

Damian would never admit that he was envious. There was no reason that he needed to waste time being in love, yet there were moments that he wondered what it would be like. The devotion that one had was something that wasn't forced or expected, it was gained over time willingly.

Being in love was something that he wasn't trained for. His mother never taught him that growing old didn't have to be lonely. He didn't know what it was like to fall asleep next to someone he trusted or waking up just the same way. No one told him what it was like to be in love, and at that point, he didn't care.

"It's romantic," Jon corrected. He should have known not to bring up the dya with Damian. If there was anyone in this world that was going to hate Valentine’s Day, it was him. "You just don't want to agree because you've never been in love before."

"And you have?" Damian scoffed. Jon might have been surrounded by love, but that didn't mean anything when it came to the real deal of it all. He hadn't experienced being in love just the same as Damian. Neither of them knew what it was like - so why did he feel the need to defend it so much? "What does a kid know about love?"

Jon's bottom lip curled into a pout. The cold air didn't seem to bite nearly as harshly as Damian's words. You didn't have to be old to experience love. Kids of all ages experience different kinds of love and all of them were just as valid. Damian, as badly as he didn't want to admit it, had experienced it too.

It wasn't the same as true love - not like his parents or Dick and Kori or anyone else that he knew. True love didn't come from family, it came from finding yourself in another person. Sometimes, Jon wondered if he found that in Damian.

The morning of the fourteenth, Damian woke up grumpy. He glared at the breakfast Alfred made for him and even more so at the red and pink scattered on every screen in Gotham city. The little sleep that he had gotten that night was poor, starting his day off bad enough as it was. It only got worse as it progressed.

Surely the kids at his school would be excited throughout the entire day. He heard his classmates speak of their crushes or who they wanted to hand out cards to all week and it was beyond disgusting to hear about. He wanted no part of it, but by the giggles and gazes of most the girls in his class, he was bound to be.

Damian scowled as he found yet another rose tucked away in his possessions. The entirety of the day he had found them. The first was in his locker at school. Just before the first period as he collected his books he had noticed it sitting on the top shelf. No note, no sign of breaking through the lock, just a singular rose.

He saw the girls that fawned over him giggle at the sight of the flower. His guess that it had been from one of them and that they had asked a teacher to open it up to place it in. Loose petals fell through his books and his whole locker smelled of perfume. Without a word, he shoved it back in, hearing the crack of the stem from his aggression.

The next had been in his desk at third-period class. He hadn't pulled it out, not wanting to give the satisfaction to whoever had put it there. They were going all in, he had to give them props for that. Nonetheless, he was still angered at the idea of someone falling into the scheme of Valentine's and putting its effects on him.

Damian wasn't interested. At all.

The third was one that had been tucked into his backpack. He wasn't sure how someone had gotten it there considering his bag had been with him for most of the day. It joined the rest of the broken flowers that were shoved in the back of his locker and not to be looked at again.

Whoever had the silly idea that he had to be a pawn in this ridiculous holiday was going to suffer, greatly. Damian was not about to participate in the day's events of someone trying to either profess their love or admit a crush. He wanted no part of any of it - especially on that specific day.

The ruined roses were scrunched up in his hand as he walked towards the car that Alfred was to drive him home in. Red petals trailed behind him. Alfred was standing just outside the car, waiting for Damian to arrive. His eyes were glued to the flowers, curious about where they had come from.

"A secret admirer, Master Damain?" Alfred cocked an eyebrow. Damian said nothing, though the scowl on his face grew - even more so when the back door was opened for him only to reveal yet another. It rested on the leather interior, this time a small note attached to it as well.

"What's this, Pennyworth? Who put that there?"

"I'm afraid I don't know, I've been standing here this whole time," Alfred had been just as confused as Damian. How had someone managed to sneak into the car while he was standing right there? The young boy hesitated before snatching the note off the seat - likely it was from the same person who had scattered them around all day to find.

However, the paranoid side of him was ready to believe that it was one of his enemies trying to forsake him. The note was typed, no clear sign of who could have left it. If Damian was weary enough, he could run it for fingerprints back at the cage, however, after reading it, he believed it to simply just be the same secret admirer he had all along.

Happy Valentine's Day, Damian! I hope your day was filled with love <3 xx

Damian cringed at the typed heart. If someone wanted to tell him of their feelings, they should say it to his face rather than these cryptid roses - and most importantly on any other day of the year. He wouldn't accept it.

Damian grumbled as he walked through his empty home. Just as expected, it had been cleared of all residents, leaving him by himself on the ever so blessed, Valentine's Day. His ribs were wrapped from his night of patrol, a bruise just under his eye, and his ankle was sore from a bad landing.

The entirety of his night out he had been saving unfortunate couples, finding a plethora of flowers shoved in trash cans, and many retched window views. He was fine without Bruce for the night, though he would admit that activity was higher than usual. Damian's body ached from the extra hits he had gotten, even after his hot shower.

A poorly made sandwich was held between his teeth as he scrolled through the tablet in his hands. Bruce's location was halfway across the city, just as it had been the whole night. Whatever he and Selina were up to that night, he wanted no part of knowing.

Besides, his mind had been preoccupied with the roses that he had received that day. They were scattered on his desk, only one of them remaining fully intact. It wasn't that he was curious as to why they were sent to him - it was obvious being the Wayne heir and all. However, he hadn't talked to anyone at his school for them to put in this much effort for him.

The whole night that he was out he was distracted by who had gotten him the roses. Damian had become even more annoyed at the secret admirer.

A tapping came from his window. Damian took another bite of his sandwich and tossed the tablet onto his bed. The dimly lit room made it hard to see who was knocking on his window this late at night, though there were only so many people that could get into the manor's grounds anyway.

Familiar blue eyes and a mop of black hair that didn't resemble his father's grinned at him. Damian rolled his eyes but opened the locked window for his friend to enter.

"Isn't it past your bedtime, Kent?" Damian scoffed. It was already nearing dawn, whatever he showed up in Gotham for had to have been important. Usually, it was Damian making late-night trips to the Kent farm to drag Jon somewhere, this had been a strange turn of events that he had to admit he hadn't expected.

Jon pulled himself into the room. He rubbed his hands together, cold after waiting outside for longer than he would like to admit. His eyes immediately met the broken roses on Damian's desk. A frown grew on his face at the thought of Damian ruining the flowers the moment they were in his palm.

He picked up the broken roses as Damian threw on a sweater. The blast of air that had entered his room left him chilled. Besides, he didn’t need Jon to see the bruises that he had gotten that night. Whenever he saw Damian injured it always had him worried.

"You broke them," Jon's jaw trembled. A beautiful piece of nature that had been wilted with death. Damian was just the same. A beautiful soul that had been raised in horrendous ways leaving him tainted with darkness. He deserved better, just as the roses had.

"Some fool left them in my possessions," Damian rolled his eyes. He returned to the tablet, this time looking at the news that he had missed while he was out. Jon stared hopelessly at the roses. The once beautiful petals, now crushed and missing. Maybe broken flowers were a clear sign to a broken heart.

Jon felt his own fall with the weight of Damian's grudge. He should have known better than to leave mysterious flowers on the one day of the year that Damian hated the most. Why would he believe that he would actually care - or even more so believe that it was him. There was no love in him on that day.

Hell, it was hard to believe that there was any love in him on half the days.

"Fool," Jon scoffed to himself. Nothing but a fool to Damian, even without knowing that it was him that left the roses. His eyes sealed shut, tears brimming against his lids but refusing to let them fall. He could have easily walked away from this. Jon could have not told Damian that it was him that left the flowers, that he was the helpless fool that had fallen in love with his best friend.

Walk away and no one gets hurt. Walk away, and hide his feelings forever. Jon was tired of hiding everything about himself. He couldn't tell people that he was the son of Superman. He couldn't use his powers in front of people without them figuring out that he was Superboy. He couldn't even tell his best friend the nature of his true feelings.

Maybe he was a fool.

"Someone went through the time and effort to give you these and you couldn't even care less?" Jon set the roses back on the desk. His arms crossed over his chest as he stared down at Damian. He only shrugged. "How can your heart be so filled with hate when all people do is give you love?!"

Damian's eyes narrowed. Jon might have been vocal about his spontaneous plans when out in the field, but not like this when they were stuck in civvies. Whatever got him upset like this must have been important.

"Why do you care?"

"Because you never accept when people want to care for you!" Jon threw his arms up. "You always try to make it out like you don't need anyone, there's nothing wrong with needing someone! Even Batman needs his friends and family so why can't you just admit that you don't want to be alone all the time?"

"I'm perfectly capable of being on my own, clearly. Attachments are simply a way of holding me back," Damian got defensive. He stood up and jabbed a finger at Jon's chest. The last kind of lecture that he needed was one about love. Love was the last thing on his mind when he lived the life of Robin right alongside the Bat. "Attachments hold everyone back, it's a weakness."

"Attachments, love, it's what gives people strength, Damian" Jon thought just like his own father. Love was what kept him human, love was what reminded him to never cross that line no matter what. It should have been the same that kept Damian from crossing that line once again. Instead, he took after his own father thinking that he could do everything on his own.

"I'm tired of looking at you and only seeing a broken boy who's scared to love someone. I'm terrified that you're going to forget that there's people in this world that care for you and you're going to make a sacrifice that you can't come back from! You're more than just a mask Damian, you're a friend, a brother! You're a son.

"Stop thinking that you have to do it all on your own. You're not a grown-up, you don't need to grow up alone. You have Bruce, your brothers... you have me, Damian. You'll always have me, even if you don't want to admit it."

Damian was silent. His thoughts were like a maze trying to figure out just the right path that would lead to the meaning behind all of Jon's words. The outburst, the sadness at his roses, the fear in his eyes that he had when mention the thought of losing Damian forever.

Jon had left the roses.

Jon Kent. His best friend, partner against crime, the one person outside his family that he could trust. He had left the roses for Damian throughout the day and was forced to listen to him bash the idea of it all. Horror struck his face, not for the fact that he had left him, but that he had completely insulted the idea of the broken roses.

Why did Jon leave them to begin with? To try and prove a point about Valentine's day? Did he plan to do it before even knowing about Damian's opinions about the holiday? If he didn't, what was his motive?

Damian felt like a fool. He was the son of the world's greatest detective, how did he not know that it was the one person he was closest to? He should have paid more attention at Gotham Academy, maybe then he would have seen Jon sneaking around.

"Why did you leave them?" Damian asked in a quiet voice. The silence that had occurred between them was borderline painful. Jon had been anxious about what Damian was thinking about and he was right to. How could he expect that he wouldn't figure it out.

Jon trembled. His hands shook at his sides, breath shaky. Everything could be ruined. A spontaneous idea that was brought to life out of love could be ruined with hate. He couldn't lose Damian, not now, not ever. He meant to0 much to him.

"I wanted to give you a reason to feel loved on Valentine's Day." It was the partial truth. He did want Damian to see that the day wasn't a reason to hate, it was a reason to love, to feel love or to give it. Jon couldn't bring himself to say the words so desperate to escape his throat.

"I wanted you to see that you didn't have to hate on a day that was meant to be filled with so much love. You deserve love just as much as anyone else Damian, I hate seeing you think otherwise. You're not broken, you're human. It's okay to feel things. Do you know how hard it is to know that the person you love doesn't want to be loved?"

Jon's voice cracked. Tears welled in his eyes as he watched Damian's emotionless face set in stone. Weak fists hit his chest. Damian grabbed his fists before they could hit his chest again. His grip wasn't rough, though his eyes still held no feeling.

"I'm sorry," Jon whispered, head hung low. There was no reason for him to feel sorry, he had done nothing wrong. Yet, under the judging gaze of Robin, he felt the need to apologize for expressing himself. However, it wasn't just his own behavior. He felt the need to apologize that Damian had grown up without love, that he believed that he wasn't capable of such a primal emotion.

Damian dropped Jon's fists. There was a moment that he thought that he was going to pull away. Damian threw his arms around Jon, pulling him tight against his chest. Though he was more confused than ever, he knew one thing: he cared for Jon, always.

"Broken roses for a broken person." Damian had never seen himself as broken. He was born to be the best, to be undefeated. He was born to lead, to be the best warrior that the world had seen. Coming to Gotham, one of the worst cities in the county, he had found that maybe he was broken.

Jon was right, he had been raised to see love as a weakness. Love was nothing but a hostage and he wasn't about to fall in a trap. Damian loved his mother, his father. He reluctantly loved his brothers, but it wasn't the same kind of love that Jon was talking about.

One day he would understand what it was like to be in love. One day he would accept that love wasn't something to be scared of, it was something to embrace. Damian would know what it was like to be in love, just as his parents, his brothers, his friends.

"You're not broken," Jon repeated. His fists gripped into Damian's shirt as he accepted the hug. Warm breath fanned against the older boy's neck that sent a chill down his spine. His instinct told him to move, to get away and remain safe. His heart told him that he was safe.

He was broken. A hopeless boy that didn't know what love was. However, if there was one person that would show him the way, the right way, it was Jon. His roses that day were broken and missing petals. Thorns pricked anyone that decided to come near.

Broken roses could be just as beautiful when the right person found a way to avoid the thorns.

Taglist

@pricetagofficial @mora-miserium @babymango-writes @redrobin-yumm @simp-is-what-i-am @catsofsmoke @subtleappreciation @officiallydarkgeek @spiitfiires @pinkdiamond1016 @childish-kiwi @givetimdrakeacoffee @gunnedrobin @anythinggoesfandoms @local-fandom-trashcan @bikoncon

Get on my taglist here

#damian wayne x jon kent #damijon #jondami #supersons #Damian wayne #jon kent #jonathan kent

138 notes · View notes

all-things-fic · 5 years

Text

Mistletoe Jam

A/N: Merry Christmas from me to you. I don’t where this came from, all I know is I lost a lot of sleep trying to get this finished last night. Hope you all enjoy and thanks to anyone who has ever read anything I’ve posted on here.

Title comes from a Luther Vandross song purely because I like these lyrics in particular - ‘Glad I got big feet cause they're so good for dancin'. Glad you got big legs cause they're so good when we're romancin'

Shoutout to @waitingfortwilight, @harryfeatgaga and @haute-romance-quotidienne for reading this here and there.

~*~

You closed your eyes and let the back of your head hit the headrest behind you in the passenger seat.

“Swear I’m going to change my name,” you muttered under your breath as you heard your son whine Mum for the fifth time in a row.

Harry chuckled in the driver's seat next to you, fore and middle finger resting against his lips as he leaned his elbow on the drivers side door. You were sat in standstill traffic, looking to exit the car park of Cheshire Oaks.

You had a death wish coming here on Christmas Eve but unfortunately in your mad dash attempt to get out of London, you’d left an entire sack of presents behind that were sat next to your tree that had been up for all of a week.

To say you weren’t looking forward to hoovering up after it when you returned to the big smoke in the new year would be an understatement.

However, the actual shopping itself hadn’t been too bad. You’d tag teamed. Harry took your eldest boy with him, leaving you to take your daughter into the one place you knew would keep her occupied: Pets at Home. You’d deal with the constant requests of getting a rabbit over the next 48 hours, if it meant she was quiet enough to allow Harry to grab whatever toy she had suddenly requested from Father Christmas since you’d arrived back up North.

“Mum,” came the whine again, causing you to look around in your chair and see the culprit. Hidden behind a Barbie doll that had been completely stripped naked, baring a pair of cowboy boots, you found the inquisitive blue eyes of your son.

You spoke his name, watching the way he dropped the doll to show you his cheeky smile. “Can we stay up late and look for Santa?,” he asked, his head slightly tilting as he did so. He really was pulling out all the stops today.

Staying silent, you felt Harry’s gaze look at you from the corner of his eye before he looked up at his son through the rear view mirror. “Doesn’t work like that mate,” he started, causing your little boy to turn his gaze away from yours. “Need to go to sleep, or else he doesn’t show up. Good boys and girls sleep in their own beds,” you heard Harry pause to allow the latter part of his sentence to resonate, as much as it could with a toddler, before he continued anymore.

Staying silent you thought Harry was going to continue, however instead when your gaze moved to look at him, you saw the way he appeared to be holding back an expletive at how someone cut him up to get into a parking space that had become available while you sat in idle traffic.

“Dad’s right, baby,” you agreed, watching the way his face fell into a small frown. His mouth fell slightly agape, you cutting in before he could start to whine. “Hey, you know Father Christmas is watching you right now don’t you-“

His mouth shut as his bottom lip started to protrude, his face rolling to look out the window to his right like he was some moody singer filming a pensive part of an emotive music video.

“He’s sulking now,” you muttered, turning back in your seat.

“Am not,” he shot back, your mutter obviously not low enough to go unnoticed. You knew it was wrong given he was probably far too over stimulated as it was, but you couldn’t quite help it.

From the corner of your vision your saw that he started to go stiff in his seat, stretched out and showcasing his frustration. Still idle in traffic, you watched Harry turn in his seat to turn his gaze on his son.

“Enough,” he spoke assertively, hand pressing against the taut legs of his son. “You’ve been good all morning,” he continued, seeing no change in his son's temper.

“One,” he started, causing you to shift slightly in your seat. “Two,” you turned to look at him, seeing the way your little boy shifted, body relaxing. “Good boy, sit back nicely for Dad-“ he manoeuvred back in his drivers seats lowering his voice as he continued, “-so he can get off this bloody car park in one piece.”

***

Anne’s house just smelled like Christmas.

Of fresh baking and spiced Christmas candles. It was cosy too. The kind of warmth that enveloped you the minute you stepped foot into the hallway from the porch.

She smiled a knowing smile when she saw your frazzled hair once you pulled off your winter hat and quickly took your hand, dragging you in the opposite direction that Harry had taken the kids.

“I have mulled wine,” she passed comment, turning to look at your face from over her shoulder. “No? How about a glass of prosecco?”

“Isn’t it a bit early?” You said, eyes taking in the mountain of washing up in her sink, as you messed with the waistband of your jeans and sorted out your jumper.

“Never, not when it’s Christmas,” she smiled. “Besides I think we’ll both need to be a little bit pissed to attack the mountain of washing up.”

Regardless of receiving an actual answer, she poured the prosecco for you, glass being handed over smoothly before she took to pouring her own. As her eyes lifted from the job, she noticed Harry in the kitchen doorway, removing his gloves and shoving them into the pocket of his black coat.

“Or we could get my lovely son to do it,” she let her gaze move over your shoulder as she sipped from her own delicate glass.

“Barely got me coat off and you’re already giving me jobs,” he spoke deeply, leaning against the doorframe. Turning to look at him you noticed the way his eyes lovingly shone over at his mother, before they scanned the kitchen like it was some sort of crime scene.

He groaned as his eyes stilled on the sink, immediately catching on as to what was being asked of him. “I’ll do it under one condition,” his eyes cut to yours before moving back to his Mum’s. “You let me wear the gloves.”

Anne laughed, hand covering her mouth as she tried not to splutter her prosecco everywhere. “I have new ones,” she said, with glittery eyes. Before you could even catch onto the gloves and the meaning behind them, your mother-in-law had hidden herself away in the pantry.

Eyes fell to Harry as he placed himself next to you. He loved the confused but oh so intrigued look that you wore. “Just wait,” he hummed, hands pressing against the kitchen surface and nudging his head back to where his mother stood, wordlessly making you move your eyes towards the same direction.

“Managed to find these in the pound shop when I popped into town with Louise, they had others but you know how I am with my sparkle-“

Harry hummed, with his lips twitching into the boyish smile. “Come on,” he moved his hand in come hither motion. “Let me ‘ave at ‘em.”

Without another word Anne tossed the pair of gloves onto the kitchen work surface. Your eyes dropped to the item that clattered thanks to the gaudy diamond that sat - from what you could tell - super glued onto the middle finger of the latex gloves.

“Pound shop upping its game with the introduction of an old Swarovski-esc cocktail ring, I see.”

You didn’t quite know what to say, as you watched your husband marvel with humour at the monstrosities that he seemed eager to don.

“Where’s the washing up liquid then?” Harry said shaking off his coat and quickly taking to unbuttoning the sleeves of his shirt and rolling them up to the crook of his elbow. “Dishes aren’t gonna do themselves.”

The laughter of sheer delight that left Anne’s chest cause you to cut your eyes over to her. It was nice to see her in such a way, carefree and in awe of her baby over the silliest thing. You often wondered if the face she wore looking at both Gemma and Harry was an expression that flirted across your face over the littlest thing that your own son and daughter did.

You eyes watched Harry as he snatched at the gloves, pulling the red latex over his hands and making them stretch against his ring-clad fingers.

“Wha’ size did you get these in,” he moaned around a husky laugh, his fingers clenching underneath the latex into a fist before expanding once more.

“Didn’t look, darling,” Anne nonchalantly replied, swiping up her phone and snapping a picture of Harry off-guard. He frowned lightly over at her, only for Anne to softly laugh. “Since I’m no longer needed here,” she continued, picking up the bottle from the middle of the kitchen island. “I have some gran-babies to cuddle and annoy since my children no longer enjoy my offers of affection.”

“No, we just enjoy your successful attempts at free labour more. Clearly,” Harry shook his soapy-sud hands out, flicking dishwater in the process.

“I’m letting you stay for free over the festive period and feeding you, ‘s the least you can do.”

He couldn’t argue with that one, his eyes falling to yours as you sipped your drink wearing a smile that was far more triumphant looking than it should be.

“Don’t know why you’ve got a face on you like tha’,” he started, grabbing at the tea towel next to him. “You’re drying.”

The very same tea towel came flying at you, your hand swiping to move your half filled glass to save a spillage and trying to defend yourself.

You didn’t make any effort to move as Harry turned off the tap and got to making sure that all the pots, pans and plates were submerged underneath the surface.

The way his back looked underneath his shirt as he moved his hands around the sink was attractive. It sounded daft and if you weren’t coherent enough you’d blame the prosecco, but even the back of him glowed from happiness (and maybe an extra serving of dessert or two).

Breaking the silence Harry said, “Need to up me ring game.”

You watched the way he shook out his hand, soapy suds once again flicking against the kitchen counter. “Old Mrs Claus, looking to play away.”

“What are you on about?” You said, leaning against the kitchen counter, hand reaching for the packet which had once held the washing up gloves. Eyes took in the label, flicking it over to read the product description to yourself.

“Wearing her diamond on the incorrect finger, innit.”

“Probably got a thing for one of the elves. Husband’s let himself go a bit-“

“Santa or me?” He chuckled.

You smiled against the lip of your champagne flute, eyes moving upwards to see the profile of your husband’s face as he stopped all washing up to look at you. “All I’m saying is maybe only leave one mince pie out for Santa this year when you’re helping the kids set up the plate.”

“Look, Santa is a strapping lad,” he spoke with conviction. “He can’t help it, if Mrs Claus is a feeder.”

“I am not a feeder, Harry,” you laughed, throwing the tea towel back at him.

“Darling, I don’t know what kind of role play you’re into but maybe this is something we should pick up after we’ve put the kids to bed.”

“Was just about to ask you the same thing,” you bit back, eyes once again dropping down the packaging that encased the gloves. “Glamourous red and pearly washing up gloves,” you cleared your throat, eye flickering up to see the way his face had pulled into a smile, as he added another plate to drying rack.

“These fun and stylish gloves make even the dirtiest jobs look fabulous!”

“I can concur-“

Smiling, and hearing it lace your voice, you continued, “The pair of gloves are not only practical but they are complete with a fur lining, pearl bracelet-“

“To match my necklace-“

“-and a superbly sized diamond.”

“Superbly sized diamond, only the best for Mrs Claus.”

“Funny Secret Santa gift for women-“

“And men-,” Harry interjected.

“Both fun and practical for doing the dishes.”

He stayed silent at that one, you too remaining tight lipped waiting for him to say something. When you eyes slowly pulled away from the packet, you met his from across the kitchen island.

You noticed the way his forehead held a light perspiration and the front of his shirt was slightly wet from where he had been leaning a little too closely over the sink.

His hair fell against his forehead and into his eyes, that held an expression that made it so you felt like you couldn’t break your gaze.

“You know what else rhymes with dishes? Missus.”

The way his lips twitched as he spoke, the crinkles next to his eyes deepening. “Both fun and practical for doing the missus.”

“Harry,” you chastised him under your breath.

“Wha’,” he drawled, expression mischievous. “I’m telling Mum we’re keeping these.”

“You do realise that Santa is watching,” you swiped your glass, downing the remainder of your prosecco.

“How’d you know he’s not into it?”

The competitive person in you wanted to counter his question with a question of your own, but instead you chose to give him something to really think about.

Slipping down from the breakfast bar stool, you turned to leave the room, stilling in the doorway.

“That makes two of us then.”

***

Somehow between 1pm and 8pm Harry had managed to remember he was a father of two rather than rampant teenager bringing his girlfriend home for their first Christmas together.

He’d been the ever-doting Dad after he had left the kitchen, helping the kids put together and decorate the gingerbread house at Anne’s dining table, taking a danger nap with his little girl during an afternoon showing of Frozen on BBC One and cooking a Christmas Eve feast suitable for the whole family.

Rather than fight against the family pyjamas, instead he lead the charge, helping to encourage the coercing of your son into his along the way.

He got excited when you pulled out the hand crafted plate that said “Dear Santa” along the top and then “Love from,” followed by the names of your son and daughter along the bottom.

There was no doubt about it, Harry was all in.

With a carrot and mince pie now placed on the fireplace, Harry now sat with a sweaty child pressed into his side on Anne’s sofa, with Love Actually on the television going in one ear and out the other.

Your son had put up a fight to sleep, like his earlier episode in the car let you know he would do. His little body bouncing around before creeping along the landing, only for Harry to peek up the stairs and tell him to come down.

He was a hard child to stay mad at, more so when he cuddled into your side to begin with until getting cosy next to his Dad. Part of you wondered if he was becoming under the weather, given the way his cheeks were rosy and his skin clammy.

“Probably this cheap polyester you’ve forced us into,” Harry playfully jibed, knowing just how mad you’d been when you read that the pyjamas you had bought off the internet under the illusion of being 100% cotton, were in fact only 80% cotton and 20% polyester.

Your hand was held against his forehead as Harry stood with his limp and sleepy body in the middle of the living room. “He’s definitely coming down with something,” you worried your bottom lip.

Harry dropped his lips to his son's forehead, keeping his voice in a hushed whisper as he reassured you that he just needed to get some rest.

Falling back into your space on the couch, you half listened as Harry left the room asking you to pause the film so he didn’t miss anything. You fought the urge to roll your eyes at how he and everyone else could by now recite Love Actually considering how it had become a classic for this time of year.

“I’m just going to nip out and grab those presents from the boot of the car,” he said poking his head around the living room door upon his return.

Lifting your head from the Radio Times magazine that you’d managed to swipe from Anne as she retired upstairs earlier for a bath and to get straight into bed, you nodded when you met his eyes.

“Want to crack open tha’ bottle of red when I come back?” He suggested, fiddling with the collar of his coat, car keys jingling in his hand.

“Can’t get too pissed, still gotta wrap some presents-“

“I didn’t hear that,” he replied, shutting the door behind him before heading out to the drive to retrieve the purchases both he and you had made earlier.

In his absence, you took in the cosy living room that surrounded you and felt your body sink into the sofa as you relaxed. This was the least frantic you’d felt all day, regardless of the mountains of wrapping you still had to do.

Your children had been wiped when they finally fell asleep, which was always a win for any parent. It meant that they would probably give you the chance to sleep in a little later than usual for Christmas Day. There was nothing wrong with being hopeful that your gaze met 7am on the alarm clock rather than the usual 5am.

The presents that already sat underneath the tree, made your heart soar. Material things did not mean much at all, but there was no doubt it that every single person in this family - your family - was loved.

Standing from your seat, you let your feet lead you along the carpet and out into the dimly lit hallway of Anne’s house. Pictures of Harry and Gemma, as children, littered the walls. Some of the frames and pictures replaced since you had first set foot in the family home, with images of your own children and Gemma’s too.

The strong sense of family always comforted you when you stayed at Anne’s. Took a gentle hold of your body and consumed you in the nicest way.

Both glasses and the bottle retrieved, you quickly shut the door of the living room to make sure that barely any of the heat from the roaring fire left the fairly sized and cosy space.

Sitting on the edge of the couch, you quickly unscrewed the bottle of red and poured two reasonable sized glasses.

Leaving one atop of the coffee table, you plucked up the stem of your glass and sunk back into the cream couch. You knew you’d have to be extra careful as the night went on and more of the rich and acidic drink was consumed.

The rustling of bags let you know that Harry had returned into the house from outside, with the door of the front room opening not long after.

“Can feel the cold coming off you,” you commented as he set down the four bags he had retrieved.

“Cars icing up,” he commented, tugging off his coat and throwing it into the spare armchair over the other side of the room. As he turned, he wore a warm smile once his eyes saw the way you were offering over a glass of wine.

Now stood from your seat, he padded his socked feet against the carpet over to you and gently peeled the stem from your grasp. Sipping the drink and keeping his eyes locked with yours, he noticed the way you dropped your stare to his lips as he licked away the lingering wine residue.

His free hand cupped at the back of your forearm, cold fingers easy to feel through your thin pyjamas. He soothed his hand up the back of your arm, scooping you into him.

Looking down at you with his softened jawline, he hummed the first thoughts on his mind. “Not kissed you all day-“

And he hadn’t. Things had been manic and the day has mainly been about your children, and present swapping with friends. Outside of the other activities previously thought back on.

“Or night,” you mused in return.

He tutted, “Night’s’not over yet.”

Humming you tilted your head slightly when you felt his hand hit the back of your neck. You shivered from his cold touch as he mumbled his sorry’s against your lips.

With a soft shake of the head you dismissed him and welcomed his tender and gentle kiss. His lips puckered at yours and softly drew you into his every want and desire.

As he went to pull away you lured him back with a soft pull to his top lip, feeling him smile at how you didn’t want to break away. He happily obliged you, opening his mouth wider to devour you, enticed by your plusher figure against his and the warmth radiating off you.

“‘S all this,” he mumbled against your cheek, as he tried to calm his breathing and remember not to lose grip of his wine.

“Jus’ showing you how much you mean to us-“

“Shouldn’t that be me to you,” he corrected. “Would be lost without you, Mommy.”

Pulling back you looked at him, welcoming the soft peck he left on your lips as you stared at each other. A small laugh left him as he pressed a second and third peck to your lips in quick succession, “‘s not getting the wrapping done is it?”

“You started it,” you mumbled into your glass as he turned to stand behind you and grabbed for the bags.

Before he got to them however he stalled all movement, looking at your profile with a gleam in his eye. “I’ll bloody well finish to an’ all, after we’ve done this wrapping.”

“Nothing sexier than a man who gets a job done and get its done proper.”

He laughed down his nose at that, before he groaned as he managed to get his body down to the floor.

“Don’t do things by halves, love. Should know that by now. Now, who’s present was the Barbie kitchen set?”

***

That’s how you spent the majority of the night, rummaging through the plastic bags and putting together two piles of presents for each of your children.

Once it had been decided who was having what, you did your equal share of the wrapping. Harry actually better at wrapping than you were always led to believe by the man himself. You knew he often opted for the gift wrapping service at a Selfridges or a Harrod’s, but here he was slumming it like everyone else.

“How’s it feel being like every other peasant and wrapping your own gifts?”

He chuckled, mouth closed as it held onto a piece of sticky tape that was going to be used after he’d neatened up the edges of the LOL drawing set that you’d bought for your little girl.

“Actually very rewarding,” he deadpanned, “‘s probably the wine tha’s making it less of a chore though. That and my incredibly easy on the eye wife cheering me on.”

He did find himself getting bored when he was three quarters of the way through however, finding ways to entertain himself like sticking one of the bows to his forehead to give himself to you as a present, which had you giggling over at him with bleary, wine eyes.

“You’re a daft sod,” you said pressing your outstretched foot into his thigh and enjoying the way he cupped the top of the same foot, keeping it close to him.

You could tell he was getting restless when he started talking about all manner of different Christmas facts that he’d heard around the studio, or in meetings to break up long sessions of recording or tour logistics.

“Did you know?” He started, “Paul McCartney earns £250,000 a year off his Christmas song, which is widely regarded as the worst song he ever recorded.”

“Obviously not by you,” you deadpanned, as you concentrated on trying to find the end of the sticky tape as it had stuck itself back together.

“I’ve probably helped up his royalties actually, d’ya think I could get a cut of that?” You laughed, looking up at him from the final present you were wrapping. “I’m serious, I’ll have a word with Sonny and see if he can mention it to his Uncle Paul.”

Rather than responding, you reached for the last of your wine and swallowed it in one gulp. Empty glass on the table, you looked over at your husband who wore a flushed face, either from the wine or the heat within the room. You did notice he had pushed the sleeves of his pyjamas top up into the crook of his elbow.

“Did you know,” he whimsically asked in a whisper.

“Probably not, Harry, but go on-“

“It’s well known that mistletoe is an aphrodisiac, a symbol of fertility,” Harry spoke with concentration as he looked down at the paper which housed the toys that he had done a mad dash to The Entertainer store for, once you daughter mentioned how she had changed her list to Father Christmas. This was his final gift to wrap.

“You can forget it, Styles,” you bit back, watching the way he smirked around the cello tape that he was biting into, too lazy to reach across for the scissors at the end of his legs. Forever easily amused. “Already one too many in our house as it is.”

“Maybe I’ve asked Father Christmas for a new ‘un,” he patted at the present, looking up at you from under his brow.

“A new baby-“

“Yeah, that as well,” he rolled his lips into his mouth, clearly meaning a house. He frowned, “And wha’ do ya mean with this ‘one too many’? ‘S only two of them.”

“Three.”

He shook his head, his face reminiscent of a child confused. Point proven.

“Our two kids,” you paused, for dramatic effect. “And you. So, one too many.”

He was taken aback by your playful nature, a little bit lost for words at how brazenly you had dissed him.

“Thought you liked ‘em young,” he retorted, hand curling around your calf and tugging you over to him. From the quickness of his movement, you squealed. The two of you shushing each other around soft laughter as your eyes faintly fell towards the television monitor that showed you your sleeping children from where you sat in his lap.

“Dead to the world, both of ‘em,” he mumbled, breathing along your cheek as he noted the way your soft gaze lingered on your babies.

“Can’t wait to see their faces tomorrow,” you admitted, as his lips skimmed gently down your neck.

“Need to finish off the magic,” he hummed. “Pass me the plate.”

Leaning over from in his lap, you gave Harry the ample opportunity to softly tap his hand against your pyjama-clad bottom. The sound your ears and his received was a dull thud that didn’t achieve what it intended.

Turning to look at him, his sheepish gaze made you aware that he too wasn’t satisfied from his actions. His eyes dropped down to the plate that you held tightly in your hands at the goodies he had laid out on the idea a mere four hours prior.

“You take the carrot,” he pushed it towards you, eyes meeting yours as they looked up.

“And here I was thinking you were the health conscious one-“

“I need stodge to soak up this,” he scooped up the pouring of whiskey. “‘M mixing drinks, so I’m gonna be a barrel of laughs when they jump on me at 5am as my wake up call.”

You softly laughed before you took a hefty bite out of the carrot and he out of the mince pie. With a gooey smile, you couldn’t stop your hands moving up to his lips and wiping away the crumbs from the pastry that sat on the corners of his mouth.

“Have the last bit,” he spoke once he has swallowed his food, offering the small amount of whiskey left in the tumbler glass to you.

You sipped the drink that he gave to you and placed the empty glass down with a soft clunk to the plate.

“Can make some magic of our own now,” he whispered in a light alcohol induced haze, satisfied.

And under the soft lighting of the living room, who were you to refuse him.

His chuckle of disbelief at this words hit your lips with a warm breath, causing you to blush along with him. If he wasn’t kissing you in that moment, you knew that he would have said the words, “Can’t believe I’ve just said tha’.”

But you would believe it, because things like that were him to a T.

He was that kind of person sometimes, hidden underneath the incredibly handsome features and put together looks: a geek. A loveable geek.

A loveable geek who knew how to work his way around your body; your head falling back with the thought as he sucked at the middle of your neck.

“No lovebites, baby,” you gasped, fingers woven into the hair at the back of his head. “We’re at your Mum’s,” you reminded him, feeling his tongue lave against the area he’d been particularly rough with. Like a cat licking at his wounds, tucking his tail between his legs at how he’d admitted defeat.

His hands moved up the back of your shirt, raising the pyjama material as he went. Your arms lifted, helping him remove the item of clothing and enjoying the tickling feeling of your hair falling down the bare skin of your back.

Harry’s face went straight into the center of your boobs without much focus on where he’d thrown your discarded top in the living room. Mouth sucked with power on the inside of your chest, he was determined to leave a mark against your skin one way or another.

His hands clawed at the elastic of your trousers, palming underneath them to feel your bare bum cheeks against his hands,helping to create a rocking motion of your crotch against his.

You mewled, in a breathy tone, “Take ‘em off.”

“‘S nice like this,” he coaxed, looking at your face with hooded eyes and enjoying your mirrored expression.

And he wasn’t lying. Been a while since you’d sat in his lap and found your release against him with your clothes still on.

“It’s not enough,” you admitted, feeling your hips become slightly more frantic as you pressed back into his awaiting hands with a soft clap.

“It’s enough for now,” he urged you to rock. “Relax on me, darling. We’ve got time.”

Languid kisses was nice. The friction of your clothes too, worked you up in a way that was way more than you would ever care to admit. Breathing growing heavier as Harry kept his lips to your chest and you fisted at his hair.

Tingles ran through you as you felt Harry growing harder through his trousers, rubbing against your center over and over. He twitched as his hand pulled you with more force against him, his hand slipping down lower to rest in-between your bum cheeks.

The way his fingers ghosted close to your center was enough to have you reaching around and pushing his hand down further. The suction sound his mouth made as it peeled away from your clammy skin, made you moan with a fallen head tilt.

“Want my fingers that bad,” he whispered, feeling the pressure of your hand on top of his. “Tell me.”

“Please, put ‘em in,” you breathily asked. Your mouth fell agape as you felt the tips of his fingers rest against your wetness. You knew if you rocked back and he held you steady enough, they’d sink right in without any resistance.

“Gonna rub your clit for me while you take my fingers, eh?”

Your breathing was laboured as his fingers brushed at your aching, wet center. You were desperate from some kind of pressure, your center pulsing each time you felt the tips of his fingers get closer.

“At this rate your gonna be all down your legs and mine,” he paused, enjoying the choked moan you released when he finally slipped his fingers inside your wet warmth. “Not even got started.”

You hand was against your front and harshly rubbing at your sopping clit that had you softly swiping up and releasing enticing moans, causing Harry to throb.

He softly shushed you as he pushed your fallen hair, slightly damp from sweat, out of your eyes.

“No ones ever made me this wet,” you admitted in a whiny plea to him, scooping your arm around his neck to sit tighter onto his lap.

His eyes dropped down to the way your hand moved over your center underneath your pyjamas trousers. “Hiding from me, darling,” he was obvious.

“I said take them off,” you hummed. “Thought you were a man, my man.”

Harry growled at your goad, fingers slipping without much care and wiping into the waistband of your trousers. He roughly pulled at your bottoms, his limbs and yours unattractively flaying but achieving the ultimate goal of getting naked.

Bare bum now open to thick heat of the room, you enjoyed the way he tapped his fingers lightly against your left cheek, close to where your bum and thigh met.

“Harry,” you breathed, hips nudging forwards, enough to get his cock to press between your lips, just right. You rolled your hips over him slowly, your wetness enticing and teasing to his cock. Bliss was written across his face as he enjoyed your attentiveness to foreplay.

“Gonna let me have you,” he stated, no question within his words. He felt the way you nodded against him, as you pressed your forehead to his.

You gripped his shoulder as you rolled back again, feeling the way his tip slipped into your without much guidance other than the slight lift to your arse from Harry himself.

As you sank down on him, you felt the way his hand pressed to your lower back. Shaky exhales bounced against each other’s lips as you took him in, staying still and relishing in the way his cock felt inside of you.

Throbbing clit flush to his pelvis, you knew even the tiniest of motion would have you losing your mind.

Wanting to keep him deep, you barely raised your hips more than halfway off him before you were taking him once more. He brushed against the soft spot inside you so wonderfully, that you were admitting your love for him in such a way that had him chuckling.

“‘S my cock, not me, darling,” he teased. “I know, I know, baby.”

The pace you set was slow, languidly rolling your hips over his. He encouraged you, digging his fingers into your plush hips and throatily moaning as he watched you with lips parted and eyelids hooded.

The wet kiss you shared with him, had you gripping at his jaw, feeling the way it expanded as he devoured you with his lips and tongue. It was dirty, a quick flick that had your chasing after him, suckling gently and wanting to be just as dirty in return.

You could hear how wet you were, your body wanting the man beneath you to know just much of mess you had made for him. How turned on he had managed to get you.

He loved it. The sounds. The way he purposefully dragged at your wetness with his fingers over you clit. His roughs pants and throaty moans indicative of just how deeply pleasured he was.

“Hear tha’,” he rhetorically asked. “You’re all over my balls, doll. My thighs are covered.”

“Oh god,” you gasped as your head fell back and exposed your throat to him, hips rocking and rubbing harshly against his. His hand moved from being cupped underneath your bouncing boobs and took to pressing gently against your throat.

Somewhere in your mind you thought back to the latex, novelty washing up gloves earlier in the day and how they may feel against your skin, against your throat. It was something you knew you’d have to mention as you hips began to move with more force against him at the idea.

You knew he’d asked, he’d just time the question in the right moment. Probably say your name first to have you looking down at him glassy, fucked our vision.

As he groaned your name, your dropped you head down feeling the way your throat curved against his hand. “Wha’ you thinking ‘bout?”

His face was flushed out, hair sticking to his forehead and you were partly angry at how he’d somehow managed to keep his top on.

“Need to try the gloves next time,” you confessed. “Want to, want to-“

He watched the way you face crumpled, slightly flushing at how you’d possibly found yourself a kink that was once before totally undiscovered to you.

He pulled you down to him, “Would try anything wi’you in a heartbeat. So in love wi’you. Love you more when you let me feel you comin’ all over me.”

The two of your were flat against each other as you felt the way he lifted his hips upwards, the angle had him constantly stroking directly on your g spot. Your limbs felt like mush as your body began to shake of its own accord.

“Yea’ darlin’, just like that for me,” he coaxed, “All over me, giving it all to me.”

Your sweaty chest rubbed against the irritating fabric of his top, as you focused on the feel of your clit rolling against him and the feel of his cock tipping you over the edge with a satisfied moan that had you holding him deep inside.

You fell limp against him, feeling the way his arms wrapped heavy against your clammy back. The only movement came from his hips as they lifted upwards and smacked against you.

His deep groan of your name as his orgasm overtook him, caused you to turn your face into his and leave a wet and heavy kiss to his dropped jaw. His grunts were heavy as they tapered out into soft and wet whimpers.

Your skin was scorching against his, as you’d came down together next to the roaring fire beside you. The two of you basking the blissful aftermath.

As you collapsed against him, Harry’s eyes looked up at the tree that he was now somehow partly under. Heaving chest and bleary eyes, he focused on the decorations above his head, as his hand ran soothingly down your clammy back.

With a scoffed chuckle, he caught your attention, enjoying the way you nosed along his neck, to being your lips up to the corner of his.

“What is it?” You asked gently against his lips. His smiled deepened. “What’s tickled you so much?”

Still wearing a blissful expression, he said deeply, “We’re under mistletoe.”

Frowning, you knocked you eyes upwards, spotting the mistletoe that sat tied to two or three baubles on the Christmas tree.

“Gotta lay on one me, doll,” he cheekily caught your attention. “‘S the rules.”

And if it were the rules, who were you to break them.

#harry styles #harry styles one shot #harry styles smut #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles fanfic #harry styles fan fic #my writing #christmas!harry #dad!harry #harry smut #harry fanfic #harry fanfiction #harry fluff #harry x you #harry x reader

962 notes · View notes

sirsalis · 5 years

Text

you know at this point i just play for laughs, but this morning again i read about a 13 yo girl playing episode 26 and remembering things she experienced through what her character experiences with Lance, and i just want to say something

“Lance behaves exactly as how her father behaved with her mother, it’s from the past but it’s not anymore, because today her mother is dead, her father burned her alive”

once again the real thing with eldarya is that the writers don’t know which audience they aim for. in the same episode, you can witness the silliest scenes ever (in which your guardian and her partner literally eat each other’s face) but also scenes with genuine horror.

from what i read both here on tumblr and on the forum, it seems that people who enjoy these horror elements are disgusted by the relationship between their character and her crush, which i think is one of the main reasons people want to have a route with Lance. and honestly i get it, look at episode 25 : our character is resurrected and the very first thing she and her crush do is to spit in each other’s mouth (which happens a lot in episodes and they’re almost the only interactions we have with our partner anymore, it’s boring if you ask me).

chances are that he might get a redemption arc after what he’s done and have a route, but in reality it doesn't work like that and that’s what beemoov should give a warning for.

so on the one hand we have these teenage romance scenes, but on the other hand the writers clearly expressed their desire to write more mature stuff. they forgot to do it with taste. almost every horror scene directly involves our character, we experience the horror through her eyes : burning Yvoni alive, seeing Marie-Anne (who really doesn’t look human anymore) grab a kid by the leg to break his skull against a tree, these are major events everyone remembers. but to a certain extent, you could also include the way Lance treats our character in episode 26.

episode 26 is basically : let me tie you to a mast on a boat, insult you, threaten you to kill you and your friends, but then i’ll “gently wipe the corner of your mouth after you ate” so that you can say “aww he’s caring afterall...” aaaaand he ends up throwing our character from a cliff! it’s crazy to write things like that without realizing what it involves. this game has... no ratings. the audience is mainly young girls. maybe they should think twice before romanticizing this kind of relationship in a context in which there’s more than 1 femicide every 3 days in France, 72 since the beginning of the year (and it’s roughly the same everywhere in Europe)

facts are just what they are, there usually aren’t redemption arcs for real people who act like that and you know that. you all know at least someone who went through that

write horror! it’s good to have horror elements in a story, but think about the way you write it. put a disclaimer, and rate your game properly. you can’t let young girls believe it’s a form of romance

(oh and let’s not get in that debate again : you should all know by now that medias influence our perception of the world especially at a young age)

#eldarya #i didn't mean to write that much

304 notes · View notes

widgenstain · 6 years

Note

i hope this doesnt sound creepy but what were your thoughts on submergence? I love reading movie reviews/rants about my faves (jamesy)

Lol, no,not creepy at all, I wanted write a few words after I saw it two weeks (?) agoanyway, but got distracted. I hope this doesn’t disappoint you though! Not so many positive opinions here!

(light spoilers under the cut)

The best word to sum up my feelings about this is“meh”. I expected the worst after reading some reviews but it wasn’tTHAT bad. It wasn’t good either though. I felt pretty vindicated in myassessment from January 2016 ; Submergence isn’t abook that translates well on screen. And they didn’t even try very hard. Boy, thatscript is bad…

Sceneslifted directly from the book that anyone with even the tiniest understandingof how good narratives work would have changed, or at least tried to make morefilmable. Instead we got this mess; long, clunky, scientific dialogue thatworks as a build-up in the book but needed to be cut short in the movie andmore importantly: focussed on the message and motives behind it! What does it mean to behuman, to live in certain social structures and how insignificant are we andthose social structures really in the big picture? You don’t have to explain the layers of the Ocean if you can’t get across how vast they really are and what that vastness is meant to symbolise!

Thedirection doesn’t clear anything up either. It’s so inconsistent in its levelsof subtlety. Especially in the parts that take place in France it needed to be waymore obvious; what attracts these two people to each other? THE importantquestion in a romance!

In the bookit’s intellectual understanding and fascination with the other person’sapproach to topics like love, death, religion etc.. I wasn’t kidding in my earlierpost when I said that in the book they aren’t really characters, but voices for differentworld views that somehow still see their similarities and learn from eachother. The whole thing is supported by their weirdly intertwining heritage andlife story; she’s a biracial cosmopolitan who explores the seas his ancestors sailed,before he became a spy in Africa, who’s deeply involved with Eastern Africanconflicts.

In the movie?Yeah, that first part doesn’t come across whatsoever. They try, but it’s fartoo subtle and the script doesn’t capture the differences/similarities at all. Theyprobably realised that, so they added a lot of sex scenes instead. I was veryworried for them but they’re actually fine.They’re notreally well-matched physically, James looks way older than Alicia (well, he is,widge) but they do have chemistry. Is it the chemistry the movie needs though? No,it’s not.

I totallycan see them as two people who met at a nice hotel on the Atlantic coast and thought“hey u cute!” “hey, u cute too, let’s have some really good sex since we’reboth people who are so good at sex.” And after the three days, they went their ways andmaybe thought of each other during a wank session or two.

It’s notthe chemistry of a couple where he thinks of her in the worst moments of his lifeand she in the most triumphant yet terrifying ones.

As for the intertwiningheritages? They actually wrote, shot, edited and left in a scene in which hetalks about her being such a “mongrel” of Swedish and Australian heritage. Noone in that whole process noticed the disconnect or the freaking white-washing!Wim Wenders deserves a few punches in the nuts for that.

As for theacting, yeah… I’m not a fan of Alicia, there I said it. I don’t subscribe tothe hate the Fassbender fans/haters/toxically obsessed creeps (who keeps upwith this these days?) throw at her but I sincerely do. not. understand. how shemade it as far as an actress as she has.

Still, she is ok in this, she showsmore than her usual three expressions and some actual emotions. That doesn’ttake away from the fact that she acts in scenes, not in movies. She’s onecharacter in one scene, another in the next. It - weirdly enough - works bestin the sex scenes where they allowed her to be an unusually tomboyish character,not the ultra-feminine seductress you’d expect in such context. She feels more or less natural and ok in them.

She’s farless believable as the career-driven and respected-by-her-peers scientist andit’s the absolute worst in the “phone” scenes. To be fair the script fucks herover in these as well, turning Danny, a stoic woman of science about to go onthe biggest adventure of her career, into a bawling teenage girl, who’s upsetthat the guy she had really good sex with doesn’t reply to her calls.

A betteractress than her would have struggled with that garbage too, but with her scene-actingit really feels like you’re watching someone completely different each time. Addthe gloomy goth girl rambling about suffocating in really inappropriate momentsand you’ve got your stitched together Frankenstein character.

James of course knows how to portray a coherent character, but he isn’tat the height of his game either in the beginning. He’s a bit stiff, the whole spy stuff is thankfully short because it feels like an artsy-fartsydirector trying and failing to do James Bond, and the scenes in captivity would have hit much harder if you’d gotten WHY he adores her so and whispers “OH DANNY” all so dramatically.

I mean, I get thatmovie!James is trying to hang on to his sanity as best as he can, but why think of that random girlhe had really good sex with in France? Why not his mother, his best friend or, ffs, his housekeeper in Nairobi he’s known for more than 3 days?! The film doesn’tget this across and it’s sad (I’m also convinced the editor hated them. Herflashbacks show him squinting unattractively and his flashbacks show her from areally unfortunate angle.)

However, hisacting is top notch in the pivotal scene when movie!James’ captors send him into thewater to shoot him. It starts out all dramatic but then he takes it and turnsit into this absolutely painful, human moment where he yanks the audience’sheart out and crushes it like he’s wont to do. Man is he good. From that on Ilike the movie.

The interactions with the doctor (helloooo Julian Bashir, didn’tknow you were in this!) are the best scenes in the book as well and they’reexcellent. Nothing is black and white, how different can the lessons differentpeople take from the same situations be, etc.? It’s great.

Except whenthe movie suddenly throws all subtlety overboard. There’s a scene where a womangets stoned and instead of focusing on the fucking amazing acting that goes on onJames’ and Alexander Siddig’s faces it has to ram the pointhome with the silliest effects. It’s such a waste of two excellent actors with an amazingly uncomfortable chemistry.

Still, the scenes with the extremists are awesome. Too short and I don’t think the movie audience really gets how intriguingReda Kateb’s character really is, but they’re part of a movie that could havebeen great. Pity that wasn’t the whole movie.

I was a bitconfused after Tiff last year where Wenders said that he changed the ending butI don’t think he really has? Both are open in ways, but not really. I liked theending in the book and I liked it in the movie, super kitschy lifetime movieshots of Danny aside.

Anotherpositive thing I noticed was the light. Whoever did that really understood whatto do with the beautiful people in front of the camera and how to tell thefreaking story. I swear, the light on her face as he leaves the hotel, in hisprison and in her sub does a far better job at connecting them and explainingthe motives than script and direction together! I hope that light person got paid a ridiculously high amount of money and gets to do more movies.The script person should find another day job though and Wenders should stick todocumentaries from now on.

In short:Meh. Not gonna buy the DVD but maybe will check it out another time when/if itcomes along on Netflix and see if my opinion changes.

#submergence #james mcavoy #reviews #more like rambling words #teehee #intowhiteness #we talked about this #rant rant rant #whitewashing

4 notes · View notes