#definitely gonna get our moneys worth in repairs first | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

haus-seeblick · 3 years

Text

Suptober Day 4 - Secrets

Title: “Messy”

Rating: General Audiences

Word Count: 3,503

Characters: Dean Winchester, Sam Winchester, John Winchester, Original Characters

Tags: John Winchester's A+ Parenting, Angst, Breaking The Rules, Dean is Sam's Real Parent (But he shouldn't have to be), Dean Giving Sam a Childhood, Dean Has Self-Esteem Issues, Dean Meets a Cute Boy, Unwanted Haircut, Ambiguous/Open Ending, Dean is 13 and Sam is 9

Summary: John leaves Dean and Sam alone at a motel the day before Halloween. Despite John's hard-and-fast rules about leaving the motel room, Sam convinces Dean to take him trick-or-treating. While they're out, Dean meets a boy who makes him feel like breaking the rules was worth it.

On AO3 Here

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Dean, you know the drill,” John says brusquely as he hoists the duffel over his shoulder. “Tell me the rules.”

Dean stands up from where he’s folding laundry on the motel room floor. They stopped at the laundromat this morning, John tossing Dean just enough quarters for two small loads before taking Sam along with him to the local library for research. They’ve been tracking a creature for days and John’s still not sure exactly what it is.

Dean would have loved to help with the books. Instead he sat in front of the laundry machine, exactly the same as the hundreds of others he’s fed with quarters over the years, and watched their clothes spin around and around. He noticed new holes in Sam’s jeans and socks when he moved them to the dryer. If his dad will let him use some of their wound-stitching thread, he’ll repair them after this hunt.

He faces his dad, posture straight and hands behind his back. “The rules are stay in the room, keep the doors and windows locked, don’t answer the door for anyone except you and Bobby, only spend money if I absolutely have to, and always have a weapon in reach,” he rattles off.

John nods, face impassive. “And the most important rule?”

“Protect Sammy,” Dean says firmly. He glances over to the rickety table under the window, where his scrawny little brother is filling out a worksheet. It’s part of the last round of homework their teachers had given them at their previous school, right before John took them out again to hit the road.

Dean quietly tossed his own homework in the garbage and told Sammy to finish every worksheet, because he was going to mail it back to the school and his teacher would check it. Sam’s even writing a letter in the cursive he’s learning to go along with it.

Dean has no clue what the address of the school is.

John pulls the Impala key out of his pocket and opens the door. “I’ll be out of cell range during this next leg. Check in date is Thursday. Don’t call for help until Sunday.”

Dean nods. John steps halfway out the door before turning back. He eyes Dean for a long moment, as if he’s trying to come up with something to add. Eventually he just says “I’m cutting your hair when I get back. You look messy.”

The door closes. In the silence of the room, Dean reaches up and touches his bangs. Just this morning, in the reflection of the washing machine door, he admired how his hair was curling a bit over his ears. It framed his face and made him look softer. Less skinny. More like the other boys he’d seen at school.

Oh well.

The Impala roars to life outside in the parking lot, and Dean listens until the purr of the engine fades away down the road. He looks at the half-folded pile of laundry at his feet.

“Tomorrow’s Halloween.”

Dean jumps a little. Sam’s right next to him, eyebrows raised expectantly. Dean pushes him away and drops onto the couch, nudging a balled-up pair of socks with his foot. “Don’t sneak up on me.”

Sam sits down next to him. “Dean, I think Dad forgot about Halloween.”

Dean rolls his eyes. “He didn’t forget, Sammy. It just doesn’t matter.” He avoids looking at his brother, running his fingers over the ridge of threads barely holding together the hole in his own jeans.

“But I told James I’d be a doctor,” Sam needles. “He’s gonna be a pirate.”

Sam’s ability to instantly make friends always leaves Dean feeling half-proud, half-nervous. Sam was in third grade with James for less than two weeks, and he still talks about him constantly.

Dean thinks it’s better not to get attached. He just can’t bring himself to teach Sam that particular lesson yet.

He sighs and glances at Sam. “You know you can’t trick-or-treat with James anyway, right? He’s in Denver.”

Sam groans dramatically and flops against the hard backrest of the couch. His shaggy hair falls into his face. Dean looks at the longest strands, curving past Sam’s cheekbones.

“We can just do Halloween here,” he suggests, even though he knows “buying candy from the gas station” definitely doesn’t count as necessary spending.

Sam shakes his head where it’s still resting on the couch. “That’s not real Halloween.”

“We’ve never done a real Halloween, so how would you know?” Dean’s just buying time now, putting off the moment when he has to say “no.”

The stink-eye that’s sent his way is of epic proportions. “I watch TV, Dean.”

Dean rubs his face. “Sammy--”

“--Oh, please, Dean, please!” Sam shifts into begging mode, sitting up and whipping out the puppy eyes. His left eye is half-covered by hair. “I know we’re not allowed, but can’t we break the rules just one time? It can be a secret.”

They hold eye contact for a moment, but Sam’s more stubborn. Dean looks away first, his eyes falling to the laundry on the floor. Almost unconsciously, he reaches under the lumpy couch cushion next to him and lets his fingers graze the pistol stashed there. His stomach rumbles and he wonders how far he can stretch their last cans of soup.

Suddenly, a secret doesn’t sound so bad at all.

“Okay,” he says.

Sam must’ve not expected Dean to relent, because he’s silent for a couple seconds before whooping and launching himself at Dean. “Ahh! Thank you thank you thank you!”

Dean can’t help the smile tugging at his lips. He hugs Sam back, the kid’s bony shoulder digging into his ribcage. After a moment, he pulls away and puts on his most serious face. Hands on Sam’s upper arms, he looks him straight in the eyes. “Sam, if we do this, you cannot tell Dad. Do you understand?”

Sam nods enthusiastically, still grinning. Dean digs his fingers into his arms. “Listen to me, or we’re not going.” He waits for Sam’s face to fall a little before continuing. “You can’t just not tell Dad, you can’t drop hints. You have to clean up all your wrappers. We can never talk about it. Do you get it?”

Sam’s eyes are wide now. He nods again, very small, and Dean knows he’s gotten through. He loosens his grip on Sam’s arms. “All right, then. How are we gonna make you look like a doctor?”

Sam beams.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The next night, they lock the motel room door behind them and head out. The neighborhood that starts a few streets behind the motel is pretty normal, as far as Dean can tell. The houses aren’t super big, but the yards are, and there are toys scattered on some of the lawns. The biggest house on the corner even has a tree swing. The big tree reminds him of the one in their front yard in Lawrence. He tries not to think about that too much.

It’s dark, and chilly -- they’re still in Colorado -- and Dean holds his jacket closed in front of his chest. The zipper broke a couple weeks ago. Ahead of him, Sam doesn’t seem to feel the cold at all. His “doctor coat” flaps behind his legs as he skips down the sidewalk. It’s just a sheet from the bed that Dean stuck together with safety pins in a certain way (it doesn’t look like a coat at all, but the mirror in the motel bathroom was shattered so Sam couldn’t see it anyway). He hung their stethoscope from the big first-aid kit around Sam’s neck, with the express instruction not to lose it, and he emptied the rest of the first-aid kit onto the couch so Sam could carry the empty box with the big red cross and look professional.

Sam hasn’t smiled this much in weeks. Dean’s neck is crawling with the knowledge that he’s breaking rules, bigtime, but he shakes it off. They’re out now. It’s done.

Sam has already latched on to a group of kids making their way up the drive to a single-story brick house. Dean hears him introduce himself, sees him flash the big toothy smile that Dean told him makes him look friendly. The other kids compliment his stethoscope, and Dean relaxes a little.

Everyone in the group is wearing what looks like homemade costumes, too — there’s another bedsheet, draped over a short kid’s head like a ghost (if only ghosts actually looked like that, Dean thinks); and a long black coat, obviously from an adult, dwarfing a kid who Dean’s pretty sure is supposed to be a vampire. Sam, in his makeshift getup, fits right in.

Dean’s trailing behind the group, letting Sam do his making-friends thing, when he notices another older kid doing the same. He looks about Dean’s age, maybe a year older, fourteen or so, and he’s dressed like an angel with a blue halo made out of pipe cleaners. The rest of his outfit is normal, though — a t-shirt that’s printed to look like a suit and tie, under a regular puffy winter coat. Dean’s eyes linger on him as they follow the younger kids up to the house. When they come to a stop so Sam can ring the doorbell, the other boy looks over at Dean, too.

“Hi,” he says. In the yellow glow of the porchlight, his eyes look greenish blue. “I’m Al.” He reaches out a hand. Dean looks at it for a moment, then takes it. They shake. Al’s hand is warm and smooth, a stark contrast to Dean’s freezing, calloused palm. Dean wishes he could hold on a bit longer.

“Dean,” he replies, dropping Al’s hand. He’s not sure what to say next. That’s Sam’s area of expertise.

Luckily, Al doesn’t let him flounder long. “Do you live around here?” he asks, friendly and curious. Dean’s used to hearing that question asked with a thick layer of suspicion, usually out of the mouth of some nosy adult. He still gives his practiced answer, though.

“No, me and my brother are just visiting our grandparents for a couple days.”

Al nods, accepting the lie easily. “I thought I’d never seen you at school.” He points at the sheet-clad ghost. “That’s my sister Katie. She’s seven. It’s the first time our parents are letting me take her trick-or-treating on our own.”

Dean smiles and gestures at Sam, who’s holding the empty first-aid kit out to the homeowner for candy. “That’s Sam. He’s nine. Same deal for us.”

“I like his costume,” Al says. Dean bristles for a moment, until he realizes Al’s being sincere.

“Thanks,” he replies. “I like Katie’s too.” He sweeps his eyes over Al again. “Why are you wearing a fake suit with your halo?”

Al looks down at himself and laughs sheepishly, smoothing down the front of his t-shirt. “I wanted to do a toga with a sheet, but it’s way too cold. I just dressed up ‘cause Katie wanted me to. The halo was the quickest thing.”

“It works,” Dean assures him, suddenly wanting Al to feel good about himself. He shuffles his feet a little, kicking at the fallen leaves littering the walkway. Al smiles at him and something grows in Dean’s chest, a warm, glowing ball, making everything feel tight and tingly. He’s not sure what to do with it.

Sam appears at his elbow suddenly, much to Dean’s relief. He ruffles Sam’s hair. “What’d you get?”

Already chewing on something that looks very caramelly as it squishes between his teeth, Sam holds out the first-aid kit. “She gave me two big ones!” he announces around his mouthful. Two full-sized Milky Ways, one already half-unwrapped, slide around in the box.

“Cool,” Dean says. “Don’t get a stomachache.”

“They’re gonna get stomachaches,” Al says ruefully as Sam and Katie bounce down the driveway to hit the next house. “We should steal some of their candy, y’know, just to protect them.”

The word protect briefly jolts Dean out of his growing sense of relaxation and he sneakily pats his chest, feeling the sheathed knife tucked away in the inside pocket. He makes sure he can still see Sammy (now bounding up the walkway of the next house), and takes a breath. Everything’s under control.

“You okay?” Al’s looking at him with his eyebrows drawn together, a lock of dark hair falling into the crease. He has nice hair, Dean decides. Floppy and kind of messy, squished flat in the middle by the band of the pipe cleaner halo.

“Yep,” he says, forcing the cheer into his voice. If Al notices, he doesn’t say anything. They continue to follow their siblings through the neighborhood, leaving some distance so they can talk. Al tells Dean about school, that he likes science and hates history, that his favorite band is Journey, that he wants to play soccer but his dad wants him to play football, and that he wants to be a veterinarian.

“I like cars,” Dean says in response. “I’m not great at school. Not sure what I wanna do when I grow up.”

Not sure how to tell you that I’ll probably be hunting monsters for the rest of my life.

Al leans on the picket fence of the house that they’re currently waiting outside. “You could be a teacher,” he says.

Dean narrows his eyes at him in confusion. “I just told you I’m bad at school.”

Al shrugs. “My favorite teacher says he didn’t like school. That’s why he’s so good at helping us. He gets it.”

The heavy layer of clouds above them breaks, and a ray of moonlight lands across Al’s face. They’re standing between streetlights, so the silvery glow makes Al’s blueish eyes gleam. Dean finds he has to breathe a little harder than normal. He shakes his head.

“Nah, if anyone’s gonna be a teacher, it’s Sammy. He’s really smart.”

Al hums and pushes off the fence. Sam and Katie are moving on again. “I don’t know, man. You seem smart to me.” He pats Dean on the shoulder, the warmth of his hand seeping through Dean’s threadbare jacket.

In the relative darkness, Dean smiles so hard his eyes squeeze shut.

Eventually, they’ve stopped at every house in the neighborhood. Dean’s pockets are full of the candy that doesn’t fit into Sam’s overflowing first-aid kit. Al’s coat pockets are bulging, too. Sam and Katie run sugar-hyped circles under a streetlight while Dean and Al stand on the corner, looking at each other a bit awkwardly.

“Uh-- I’m glad we ran into you guys,” Al says finally. “You’re really cool.”

Dean’s glad that he’s the one facing away from the streetlight, because his cheeks heat up and probably look way pinker than they would from just the cold.

“You too,” he says. “Wish we lived around here.”

“Where do you live?” Al asks. “You know, just in case we ever take a road trip.”

Unless your destination’s my dad’s car, I don’t think you’re gonna run into me.

“Sioux Falls,” he says. “South Dakota. I live with my uncle.”

If Al finds that strange, he doesn’t pry. Dean could hug him. He wants to hug him.

Katie comes barrelling over, dragging her pillowcase of candy along the pavement. She’s huffing from running around, ghost sheet dangling half off her body. “Al, I’m soooo tired.” She flops against her brother. Sam comes trotting up behind her and grins at Dean. Dean tries to smile back, but there’s a lump in his throat, something that’s making it hard to breathe.

Al pats Katie on the head. “We should probably go home, anyway. It’s getting late.”

Still taking tight little breaths, Dean nods. “Uh-- yeah, us too. See if Sam can sleep off the sugar rush.”

“How long are you staying with your grandparents?” Al asks.

Dean looks at his feet. Weighs the pros and cons of sneaking out again. He’d have to take Sam; there aren’t actually any grandparents who could watch him.

He can’t risk it.

“We’re going home tomorrow morning,” he says, every word dropping like lead. Sam shoots him a confused look, but he ignores it.

Unless he’s imagining it, Al’s face seems to fall. “Aw, too bad. Wait! Hang on.” He rummages through his candy-heavy pockets until he pulls out a little spiral notebook and a nub of a pencil. He writes something on a page and rips it out. He hands it to Dean.

“Our phone number,” he says with a little smile. He steps forward and the streetlight catches his eyes again. Dean thinks that in the sunlight, they’d be bright blue. Al gestures at the paper. “You’ve got a phone at your uncle’s, right? Maybe you can call me sometime.”

There are way too many feelings jumbling around in Dean’s chest for him to say anything coherent, so he just nods. Al smiles wider. “Cool. I’m happy we met you.” He takes one more step forward and — Dean stops breathing altogether — wraps his arms briefly around Dean’s shoulders. He’s very warm. His hair smells good. Dean’s brain doesn’t catch up quite in time, and he misses his chance to hug back. The edge of Al’s halo brushes Dean’s forehead as he pulls away.

“Thanks for hanging out,” Al says, putting his arm around Katie’s shoulders and turning to go. “Have a good drive back home!”

Dean clears his throat. “Bye, guys,” he says lamely. Sam waves enthusiastically to make up for it. They stand under the streetlight for a long few minutes, watching Al and Katie go.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Sam manages to eat every piece of candy by Thursday morning, which is the day they’re supposed to hear from John. Dean makes him eat canned vegetable soup in between meals of Mars bars and Skittles. They scrounge the motel room for wrappers, tossing them all into a big garbage bag that Dean’s going to throw into the dumpster outside. He finishes folding the laundry, counts the money to make sure it’s all there, re-packs the first aid kit, and puts the sheet back on the bed without the safety pins.

Anytime the unease creeps in about having broken the rules, he looks at his brother’s shining face and pushes it back down. He and Sam rehearse their story in case John asks them what they did and Sam even finishes all of his worksheets. Dean folds them up and hides them at the very bottom of his duffle. He tells Sam he put them into the mailbox in the motel office.

And every few hours, he pulls the folded little piece of notebook paper out of his pocket and looks at it. In careful handwriting, Al had written:

Alan Montgomery

(from Halloween. I hope you call.)

And his phone number.

Thursday afternoon, Dean takes the candy-wrapper garbage bag out to the parking lot. At the last second, he pulls Al’s note out of his jeans. After a long moment of reading and re-reading it, he gently folds it back up and tosses it into the bag. He throws the whole thing into the dumpster.

But not before memorizing the number.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

John gets home late Thursday night. Before they check out of the motel on Friday, John sits Dean down on the toilet seat in the bathroom and pulls out his electric clippers.

While John has his back turned, plugging in the clippers by the sink, Dean pushes his hand through his hair, feeling the soft strands bunch up between his fingers and fall back down onto his ears. He remembers Al’s messy hair brushing his cheek when they hugged.

John flips the clippers on and the buzzing fills the bathroom. For the second time, Dean is glad that the mirror is shattered.

With every lock of hair that tumbles to the ground, Dean recites Al’s number in his head.

“There,” John says gruffly, after the floor and Dean’s lap are littered with honey brown strands. “You look like a man again.”

Dean stands up, brushing off his jeans. His head feels cold. “I’ll get a broom,” he says.

He’s halfway out the bathroom door when John says “Dean.”

Dean freezes, already wondering where he left a wrapper, how John found the garbage bag, if Sam let something slip. He slowly turns back. John’s wrapping the cord around the clippers.

“I need you to come on the next hunt. We’ll drop Sam off at Bobby’s.”

Bobby’s, where the telephone is. Dean’s heart beats hard for a different reason now. He tries to look casual. “Are we gonna stay for a bit?”

John’s already shaking his head before Dean’s done talking. He pushes past him and drops the clippers into his duffel bag on the bed. “No. We’ll be on the road for a while.” He stops and looks at Dean. “Weren’t you going to find a broom?”

Dean loads a dustpan with his hair and empties it on top of the garbage bag in the dumpster.

He whispers Al’s number again.

#suptober21 #sorry for the angst #it's Hating John Hours over here #Al is not intended to be a time-traveling Cas btw #I just liked the idea of a pipe-cleaner halo and of Dean having a type #Anyway Dean is Sam's parent #Fuck John Winchester #Dean deserved a cute teenage boyfriend #spn fanfic #ficlet

29 notes · View notes

appleflavoredkitkats · 3 years

Note

Do you have any more info on the fiance situation in Las Nevadas au? :-D or just anything in that au in general (only if you want tho sbajjdkfL) since its vv cool <3 /p

▪︎Beep

i've talked about the fiances before but i'm down to expound on it a little further :DDD this is kinda half assed but still long so MSJDJD

tw: self-destructive behavior, memory loss, breakups (not too horrible i promise)

/dsmp /rp

quackity is definitely immensely hurt by his loved ones leaving him. it ruins him. he feels like his heart is left to bleed out every single day he sees that no one from the south is coming over. he has a telescope atop his hotel, the tallest building, which he uses to look closely at the south (where kinoko kingdom lies). on his free days, or sometimes in the afternoon when he doesn't attend the events, he sits on the roof and looks out at a distance.

i think the longest he's been out on the roof was when karl messaged their chat through the communicator. it was a simple “where am i”, and quackity was quick to respond. he instructs karl to go to las nevadas, assuming he was lost, so he basically cancelled every gig he had to observe his surroundings.

(turns out, he never came. quackity sat on that roof for 15 hours before he was pulled away by fundy.)

but their abandonment was never intentional. quackity knows there has to be something more to it, but it doesn't mean it doesn't hurt.

he at least also got word from sapnap. after much encouragement from schlatt, quackity finally was brave enough to send him a message. first, he sent a simple “sapnap? where have you been”, then a more desperate “what happened to us?”.

sapnap replies almost immediately that it threw quackity off, “been around, adventuring, getting away from things.” then the second one took a bit longer, “not gonna lie, i thought our engagement was off ever since we kinda. stopped talking to one another. you kind of left us, didn't you?”

and quackity is hurt. he's baffled, he's irritated, but he's fucking livid. schlatt has told him multiple times that he needs to control his anger a little bit better, but in times like this, no matter how petty it may be, he wanted to fucking wreck his room. and so he did— first he threw his communicator against the wall. it was still salvageable, so quackity decided to grab his glowstone lamp and toss it against the communicator. he flips his dresser, throwing it against his bed, and it bounces off and destroys his cabinet. when he looks at his right, he sees a window, and he raises his fist to punch—

and someone is grabbing back. “q, quackity, alex, please,” schlatt pleads. when did schlatt get to his room? “come on, self-destruction is my kind of thing,” schlatt adds, and it summons a smile from quackity's lips before a sob tears out. and it doesn't stop. quackity cries— and he doesn't cry often, especially in front of his coworkers or family or whatever they are. he hates it, he hates emotions— he tried to fucking suppress it all in las nevadas because all of this, all of these casinos and hotels and bars are meant to be his coping mechanism, his distraction. the tears always finds a way to seep through, though.

eventually, they do crumble to the ground, and they sit like that for a while. quackity crying against schlatt's blazer as schlatt merely rubs comforting circles on his back. eventually, fundy does come in with some snacks and a deck of cards, and it was enough for quackity to at least feel better for the rest of the day.

on another day, where quackity was supposed to have fun partying around and doing the same old shit he does every other day, a mysterious green, whorled portal appears in the middle of his casino. most of the staff and the customers stand back, but from the portal, a white-clad brunette falls from it. he doesn't look all to phased by his fall, but when he stands, he realizes the predicament he's in and immediately stiffens awkwardly.

quackity knows him. that's karl— the karl who somehow disappeared from the server for so long that quackity forgot he even fucking existed. what happened to him? why is he all white? why have his eyes become spirals? what's going on?

“hi,” karl greets casually, but his eyebrows are furrowed awkwardly, “uhm, where am i?”

“karl?” quackity says immediately. he stands in uncertainty before fundy nudges at him to go closer whispering “talk to karl, i'll be in charge of the event.” fundy claps twice and immediately announces that their slot machines will double in payout for the next hour, and the crowd immediately goes wild. karl seems a bit lost by the noise, but quackity quickly grabs him away from the crowds and out to the streets.

“gee, those people were. eager to waste their money. gosh darn rich people,” karl says, and quackity laughs, but his smile immediately drops when karl adds,” nevermind them, i guess, but uh, who are you, exactly?"

and quackity's heart churns. he's heard of a few memory loss cases in their server—it's quite scary to hear how common it's become to just lose yourself entirely—but he didn't think it'd apply to karl. he doesn't even know where karl has BEEN all this time. what happened? why does karl not remember? does sapnap know about this?

quackity decides to not reveal much immediately, so he puts on his typical charming façade and replies, “i'm quackity, or alex, any will do. i'm the owner of this place— las nevadas. it's a place for gambling, drinking, and well, fun! do you, uh, do you remember me?"

quackity sees karl visibly shift awkwardly, and it does summon a sigh out of quackity. “guess you don't, huh?” he says sardonically.

“time travelling kinda... ruins you, sometimes,” karl replies

time travelling...? is... is that what made karl leave? not make karl remember? when in the ever living hell did karl, the nicest, sweetest man he knows, ever been allowed to time travel?

“oh,” he just says instead, “well, uh, i was a close friend of yours."

"oh?" karl replies, “kinda like uhm, uh, do you know sapnap? or george."

damn. quackity's façade immediately melts— how does he know about them and not HIM? why did karl remember them and not quackity? why was he forgotten? quackity immediately hisses, turns away and responds, “i'm giving you a free hotel room for the night and i'm calling sap to pick you up. just walk seventy blocks to your right and talk to manifold, or something, christ you fucking irritate me.” he knows karl probably won't understand, and he knows he's breaking this already broken relationship even more, but he can't... he can't look at them the same way anymore.

karl does get to a hotel room, and quackity does visit him just to make sure everything is alright. thankfully, fundy did repair his communicator after his last tantrum, and he uses it to tell sapnap to pick karl up from las nevadas. sapnap doesn't ask where it is— he simply tells him “ok” and goes offline.

when sapnap arrives, he doesn't look as miffed as quackity expected him to be. he looks... well, definitely more composed than him and karl, but he still looked a bit tired. he has some new scars, but quackity guesses sapnap probably wasn't lying when he said he was out adventuring. before quackity could greet sap, sapnap enters the room abruptly and karl practically throws himself at sapnap.

and jealousy is a fickle thing, isn't it? quackity's heart is still torn, it's still bleeding, and it continues to do so the longer he stares at the sight of the other two. he withholds a scowl, mostly because he knows he might go on another temper tantrum if he doesn't, and he also knows he can't... he can't get mad at them. he's waited forever for this moment.

“wow,” quackity murmurs, and sap turns to him, “things really have changed."

sapnap sighs, “we built you a house in kinoko, but you never came."

"and i made las nevadas entirely for you as well." quackity responds, “i guess it's just... unfortunate timing, and all." it's silent for a few moments until, “i'm sorry”.

sapnap's look softens, “i'm— i'm sorry too.”

there's so much more words to say, things to clarify, stories to catch up on, but quackity wonders how worth it it is to cling onto his past. karl and sap's visit is quite... underwhelming, to say the least. but maybe it isn't underwhelming at all— maybe he just found a new purpose outside of them, and he's just... moved on. it hurt, obviously, but when he looks out of karl's hotel room window, he sees las nevadas. he sees the casinos he's designed for schlatt and fundy, and the bars he's designed for jack and sam, and the stages he's designed for charlie— it's just... different now. he loves karl and sapnap still, of course, but he's also been hurt by them, and he's grown into a different person from that hurt. he thinks sapnap has grown the same way as well.

but still, “you know you're invited to las nevadas if you ever want to visit again,” quackity offers with a melancholic smile.

sapnap sighs, but he mimics quackity's smile and nods, “i'll consider it.” sapnap pauses for a bit, then, “thank you for everything, quackity— i really do mean it. i hope... i hope you enjoy the life you've made for yourself here, kinda looks cool,” sapnap says, and his words were very soft and genuine— something quackity needed to end this chapter of his life with them.

“thank you too, i hope you guys do well too. take care,” quackity says, and sapnap and karl take their leave with simple goodbyes.

it isn't exactly forgiveness or getting back together but it's... closure. quackity's journey up to this point isn't exactly all smiles and rainbows, but he's happy where he is now. he just hopes sapnap, karl, and george are feeling the same as well.

#mcyt #dream smp #quackity #sapnap #karl jacobs #jschlatt #fundy #famberg las nevadas au #long post

35 notes · View notes

mustyrosewater · 4 years

Text

𝙨𝙝𝙤𝙥𝙥𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙬𝙞𝙩𝙝 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙗𝙤𝙮𝙨 . . .

@leatherjacketmazzello requested what going clothes shopping with the pedro boys is like!

so lets go !!

warnings : mentions of lingerie, mentions of sex.

javier pena :

i’m not gonna lie to you, i kind of feel like javi wouldn’t be all that up to the idea of going clothes shopping with you at first. he has better things to do with his time rather than help you pick out clothes, that’s at least what he says until you casually mention you might be trying on some bra’s as well.

our boy gets up very quickly and is already in the car by the time you grab your purse. the process of actually finding something to try on his boring for him at first; he has no idea how womens clothes work, this man only ever goes shopping if he has literally nothing else to wear or if his jeans are beyond repair. this along with the fact that he normally just picks a pair, gets the size and leaves. i don’t think the concept of actually trying on clothes before you buy them is actually in his brain.

it’s not until you drag him along with you to the change rooms with a little white sundress with cute sunflower patterns all over it hung over your arm and tell him to wait while you try it. he ends up sat on a stool with his arms crossed as he impatiently waits for you. the ladies working at the change rooms have a little giggle and crack a few jokes with him while he waits.

it’s not until he hears the curtain draw back and lazily turns his head to you, only to nearly choke on his own saliva when he sees you grinning at him happily and do a little spin to show it off.

this man nearly gets a semi then and there.

next thing you know javi is picking out several more things to try on, so much so that you need to remind him you still need to try on bra’s.

he is very, very motivated to help you pick something out.

francisco “catfish” morales :

we know our boy is a sweetheart™ so even if he doesn’t have the best of idea of how shopping for women’s clothes works, you best believe he is going to happily drive with you to the mall to at least try and help.

everytime you hold something up and ask him what he thinks he just holds his hands in his pockets and shrugs. it’s not that he doesn’t care, it’s just that to him everything looks beautiful on you so it doesn’t really matter.

when you finally pick out a few items and bring him with you to the change rooms, you decide to just let him go in with you because we know he’s seen you naked countless times, neither of you really care at this point and there was nobody actually in the change rooms at the time so why not?

he’s not really paying the m o s t attention because while he loves you, he’s only human, this man will check his phone every now and then.

h o w e v e r, he looks up just in time to see you pulling on a pair of jean shorts and he’d be lying if watching you do a little shimmy while pulling them over the curse of your ass and turning in the mirror to check them out.

the moment you turn to him and asks him what he thinks his eyes are slightly widened and the man looks absolutely hypnotized. it’s not hard for you to realize that those jean shorts are most definitely a solid yes.

shane “dio” morrisey :

i feel like you and dio would get your clothes at pretty similar places, so whenever you want to go shopping it’s an invitation for him to come along and grab a few things for himself as well. this is despite the fact that literally every single time you two go shopping, it turns into dio taking you into practically every lingerie shop he can find and getting you to try things on for him.

we’re not gonna sit here and act like you guys don’t shoplift ok, this man does not have a job, he is not paying for any of this.

he’s usually more enthusiastic about picking things out for you, purely because he loves to see you try on things that he thinks would look good on you, lots of skirts and such.

he wouldn’t force you to get something if you didn’t like it, but he’d definitely reassure you that if you change your mind he’s still putting it in his bag.

i feel like he’d love to pick out chokers for you to try as well?

yes, you two go into a sexy shop, yes you come out with some very interesting purchases in terms of what some would consider ‘clothes.’

oberyn martell :

well i mean, this man is a prince, if you even mention that you’re thinking about going down to the market to look for some more gowns, he can and will send you a plethora of new items.

you told him you were fine with just going to the market and picking out a few simple things. did he listen? no. you know for a fact that some of these dresses come from the finest tailors in westeros.

at first you don’t want to accept it, it’s too much, but oberyn reassures you that you deserve them, and that only the most beautiful of gowns are allowed to grace your ethereal body.

you know for a fact that he only wants you to try them on in front of him so that he can take them off of you, one of his favorites thing to do is know that you’re wearing something that he got for you, almost like he’s wrapping his own present in beautiful silks and embroidered velvet dresses.

there was only one time the two of you actually went down to the market and every single time you tried something on he would shake his head slowly and tell you that whatever you were trying on was not worthy of your beauty and that you just need to let him order in dresses that are truly worthy enough of such a goddess.

din djarin :

ok look, our boy mando knows next to nothing about womens clothing, but armor? that our boy knows, he will absolutely take you to the markets and help you pick out armor that is worth the credits as well as making sure you aren’t paying more than it’s worth.

i’m not gonna lie our boy would be absolutely hopeless at helping you go clothes shopping and thats ok, it’s not like he ever thought he would be doing that, he is a bounty hunter after all.

there was only a single time that you were out looking for a bounty and came across a small market, curiosity getting the better of you, you went and had a look, thinking that maybe you could find something to bring back for the kid, a new toy or something.

you didn’t mean to buy the dress, it was just the fact that as you picked it up, you could tell that din was staring at you intensely through his helmet, and part of you just knew he was imagining what you would look like in the dress.

of course it found it’s way into your bag all for the purpose of surprising him later on.

maxwell lord :

the second that you mention your plans to go out shopping for a few new bits and pieces, maxwell is immediately standing up from his desk and informing his secretary that the two of you were going out.

he gets the two of you in a car and next thing you know you’re pulling up outside of chanel, looking over at maxwell with furrowed brows. he just looks at you like it’s the most normal thing in the world to go to chanel for ‘bits and pieces.’

you try to assure him that he doesn’t have to take you here but he just brushes whatever protests you give off and takes you inside, unable to hide a chuckle when he see’s you looking around the store in awe, marveling at the chandelier and perfectly pressed white fluffy carpets.

he tells you to start looking around and tells you to let him know if you see something you like. you look at him like he’s crazy but none the less begin to nervously walk around the store, tilting your head at the overdressed mannequins put into outfits that must cost more than your car and rent combined.

as soon as you look at something for more than five seconds, maxwell asks if you like it or if you want to try it on. to be honest, shopping with maxwell is kind of a nightmare purely because you can’t help but feel like the workers will think this is some kind of sugar daddy relationship and that you’re just with maxwell for his money. maxwell assures you that they don’t get paid enough to care.

max phillips :

while max isn’t exactly loaded, we know he’s a frat boy that’s come from a trust fund family so he definitely isn’t middle class by any means.

so expect that when you tell max that you’re thinking of going out to get some new clothes he takes you to ralph lauren of all places; this is a man who wears tailored suits and always has his rolex on, he is going to spoil you at least a little bit.

even if you have concerns about people thinking you’re a gold digger, he assures you that he knows you love him and that’s the only opinion that you should really care about.

and yes, when you get home he expects you to model everything he bought you, especially any and all expensive lingerie.

jack daniels a.k.a agent whiskey :

when it comes to our southern boy, he has simple taste at heart. so when you say that you were thinking of getting some new clothes, he absolutely wants to go with you purely because he wants to help you as well as having the opportunity to shower you with compliments.

he knows your taste extremely well and is very good at picking out things that he knows you’ll both really like.

however, it doesn’t matter what you try on, because every single time without failure it’s going to result in you showing it to him for his opinion and in turn having him look you up and down, let out a low whistle and tell you that “well, you look as pretty as a peach, good enough to eat.” or some variation of his classic southern charm.

at the end of the day he’s happy if you’re happy, he’s probably never going to get sick of shopping trips if it means it’s just an excuse to oogle at you and compliment you every five minutes.

pero tovar :

i think he’s more surprised than anything when you say you want to go to the market for something other than armor or weapons. he’s never seen you in anything other than armor or sleepwear so the idea of you wearing anything else is a completely new concept to him. he’s lying if he says he isn’t at least curious.

at first he’s a bit overwhelmed by the dresses that you’re looking at, especially when it comes to all the fancy words the sellers are saying. ‘embroidered’ ‘hand stitched’ he doesn’t know what they mean but he learns that they’re good things at least? he’s definitely not trying to remember the words so that if he ever wants to surprise you with anything he’ll know what to ask for.

he almost freezes when you turn to him holding up a dress and asking him what he thinks, we all know that he doesn’t know enough to have a good opinion on the dress itself, and any opportunity to get you into something pretty is a yes for him, he simply shrugs and lets out a small grunt.

he’s thankful for the market trip later on when he actually gets to see you in the dress later on, especially when he gets to tear it off of you.

dave york :

a majority of the time dave is far too busy to actually go shopping with you, but the second he gets some time off you are dragging that man to a store with you to pick out some clothes. he doesn’t necessarily have very interesting opinions of what you hold up from the rack, once again coming back to the whole idea of you looking gorgeous in whatever you wear.

things do get interesting when you get to lingerie however, if he had ears, they would perk up at the mention of it.

yes, he wants you to try things on. yes, if you like it he’ll be the one buying it for you because he wants to see you wearing lingerie he knows he paid for.

also he absolutely tries to spew some bullshit he’s heard from chick flicks about how ‘that cardigan matches goes with your eye color.’ okay dave, you get an a for effort at least?

#pedro pascal #pedro pascal preferences #pedro pascal x reader #javier pena x reader #frankie morales x reader #din djarin x reader #oberyn martell x reader #maxwell lord x reader #dave york x reader #max phillips x reader #pero tovar x reader #headcanons #preferences #pedro pascal headcanons

284 notes · View notes

herewithstupid · 3 years

Text

Whewwwwww, was reminded of one of my LEAST favorite forms of manipulation today.

Gonna talk about my grandpa for a moment. I come from a relatively middle class family- not ‘wealthy’, but grandparents helped make sure that we never really struggled for much unless my parents pride was on the line. Now my grandpa was the type that loved giving gifts/money. I learned really quickly not to ask for anything, because if I did, I would get it.

“Seems like a strange problem to have, Stu,” I hear you saying. “Your grandpa wanted to spoil you? Isn’t that a luxury most people wish they had?”

Honestly yeah, of the problems out there like, idk, getting arrested for things out of my control or not being able to afford food- this REALLY is a luxury, first world ‘problem’. So please take my complaints with a relative grain of salt. The main problem came from my inability to accept gifts or express needs for a long time because of this.

See, the definition of a gift is “a thing given willingly to someone without payment”. Payment is not always in the form of money- I may pay someone for a car repair for example by offering an exchange and repairing their carpet. Payment can come in the form of work, money, action, etc.

So in actuality, my grandpa never gave me ‘gifts’, because they did not come with no strings attached. Money is how he pulled the strings and maintained control in our relatively unhealthy family while maintaining a nice outward view for the world. Guilt trips, bribes- when I went to college, he tried essentially buying his way into my bank account and having me give him the password so that he could keep track of my spending. Gas cards were given with the intention of tracking where I was going. I’ve been screamed at over the phone because he helped me with a home repair- and then I acted ‘out of line’. There were attempts to discourage me from self-sufficiency and “not to worry, he would take care of me”.

Down the line, this led to an inherent mistrust of any gift, whether it be from friend, significant others... basically anyone unless it was completely anonymous and no way to know who the person was- because an anonymous person can’t hold it over my head. I still have a rather bitter belief in my heart that “nothing is truly free”- which really is an excuse to try to close my heart and make out the world as my enemy, when it really comes down to taking an active role in whole I let into my life and maintaining boundaries. A recognition that the world isn’t good or evil- that there are just sick people in it.

And while the examples I used with my grandpa are obviously extreme- the point of this is the same. If your ‘gift’ can be taken back at any time, if your gift has strings attached, if your gift comes with expectations, then you have no right calling that thing a gift.

This form of manipulation is popular because it does two things. One, it strokes the ego of the person giving the ‘gift’. They get to feel charitable, get to build this narration in their head of being kind hearted, a great friend/family member/lover, selfless and thoughtful, while ignoring their true, less kind intentions.

My grandpa has control issues, likely stemming from fear (like most defects do). In a life he felt out of control in, where he knew best how everyone should act if they would just do what they were supposed to, this gave the ability for him to gain control over the people in his life. If they were to reject it, it seems ungrateful. It gave him the ability to paint himself as the misunderstood, generous soul- when really all it came down to was making sure a person felt an obligation to ‘act’ how he believed they should and to be able to guilt a person when they stepped out of line of what he believed they should be doing.

And people do this. All. The. Time.

So,

For those of you who have had this happen to you- you should not feel guilty. You are not responsible for a sick person’s actions. And I’m using ‘sick’, because I don’t think lots of people are ‘evil’. I think they are people who don’t know how to cope with the world around them, and are attempting to stay afloat by whatever means they have, even if it means hurting those in their immediate sphere. And if you realize they’ve been manipulating you like this, you have every right to feel hurt, disgusted, violated- all of it.

For what it’s worth, as some small comfort, they very rarely are doing it ‘at’ you, even if it seems like it. Yes they may intentionally hurt you. But they do this to everyone, because this behavior is all they have. A person who’s only tool is a hammer will use the hammer- even if it destroys the very foundation and network supporting them. And they will be upset at the support network for breaking- because in their mind, what other choice did they have if that was their only tool?

And honestly for everyone, I encourage taking a step back and pausing before you give someone something. Check your expectations. Pause and really consider what you are hoping to accomplish. If it’s to receive something- whether it be a favor, emotional support, validation, a check to be cashed in later, then pause and think about WHY.

I am guilty of this years ago. I would do favors and over-extend myself as a ‘friend’, because in reality, I couldn’t support myself and I wanted to build a safety net of people that felt obligated to take care of me. Understandably, these friends of mine did not like feeling manipulated, and distanced themselves as they should have. It fed into my woe-is-me martyr syndrome of how I was this amazing person that no one understood, and how no one in the world really understood me.

What are you so afraid of that you have to try to use people in your life and control them in an attempt to protect yourself?

Because so long as your ‘good’ actions are tainted with attempts to manipulate people in your own self interest, you’ll find your ‘kind’ actions blowing up in your face. I consider it like a Midas’s touch. You’ll sit and wonder why no one wants to be your friend- without acknowledging that your friendship caused more harm than good. It’s not your responsibility to change a person to how you think they ‘should’ be.

Only to decide whether or not you can accept them exactly as they are on their own journey (wherever that is), and how much of that person you want to allow into your life. The only person you should work on changing and manipulating into a ‘better’ person, is yourself.

And when it comes to giving gifts, and honestly, interacting with people in general, give only what you can live without having replaced.

And my personal motto that I’ve always felt better living by: Give without remembering, and receive without forgetting.

#Things Stu would say in an AA meeting #The person who should hear this probably won't #and to be honest i've given up on them a long time ago #they're not worth the spoons #But hopefully someone who needed to read this #will recognize shitty/manipulative behavior after this rant #Stu loses their cool a bit #Personal Ramblings #An open letter to 'Marie Kondo'#Stu rants

11 notes · View notes

lloydskywalkers · 4 years

Text

afsdgfdhgj!! thank you sm, i’m so happy to hear that :’D that is...something i do very much need to work on actually, i’ve been trying to kick the talking-self-down habit for a while now, it’s just!! it’s tough, guys.

on a lighter note, i know exactly what trope you’re talking about and i’m an unapologetic sucker for it afdsgfdh. unfortunately this probably isn’t exactly what you’re looking for, but i got bit by the idea and it wouldn’t let me go, so here’s a somewhat-short (somewhat) fic about it!

Sometimes, the ninja forget they’re technically, kind-of-sort-of, famous. Like, not all the time, because some people are creepy and won’t leave them well enough alone, and some people are just…really enthusiastic…but for the most part, it is easy to forget sometimes, because out of gi they look pretty normal.

(Until Lloyd’s eyes start shuffling through colors like a sporadic traffic light, of course, but that doesn’t happen as much now.)

The point is, sometimes it’s easy to forget that they’re famous.

Sometimes, though — when movie posters the size of the Bounty are plastered all over the city because some wise guy thought making a film about them would be a great idea — it’s harder to forget.

“This feels like an invasion of privacy,” Cole mutters, crossing his arms as he sinks deeper into the theater seat.

“Oh, yeah,” Nya says. “Because trading cards and entire news documentaries with our full names and intimate dating life details were one thing, but a loosely-based movie is where we draw the line.”

“Intimate dating life my foot,” Lloyd scowls, clearly far from getting over that one article that managed to snag a picture of him and Harumi before…everything.

“Well — yeah, fair, but like—” Cole sputters. “They hired actors to play us. They’re gonna be recreating our lives and it’s — it’s weird, okay?”

“I dunno, I think it’s pretty cool,” Kai says, already on his third mouthful of popcorn, and the trailers have’t even started yet. “I mean, it can’t be worse than that play they put on, right?”

“Don’t jinx it,” Zane mutters darkly, his eyes flashing at the reminder.

“I’m with Kai,” Jay says, bouncing in his seat as he reaches for the popcorn. “I think it’s cool that people care enough about us to make a movie, you know? Like, did you see the budget for this thing?”

“Was it as high as the repair cost for the tower we blew up last week?” Lloyd says.

“Uh…maybe. I didn’t compare, exactly. But look, you can’t put a price on lives. A little collateral damage is worth it.”

“A little?” Zane says, his eyebrows shooting up.

“Eh, we helped clean it up,” Nya shrugs. “That counts.”

Jay points at her. “Thank you.”

“Still say it wasn’t my fault,” Kai grumbles, crossing his arms. Lloyd pokes him in the ribs, and Kai yelps, flinching away from him. “Not cool, not cool!”

“We’re definitely not going to make it through this movie without getting thrown out,” Cole groans into his hands. They’re already getting looks from the movie-goers around them, and their patience doesn’t look like it’s going to last very long.

“C’mon, have a little optimism,” Jay placates. “This is gonna be fun— hey, that’s my popcorn!”

“No way, lightning brain, I bought it, I hold it.”

“But you bought it with Nya’s money.”

“Which she stole from Lloyd’s sock drawer this morning, so that doesn’t count.”

“Wait, you stole my sock money?”

“Um…call it payback for stealing the last of the cookies last week.”

“How is that a fair trade, I only took one!”

“Yeah, one dozen—”

“Guys, please—”

“You’re one to talk, you stole all the—”

“Would you all shut up, it’s starting, and — I said shut up!”

******************

It takes a few threats of murder, and one or two threats of open power-use to the face, but they quiet down in time for the opening credits.

The movie begins peacefully enough, with an older man telling some ‘punk little kid’ as Kai describes him, a whole lot of ‘stereotypical sensei mumbo jumbo’ as Lloyd describes it, about himself. Which, to be fair, is pretty accurate to their lives, so they’re able to quietly munch on popcorn for the first few minutes, at least.

But then the plot starts.

“What do they mean, ‘uh oh’, to Lloyd Garmadon?” Kai frowns. “The city loves you.”

Lloyd shrugs, tossing a mouthful of popcorn back. “I dunno,” he says. “I mean, it is tough to be that kid.”

“Yeah, ‘cause he’s the worst shortie ever, like four feet tall,” Nya whispers to him. Lloyd elbows her in the side. Zane shushes them, just in time for the actual movie Lloyd to show up on the screen, in bed and receiving a call from—

Lloyd doubles over, choking on his popcorn.

“Luh-Lloyd?” Kai says, in delight. “Luh-Lloyd?!”

“Pajamas,” Lloyd wheezes, as Nya thumps his back. “Look at his pajamas, I gotta buy my dad those—”

The others are left to giggle their way through the interpretation of one of their greatest enemies snacking on cereal in printed pajamas, telling Lloyd he ‘must’ve butt-dialed him’. It’s hysterical until Garmadon forgets Lloyd’s birthday, and the Lloyd onscreen gets the signature Sad Puppy Eyes Lloyd Look on his face — which, props to the actor, he nailed it — and everyone looks to Lloyd in sympathy.

“That’s rough, buddy,” Jay pats his shoulder. Lloyd rolls his eyes.

“It’s not me,” he says, shrugging again. Really, his dad forgetting his birthday is like, incredibly tame, compared to hurling him through a prison wall or six.

Now, forgetting he existed, that stings. But also, like, this isn’t his dad, so. Eh. He doesn’t really care.

“Is that supposed to be Misako?”

Never mind. He cares now.

“Are you—” Kai plasters a hand over his mouth, muffling this next part. “—kidding me?!”

“Oh, she’s, uh…really present, huh,” Cole winces, as ‘Koko’ encourages her son about being himself, and other really nice stuff Lloyd would have super appreciated hearing when he was younger.

He opens his mouth again, and Nya takes the opportunity to stuff more popcorn in it. Lloyd chomps down angrily, glaring at the screen and grumbling under his breath.

“At least you’ve shown up at all,” Jay comforts him. Lloyd is very much not comforted. He just wants to get through the rest of the movie in peace, and shift the focus off of him as quick as possible.

Oh boy, is he disappointed.

Like, he gets a few minutes of relief as the others are introduced, but that’s all, really. Even if it is hilarious.

“Hello, fellow teen.”

Cole makes a sound like a dying balloon, and Jay almost coughs popcorn out of his nose. Zane just presses his lips into a flat line, his expression unreadable. “I do not…know how to feel about this.”

Jay and Kai are doubled-over on each other by now, choking on laughter. Cole, bless him, is doing his absolute best not to burst into giggles, while Nya and Lloyd have given up and are full-out cackling.

“Well,” Zane says, eyeing them with a gleam in his eye. “Perhaps I should start updating my database with ‘teen lingo’ then—”

“No!” they all chorus in unison, waving frantically at Zane, earning several dirty looks from the people around them as they do.

“You’re perfect the way you are, buddy,” Jay says hastily.

Kai, at least, seems pretty steadily in character—

“Aw, look, I almost snapped your spine.”

“That’s a Kai hug, for sure.”

—and Nya’s thrilled about having a motorcycle. Jay’s a tad indignant at his character’s stuttering, but Cole reminds him he has zero room to talk, so Jay shuts up in time for Cole to shrug at his own portrayal.

“I like that shirt,” he remarks. “And those headphones are cool.”

Then the reality of the scene they’re watching sinks in.

“Wait, why are we in school?” Zane blinks, confused.

“Why are they being so mean to you?” Cole exclaims at Lloyd, taken aback.

Lloyd makes a face at the cheerleaders on screen, jerking his shoulder up as if to say ‘like I know’. Which is kind of a lie, because he does know, the movie told them, but he’s not gonna get into that. Kai is already fuming in his seat beside him, growing steadily angrier by the second. “Who do they think they are,” he hisses. “I’ll show them a number one hit.”

Lloyd rips his eyes from the screen, watching Kai in mild alarm. “Kai, you know that’s not actually me, right?”

“—tear those kids a new one—”

Lloyd cringes at the looks they’re getting from the people around them, patting Kai’s arm. “Chill out, Kai, seriously. This is like, basic Darkley’s stuff, don’t worry. And I walked away from that fine.”

Wrong thing to say. Kai swivels on him, his eyes flashing. “Wait. This happened to you at Darkley’s? For real?”

“Um…” Lloyd sweats briefly, the sounds of Boo Lloyd! coming from the screen really not helping at all. “I mean, I was a brat. I brought a lot of it on myself.”

Kai looks like he’s going to combust. “I swear—”

“Kai,” Lloyd interrupts, trying to quell the storm. “It’s fine. Seriously. I mean, there was this one time that four guys way bigger than me ganged up and hung me from a roof by my hoodie all night, but it wasn’t that bad. I’m fine.”

Kai’s face turns thunderous, matching the roar of Garmadon finally coming into view onscreen. “Wasn’t that bad?” he says, incredulous, gaining them several shh’s, mainly from Nya. Kai ignores them. “Point me to those punks, Lloyd, I’ll strangle ‘em—”

“Kai.”

“Wha — oh. Oh.”

“Yeah.”

“That — that was different.”

“Uh-huh.”

“…you — you weren’t there all night.”

“I sure was.”

“Oh.”

“Mm-hm.”

“Um. Sor…rry?”

Fortunately, both are saved by Garmadon smashing his way on screen in a giant shark mech with a full-scale crustacean-themed army, to which the ninja kind of just…stare. That’s — that’s the best they can do with that one. That, and be thankful Garmadon himself isn’t here to see this.

“I mean, to be fair, I can see him appreciating a song entirely about himself,” Kai mutters, as the chorus continues to yell about Garmadon!. “And — wait, Lloyd, are you filming this?”

“Uh, yeah?” Lloyd says, re-adjusting the zoom feature on his phone. “Now hush, I wanna save this and make it my ringtone.”

******************

The mechs are, admittedly, cool. Their total lack of ability to do Spinjitzu, way less so.

“That’s so not how Spinjitzu works,” Nya scoffs, as Sensei Wu finally makes an appearance, just in time for Lloyd to request wind as an element, which brings on another bout of choking.

“Oh, for crying out loud,” Lloyd sighs. He then blinks rapidly. “Wait, where are our powers?”

“Nonexistent, apparently,” Zane murmurs. “Along with our common sense.”

“To be fair, that’s never been a reliable thing in the first place,” Jay points out.

The lack of common sense continues to be a trend throughout the movie, and by the time the ‘Ultimate Weapon’ comes up, things start to go downhill rather fast.

“Which, to continue to be fair, is also pretty in-character. This whole fight kinda is.”

The other ninja grumble in agreement as Lloyd runs off to confront his father alone despite all warning, and Lloyd begins to sink lower into his seat. He has a bad feeling he knows exactly where this is going, and sadly, he isn’t disappointed.

Well, for the most part.

“A cat?” Lloyd yelps, his eyes bugging out. “A giant cat?! How is that fair? All I ever get to fight is creepy part-reptile people who want to suck the power out of me, where do I sign up for this?”

“This is surreal,” Zane remarks, as Meowthra tears her merry way across the screen. The whole scene is a disaster, slo-mo destruction and everything, but it’s pretty much the standard fare they’re used to, so they really don’t bat much of an eye as the cat totally wrecks them.

“Nice to know we can’t catch a break in any universe,” Jay sighs sadly, as his mech is torn apart on screen.

“This movie is really beating the ‘don’t-challenge-dad-solo’ message over the head, huh,” Lloyd mutters, chin in his hand, having recovered from his brief bout of extreme-cat-heart-eyes.

Kai gives him a stink-eye. “Yeah, I wonder why.”

Understandably, the Lloyd onscreen is considerably upset at the apparent destruction of all his friends. The ninja are all incredibly curious as to where the movie is going to go next, though, since this Garmadon celebrates his victory by throwing a pretty sick party instead of building a skyscraper-sized stone Colossi of destruction and wrecking half the city.

“Kind of unfair,” Jay scowls, as the henchman do the conga onscreen. Nya’s got a smart comment to make back, but then the Lloyd onscreen reveals himself —

“In typical dramatic-Lloyd fashion, they got that right.”

“Oh, shut up.”

— and then proceeds to snap at the Garmadon onscreen, “I wish you weren’t my father.”

The theater goes remarkably quiet, as do the ninja. Cautiously, they turn to look at Lloyd, who is staring at the screen with a look on his face similar to if you’d shaken up a soda bottle really hard and were about to take the top off. Then—

“Oh, heck yeah, how’s that for karma, you over-powered conceited jerk of a dad,” Lloyd hisses viciously at the screen, punching his fist in the air. “He’s got the right idea, it’s my turn to start disowning family members. Screw ‘you’re not my son’, I’m gonna pull this one out next time and disown him—!”

“Lloyd,” Nya says, a bit nervously. “You know he’s, uh, he’s crying on screen now, right?”

“Yeah,” Lloyd spits.

“You, uh. You know you are too, right?”

“N-no.”

“Therapy,” Cole whispers to Zane. “So much therapy.”

“I’ve already booked us,” Zane murmurs back, sliding his phone back in his pocket. “If the office can simply manage not get blown for one more week this time, we might actually make it."

******************

While they do, however, manage to stay quiet for most of that scene — and isn’t Cole wildly impressed with them for that — the next scene kind of shoots that victory right into tiny little pieces.

“Why are we being so mean to you now?” Cole exclaims, flabbergasted, as the poor Lloyd onscreen looks seconds from tears, the rest of the team staring down at him with firm glares.

“Shh, this is getting dramatic,” Lloyd hushes him.

Nya gets a look on her face that promises murder, and Kai refuses point-blank to be shushed.

“What a bunch of jerks. We’d never do something like that, I’m going to have words with some people—”

“Jamanakai,” Lloyd just says, wearily. “Rooftop. All night.”

Kai deflates, sinking into his seat. “S’not the same,” he mutters, fiercely. “We never said all those mean things to you.”

Lloyd gently pats his arm. “There, there,” he says. “I know you didn’t mean it.”

“I never said it! It’s — it’s that imposter on screen, that’s who!”

“Kai, I know—”

Lloyd is interrupted by an unfortunately-timed declaration from the onscreen Jay.

“Now, we hate you.”

Lloyd blinks, almost surprised at the slight flare of hurt that sparks in his chest at that. Which is stupid, because these directors don’t know them, and that’s not really Jay, but hey, why not play into his worst fears, movie—

Then “Jay!” is hissed in scandalized unison, and Lloyd stuffs said worst fears back into box and tries not to snicker at the look on his brother’s face.

“It’s not me!” Jay defends desperately, waving his hands wildly. “That’s not me!”

“Deleting all data related to treating Lloyd as a friend.”

Jay is saved as everyone turns on Zane, who just buries his face in his hands. “Let it end,” he moans.

******************

Apart from being shocked that Sensei Wu is actually going with his ninja on their quest for the Ultimately Ultimate Weapon—

“It’s ultimate ultimate, did you miss that trip-inducing scene they explained it with?”

—they aren’t as surprised by things anymore after that, having caught on to the movie’s flow. It’s a little more slapstick than they’re used to, all bright colors and quick action, but it’s enjoyable to watch Garmadon and Sensei Wu snipe at each other, at least.

“Ten bucks says he survives just fine,” Cole says blandly, as Sensei Wu goes plummeting toward the river.

Not one of them take him up on that wager.

“Geez, they’re really roasting us for being morons in this, huh,” Jay observes, as their onscreen counterparts take the clearly-a-trap route, as per Garmadon’s advice.

Lloyd, who is still stewing about having his voice made fun of, bites out, “I think it’s pretty valid, for some of us.”

“Oh, suck it up already, Lloyd. Your voice changed anyways, get over it.”

“Are you saying I sounded ridiculous before?”

“Uh, no-o…?”

“Oh, there we go, getting humiliated again,” Nya sighs, as the ninja are cornered by Garmadon’s ex-generals. “I wonder why they didn’t give us our powers. You’d think they’d have capitalized on that, it’d look pretty cool.”

“Who knows. I’m still trying to figure out if my character’s love for music is a clever reference to me and my dad’s singing background, or just a shallow attempt to give me character at all,” Cole muses. They turn back to the movie just in time to wince in unison as the ninja onscreen flee, leaving Lloyd and Garmadon to be captured.

Kai is less than pleased with this development.

“Oh, so we’re just leaving Lloyd behind now? Who wrote this movie, I wanna talk.”

******************

By the time Garmadon’s teaching Lloyd how to throw bricks from a roof to some sappy soundtrack, then relocating his dislocated shoulder in a wild tone change, they’re mostly lost for words.

Also kind of enjoying the movie, though no one will admit it. The expressions are funny, and there are some lines that hit home. Sure, Lloyd spends a good ten minutes alternating between sputtering and gaping when Garmadon describes their family history, and only proceeds to get worse when everyone else receives powers and he gets a cute little tree branch, but it is fun to watch their onscreen counterparts run around to “I’ve Got the Power” playing cheerfully in the background. Plus, no one tries to ostracize Lloyd again, and it’s oddly satisfying to watch Garmadon get eaten by a giant cat, so by the time Lloyd’s trying to hide suspicious sniffling into the empty popcorn tub while his onscreen counterpart is giving Garmadon his big sappy speech about forgiveness, they might actually give the movie a decent rating.

Cole’s just happy they haven’t been thrown out yet, because they’ve really been pushing it this whole time. But finally, it seems like everyone’s settled down and is keeping perfectly quiet—

“What do you mean, he gets to keep the cat?”

Cole’s hopes and dreams go up in sad, despairing smoke.

“Wait, that’s what’s bothering you?” Nya blinks. “Not the whole, ‘this Lloyd gets his entire family back happy’ part, but the cat part?”

“Well yeah, I’m upset about the cat part!” Lloyd exclaims indignantly. “He gets a giant cat! The size of a skyscraper! What kind of raw deal did my grandfather cut me here, I didn’t even get to keep my dragon! This is so dumb, and — and oh look, now my dad’s all happy and stuff—”

Nya and Zane glance around in alarm. The movie-goers around them seem to be losing the last, lingering shreds of their patience, and Cole wisely decides that this might be a nice time to make an exit. The movie looks like it’s about over, anyways, and—

“—and what, they just have happy family dinners together now?!”

Yeah, they’re leaving.

******************

“Well, that was…enlightening,” Zane says blankly, as they exit the theater. He still looks tragically annoyed at the way the producers decided to portray him, but he’s mostly recovered by now. Probably because he torched his little movie poster on the way out, but who are they to judge.

“I think you mean infuriating,” Kai mutters, glaring at the theater as they leave it behind.

“I don’t know, it wasn’t so bad,” Nya says. “Like, they obviously decided to go for Lloyd’s very sensitive personal life as a focus point, so at least the rest of us got off alright.”

“Giant cat,” Lloyd mourns, clearly still more hung-up on that than Ninjago’s apparent obsession with his family drama.

“I just wanna try that lightning thing later,” Jay says. “Know any doors I can practice busting open dramatically?”

“Yeah, the door to the producer’s office,” Kai grumbles.

“Enough, guys,” Cole sighs. “It was a lot better than it could’ve been. Let’s just be happy the city still likes us enough to make us the heroes.”

They all nod at that, placated for now, at least. They fall into silence, carefully navigating their way home, until Jay breaks the quiet.

“Your heroes on the wa-a-ay,” Jay murmurs. He’s met with five looks of equal disappointment. “What?” he shrugs. “It’s catchy.”

Cole rolls his eyes, and Kai scoffs. They fall back into silence for a beat, their footsteps the only sound on the street, then—

“Something-something save the da-a-ay,” Lloyd hums.

Jay beams, and Kai moans. Nya just grins. “Gonna something-something pla-a-ace—”

“That takes us higher!”

They dissolve into snickers, their mix of off-key singing echoing across the Ninjago City streets. Cole spares a sigh of despair at their attempt, but he can’t help grinning too. It is a catchy song, and, to be fair, for trying to capture their general team spirit, it comes pretty close.

A lot closer than half that movie did, he frowns. Though he does still want that shirt his counterpart wore.

“Hey,” Jay speaks up. “Let’s learn that Garmadon song next. We can sing it to him in battle.”

“Oh, now you’re talking.”

#lego ninjago #ninjago #tlnm #sort of #lloyd garmadon #jay walker #cole brookstone #zane julien #nya smith #kai smith #the whole gang's here even if they don't wanna be #listen i'll defend this movie til the death bc it's what got me here #but the show ninja would have Opinions #answered #my fic

525 notes · View notes

phoenixglacier · 3 years

Text

Today’s song analysis: Because Of You by Kelly Clarkson

(If you’re new to this place, hi. I don’t really focus on the song much. Sorry.)

I can’t remember how old I was exactly when I first heard this song. Primary school? I didn’t have the CD or anything, so I guess somehow I managed to grasp the entire song from listening to it playing overhead in the shopping centre.

(Quick note: If Kelly Clarkson herself has said anything about what this song means to her, I have no knowledge of it. I’m here sharing the story I got from this song personally, with no other source except listening to it.)

So. In terms of storyline, it’s pretty straightforward:

The Speaker is addressing their Parent. Their Parent was in an unhealthy, probably abusive relationship with another person. As a result of growing up with this happening to their Parent, the Speaker is unable to let down their walls and trust anyone else in their life now, and it’s highly disruptive to their ability to live.

I originally thought, as a child, that it was a straightforward song blaming the parent for getting into an abusive relationship at all. In a way, the Speaker blames the Parent for not taking care of themself better, because it had an automatic impact on the Speaker even as a bystander in the scene.

But that’s not all, is it?

I realise when I listen to it as a young adult: It’s not about the situation. The Speaker isn’t actually so naïve so as to blame their parent for something they aren’t at fault for. Instead, the Speaker blames them for not protecting them.

And here, I don’t mean ‘protecting them’ as in protecting them from attacks themself, I mean protecting them from the knowledge that was going on. The Speaker says “I was too young”. Allowing their child to witness the abuse at all was where the Parent failed. It’s not the fact that the Parent was in a scary-looking relationship — it’s the fact that the Parent showed them, again and again, how painful and terrible it was.

Imagine it like having a child see movie characters shoot each other, versus the extended dying scene where they see the character’s body die slowly with a pg-13 slapped on it. These scenes are pg-13 for a reason. /j

The Speaker says it explicitly: “I watched you die”

I’m not sure whether this is very clear, so let me interject with a slightly personal example.

So, a family unit that I’m very close to is going through a difficult time right now, a long-coming explosion that’s finally been catalysed by COVID-19. I’m close to the children, as well one of the parents. There’s no need to explain what the full situation is: currently the parent is trying their best to appease their partner for the sake of their children. It is, I think, a common statement for a person to say that they’ll stay in a marriage just for their children.

Listen up: You are a parent. You have a responsibility to a child, who honestly should be the first and foremost thing in your mind, because you’re responsible for this human being in its entirety.

So I don’t think that the motive itself is wrong, but it’s worth it for anyone who says that to take the time to step back and consider that statement. You want the best for your children, correct? Then think about your options, and whether staying in a damaging relationship is really ‘the best’ for your children.

It might be. But it’s not automatic. It just isn’t.

This isn’t the place for a whole spiel on my opinions of divorce, but let me start with this: If your children know that their parents are constantly hurting each other, are constantly walking on eggshells, and are constantly seeing their loved ones cry, then they’re already affected. This piles up, and if your children don’t learn that people can’t be trusted and distance themselves from others completely, then they’re going to learn that this is how a normal relationship works and grow up to be the next victim or abuser.

This parent in my story is trying their best not to involve the children, which makes me relieved that they at least know to try.

I always think open communication is good with children. Children don’t need to be sheltered from every little bad thought in the world, and it helps for children to have an accurate understanding of the world, and gives you better ground on getting your child to see your side of things (when my parents give me advice with an explanation, it definitely increases my chances of listening). But that doesn’t mean ‘treat your children as adults’ or even worse, ‘treat your children as your personal therapist’. Yes, children are fragile. Even adults are fragile. And you, as a parent, have the responsibility to make sure you don’t traumatise them.

Here’s another analogy: You know your child will fall down, physically, many times in their life, and sometimes it will be painful and potentially even leave lasting damage. You might be the type who lets your child fall down while they explore, because you don’t want to coddle them when they inevitably grow up and you can’t watch them twenty-four seven anymore. That’s fine. But if they’re a tiny infant and their clearly too fragile to take a fall — DON’T LET THEM FALL. You hold on tight to them because you know that while they’re gonna have to be exposed to falls one day, they’re literally not physically ready to handle that yet. If your infant falls, they might get severe head trauma or spinal cord injury or anything, and then you’ve just messed up at the very start of your parenting. And then when they’re a little bigger, and they can toddle around, do you let them fall off the top of the monkey bars? NO. Because no matter how old, some falls are just going to be too supremely bad, and you don’t want your child to end up in the hospital with broken bones if you can help it.

This is the same concept. Your children have a mental trajectory, just like they have a physical one. In the same way, it varies considerably from one child to the next. There’s no need to go around talking about how some children are ‘way more mature than others’ because, yeah, that happens. That still means it’s a continuum. To be honest, a child can be doing great discussing social movements with their friends and then not be able to take the emotional toll of coming home to a warzone every day. Adults are like this too. I promise you that thousands of people who watch Avengers totally won’t be able to take the emotional stress of an actual alien invasion.

As a child, I was aware that my parents had very little money. It’s a little hard to grab an adjective, but I’d say I felt ‘negative’ that I couldn’t buy things like my friends could and my parents were rarely at home, as far as I was concerned. But I never fought with my parents on these money-related issues, because I understood the reasoning behind why I couldn’t have what I wanted. But I was also very secure, because my parents made it clear to me that they had it all under control. At stores, I could negotiate purchases with my parents, because I knew I couldn’t comprehend how much we could realistically spend, and I knew that my parents wouldn’t give into me if it would make our lives harder overall. They never gave me the opportunity to even consider that they might not be able to send me to university. This means I grew up pretty secure in terms of money, despite having significantly less than my peers at the time — not that I could spend a lot, but that I didn’t have to worry about it, as a child.

My parents were being honest about their expectations for how our situation would go. In a lot of situations, like unhealthy relationships, forget honesty when you can’t even see the future yourself. But you still need to shield your child a little. They’re still learning about life, love, relationships, confrontation, aggression, problem-solving, self-respect, self-protection, and more. What my parents taught me about money and spending carries on until today — I have zero concept of money apart from whether I have it, buy things only on impulse, but buy absolutely nothing. For the past several years, my parents have dragged me out on shopping trips trying to get me to buy new clothes, because I would never buy myself them until my old clothes wore out beyond repair. This is my money model, and it’s not the worst but it’s also not the best, and I have it because it’s the model I grew up with in my formative years.

So back to the song. The Speaker says they will be stronger. But this isn’t going to work. They’ve learned the desire to be loved from their Parent, so they can’t really close off their heart from danger completely, yet they can never truly open it up. Furthermore, they only have this one model of a relationship, so they’re left only with this vague idea of being ‘stronger’. And lastly, they have trauma from sharing the experience of what their parent went through. Oh, and one more thing, “I will not cry, because I know that’s weakness in your eyes.” Yeah.

#I don't know to end this #but I think I've said all I have to say #I know I said a couple of personal stories in here but they're kinda surface too #I do love this song cause it's one of my very old songs #phoenixglacier writes #song of the day #Because Of You by Kelly Clarkson #nooo why is my formatting so terrible #phoenixglacier’s words

1 note · View note

master-sass-blast · 5 years

Text

Price Well Worth Paying.

THIS IS IT, FOLKS!!! IT’S WEDDING TIME!!!! THIS IS NOT A DRILL!!!!! I REPEAT, THIS IS NOT A DRILL!!!!!

Summary: Before he can marry you, Piotr must undergo a vykup nevesty to prove his worthiness. Will he be up to the task?

(The answer is yes.)

Rating: G for MAXIMUM FLUFF!!!

Pairing(s): Piotr Rasputin x Reader.

Set after “Of House and Home.”

This fic was inspired by @nebulous-leo‘s own Piotr x Reader vykup nevesty fic, “Ransom”!!! Y’all should absolutely check it out, in addition to her blog @leo-writer where she posts all her OC related content (which is absolutely delightful and wonderful and is the best thing on earth) and her Ao3 account, where she posts all the major works for said OC content; she currently has several works for Kurt from the Ant-Man movies and her OC, Jenna, on there; I can’t recommend reading them enough!!!

(Also, many thanks to @leo-writer for proofing this fic to make sure it wasn’t too matchy-matchy to her own fic!)

Taglist: @marvel-is-perfection, @chromecutie, @super-darkcloudstudent, @girl-obsessed-with-things, @nebulous-leo

Piotr doesn’t often find himself nervous.

Some might doubt it, but it’s true. As rigid as he seems –and, admittedly, is—about some things, he seldom gets nervous. Frustrated, maybe, or tense, perhaps, but rarely downright, outright nervous.

He supposes, though, that the sensation coursing through him right now isn’t nervousness, precisely. Giddiness would be a better way to describe the butterflies thrumming in his stomach, how he has to keep himself from smiling nonstop so his cheeks don’t start hurting, and the way delighted, slightly nervous giggles keep bubbling up in his throat.

He’s getting married. Today. He’s getting married to you today, after so many obstacles and setbacks and arguments and makeups and planning and scheduling—

It’s here. It’s time.

Save for one last thing, which Piotr had wanted and then his family had borderline insisted –as much as they insisted on things—on doing: a vykup nevesty.

A vykup nevesty, as Piotr’s father had described it to him when he was very young, was for the family’s entertainment at its core. The groom would provide a payment for the bride –money or jewelry were traditional—and then the family would bring out a different man or a woman dressed as the bride to try and trick the groom. Once the groom realized that the person in question wasn’t his beloved, he would ask for his bride again and provide a higher payment for his spouse-to-be before he was finally bequeathed his bride, thus allowing the ceremony to start. Over time, the process had expanded to include various riddles, dares, and other shenanigans in the ransom process, and generally amounted to a great deal of fun.

He knows you helped write questions and answers for a “trivia” portion of the vykup nevesty. He also knows that he’ll have to deal with Mikhail’s dramatics –which normally would be nothing short of headache inducing, but between his elation over the fact that it’s his wedding day and the generous wad of cash tucked in his pocket, Piotr’s feeling borderline unstoppable.

He gives himself one final glance over in the mirror –he’d spent the night at the house your two’s friends and family had chipped in on—to make sure that his suit and tie are in good order –Nikolai had ushered everyone out at his son’s request so he could have a moment to himself just to think and process—before heading downstairs and out the front door—

And nearly walks smack into Mikhail and Ellie.

“Good morning, baby brother!” Mikhail chirps in Russian, grinning broadly. “Are you ready for the challenge of a lifetime?”

“I grew up with you; I doubt this will be worse than that,” Piotr fires back, feeling a twinge of misgiving at the slight grimace that creases his older brother’s face. Switching to English, he says, “I take it you two are here for vykup nevesty.”

“Yep,” Ellie confirms, popping the ‘p.’ “There’s gonna be three stages to this. You ready?”

He rolls his shoulders, bouncing lightly on the balls of his feet. “I am ready.”

“Excellent. Before we get started—” Mikhail produces an empty plastic coffee grounds container –which, upon closer inspection, has a label taped to it that says ‘motorcycle repair fund’—and wiggles it expectantly. “A little donation, if you please.”

Piotr refrains from rolling his eyes as he extracts his wallet from his inner jacket pocket, then drops about forty dollars in the container.

“Alright, first question,” Ellie says, casting a glance at her phone screen before looking back up at her mentor. “What is the most commonly recurring, non-serious argument in your relationship?”

Piotr blinks, borderline shocked. “What?”

“What do you guys play-argue about the most?”

“I understood that, just… she put that down as question?”

“She told you she was making these hard, right?”

“She did, she did,” Piotr says, grinning to himself as he rubs thoughtfully at his chin. “I just thought there might be progression of difficulty.”

“Eh, they’re all about this difficult.”

“Bozhe moi.” He quirks his mouth to the side as he thinks; you’re particularly cantankerous on your best of days –some might even say your best days, period—and while he’s learned to just go with some of it, there’s also so much the two of you playfully banter about…

“Tick, tick, tick, tick,” Mikhail says after about half a minute of silence, grinning like the cat that got the canary.

Piotr casts a dull glare at him. “Quiet. I am thinking.”

“Time is off the essence, baby brother! You would not want some dashing rogue to swoop in and sweep your bride away, no?”

Piotr ignores his brother’s dramatics –though he does roll his eyes—and gets down to thinking. Okay. Play fight means it is not serious enough to cause problems, but still something we are different on… “Food,” he says finally. “We argue about what foods should be eaten and not.”

“Correct,” Ellie says, scrolling further down on her phone. “Okay, next question—”

“Least favorite bad habit,” Mikhail says, reading over Ellie’s shoulder.

“Which bad habit of yours is Y/N’s least favorite,” Ellie clarifies.

Piotr snorts and shakes his head. “O, chudesno. Ah…” His voice trails off as his mind works, running through a mental list of various possible habits of his that probably drive you up a wall.

‘Being controlling’ hits him first, but something feels off about it; while, in all likelihood, it’s the most accurate, he doesn’t think you’d pull out something that had been a contributor to so many bad fights the two of you have had on such a special day –or wave that in front of Mikhail’s nose as possible teasing material, either.

‘Rules happy’ also fits that category, along with ‘too serious’…

Habit, Piotr, he tells himself when Mikhail starts mimicking a clock again. Not character flaw. Habit. Think smaller. “Workaholic. Or having to put everything away between tasks.”

“You have to pick one,” Ellie says while Mikhail starts ‘tick-tock-ing” louder.

Piotr mulls it over, then eliminates ‘workaholic’ since it fits closer to a character flaw –for him, at least—than it does a bad habit. “Having to put everything away between tasks.”

“Correct,” Ellie says. “Next question: mutual favorite nighttime activity.”

Mikhail lets out a raucous whistle and waggles his eyebrows at Piotr. “Damn, baby brother, are you into nasty shit I didn’t even know about? What, do you—”

“I do speak Russian; please stop,” Ellie says, completely monotone, while staring at her phone screen.

Mikhail cuts himself off with a grimace and a muttered “sorry.”

Piotr lets out a heavy sigh and rubs at his eyes; he suspects you slid that question in there just for that kind of reaction.

He’ll just have to pay you back for it later.

The thought makes him smile a little, but he quickly pushes it down and gets to thinking before Mikhail can start making clock noise again –or, worse, ask why he’s smiling. Mutual favorite nighttime activity…

Sex is an entirely feasible answer. Plausible, even. The two of you both enjoy sex, and he doesn’t doubt for a moment that you’d put that answer in there just to embarrass him a little…

Except it seems just a hair off. While you’d definitely take the opportunity to rib him a little, he knows you wouldn’t put Ellie in such an awkward position –or whoever else wound up reading the questions out.

“Snuggling,” he decides, which gets an annoyed groan from Mikhail. “Each night, we try to take time to just snuggle and talk about our days.”

“Correct.”

Mikhail rolls his eyes. “That is stupidly vanilla.”

“No one asked you,” Piotr mutters, letting some of his annoyance show through.

“Next question,” Ellie interjects before an argument can break out between the two brothers. “What is Y/N’s biggest pet peeve?”

“Scott Summers,” Piotr fires off automatically.

Ellie snorts and claps a hand over her mouth. “Okay, that’s technically wrong, but I’m counting it because she’ll like that you answered that.”

“I think I am missing something,” Mikhail says, glancing between Piotr and Ellie.

“He’s a douche and Y/N doesn’t like him,” Ellie supplies quickly. “Also I’m pretty sure he’s cheating on his girlfriend.”

“No!”

“Yeah. And she’s a telepath.”

Mikhail smirks. “So, he is idiot, too.”

“Basically.”

“Be nice, NTW,” Piotr admonishes his trainee, even though the corner of his mouth is turning up in a smile. “What did Y/N have for original answer?”

“Slow walkers,” Ellie says—

Which makes him snort because of course.

“Alright, last question: who is Y/N closest to in her family?”

A contemplative frown tugs at his lips as he flips through his mental rolodex of who you consider family.

Wade and Nate immediately spring to the top of the list. You connected with Wade first, but you view Nate as a father –and, granted, you’re close to Russell and Ellie and Yukio and Neena and countless other members of the Institute, but Wade and Nate are definitely closest to you. They know more of your darkest secrets, at least.

He mentally derails when he remembers your uncle and factors him in, and then it becomes a game of mental shuffles as he switches from Wade to Nate to your uncle and then back through again, over and over, until Ellie starts pointedly looking at the time display on her phone and Mikhail starts acting like he’s falling asleep on his feet. “Nate. She’s closest to Nate.”

“Wrong answer,” Ellie says. “You have to pay up for that one.”

Piotr frowns while he fishes a few bills out of his wallet and drops them in Mikhail’s plastic container. “What was right answer?”

“You. She said she’s closest to you.”

He blinks –and then smiles, because of course the two of you are family. You’ve been family to each other for a long time, and after today you’ll legally be family as husband and wife.

“Alright,” Ellie says. “That’s it for round one. Ready for round two?”

“Absolutely,” Piotr says, completely confident. He’s never been more ready for anything in his life.

***

They take the path that connects your two’s new home to the rest of Xavier’s property and stroll across the back lawn to where everything’s been set up –well, Piotr and Ellie stroll. Mikhail insists on teleporting himself every few feet because “walking is for fools.”

Once the chairs and the guests and the wedding party and all the decorations come into view, Piotr’s pulse skyrockets and his splits into a massive grin. Seeing everything and everyone there, even though the rehearsal had been last night and he’d helped set everything up, makes it all more real.

And then he sees a woman in a white dress and veil standing adjacent to Charles at the altar, and it takes all his willpower not to sprint the remaining distance between him and the ceremony site.

Mikhail stops him before they reach the little tent where Charles and the wedding party and the woman in white are set up and waggles the “motorcycle repair fund” jar in his face once more. “I’m afraid there’s a toll to pay before you can enter, baby brother.”

Piotr shells out a few more twenty dollar bills –then mouths a silent “thank you” over Mikhail’s head when their mother prevents the eldest Rasputin from asking for more via making a stern, mildly disapproving noise in the back of her throat.

“Alright!” Mikhail says, gesturing grandly towards the altar. “Toll has been paid! Piotr, you may have your bride!”

He steps under the cover of the tent –and has to stop to remind himself that this is likely a trick, if the rules of the vykup nevesty are anything to go by.

Correction: it’s definitely a trick. First, the height and size of the woman are all wrong. Second, she’s clearly wearing a purple colored dress underneath the white dress –which, on closer inspection, isn’t a wedding dress but some white bedsheets sewn together. Third, the “veil” over her face is a deconstructed pillowcase with lace hot-glued to the edge. Fourth, the “bride” is laughing, as are several members of the wedding party and the crowd of guests.

“This is not Y/N,” Piotr says, turning back to face Mikhail and Ellie.

“What? How can you not recognize your own beloved!” Mikhail exclaims –overly dramatic, which further reinforces that the woman standing in front of him is not his bride. “Have you been drinking, Piotr? Are you drunk?”

“This is not Y/N,” Piotr repeats as a few more chuckles go up in the crowd. He quickly scans the guests and wedding party, and manages to deduce who’s under the veil based on who’s missing and the relative height and size of the white-clad woman. “Kitty, thank you very much for coming, but I would like to marry Y/N today.”

“Damn!” Kitty laughs and whips off her “veil,” tossing aside while everyone else chuckles and claps. “That was fast!”

Piotr shrugs. “Not hard to tell when you are missing from crowd.”

“Touché.” Kitty phases out from under her makeshift white dress, then smooths out the purple cocktail dress she’d worn underneath before offering Piotr a fist bump. “Congratulations, dude.”

He fist bumps her back, corner of his mouth turning up in a smile—

Then is immediately accosted by Wade as Kitty goes to sit down in the crowd.

“Alright, Google Chrome’s Russian Cousin, how’re you feeling?” Wade asks, microphone in hand –who thought that was good idea?—and clad in a dress that matches the bridesmaids but has been tailored for a man’s body and genuinely looks flattering on him. “Ready for the last part of your however you say it?”

“Very ready,” Piotr says enthusiastically. “I have been ready for long time.”

“Aw, that’s so adorable. Unfortunately, before we can start the final phase, I think your broski over there needs some more dough for his repair fund.”

Piotr shells out the last of the money he’d set aside for the vykup nevesty –it’s not like he’ll be needing it for later, at this point—and drops into Mikhail’s container, then turns back to Wade. “Alright, what is last phase?”

“Well, as the older brother in every way but biological to your future wifey,” Wade says with theatrical seriousness. “I do need to make sure that you’re of suitable marriage material before the ceremony starts. Can’t have my little sis shacking up with a slouch.”

Piotr rolls his eyes good naturedly. “You have known me for several years. And you have been around entire time Y/N and I were dating.”

“Hush, metal grasshopper, this is my moment,” Wade says as he pulls a piece of paper out of the bust portion of his dress. “So, just to make sure that you meet the mark, I’ve drummed up a few eensy-teensy questions to ask.”

Piotr grins and shakes his head; he’s not getting out of this, so there’s no point in being upset about anything. “Very well. Ask your questions.”

“Thank you. Question one: what makes you think you’re worthy to marry my sister?”

Piotr chokes, more out of shock than anything. “What kind of question is that?”

“The one I’m asking, Chrome Dome. Which means you have to answer it. Start talking, we’ve got a list to get through,” Wade says, angling his microphone at Piotr.

Piotr nudges Wade’s hand back so the microphone isn’t right in his face, then considers the question for a few second before answering. “Because she chose me. Marriage is many things, but at core it is choice to commit to living life with partner and work through whatever hardships and challenges arise as team. It is choice to keep loving and communicating. I could be exactly who I am, but if Y/N did not choose me, I would not be worthy. But she did choose me, which is what makes me worthy.”

“Ooh, going from the consent angle! Wade like-y!” Wade says a few guests nod, impressed.

Off to the side, Nikolai beams like the proud papa he is and Alex shoots her youngest son a thumbs up.

“Alright, you pass the first question. Second question: if three mini-lion robots broke into your house and formed into a super-lion robot, what would you do to protect your lady from any and all harm?”

“Anything I had to,” Piotr answers automatically.

Wade mimics a buzzer noise. “Lame answer. Cop out.”

“It is truth,” Piotr insists. “No one ever really knows what they would do in moment until they are there. I will not commit to idea I may not follow through on in moment because my instincts might wind up being different. What I do know, however, is that I will do whatever I have to in order to keep Y/N safe, and that will not change regardless of what moment faces me.”

Wade studies him for a moment, then nods slowly. “Alright. I’ll take that. Next question!”

“How many questions are there?” Piotr asks, trying to catch a glimpse of the paper.

“As many as I need,” Wade says angling the paper away from Piotr’s line of sight. “Okay, big question here: what do you love most about my sister?”

“Everything,” Piotr says earnestly, tone dreamy and lovestruck. “She… she is everything to me. She helps me step back and appreciate day to day. She makes me laugh and smile –and over things I never thought I would, which has been… interesting.” He chuckles along with everyone else. “She has helped me grow so much as person, and challenges me on how I think and act and do things… She is beautiful, and kind, and smart, and funny, and I am so lucky that I get to marry her.”

Several “awws” go up in the crowd, and more than a few people dab at their eyes with tissues or hankies.

Wade, however, lets out a dramatic sob and blows his nose noisily into a lace edged handkerchief. “I promised myself I wouldn’t cry!”

Piotr merely smiles and shakes his head.

“Alright, big guy. Now that you’ve made everyone here cry, you ready to get married?”

“Yes,” Piotr says eagerly, excitement coiling in his stomach once more. “More than.” He feels someone tap on his shoulder, and he turns, expecting to see Mikhail holding out the “repair fund” container in a last ditch attempt to get more money—

Except you’re standing behind him, dressed in your wedding gown and holding onto Nathan’s arm and beaming up at him like he’s the most important thing in the world. “Hey.”

“Hi.” Tears of joy well up in his eyes, and he presses his hand against his mouth to try and contain himself. “You look so beautiful.”

“You look very handsome yourself.” Your eyes sparkle as you gaze up at him. “Ready to do this thing?”

“Very ready,” Piotr says with an excited giggle.

Nathan hugs you and presses a fatherly kiss to your forehead before handing you off. “Take good care of her.”

“Always,” Piotr promises as he makes to help you over to your side of the altar.

You have other ideas, though, going in for a hug first.

Piotr wraps his arms around you and kisses the top of your head –careful not to mess up your hair—while the guests and wedding party make noises of delight and appreciation and Aiden and his team snap pictures.

Once the hug ends, he helps you get over to your side of the altar, then Wade takes your bouquet for you and helps you straighten out the skirt of your dress—

And then everything’s genuinely a blur. Charles makes a speech about the relationship as he’s witnessed it and the healthy love the two of you model for the students –which has both of you tearing up—before talking about the value of commitment and communication, you two exchange your vows and the rings, and then Charles pronounces the two of you as husband and wife, and then Piotr’s kissing you and you’re kissing him and—

It’s everything, as it always has been.

#sass writes #piotr rasputin x reader #colossus x reader #MAXIMUM FLUFF #IT'S WEDDING TIME!!!!#deadpool fanfiction #x men fanfiction

81 notes · View notes

ruby-dear · 4 years

Note

all of them except 77, 78, 81, 92 and 96

Ember, I know this was you. I’m doing it, but that’s 93 questions you’re asking for so they’re going under a cut.

1. Talk about your first love. There have been a lot of those, so let me talk about the first one I really remember. I was in eighth grade, at the time, and she wasn’t exactly a great person looking back but she was cool and confident and she liked me, and she called me her best friend, and probably the best school-related memory I’ve ever had was her tackle-hugging me from across a classroom. I didn’t even realize I liked girls until she’d pretty much left my life completely. Maybe I’m looking at it through rose-tinted glasses now, but I think that’s okay, sometimes. 2. What’s the most beautiful songs you’ve ever heard in your opinion? Most of my favorite songs are Owl City, especially the older stuff. It has a soft, dreamlike vibe to it that I find really pretty even when it’s depressing. 3. How’s your heart feeling right now? Pretty good, I think? 4. What kind of self care is your favorite to do? The fun stuff. Bath bombs, makeup, fancy shampoo. Retail therapy actually works pretty well for me, even if a lot of the time I don’t even buy anything. 5. What’s your skincare routine? Um... Shower? 6. How did you get to be so beautiful? Natural talent and carefully learned confidence. 7. Do you have any stuffed animals? Oh, do I. I have like, seventy Webkinz, and that’s without getting into anything else. You could say I collect plushes, even if I don’t do it as actively now. I have a couple of Eevee plushes, too - I’d say I want to own all of them one day, but I’m like, 95% sure that’s not possible. 8. Best trip you’ve ever been on? Once, we went to Prince Edward Island for a week, and my mom surprised me by meeting up with my best friend’s family, who happened to have gotten a room at our hotel for one night. I think that probably wins. 9. Favorite thing about your room? That it’s starting to look like it belongs to me, even if I want to move somewhere else. 10. Opinion on love? It takes work, but it’s worth it.

11. Are you affectionate? Around people I’m comfortable with, definitely. 12. Who do you look up to? The people who have enough confidence to be unapologetically be themselves.

13. Favorite poet? Robert Frost. When I was eleven, I found a book of his poems, and I loved that book so much I didn’t pay any attention in English class at all.

14. Song that makes you happy? How about one that calms you down when you’re in a bad place? There’s a lot of songs that make me happy. Hard to go wrong with the Pokemon theme, though. As for things that calm me down... It’s Alright by Mother Mother and Misguided Ghosts by Paramore have both got me through a lot.

15. Do you play an instrument? No. I was supposed to learn piano in seventh grade, but I couldn’t read the sheet music so they never let me play, and I tried to learn guitar multiple times but it never stuck for the same reason.

16. Do you do art? Using what (pencil, watercolor, etc)? I paint, though not as often as I’d like to! Using acrylics, usually, but watercolors sometimes.

17. Do you dance? What style of dance? I took ballet as a child, til they kicked me out of class, and I still enjoy dancing but I don’t remember any of what I learned.

18. What’s your zodiac sign? Do you believe in astrology? Gemini. I think it might have some kind of truth behind it, but I’m not really one of those all-or-nothing people. It’s just for fun, you know?

19. Favorite old film? I don’t watch a lot of them. Does The Aristocats count?

20. What’s your hairstyle? It’s long and wavy. I’m getting blue highlights soon.

21. What weather is the most beautiful, in your opinion? Light rain. The kind that dries off before you get inside, when the sky is perfectly clear, but it starts falling anyway and it stops just as quickly.

22. What upsets you most about the world? That however hard we try to fix it, we’re unlikely to get very far.

23. Are you in love right now? Yes. At least, I think so.

24. Do you have a crush? If so, talk about them! I have a girlfriend. Is that the same thing? She’s cute and funny and she thinks the same things about me for some reason, and she knows exactly how much of a disaster I can be and hasn’t run away yet.

25. Do you have pets? Talk about something sweet about them! I have a cat, Little Prince. His sister died about a month ago, and she was the one who usually kept me company (total lap-cat), but ever since he’s usually either close to where I am or comes when I call him over.

26. Do you have a lucky number? Any multiple of seven, but especially fourteen. They’re my favorite numbers for the same reason.

27. Have you ever wished on a star? What about on a fallen eyelash? I try to wish on stars, when I see them. Eyelashes I’m usually more annoyed about than anything.

28. Do you believe emoji spells to work? I think anything has the potential to work, given the right amount of effort and intent. That said, I don’t think you’re going to accomplish anything drastic.

29. Do you believe in magic in general? Oh, definitely. Just look at the world we live in. How can you not believe in magic when it’s all around you? The night sky without air pollution, the sunlight dancing on the water, candy cane white hot chocolate - it’s everywhere, in everything.

30. What’s the most beautiful thing in life, In your opinion? Everything. There’s something beautiful in everything, if you look for it. Today, let’s say the feeling of sliding around on a hardwood floor in fluffy socks, dancing along to one of your favorite songs.

31. Opinion on the color pink? What about baby blue? As a kid, I hated pink. I like it now, though. Blue is my color, light blue especially (particularly with star patterns), so I’ve always liked it.

32. What instrumental sound is your favorite? Am I alloawed to say wind chimes? I’ve always thought they sounded super pretty.

33. Do you like the sound of wind? What about the sound of rain? I love them both.

34.Who makes you happy? My friends. All of them, in different ways, the people who are still in my life for various reasons. I love them.

35. What makes you happy? Light rain, strong wind, good music. My cat’s soft meow when I wake him up by accident. White peppermint hot chocolate. Fall colors, string lights, Halloween and winter holidays. Ice and snow and skating, dressing up for no apparent reason. The trick to it all is finding new things every day.

36. Imagine your ideal life, the life you wish to make, what will that look like? A house big enough for a family. A degree of some kind hanging on the wall. A life where I’m making things because that’s what I love, and I can try new things just for fun, where I don’t have to worry about money so much. The chance to get married someday, maybe.

37. Do you wear makeup? If so what’s your favorite type of makeup or specific makeup product? Favorite store to buy makeup? I do! Unless someone else is doing it for me, I generally keep to lipstick and eyeshadow. I’ve never been especially picky about what brands I use, but I usually go to Nyx because it’s on my usual route when I go on shopping trips, and I’m kind of attached now. Plus, nowhere else I’ve been in person has as many bold colours.

38. Do you wear dresses? If so what’s your favorite dress you own? I like wearing dresses. My favorite that I still have is a longer black dress, and it’s in serious need of either repair of retirement, but I got it for $20 as a cosplay outfit last year and it served its purpose. I wear it around still, sometimes, because it’s generally an easy fix.

39. Ever been heartbroken? How do you deal with it? Yeah, a few times. I vent to my friends, usually, and then I eat ice cream and listen to gnash for a while and eventually I start to feel better.

40. Who’s your closest friend? What do you love about them?

41. Introvert or extrovert? Kinda both? It’s complicated.

42. Do you like MBTI? What’s your MBTI? Is that... Fuck, is that the one with the letters? I think I got ENFP last time, and when I was younger it was INFP.

43. Would you be a fairy, a mermaid, a vampire, a siren, a or an angel? I’ve had people tell me I have ‘fae vibes’ before, so let’s go with that and hope it’s not offensive.

44. What’s the best song a friend has ever introduced to you? I don’t remember enough of them to feel good about picking one. I basically only listen to music I’m recommended now.

45. Parlez-vous français? A little, by virtue of being Canadian and having driven through Quebec. Not enough to carry on a conversation.

46. Most beautiful place you’ve been to? Prince Edward Island, hands down. It’s gorgeous.

47. Where/when do you truly feel at home? When there’s a light breeze, and the perfect song is playing, and the people I love are there. When we’re laughing with each other.

48. Does smiling put you in a better mood? Try it right now, you’re smile is gorgeous! I don’t think it does, honestly? But it does tend to happen when I’m happy.

49. Favorite shoe you own? These ankle boots I got secondhand that have little metal stars on them. I’m gonna be so upset when they finally wear out and I need new ones.

50. Can you walk in stilettos? Do you like them? God, no, I’ve tried. Any heel that’s too sharp or pointy or tall is a major problem for me. It’s part of what makes finding shoes such a pain.

51. Do you feel loved? Not always, but yeah. When I remember, or when I ask, or when I’m reminded.

52. How do you express love to those you care about? I try to tell them, but I’m also the type to engage in constant teasing. I’m the friend that punches you in the arm as a show of affection.

53. Favorite term(s) of endearment? The more creative ones. The basics don’t do much for me, honestly, but it’s more about the person saying them anyway.

54. Most romantic thing someone’s ever done for you? Make me feel like I don’t have to try so hard to feel like myself.

55. When is the happiest you’ve ever been? Walking the downtown city streets in winter. It was cold, sure, but it was gorgeous and I finally felt independent for a while.

56. Are you happy right now? Yeah, I’d say so.

57. What makes you smile? Bad jokes, among other things.

58. Do you laugh a lot? Yeah. A lot more than I used to.

59. What’s your favorite kind of aesthetic? Punk/scenecore. They’ve really influenced my more recent style choices.

60. Do you want to marry for love or for some other reason (like money)? Love, definitely.

61. What would your dream wedding look like? Do you want to get married? With someone I love, and the other people I love there too. Somewhere beautiful. I think I do, someday, but it’s not something I’m so worried about.

62. Favorite flower? Roses. Blue Moon Hybrid Tea Roses, in particular, are especially pretty.

63. Favorite artist? I don’t really have one. I do enjoy looking at art, though.

64. Favorite music artist? Owl City.

65. How kind do you think you are? Is kindness important to you? I don’t know. People seem to think I’m kinder than I believe I am. It’s important to me, yeah, to try and help people and to do nice things.

66. Ever made a playlist for someone? A few times. They were never anything special, as far as I’m concerned.

67. Do you have anything you do to physically comfort you when your sad? Such as a favorite blanket? Or a relaxing bath? Long, warm baths and cuddling with my cat. Warm blankets and stories with happy endings.

68. Early bird or night owl? Night owl. I’m a night person.

69. Morning routine? Wake up, do nothing for a while, actually get out of bed and figure out breakfast. While that’s going on, try and figure out if anything important is happening today.

70. Night routine? Get comfortable, then write or daydream til I fall asleep.

71. What is the most lovely quality a person could have in your opinion? Self-confidence and a willingness to help others.

72. Do you cry often? Does crying help you get the emotions out? Do you feel better after? I tend to hold back my feelings til they all fall out. So I end up crying at least twice a month, usually. It helps, yeah.

73. Do you like hugs? From people I feel comfortable with.

74. When was the last time you kissed someone? On the lips? Never.

75. Are you small or tall? Small. I’m 5′0.

76. Do you like wholesome memes? Yes. They’re cute.

79. Have you ever lived in a different country than you currently live in? Nope. I’ve never lived outside this city, only been on trips.

80. Do you like plane flights? Airports? I’ve only flown once, and I was two, so I don’t remember it very well.

82. The beach or a forest? Sand or bugs? Depends on the day. Today, though, forest.

83. What time of day do you tend to be in the best mood? Evening, usually.

84. Do you push yourself to act together and in a good mood even when you aren’t? Yeah, when I’m stressed.

85. Favorite kind of tree? Either maple or pine. I’m Canadian, what can I say?

86. Do you care about the health of the Earth? Yes, but there’s only so much one person can do.

87. What did you like most about your childhood, if anything? Field trips. Adulthood is sorely lacking in field trips.

88. Do you read a lot? What’s your favorite book? I used to. These days I still read, but it’s mostly fanfiction. My favorite books, though, are Tamora Pierce’s Emelan series and the first two books of Kenneth Oppel’s Silverwing trilogy.

89. What are you most nostalgic for at the moment? Trick-or-treating.

90. What’s your favorite personality trait you have? I try to let the people I love know that I love them.

91. List at least ONE thing you love about your appearance. I have pretty great hair.

93. Do you worry a lot? Constantly.

94. The dazzling lights of the city or the relaxing countryside? The city. The countryside’s nice, but the streetlights and the city skyline are what make me feel at home.

95. Ever changed the shoelaces on one of your shoes? For what reason? I actually don’t know how to tie laces, so no. I’ve never been able to pick it up. I might get someone sense to, if I could find cool enough laces.

97. Do you like doing little acts of kindness? Yeah. It feels good to make people happy, you know?

98. How’s your day/night going? Pretty good! I did just spend over an hour on this, but I finished it, so that’s an accomplishment of its own.

#asks #Anonymous #ember why are you like this #ruby speaks #thank you though

2 notes · View notes

anistarrose · 5 years

Text

If The Sky Comes Falling Down (GF One-Shot)

Summary: Stan’s (and Ford’s) birthdays throughout the years.

Word Count: ~2300

Warnings: none

AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19226707

Happy June 15th! (Title is from Hey Brother by Avicii!)

***

Stan and Ford are ten years old, and every one of their birthdays has been shared.

Every year, from the second the final school bell rings and onwards, the twins’ number one priority is planning the best birthday ever — what type of cake they want, which comic issues each of them should beg their parents for in order to maximize their combined yield, how they want to spend the day in order to make it the best day of the whole year.

Other kids at school seem to feel sorry for them, like having to share your birthday ruins all the fun of it, but to Stan and Ford, sharing has always been the whole point. With a twin, you’ve always got someone just as dedicated as you are to making your birthday perfect.

They’d never want it any other way.

Stan and Ford are seventeen years old, ready for their final year of high school, and as always they spend their birthday together. Today, they’re using the morning to work on the boat.

Freedom is tantalizingly close — just one more year of school, one more year of putting up with Dad. It feels just barely out of reach, just barely over the horizon.

If they time this thing right, and put in enough work, they might be able to complete the repairs just in time to sail out of town on the very day they turn eighteen. It’ll be a poetic and dramatic exit, as they journey onwards to clearer waters and grander adventures.

Just the two of them, going wherever they want to go. Stan can’t wait.

Stan (and Ford) are eighteen years old, and they aren’t spending their birthday together this year.

Ford is probably with his family — or maybe he’s already headed out to college and made new friends replacements there, for all Stan knows…

No, don’t waste time thinking about that, it won’t end well. The only thing Stan knows is that for the first time in his life, he’s spending his birthday alone, and he doesn’t have any idea what to do. Birthdays without Ford are a foreign concept to him, like an entirely new holiday that he’s never celebrated before, and he just feels empty.

Eventually, he settles on going to the nearest comic store and blowing his dwindling supplies of cash on the installments he’s missed over the past few months. He ends up not even having enough money to both get fully caught up and eat tomorrow, so he only buys a few issues — but it’s still enough to put a smile on his face that evening, even if that smile is only brought about by indulging in denial, by pretending he’s back home and everything with Ford is just as it’s always been.

Stan (and Ford) are twenty, twenty-five, thirty years old, and Stan still treats himself for his birthday however he can most years — if not the fifteenth, then the eighteenth, or even the twenty-eighth if it takes him that long to get ahold of a few spare dollars. And many years, he enjoys himself, but on others it just isn’t worth the painful memories that always tend to surface.

He’s realizing that sharing your date of birth with someone isn’t so fun after all, if you’re not sharing the celebration too.

Stan is thirty-one years old, and he doesn’t know if Ford is too because he doesn’t know if Ford’s even alive.

Summer is peak tourist season, so he has plenty of cash to spare, but he doesn’t do anything to celebrate when his birthday rolls around. He briefly has the notion that he should buy a cake and bring it downstairs to the portal room, but he discards the idea just as quickly. It just hurts to much to acknowledge.

Stan is fifty-two years old, and has been for nearly a month now as he gives Soos a reassuring pat on the back. The kid’s tears slow down a little, but not enough.

“Hey now, what’s the matter? Do you need to go home, ‘cause… well, it pains me to say this, but you haven’t missed a day of work since I’ve hired you, and I guess I could give you one day off with full pay…”

Soos shakes his head. “Nuh-uh. I — I don’t wanna be at home today.”

“Uh…” That surprises Stan, because as far as he knows Soos has a pretty idyllic home life with a grandmother who does nothing but dote on him — but if Stan has to curse out an old lady for reducing Soos to a bawling wreck, then he’ll do it, damn it. He’s cursed out stranger characters before.

There’s a sharp rap on the door — specifically the door to the private side of the Mystery Shack, not the side that’s open to tourists.

“Shoot, I gotta get this. Be right back,” Stan tells Soos, tossing him a box of tissues on the way out. Soos makes no effort to catch them, and the box bounces off his shoulder with a thwack as Stan cringes internally and hurries to the back porch.

And speak of the devil, it’s Soos’s Abuelita who’s waiting for him there, anxiously fidgeting with the straps of her apron.

“Has Soos come into work today?” she asks. “He said he would take the day off for his birthday party this afternoon, but he is not at home!”

Oh. So it’s a birthday thing.

“Yeah, I think I saw him swing by today,” Stan answers slowly. “I’ll go find him for you.”

“Thank you! I was so worried…”

Stan heads back inside, and sits down on the ground next to Soos even though his back protests against him with a burst of pain.

“Hey, kid. Your Abuelita’s looking for you.”

Soos buries his head in his hands, and mumbles something incomprehensible.

“Not a fan of birthday parties, huh? It’s okay… I’m not either.”

Soos looks up. “Really?”

Stan looks away. “Yeah, they’re just… not my thing.”

“My dad always promises he’d come visit on my birthday,” Soos mumbles. “But then he never does…”

“Oh, kid. I’m so sorry about that.” Stan pauses, and then throws an arm over Soos’s shoulder.

“I get it,” he whispers. “When it’s supposed to be the greatest day of the year for you, but then the people you care about — or the people you want to care about you — aren’t there, year after year, then it… it really wears you down.”

“Does your family never visit you on your birthday, Mr. Pines?”

“Uh… yeah. Yeah, something like that.”

Soos wraps his arms around Stan’s chest, trapping him in a surprisingly tight hug.

“I thought I was the only one who hated my birthday,” he whispers. “I’m sorry your family’s like that, Mr. Pines, but… I’m glad I’m not the only one.”

Stan is sixty-one years old, and he’s perfected the art of doing nice things for himself in early June and then lying to himself about it.

The party’s just a moneymaking scheme, nothing more. Getting to dance all night and eat marshmallows and other junk food? Those are just bonuses, and the timing? Falling exactly on the fifteenth of June? Well, that’s definitely just a coincidence.

Mabel is a whirlwind of energy and excitement on the dance floor, having apparently made some new friends, and Dipper is who-knows-where, probably off shirking his responsibilities and making trouble. They’re both good kids — their weirdness and stubbornness and just general twin-ness is a comforting kind of familiar on some days, and a worrying kind of familiar on others, but that’s not their fault. They don’t know.

Something about the presence of the younger twins tells Stan that it’s this summer that everything will finally change, though. That this is the last birthday that he’ll spend alone, unable to share.

Stan and Ford are both sixty-one, and all of those years have only led up to this. To the sky being ripped apart, and a demon burning the town to the ground.

“We used to be like Dipper and Mabel,” Ford says. “The world's about to end and they still work together. How do they do it?”

“Easy, they’re kids,” Stan tells him. “They don’t know any better.”

Ford stands up, a determined but wistful look in his eyes.

“Whoa, where you going?”

“I'm going to play the only card we have left — let Bill into my mind,” Ford explains. “He'll be able to take over the galaxy, and maybe even worse… but at least he might let the kids free.”

“What? Are you kidding me?! Are you honestly telling me there's nothing else we can do?!”

“Bill's only weak in the mindspace. If I didn't have this darn plate in my head —” Ford makes a fist and hits the side of his skull for emphasis, producing a metallic clang. “— we could just erase him with the memory gun when he steps inside my mind.”

“What if he goes into my mind? My brain isn’t good for anything.”

Ford chuckles sadly. “There's nothing in your mind he wants. It has to be me. We need to take his deal, it's the only way he'll agree to save you and the kids.”

“Do you really think he’s gonna make good on that deal?”

Ford sighs. “What other choice do we have?”

“You could… holy shit, Ford, quick! Put on my clothes!”

“Excuse me?!”

Stan takes off his fez and slaps it on Ford’s head. “If we switch places, Bill can go in my mind and then you can erase him! If it fooled all our teachers, why can’t it fool a demon?”

Ford throws the fez to the ground and grabs him by the shoulders, and Stan braces himself for a reply of you idiot, that’ll never work, don’t you think I would have thought of that myself if it would? — but he’s left completely unprepared for the words that actually come out of Ford’s mouth, quiet and slow and afraid in a way Stan hasn’t heard in decades:

“Stanley, that won’t just erase Bill. It’ll erase you.”

“But will it work?” Stan doesn’t even need to ask — Ford has a certain gleam in his eyes, a certain look of awe upon his face that only appears when he’s truly blown away by a revelation that never occurred to him, but makes all the sense in the world. It’s a look that’s partially obscured behind an expression of fear, of guilt, of desperation — but it’s definitely there.

“It will work,” Ford whispers, “but I don’t want to lose you.”

“It’s either erasing one idiot’s memories or letting a lot of people die, Ford! We’re — we’re running out of time, damn it!”

Ford stares at the ground as he begins to pull off his trenchcoat. “I’m so sorry, Stan.”

“I am too, Ford.”

A man wakes up in a clearing and remembers nothing, least of all his age.

Strangers approach him, cry over him, call him a hero and hug him uncomfortably tight, and he doesn’t know what to do. He doesn’t know what to say.

Ford, the older man, tells him that his name is Stanley, and that the two of them are brothers, that they’re twins, but something about the realization rings hollow. Any connection Stan might’ve once had with this man has since been severed, leaving them to share a face, a birthday, and nothing more.

…Or at least, that’s what one would think, because surely a disoriented and confused shell of a man with ill-fitting clothes and no memories can’t be a brother to anyone, not in any of the ways that truly matter — but when Stan looks at Ford and sees him staring off into the distance with a defeated frown on his face, looks at any of these strangers and sees them in anguish… his heart feels like it’s about to be torn in two. So maybe, just maybe, some fragment of a connection has persisted.

He tries to lighten the mood, to no avail, and tries to remember the scenes in the scrapbook the girl shows him — and when words start spilling out of his mouth on instinct, he’s relieved not for himself, but for the others. (For his family.)

He’s relieved when he sees them start to smile, to hope, and finally thinks Yeah, these faces look familiar.

Stan and Ford are sixty-two years old, and they blow out the candles on their birthday cake together as Dipper takes pictures and Mabel showers both of them in confetti.

“Mabel, sweetie, that’s kind of a fire hazard,” Stan warns her. “You know, with the candles and all —”

“Oh, it’s fine,” Ford cuts in. “We all know where the fire extinguisher is, don’t we?”

“Yeah, because you’ve already come seconds away from blowing us into the stratosphere twice this summer!”

They laugh, and then Stan and Ford argue over who gets to cut the cake, but there’s no malice behind the words. It’s just the usual sibling banter — one of the many little things that Stan and Ford have found themselves appreciating more than ever this past year, after having gone so long without it.

Everyone is stuffed except for Stan, who’s cleaning out the last few spoonfuls from a tub of ice cream, when Ford pours one last glass of milk and raises it towards Stan like one would for a toast.

“Here’s to more birthdays together,” he says, and Stan hastily picks up his own cups to clink it against Ford’s. It’s not a very satisfying clink, since both cups are plastic, but it’s good enough. It’s the sentiment that really makes the toast, after all.

“To more birthdays together,” Stan echoes.

***

Endnotes:

Thanks for reading, feedback and reblogs are appreciated as always! I realize Stan acted in Blendin’s Game like he didn’t know what caused Soos to hate his birthday, but I feel like it’s plausible he wouldn’t have wanted to share something so personal with the others if Soos clearly didn’t want to talk about it (and also I wrote that scene before realizing this potential continuity issue and just really wanted to keep that dialogue).

Anyways, I could go on and on about how much these two stubborn old men mean to me, but to keep it brief, thinking and writing about them has helped me through a bunch of rough patches, so I felt like it was about time to write something for their birthday (which I’d hoped to do last year, but writer’s block was a bitch). I’m so proud of this whole dumb fictional family, and I had the biggest smile imaginable on my face while I was writing that scene of pure fluff at the end :’)

#gravity falls #stanley pines #stanford pines #soos ramirez #mabel pines #dipper pines #stan twins birthday #rosalia writes fic

98 notes · View notes

babybarrie · 5 years

Text

Imagine yelling “Eat my ass!” and Thorin overhears you

Context: You, the reader, gets transported to Middle Earth and literally, thrown into Thorin’s arms one night. You travel with the Company and grow to love that handsome dwarf. Being the amazing person you are, you somehow convince Thorin not to go into Azog’s trap and everyone lives. You become queen and Erebor begins its long months of repairs and setups. You also manage to have Thranduil, Bard, and Thorin come to an agreement to be allies. (You’re just that awesome.)

Summary: Someone done fucked up

Warnings: Just one swear word and implied sexual acts

A/N: Yes, I only write once in a blue moon. Forgive my dawdling, because I often can’t write for shit.

Per usual, living the life as Erebor’s queen, you have to deal with quite a bit of bullshit from “simple-minded” people. Most of the time you are with Thorin when he’s in council meetings and dealing with things such as the ongoing trades with Thranduil and Bard, managing the money and when to send any support to other allied kingdoms, such as such. But then there are the moments and tasks that piss you and your beloved off.

Thorin: “What do you mean you can’t convince him to travel here?”

Dwarf Council member: “My lord, he simply won’t agree to make the trek over here...”

Thorin: “It is only a week’s worth travel! Surely the pay for the job swayed him enough. You did make sure to mention the pay right?”

Dwarf Council member: “Of course your majesty. But he won’t budge.”

You see Thorin runs his hand down his face in annoyance. Only wanting for things to go well you decide to speak up.

Y/N: “My king, maybe I can persuade him some? I do know him and there must be a good reason why he didn’t agree in the first place...”

There's a low murmur among the members as they discuss my offer. The only opinion that you care about though is Thorin's. Not only because he is king, but because he is your husband. Your love. Your one.

Thorin: "Perhaps...Would you like to travel over to see him in person or would you like to write a letter?"

Before you even answer, there is a loud enough cough from the newest council member. Though, rudely interrupted, you expected the man to say something of importance.

Human council member: "Your grace, I do not think you need to do such things. With all respect my queen, I believe you should allow the males to handle such trivial things. We wouldn't want to bother you with such hardships as to travel that distance."

Now, normally you have much patience for stupidity. You were always the calm one, the one who was there for Thorin when he would get worked up and heated about things. But this...This is a matter that you don't take lightly. Though he was trying to be kind about it, trying to make sure that the queen doesn't have to leave the kingdom when there is still so much to do...He cross a certain line when he brought up the gender/sex card. You were not going to take that shit. You see Thorin ready to stand up and to chew that man's head off for insulting you. You immediately rest your hand on his leg to stop him. He gives you a confused look but nods and settles back into his chair, ready to hear what you're about to say.

Y/N: "What is your name?"

Human council member: "Grentin, your ladyship."

Y/N: "I see...Well Grentin, I'm going to assume that you were only thinking of the kingdom when you were saying that I don't have to deal with as you said, "trivial things". I know that the mountain still needs it's queen here seeing that there are still many things to be done around here. But even with that, I not going to keep my mouth shut about how you just placed my gender/sex lower than yours. Around here for the dwarves, they see females as precious. Seeing as though there aren't really many born. But guess you wouldn’t know that since you’re new here and aren’t a dwarf yourself. I like to hope that most of the people of men see that no matter the gender/sex a being is, that they would be treated with a decent form of respect. I may come from another world where equality is pushed more so than here, thus my views remain the same as I have always lived. So you, my good sir, can EAT-MY-ASS! I demand to be treated the same no matter my sex being female."

You hear Thorin sigh next to you with his hand covering his face. You know that he’s not disappointed in you, but rather trying not to show his ever-growing smirk of pride. Removing his hand, he stands and states;

Thorin: "Meeting adjourned."

Everyone walks out of the room almost quietly. But you definitely hear the small chatter among the few dwarven council members. Saying things like “And that’s why we are proud to have her as our queen.” and “The fire in her eyes is almost like Smaug’s flames!”

You let out a sigh as the final person left the room. You hear Thorin's chair scrape against the floor as he gets up to move.

Thorin: "Now, even though we didn't get it completely sorted out. I am pleased with how it turned out. But I'd much appreciate it that you don’t tell my council to, as you said, "eat your ass" because that is my ass and mine alone. And as lovely as it is, I'd rather be eating something else instead my queen."

Oh, you’re gonna have a fun night tonight.

#the hobbit #fandom imagine #thorin imagine #thorin x reader #reader insert #funny #the hobbit imagine #Thorin Oakenshield

58 notes · View notes

thelightofdelight · 5 years

Text

Lessons Of My Father’s Death Ep. 2: Be In This World As A Traveler

My father had a lot of losses to deal with in the course of his life. I believe that this, along with an existential fear which derived from the generation he grew up in as well as his immigrant background, was the very start of his compulsive hoarding disorder since in this way he had the utmost power of keeping stuff rather than letting go of it without a choice. In other words: he suddenly saw an opportunity to stuff the holes inside his soul.

His unhealthy habit to hoard and collect the most different things definitely had pros and cons for us as his family members. In my childhood I was pretty much known for my father, the Dad who would always pull out and parade a cool gadget when picking me up from kindergarden.

Also, as a teen and later on as an adult, I knew that in case I wanted to get or was looking for something specific or even extraordinary - it could be really just anything - I had to ask Dad first. Or even if something broke there was not a single time I sent said thing to a repair shop, but my Dad was my personal repair service.

However, it didn’t stop at hoarding and repairing things, he went even beyond that. He tried building new stuff from it, based off a know-how he acquired all by himself. He was such a self-taught in many different fields and didn't went to school for it, let alone got a degree (if I would talk about my Dad I always used to say that he’s that kind of person you could leave behind in the jungle and, with the permission of God ofc, he legit would know how to survive). My father was an inventor, but unfortunately he didn’t come up with a solution to his abnormal behavior.

More than 20 years of flea market visits, crossing bulk garbages or just having random walks outside where he’d find and pick up things from the ground which you, as a normal person, would consider as useless trash eventually lead to not only both a basement and attic stuffed with all of his belongings from literal floor-to-ceiling, but it also ended in my older brother’s old child’s room conquered and occupied by my Dad as his new headquarter as soon as my brother moved out. Over time, it became as severe as not being able to open the door properly no more. I want to spare you pictures, but just have a look at Google images when browsing ‘hoarding disorder’ or ‘compulsive hoarding’.

Now, imagine having someone in your family with a behavioral pattern like this, and then he dies, leaving behind a legacy which is close to a dumping grounds. Well, I have to admit that it’s actually both frustrating and fun to slash yourself a way in this jungle of wires and everything that lies hidden underneath as it feels like my Dad has left a puzzle behind which Mom and I are ought to solve, a labyrinth which we’re supposed to cross, not knowing what kind of treasures it holds exactly at the dead ends.

Considering the stuff we have found so far, Mom and I have been in tears and laughter equally. It’s an emotional rollercoaster ride. With way too many loops.

Amongst other things, meanwhile we have found VR glasses worth 450€, a suitcase that held tools to give yourself a perm, boxes packed with purses and glasses each, a very scary robot thingy which probably has been a BABY born in another life and a skull made of glass.

Honestly speaking, I know my father always had good intentions and carried a mindset which viewed literally everything as potentially valuable and coming in handy one day. To be fair enough, us as his family had benefitted a lot from it as I said before, in particular my son whom was gifted the coolest toys such as a stunning wooden pirate ship whereby Dad only shortly before his death found its components on the street and put them back together. I even remember that it was my Dad who got me my first carry cot when my son was born, but I mean.. for how long had he stored this..probably since I was a child!?

So because I know that my father in fact suffered from a disorder and he always had the purest intentions, I really wasn’t sure whether it’s fair to entitle this episode with one of the most famous narrations of our Prophet, peace be upon him:

"Be in this world as though you were a stranger or a traveler/wayfarer." (Bukhari)

This narration mainly gives warning of an unhealthy way of life which is amassing wealth and getting lost in other luxuries, also being wasteful with your money, thinking we’re gonna live forever in this deceiving world. But my beloved father did not amass objects for this reason. Quite the contrast, as he would stay away from new purchases 99 percent of the time and instead would patch together the things he had. He hoarded things for the sake of repairing, reusing and recycling them in hopes they come in handy one day. My father use to see a value in everything, and if I think about it, I realize what a noble virtue and character trait this is, subhanAllah!

On the other side of the coin, this specific hadith holds many more lessons as in contrast to the obvious. It not only teaches us the reality of this life and how we should view it overall - merely as a stopover with all its tests and trials - but it also indicates between the lines that we should prepare for what’s to come, quite ironically. Let me add another hadith right here which in fact has been perfectly added by Ibn Umar to the one I have just stated already:

"When evening comes, do not expect (to live till) morning, and when morning comes, do not expect (to live till) evening. Take from your health (a preparation) for your illness, and from your life for your death." (Bukhari: 6416)

Didn’t my father do exactly that..well, at least kind of? Preparing for possible scenarios. It’s all just a huge mesh of making sense and contradicting.

At the end of the day, whether it’s fair to exploit my Dad’s disorder to make us learn or not, that one hadith about the traveler was what came to my mind first when I was standing right in front of his legacy next to my Mom. He left her, non-mischievously though, on a gigantic materialistic heritage which she has to sort out now, literally, but for what? For what?

I see and feel her suffering, and frankly speaking his compulsive hoarding disorder was the #1 argument between my parents whereby my Dad even use to say “I don’t know what you’re getting angry at. You can throw all of it away just like that once I die.”

Little did he know. I think at one point he himself lost track over his potpourri. What my mother and I are currently doing is trying to get an overview at least and sort out the things which we can still use or donate and once we’re done there’s no other option for us than to call a professional agency to help us throwing away all the rest!

So I guess..what I would like for us to learn is that we should try our best to make our way through this life as light as a feather, both referring to a burden of sins and a burden of worldly goods.

I will close this episode with a reminder of no one other but Prophet Muhammad, peace and blessings be upon him, who slept on a mattress made of palm fiber so that he would have marks on his back while he was offered a kingdom of luxuries! Let’s try to live a life equally minimalistic, simple as well as sustainable. May Allah help us achieve that!

#LOMFD #islam #naseeha #reminder #life #death #dunya #akhira

4 notes · View notes

imjustthemechanic · 5 years

Photo

Glockenspiel

Part 1/? - Transmission Part 2/? - The Sandhill Hotel Part 3/? - Piccadilly Part 4/? - The Future Part 5/? - Too Late Part 6/? - The Mystery of the Missing Time Machine Part 7/? - Underway Part 8/? - The Sierra Bunker Part 9/? - Cross-Country Part 10/? - The Pit Part 11/? - Calls for Help Part 12/? - Campout and Reunion Part 13/? - Apocalypse Bunker Part 14/? - Terrible Truths Part 15/? - Library Crystals

Peggy’s first reaction was to roll her eyes – of course Howard assumed a ‘civilian contractor’ was himself. He did have a point, though. Stark Industries was the company the SSR went to, again and again, because Howard built things nobody else could… and because Peggy trusted him. The odds, on reflection, were pretty good.

“HYDRA obviously got most of the crystals back,” she observed, “because there were boxes and boxes of them in that bunker.” Not to mention the ones the supposed electricians had been using in London. “I suppose we didn’t let you keep all of them. Look up library crystals.”

Howard did, and came up with more corrupted documents. Somebody had wanted to remove every trace of the machine and its workings, and had very nearly succeeded. They had to hope Howard’s hunch was correct, because it was all they currently had.

They headed back to the hotel, since Toulouse would have to return there to pick up her luggage, but rather than waiting out front they sat down on a bench near the back hallway, where the entrance to the bunker was. Toulouse would hopefully look for them there. While they waited, Howard put some more thought into possibly locations for the library crystals.

“To extract the information from them I would have needed my own matter duplicator, or some other device,” he said. “If I didn’t want anybody finding that, I would have destroyed it, but if the crystals themselves still belonged to the SSR I would have hung on to them. You guys might have wanted them back someday.”

“Very wise,” said Peggy. “Where would you have put them?”

“It would have depended on where I was living at the time,” Howard said. “If I were still in Malibu, I bought some land on the point that I was thinking of building a house on, but the engineers told me there were caves in the rock and it wasn’t stable. I could have hidden something there. Or if I were in New York, I’d probably put it in the Mansion vault.”

“Because we both know that’s impregnable,” Peggy remarked.

“I’ve been fortifying it,” Howard informed her.

Well over three hours passed between them parting ways with Toulouse and someone coming to find them again, and when someone did, it was Kevin. “Sorry we took so long,” he said, “we tried to text you, but then we remembered you lost your phones. We figured you’d be in the hotel somewhere but we didn’t want to draw attention to you while Cass was still here, and Toulouse doesn’t want to come back in anyway.”

“That’s quite all right,” said Peggy. “How did it go?” She hoped the meal hadn’t ended in disaster.

Kevin grimaced and held up a hand, tilting it back and forth. Peggy had not seen the gesture before but it suggested a foundering ship – which already told her what the answer might be.

“Oh, dear,” she said.

They followed Kevin back out to the front of the hotel, where they found Toulouse sitting in the front seat of a car, in tears. Kevin got in the driver’s seat and Peggy and Howard climbed in the back, and then an awkward few moments went by in which the only sounds were the air conditioning and Toulouse’s sniffles.

“So what happened?” asked Peggy. How had the situation just gotten worse?

“Nothing,” whimpered Toulouse.

“It actually wasn’t that bad,” said Kevin. “Mostly I just talked about my work until Cass nearly fell asleep. He’s probably gone to tell his father Toulouse is marrying the most boring pond scum scientist in the world.”

“Then why…” Peggy began.

“I’m stressed!” Toulouse wailed. “The whole time I didn’t know whether Cass knows about the bunker and the stuff that’s in it, and I couldn’t stop thinking about it! Does he know it’s there? Did he put it there? He likes Klimt for some reason and he’s got like four Klimts down there so maybe he did! But I had to keep smiling and pretending I was interested in what Kevin was saying… you’re not boring,” she added, to Kevin, wiping her nose. “I was distracted.”

“It’s okay,” Kevin sighed. “Pond scum is an acquired taste.”

“So now it’s all done I’m just venting,” Toulouse added, and hiccupped. “You can only bottle things up for so long, you know? Then they have to come out, and this is how mine come out. Oh, god, I need a shower and I need to fix my makeup, but where are we gonna stay? I can’t go back in there! I just can’t!”

Kevin shrugged. “Last time I was in California I was giving a SETI Talks lecture on extremophiles,” he said. “They put me up at a Super 8 in Menlo Park.”

They ended up finding a Holiday Inn in a questionable-looking neighbourhood further inland. Toulouse once again expressed a hope that nobody would recognize her, and it seemed that nobody did. Her smeared makeup probably helped. Once they had a room, Toulouse took a very long shower and Kevin sat down with his computer to answer some email.

“People are gonna be wondering where I am,” he said.

“What are you telling them?” Peggy was curious. How would anyone explain this mess?

“Well, I’m definitely not going to say I’m hanging out with time traveling clones looking for a Nazi superweapon,” Kevin said. “I think I’ll say I’m dealing with a family crisis. That’s technically true, it’s just not my family.”

A few minutes later, the shower finally shut off. Another quarter of an hour passed, and Toulouse emerged, wearing a robe and with a towel wound around her hair, and flopped face-first on the bed. She looked utterly miserable.

“I’m sorry,” she said, her voice muffled by the comforter.

“It’s all right,” Peggy assured her. “Everybody has to break down sometimes.” Even Peggy herself, although she preferred not to let anyone see.

“It’s not that,” said Toulouse. She turned her head so she could speak more clearly. “When I went with him, I thought I was going to subtly interrogate him, like people do in movies, or like you hear about Black Widow. I would bring up the apocalypse bunker by telling him the maid asked me…” Tears spilled over in her eyes again, and she pulled the towel off her hair to bury her face in it instead. “And I thought he would tell me because he doesn’t know I’m with you guys, or at least he’d let something slip, you know? But I couldn’t do it. I was too scared. I Just let Kevin do all the talking.”

“To be fair,” Kevin said, “get me started about my work and I talk a lot.”

“So now I went through all that and I didn’t learn anything,” Toulouse sniffled. “I wanted to help but I just couldn’t.”

Peggy patted her on the back. “Honestly, I’m glad you didn’t,” she said. “It might have been very dangerous to let him suspect how much you know. But Toulouse, we need other kinds of help now.” She was starting to hate using this young woman for her money, but it wasn’t as if they had a lot of choice.

Toulouse looked up again. “What kind?” she asked.

“Well, while you were at lunch Howard and I did some digging of our own,” Peggy said. She explained that they’d gone back to the Best Buy, and what they’d learned from their searches there. As Toulouse listened, her eyes dried and she sat up and began drying her hair. Peggy half expected to see rainbows appearing on the white towel, but evidently Toulouse’s hair was colourfast.

“Good for you,” Toulouse said, managing a tear-streaked smile. “You’re getting the hang of the twenty-first century already. I’m proud.”

“We’re quick learners,” Howard assured her.

“So the missing library crystals may be in Malibu or in New York,” said Peggy. “We need to check both places. This time I think we’ll start with the closer one.” If they’d done that in the Sandhill Playa Del Rey, it would have saved them a lot of trouble.

“Oh, you don’t need to go to Malibu,” said Toulouse. She wiped her nose on the sleeve of her robe.

“Yeah,” Kevin agreed. “Malibu’s out. Your son built a house there, and a terrorist knocked it down.”

“What?” Howard’s eyes widened. “Is he okay? What happened?”

“Long story. Christmas 2013,” said Kevin. “But if you hid anything there, I’m sure he would have found it.”

“Definitely,” Toulouse agreed. She got up and went to the desk, where Kevin was sitting with his computer. “What’s the address of this mansion in New York?” she asked, reaching over his shoulder to access Google maps.

“1E 70th Street, Manhattan,” said Howard and Peggy in unison.

“That sounds familiar,” said Kevin with a frown. He typed it in, and a result came up.

“Oh!” Toulouse exclaimed. “I’ve been there! That’s the Stark Gallery – it’s an art museum!”

“It is?” asked Howard, surprised all over again.

“Absolutely,” Toulouse nodded.

Kevin selected a link. “Yeah, says it was opened sometime in the nineties, in memory of Howard and Maria Stark.”

That didn’t sound like good news to Peggy. “Then it can’t be there, either,” Peggy said. Surely somebody would have found a thing hidden in a museum.

“It still might,” Howard told her. “One of the things I did when I repaired the vault was make sure it was better hidden. I made it smaller, and I had plans to conceal the entrance. If I managed to finish that, they might not have found it, even if they renovated the entire interior.”

“They’ve got a lot of rooms that still have the original furnishings,” Toulouse said. “They might not even have done that.”

“You see?” Howard asked. “They’ve got to be there!”

“It’ll be worth checking,” Peggy decided. “Toulouse, you don’t have to keep helping us…”

“Yes, I do!” Toulouse had already moved Kevin’s chair aside, and was looking up plane tickets.

“If your family really is involved in this, then it could be particularly dangerous for you,” said Peggy. It was clear that Toulouse had already had a narrow escape during lunch with her brother, and by now HYDRA would certainly have noticed that she kept turning up where Howard and Peggy were.

“If my family is involved in this, then it’s my responsibility to do something about it,” Toulouse insisted. “Whatever they’re up to, I need to know about it! I should have known about it already!”

“They deliberately hid it from you,” Peggy reminded her. “It’s not your fault.”

“Well, I’ve been ignoring them because they ignore me,” said Toulouse. “Maybe if I hadn’t been out shopping and getting degrees and stuff, I would have noticed something was up earlier!”

Peggy really didn’t know what to say to that. Such things were always obvious in retrospect – she sometimes still lay awake at night wondering how she’d ever trusted Dr. Ivchenko. “I understand you feeling that way,” she said cautiously, “and we do appreciate your help. But Toulouse, remember what I told you. If we say something is too dangerous for you, there can’t be any argument. You need to sit it out. Promise me that.”

Toulouse bit her lip, hesitating.

“Toulouse,” said Peggy firmly. “Promise me.”

“I promise,” said Toulouse, but this time Peggy wasn’t sure she could believe her.

“How about you, Doc?” Howard asked Kevin.

“I work in Yellowstone,” said Kevin. “If there are people who are planning to blow it up underneath me, then I shouldn’t stay there. I’d rather be with the people who are trying to do something about the people trying to blow up Yellowstone. I know the geology of the region, too,” he added. “So I might even be useful.”

“Looks like we’ve got help whether we like it or not,” said Howard with a smile.

In the morning they went looking for another thrift shop, because Peggy and Howard really needed more than two outfits each. Peggy found herself a blue floral blouse with elbow-length sleeves and a high enough collar not to show any cleavage, which was a relief – full-length sleeves were very uncomfortable in the California heat. Howard, meanwhile, came out in a black shirt with a pattern of pink flamingos on it.

“If we were going back, I’d tell you to wear that just to see what Mr. Jarvis thinks,” Peggy told him.

“He’d probably throw something at me,” said Howard cheerfully.

Despite this banter, Howard was quiet on the drive to the airport, and Peggy was too. She was sure she knew what he was thinking – her joke had reminded him, as it had her, that they were unlikely to ever see Edwin Jarvis again. If he hadn’t died years ago, he would be very old now, and perhaps have lost his memory the way Peggy herself had. So would Anna, and Angie, and Jason, and Daniel, and everybody else they’d ever met. Even if they did see any of these people again, what could they possibly say to each other? It wasn’t even as if anyone had thought Peggy and Howard were dead and would be overjoyed to find they were wrong. In the minds of their friends, they’d been there all along, and now these imposters arrived out of nowhere.

“Peg?” Howard asked softly.

“Yes?”

“I don’t mean to sound like a schmuck,” he said. “But… I’m glad you stepped onto that platform with me.”

There were several things Peggy could have said in response to that. She could have told him he’d better be, because if she hadn’t he would almost certainly have been shot. She could have remarked that she wished he hadn’t felt a need to play with the bloody thing. She could have commented on his use of the word schmuck, which was not something he would normally have said unless he were rolling drunk.

But instead she just squeezed his hand. “It’s nice to be appreciated,” she said.

#fanfic #agent carter #peggy carter #howard stark

10 notes · View notes

dat-town · 5 years

Text

No Speed Limit | Chapter 3

Summary: Some people live to race while others race to live. When an uptown girl’s and street racer’s worlds collide, their lives are bound to change. For the better or worse, it’s hard to tell. In-between rivalry and unwanted sparks, there’s definitely a bumpy road ahead (with no speed limit).

Words: 2.6k

Chapter index

Hanbin knew that if he told anyone about having a hot girl over at his apartment and not doing anything beside throwing a pillow at her, most people would think he had gone nuts or started whispering about him playing for the other team. So he didn't tell anyone and apparently Soyeon didn't either because it had been weeks and there were no rumours about this little lie. Oh well they didn't even have to lie, just not correct the wrong assumptions. Bobby had been adamant at first trying to get those juicy details out of him but Hanbin wasn't a big talker anyway, so it didn't really surprised his circle that he didn't go around telling everyone that he got laid. Which he didn't.

He had bigger problems than that.

He groaned when the next blow send him to the floor clutching onto his stomach that ached from the hit it took repeatedly. His palms were scratched, proofs of the rough asphalt’s marks on his skin as he pushed himself up spitting blood onto the dirt. He got one more kick in his side and only then when he collapsed onto the floor with his pride stepped on did Giriboy told the other guys to stop and let him be. The exactor crouched down next to him and patted his bruised cheeks like a parent would do with a disobedient child.

“Look Kim… how many times do I have to tell you that we take deadlines seriously? Big boss won't be so forgiving every fucking time just because you're a mediocre driver and he wins whenever he bets on you. You owe him money, he wants that back, it's that simple,” he explains so helpfully one would think he really wanted Hanbin to get rid of the debt he wasn't even responsible for. Having a shitty family background and parents who overdosed on drugs is enough to chase him into it. Because of course they owed a large sum of money to their dealer who now kept coming at Hanbin to get it back.

“Two more month. Just two more,” he whispered almost too weak to be even heard. Giriboy leaned annoyingly close to his face to make out the next mumbled words, his vicious smile appearing right in front of Hanbin's hazy vision. “A big competition is coming up.”

One of the biggest actually and he planed to get out of here if he won. From that money, he could not only pay off the debt, but get rid of that shitty apartment and actually do something with his life. He didn't have big dreams, all he wanted was a simple life without dealers breathing down on his neck and a bunch of strangers attacking him in dark alleys on his way to the convenience store. He wanted nothing more than a few friends and a car to drive. Was it really that much to ask for?

“A big competition, huh?” the exactor spit on him and let out a mocking laugh that hurt almost as much as the punches. “I heard you had money to buy new car components but not to pay us?”

Hanbin just gritted his teeth willing himself not to throw back any insult return before they really beat him to half-dead. He needed his car to get money, so of course he needed to spend money on his car, so that it could be in its best shape.

“If we gave you two months you wouldn't even be able to pay the interest,” Giriboy clicked his tongue while he sat back on his heels. He pretended to think out loud giving him more time to suffer, to feel miserable and humiliated that his life is basically in the hands of a tyrant. “You get one month and if you don't pay back the whole amount interest included then we will meet again and we won't be so kind.”

The driver just grunted as he acknowledged the new offer and let out a breath when the footsteps started to fade away in the distance. He wasn't sure how long he stayed there lying on the hard ground that was cold even after the scorching heat of summer Sun that shone on it all day. It took him quite some time to gather enough strength to get up, standing to his wobbly feet and crawl back home, the beer and bread he wanted to buy long forgotten.

“Shit bro, they got your good this time,” Bobby grimaced when he saw his best friend's swollen cheeks and split lips next morning. The car repair shop where they both and a few more from their crew worked was busy even in early morning. The others only greeted him nonchalantly or hissed at seeing his beat up face. Two of the girls in the corner whispered about something while keeping their eyes on their duo.

“You should see my ribcage. It looks like some fucked up, rotten eggplant,” Hanbin shrugged and threw his bag onto the floor next to the stall he usually worked at. Among them there was not much privacy or anything to be shy about, so he quickly got out of his shirt and kicked off his pants to put on his mechanic uniform instead. He was in the middle of putting his arms in it when Bobby grabbed the hem of his undershirt and pulled it up to see the expressionist painting blooming on his chest and stomach.

“Fuck. That's not good,” he mumbled letting go of the material. Genuine worry flashed in his eyes as he watched Hanbin get into the uniform properly. “What are you gonna do about it?”

“I dunno. Participate in more races maybe?” Hanbin sighed. Even after taking painkillers he had a tough night, he could barely think, not to make plans about how to get the money as fast as he could. A month of small races and working here he knew wouldn't cover it all, especially now that the boss increased the interest on it.

“What about a job that pays more?” Yuna walked over to them followed by Haesoo closely. The sisters were the only female addition of their small crew but they could take apart a car and put it back together like it was nobody's business.

Hanbin knew the two of them just wanted to help, this entire community was their safe haven, like a chosen family that supportive each member but he knew the usual requirements for well-paid jobs and without any kind of certificate he had no chance.

“I'm a high school dropout. Where they would take me?”

“I actually know the perfect job for you,” Haesoo exclaimed with enthusiasm which Bobby was watching warily but Hanbin didn't notice any of it. “A friend of one of our cousins works for this super rich family and they need a new chauffeur.”

“You mean personal driver?”

“I guess.” the girl shrugged tapping her chin while thinking. “I don't know exact details but I can get info for you about the pay and the application process. It's what you like and know how to do, right? To drive, so...”

“Yeah, thanks Haesoo. That would be cool if you could get a number for me,” Hanbin nodded, hastily agreeing because what was the worst thing that could happen? They reject him and then what? It wouldn't have mattered. But it was worth a try, especially since the girl was right: driving was the activity he enjoyed most in this world and it came to him the easiest, so getting paid for doing that seemed almost too good.

To get the job was actually easier than he thought. After he got the contact info and talked with some assistant of the family, he had to submitted a copy of his driver licence and a paper to prove his clean record. Then he was called in for a test drive with eleven other applicants and he finally met the owner of the voice from the calls' other end. Both his manners and driving skills were tested but according to him, it went well. Pretty well in fact because two days later he got the job. He was sent an elegant uniform and a contract to sign, then he was called in to start working from Monday.

“Oh man I never thought I would live the day to see you in a tuxedo,” Bobby snorted when he saw him fully dressed in his shiny new black and white uniform that morning. It was a famous brand, a high quality suit, so Hanbin had no reason to complain yet he missed his less rigid clothes. It felt like he was tucked in some kind of prison of clothes wearing this well ironed shirt and pants.

“Are you envious?” Hanbin croaked a brow at his friend jokingly while fixing his cuff links.

“Well chicks dig guys in tuxedos, so… In your shoes, I would be careful with the old man's wife,” Bobby joked and quite a few of the others present joined the laughter. Hanbin just shook his head. He didn't care about wives committing adultery or daughters drooling at his sight. He was in it for money and the money only. He didn't even care what kind of family he had to drive for as long as they had money, it was enough for him.

“Or get yourself a sugar mommy,” Jinhwan yelled from his place and laughter erupted again at the eldest's stupid joke.

Hanbin checked the time on his watch and knew he should go soon if he wanted to be on time on his first day of work. But before he could move an inch, Yuna stepped in from of him with a shy smile and blush on her cheeks.

“Your bruises heal nicely,” she commented quietly as she take out a cotton pad from her makeup bag and leaned closer to apply some foundation and powder over the fading marks on Hanbin's face.

The boy inhaled sharply as the girl ever so slowly worked on the perfect outcome. He waited patiently because without her help he probably wouldn't have gotten his job anyway if he showed up at the interview like the ragged thug he really was. After she was satisfied with the result, Yuna pulled back examining his features before her eyes settled on his lips.

“Oh your lips healed already,” she remarked poking on the not anymore sore spot on the boy's mouth playfully. Well, it has already been a week since the incident, so luckily all the bruised and wounded areas got better and less painful.

“Yeah. Thanks Yuna,” Hanbin smiled as grateful as he could. He was indeed lucky to have the whole crew having his back for this.

“Don't mention it,” the girl shrugged and walked away just as fast as she came.

Not much later Hanbin was off to go too, so he bid his quick goodbyes and got into his car. As he drove off the suburb shop, all his friends hollered after him and Bobby even joked that he shouldn't forget where he came from once he got together with crazy rich chick. From the outskirts of the city the more he approached the downtown worn one-storey houses were changed to tall apartments with barely any place between them and when he left the busy part of the city behind, the Gangnam luxury welcomed him. His car was clearly out of place and he got a few looks while turning into the driveway of a smaller palace-like house at one corner. After identifying himself, the security guard told him to park in front the garage that had four identical black Audis in it. Woah, they sure were on a different level.

“Good morning, Mr. Kim. Please follow me inside. The family wishes to meet you,” the assistant he met the other time greeted him as soon as he got out of the car.

He tried not to stare too much while he looked around in the fancy house as he was led into the living room. There sit a couple in their 40s in elegant clothes and serious expressions on their faces.

“Mr. Jeon, Mrs. Jeon, let me introduce you the newest addition to our staff. Mr. Kim will be the personal driver of Miss Jeon from now on,” the assistant introduced them and Hanbin didn't forget to bow deeply in front of his new employers.

“I hope he will deal with her better than the earlier ones,” the woman muttered and it peaked the boy's interest. How bad that girl could have been to chase away his previous drivers? He sure hoped she wouldn't be some annoying twelve-year-old with an obsession about idols because he might not take that too well either.

“Welcome, Mr. Kim. I hope you will ensure my daughter's safety and make sure she follows her schedule,” Mr. Jeon reached for his hand and shook on it firmly.

“I will try my best, sir,” Hanbin nodded and started to get slightly nervous from all this big fuss around the whole situation. Not to mention that the man in front of him looked strangely familiar but he couldn't tell from where.

“This is the car key. You will get it every morning here and have to hand it in after your working hours. And this is your work phone. Make sure to be always available. It has every number in it you need and you get Miss Jeon's schedule texted to you the day before. You can find today's in the calendar app already,” the assistant handed him the two items but before he could check what's his exact job for today, footsteps echoed on the staircase closeby.

“Soyeon, your new driver is here. Don't you dare sneak out!” Mrs. Jeon raised her voice and when Hanbin lifted his head to see who caused this stir in the motion, his jaw almost dropped. “And how many times do I have to tell you not to dress like that in university?”

Hanbin's mind barely recognized all the complaints the woman made as his eyes got fixed on the slim figure ascending the stairs. The girl wore leather pants with crop top and a jacket thrown over her shoulders. She flipped her long, black hair with such elegance only their kind had as her gaze lazily settled on the small crowd in the living room.

Her sharp gaze met Hanbin's only for a moment but he could tell she recognized him, too. There was a moment hesitation in her movements before her perfect mask was back on.

“I don't have time to get changed. I'm out,” she turned her back to them and walked in confident strides towards the garage. She had the same fire in her that burnt when her brother lost that stupid bet. That was actually quite impressive.

“Good luck, Mr. Kim,” the politician - oh of course, how could he not recognize him? - ushered the driver to go after her and it was the first time since he got the job that Hanbin actually thought he will need luck to deal with it.

Because now he got to drive around the girl who was offered to him as a prize, the girl he thought he would never see again, the girl who had been on his mind more times than he would like to admit.

#ikonicshelves #ikon scenarios #ikon imagines #ikon fanfic #hanbin scenarios #hanbin fanfic #hanbin x soyeon #ship fic #soyeon scenarios #soyeon fanfic #g idle fanfic #stories #series: no speed limit

18 notes · View notes

thexsisters · 5 years

Photo

Because @grxnadxs deserves all things good and euphoric~

BoA & Haneul

“Red, I’m home. You’re officially off babysitting duty.”

“Good blazes. It’s about time you showed up. Small Fry is ten times the handful now that he’s walking and talking.”

BoA laughed softly while being handed the twin girls as the pirate had made them corny paper pirate hats for them to wear. She had no doubt that once all her little ones were old enough, the pirate lord would take them all a ride on her ‘special’ ship.

After setting the girls down in their cribs for their afternoon nap, she decided to try and find her son. It was normal for Red to lose the little boy who was becoming more and more like his mother every day. Energetic and mischievous. Wondering if maybe he wanted some cuddle time with his mama, the tiny queen ventured into her and her husband’s bedroom only to find something very interesting.

“Hi, mommy!”

“Taekwoonie----What are you wearing?”

BoA had walked in on her son rummaging around her husband’s dresser drawer that held all of his ties. Having picked out a flashy red one, the little boy had tried to wear it like a lady’s scarf. He was wearing his Iron Man t-shirt and dark dress jeans to go along with the tie.

“I’m gonna go to work with daddy tomorrow, mommy!”

“You are? Does daddy know about this?”

“Nope! I’m gonna surprise him!”

The tiny mother was now crouched down in front of her son smiling in amusement. She had no idea what caused her son to come up with such a plan but it was hilarious all the same. If it wasn’t for possibly embarrassing her son, she’d take a picture right here and now to show her husband. Deciding to figure out what was going on here, she asked casually,

“So why do you want to go to work with daddy tomorrow? Is Auntie Red no fun anymore?”

“Nope. Auntie Red is funny. I like her. But I heard daddy talking and I think he’s sad. And when daddy is sad, mommy is sad. And I don’t want mommy to be sad.”

Even though her son’s logic was a little winded, she had a pretty good idea what he was trying to say. The other night, her husband had confided in her once more how he feared he would have no heirs to his company. She had done her best to comfort him and reassure him but of course in the end, they would allow their children to do whatever they wish with their futures.

“Okay. Then let’s both surprise daddy in the morning, okay?”

“Okay! Roger that, mommy!”

The next morning, the two had cooked up a plan and when it was time for the businessman to come down and join his family for a quick breakfast, he nearly fell backwards out of the doorway to the kitchen when he saw the sight in front of him.

Standing side by side with each a lunch box in hand, were his son and his wife. His son donning that same red tie as yesterday which Haneul had briefly noticed went missing this morning. That same Iron Man t-shirt, but instead of the dressy jeans he had on yesterday, BoA opted for him to wear a pair of black dress pants she often had him wear for red carpet events. Oh, and the tie was tied correctly this time by BoA herself. He really did look like quite the proud son as he stood there with his matching Iron Man lunch box.

Meanwhile, the queen had resisted the urge to dress more.....risque and settled for a long pencil skirt and tucked in, conservative blouse. She was holding a Wonder Woman lunch box that their son had got her for Christmas last year. He had told her that he and his father both thought she was the real Wonder Woman and it nearly had her in tears that Christmas morning.

While the little boy was racing towards the car his dad would have normally been taking by himself, said father leaned over to his wife and asked in an utterly confused tone,

“Is he feeling okay?”

“Yep. As far as I know.”

Taekwoonie’s first day at ‘work’ was an amazing one. For everyone involved. The staff loved him. Some commenting about how they hadn’t seen him since he was a baby while the female staff cooed and swooned over him. Telling him that his Iron Man t-shirt was super handsome. Of course they were all old enough to be his mother but in his young mind, he was the real ladies man.

Back in his office, Haneul was trying to focus but his wife had other ideas. “Bo---I need to get this document filled out and you’re distracting me.”

“Babe I can’t help it. You’re so sexy when you’re concentrating.”

“Yah stop touching-----”

“Mommy! Daddy! Christine showed me how to use the copier!”

Haneul was thanking his lucky stars. One more move from his wife and he was going to lose all self restraint and that only spelled trouble. Smiling warmly at his son, he said happily, “That’s great, Tae! You’ll make a great business man someday!”

“Like you, daddy?”

It had him stopping in his thoughts. The words were lost on him as he sat there in his seat; staring in awe at his son. Did he really think of his father that way? A great business man? Clearing his throat and composing himself, he nodded and said happily,

“Here. Sit in the big seat. Check out the view from here.”

“Whoa! I can see everything! I can see our house!”

“Yep. I see the city every day. It’s really cool.”

“Can I come to work with you tomorrow too, daddy?”

And that was the queen’s cue to get another playfully naughty jab in there as she leaned on her husband’s shoulder and asked sweetly,

“Yes, daddy, can we come back again tomorrow?”

Good lord. These two were going to be the death of him.

Tiffany & Jin

“Babe, I’m home.”

“I’m in the kitchen.”

Jin slipped his shoes off as well as his coat and yes----It was now very plain to see, or rather smell, that the fairest doe was definitely in the kitchen. Curiosity getting the better of him, the male padded into the kitchen to see what was up.

This house. It was abandoned. Had been for years, perhaps even decades. So naturally it needed a lot of work. Tiffany took what money she had saved up and used it to buy supplies. It was then that the two of them went to work on fixing up the inside of the house but left the outside a mess. Why? So that no one would know they were squatters. Yes. They were squatters. But they were living the best lives of their lifetime.

“How’s my blogger babe?”

“Good. How’s my handsome private investigator? Crack that case you’ve been working on?”

It was perfect, really. Tiffany had taken the advice of her boyfriend and started up a blog where she shared her baking recipes and makeup tips. Of course she couldn’t give video tutorials for fear of being recognized but people still flocked to her blog. If only they knew they were fangirling over a girl they normally knew to hate and despise. It was bittersweet and yet felt like sweet revenge all at the same time.

Meanwhile, Jin wasn’t exactly on the police force anymore, but he was still getting to somewhat live the dream. After convincing his girlfriend that he could physically handle a gun again, he went and got a concealed carry and got his license to carry under his fake ID. The great thing about being in the police force, he knew all the tricks and knew how to avoid getting caught.

It wasn’t the white picket fence type of dream, but for them it felt just as fulfilling. They had jobs they loved, a roof over their head that had long paid for itself and its repairs, decent cars that they parked in the rundown attached garage. But now that things were falling into place, Jin had more.......domestic things on his mind lately.

“Dinner smells great but.......I want dessert first.”

“Jin. I have to watch the over. You don’t want the chicken to burn, do you?”

“No. But I’m more interested in this oven.”

She had been typing up an article for her blog when suddenly her fingers slipped on the keys and she nearly lost the whole page worth of work. Blushing heavily to where she could feel it on her neck and tips of her ears, she swallowed dryly and felt her boyfriend’s hands lovingly caressing her stomach.

“J---Jin---What are you talking about?”

“Oh come on, Tiff. You know what I’m saying. Let’s make a baby. I think it’s time.”

“But----”

She wiggled around in his hold so that he was no loner giving her a back hug. Instead they were now facing each other with the fairest doe’s eyes wide and full of worry and concern.

“But this is no life for a child. We’re still hiding from the world.”

“True. But we’re making it work. Think about it. People would have even lesser of a chance recognizing us if we had a child with us. And I’ve already thought about schooling. We can home school them. And we wouldn’t even need a babysitter because you already work from home. Think about it, babe. You know this can work. All you have to do is say yes. You’d look so adorable waddling around the house with our baby growing inside you.”

She had to admit, she wanted a family with him. But they weren’t even married yet. Sure she wasn’t a stickler for tradition but still. If she couldn’t have her original dream life, then she could at least have some of it. And being married was part of that. So like any couple would, she decided to compromise.

“Fine. I’ll give you a child if you give me a wedding ring.”

“Deal. I’ll fly us out tomorrow and BoA noona and Haneul can officiate our wedding.”

“You’ve been thinking about this.........I can tell.”

“Yep.”

Ivory & Taeyong

“I can’t believe we’re really here. In Paris. On our honeymoon.”

“I am just as surprised as you are, my love. Twas very generous of BoA to lend us her whole chateau for our honeymoon.”

The two pale immortals were sitting at the patio out on the balcony while sipping on some blood wine. Of course it paled in comparison to each other’s blood but it was nice for a change as well. Ivory would never forget that fateful night where her lover asked her to marry him right before she sunk her fangs and venom along with them into her lover’s bloodstream; successfully turning him into what she was. A vampire. A child of the night.

Of course she would marry him. She wanted nothing more than to spend the rest of her eternal life with him. And now she could. The wedding had been beautiful and perfect despite it being such a secret. Neither one of them had blood family so the only family that attended was the rest of the sisterhood along with their lovers. It was still a beautiful day all the same. Well......beautiful night.

“I had no idea Paris was so beautiful at night. I mean I had seen pictures in magazines that customers brought in but they aren’t anything like the real thing.”

“Indeed. BoA spoke of how breathtaking the sights are at night time.”

“I can’t wait to live the night life with you every night, Ivory. I really don’t think I’ll ever get tired of it.”

The pale royal smiled over at her husband and felt herself glow with happiness. Something told her she wouldn’t get tired of it either. This eternal adventure with her husband. Her soulmate. Her everything.

BoA & Sungmin

“Yah. Stop laughing, noona! It wasn’t that funny.”

“Aigoo. I can’t help it! I told you to be careful when getting out of the gondola.”

Soaked. They were absolutely soaked and smelled like fish but the tiny queen couldn’t help but laugh her royal butt off. Especially when a small fish had flapped and flopped his way out of the male’s hoodie. Well the hood of his hoodie. Giggling, she said in great amusement,

“Your hood makes a great fishing net.”

“Noonaaaaaa. Shush it!”

It had been her first ever gondola ride. Ever. And it was one she would never forget. And there was no one she would have rather spent it with. This boy----This young man......he......he had changed her life forever. But did he even realize it? Probably not. But still, she was grateful. So very grateful. There he stood in all his embarrassed glory trying to ring out the water from his precious hoodie that he refused to toss for a new one.

They had taken the ride and it was perfect. They got to see all kinds of cool things about Venice since she had stated that Paris was getting boring again. Not to mention she wanted to lend her sisterhood sister Ivory and her new husband Taeyong her vacation home for their honeymoon. It all worked out great.

Until it was time to get out of the boat to let a new customer take a ride. Of course she was pretty sure the young male was the only one who saw it as a bad thing but she had a blast splashing around in the water. She had told him to be careful but the male had lost his footing when the boat rocked a bit and down they went. Or rather over they went. Even the gondolier had a good attitude about it; offering them help to get out of the water despite the fact that he too had fallen in.

“Come on, fish boy, let’s get back to the hotel and get dried off.”

“Yah. I like stupid face better. Go back to that one. It’s less embarrassing.”

“How about fish face?”

“Noona!!”

“Okay okay.” She laughed so hard she had to wipe a tear from her eyes while she lead the way back to their hotel. They had the perfect view. But of course the queen had insisted only the best for them and she wasn’t going to settle for anything less.

Life was getting better. Easier. Progress was slow but progress was progress no matter how small. She was slowly but surely gaining proper weight and getting good reports from her doctor in Paris. It felt like it was getting easier to breathe with every nod of approval her doctor gave her.

Not to mention she felt herself getting closer and closer with the male walking next to her. She wasn’t sure if he was doing better himself but if his change in attitude was anything to go by, she could only hope he too was improving. Since when had he become ten times more handsome than when they first met? She had no idea but it made her heart flutter.

Hatshepsut & Aedon

“Look. Are you sure this is a good idea? What if those god guys find out you’re doing this?”

“Those fools are stuck acting like musical nerds traveling from city to city. There’s no way they can weasel their way out of performing their musical duties and tracking us down.”

In other words, the Egyptian gods masquerading around as VIXX were currently stuck on tour in Japan. Little did they know that their punishment for the spoiled brat of a pharaoh may soon be coming to an end.

Egypt. She was going back home. Or at least what was a modern version of her home. And boy did it look different. This was definitely not what she was expecting. Buildings that were similar to ones back in Seoul only not as grand as Korea’s. But she wasn’t interested in that part of Egypt. No. She was after a different building.

A pyramid.

Her pyramid.

Her tomb.

After her private jet landed at the airport, she rented a car for them to take before having to make the rest of the travel by camel. Of course this didn’t bother her any, but it was quite amusing to see the male struggle a bit. She had to admit, when Aedon insisted on coming with her, she couldn’t quite understand why and he wasn’t up for sharing. Just shrugging and claiming he was bored and needed something to do.

It had taken a lot of sleepless nights but she had finally managed to track down what she believed to be her tomb. Her final resting place. It was odd thinking of it that way. Being alive and all and planning on visiting what was essentially her grave. But she had to do this. She had to know who she was. She was tired of living under another pharaoh’s name. She wanted her real name back.

There it stood. The structure she knew to possibly be her tomb. It wasn’t as large as she had hoped it to be but beggars couldn’t be choosers, right? Stepping closer to the huge stone doors, she felt the male walking close behind her. He had remained oddly silent during this time. But soon enough, they were traveling deep into the tomb.

“Shi-----”

The male never got to finish his curse as torches suddenly came to life; lighting the latest room they walked into. There it stood.

Her sarcophagus.

During their adventure through the tomb, she had yet to find anything that might indicate what her name truly was. As part of their plan to try and make sure the queen couldn’t track down her origins, they had wiped any knowledge of her reading hieroglyphics. So in the quiet hours of the night, the woman had secretly been re-teaching herself her own alphabet. Now it was time to put it to use. Finally.

Rushing up to the casket, she started to shove at the lid when the male came rushing up behind her shouting in nervousness, “Hey! Wait wait! What are you doing?!”

“What does it look like??? I’m finding out who I am!”

“But----What if-----What if you’re in there?”

“That’s ridiculous. I can’t be in there because I’m standing right here in front of you. But there might be clues in here that tell me who I am.”

“Listen......Hatshepsut......I know you want to believe this is your tomb, but what if it’s not? And besides, who cares what your real name is? You’re a great amazing woman just the way you are. It doesn’t matter who you were back then. What matters is who you are now.”

Well dang. When he put it that way.

#grxnadxs #drabbles #b;drabbles #i;drabbles #h;drabbles

3 notes · View notes

eng2100 · 5 years

Text

blog 04 - avatar (the one with the blue people not the last airbender)

preface

I went into this with absolutely no feelings about this movie beyond the absurdity of how many sequels it’s apparently going to get. As an artist, I find the visual effects extremely impressive even to this day, but as a storyteller, I thought this story was almost so inoffensive that it’s offensive.

However, I think that engaging with things in good faith is a good way to find ways to expand your horizons and thoughts, and I like to enjoy things despite my dad’s insistence that I like to not enjoy things. (It’s not that I like to not like things, it’s that it’s easier to entertain people when it’s a bad review. Tough crowd.) I’m a firm believer in the idea that cerebral analysis of media adds to the joy of consumption rather than takes away from it, so let’s dive right in.

I like structure, so we’re gonna layer it like a delicious theme cake.

1. the elephant in the room

Everyone has seen Pocohontas. Everyone has seen Dancing With Wolves. I’m not really here to rehash arguments, but I think getting into this movie without addressing what first comes to everyone’s mind when they think about it is pretty much impossible. The “White Savior” trope is more or less a narrative cliche in which a noble white person will take a stand against the Bad White People on the side of a sympathetic oppressed people-- Native Americans see this plotline probably the most, but black people still see it today every now and then (Green Book got nominated for a lot of Oscars, after all. The hunger is there for easily digestible feel-good race relation drama.) Wikipedia sums up the White Savior trope better than I could, so here it is:

“At the cinema, the white savior narrative occupies a psychological niche for most white people, as an expression of their latent desire for interracial goodwill and reconciliation. By presenting stories of racial redemption, involving black people and white people professing to reach across racial barriers, Hollywood is catering to a mostly white audience who believe themselves unfairly victimized by non-white ethnic groups, because they are culturally exhausted with the unfinished national discourse about race and ethnicity in the society of the United States. Hence, films featuring the narrative trope of the white savior have notably similar storylines, which present an ostensibly nobler approach to race relations, but offer psychological refuge and escapism for white Americans seeking to avoid substantive conversations about race, racism, and racial identity. In this way, the narrative trope of the white savior is an important cultural artifact, a device to realize the desire to repair the social and cultural damage wrought by the myths of white supremacy and paternalism, regardless of the inherently racist overtones of the white-savior narrative trope.“

Native Americans factor into this most significantly in the case of Avatar-- aliens in movies are hardly ever just aliens. Whether they represent an oppressed underclass (District 9), childhood innocence (E.T.), or fear of foreign invasion (War of the Worlds), aliens are an easy vessel to carry almost any idea you want them to. So if the Na’vi are more or less an ideological stand-in for Native Americans during the conquest of America, our protagonist Jake is the future space cowboy to the Cowboys and Indians In Space.

Both Jake and Grace sort of fall in and out of the White Savior space-- ultimately Grace condescends to the Na’vi a little more and she has a more complete character arc that ends with her transcending this trope, but Jake is whole hog in it. He’s like, the legendary prophecy warrior. He’s The Guy.

(Pictured above: The Guy)

James Cameron grapples pretty hard with the White Savior trope-- he never truly goes one way or another about it and the concept of Avatars-- as in the Na’vi bodies that Jake and company jump into-- significantly...well, complicates the idea of race relations in this movie. There are certainly some uncomfortable ideas about identity wrapped up in the concept of body swaps (if this idea interests you, Altered Carbon is a really good read), but re: the readings and lectures, the concept kind of works towards what is ultimately the broad takeaway of the movie.

In summary: no, we’re not doing this whole review about White Guilt in Space. Now that that’s out of the way...

2. james cameron predicted late stage capitalism

Imperialism

"The policy of extending the rule or authority of an empire or nation over foreign countries or of acquiring and holding colonies and dependencies."

Avatar is about imperialism. This is as broad and pointed a theme as you can get from a movie that draws such heavy inspiration from Native American and Aboriginal cultures. Interestingly enough, the movie’s futuristic setting goes hand in hand with the commentary about the military and Western Imperialism.

The company in Avatar, and all the almost comedically evil military men, are very brazen about their lack of ideological purpose. They are on Pandora for money. They are being paid to go to Pandora to take its resources-- the delightfully named “Unobtanium” in specific. As mentioned in the reading, Unobtanium is valuable for its properties as a superconductor, and I’m not a STEM kid, so I’ll leave it at that for simplicity’s sake.

That the mercenary force on Pandora is so open about their exploitative intentions draws an interesting parallel to the world of today that’s maybe a touch haunting, considering that Avatar came out some years ago. In politics, at least up until now, you notice the use of a few common euphemisms as smokescreens for more extreme ideas-- for example, the Right’s: “protecting American jobs”.

Protecting American jobs is a euphemism for racism against Mexicans-- it was the most common smokescreen reasoning for the border wall pre-Trumpian politics. Trump and company have since dropped the euphemism all together. The death of a euphemism usually means that the euphemism is no longer culturally or socially required-- you can just come out and say whatever horrible thing you mean. In Avatar’s universe, it’s clear that the political-economic climate has come to a point where they can just say that they’re there to steal the Na’vi’s resources whether they like it or not.

The movie and the lecture both draw specific attention to the parallels the film draws explicitly between military tactics used in the movie, and real-world events. “Shock and Awe”, a tactic coined by the Bush era, is referenced in exact terms-- it being a display of overwhelming force intended to break the fighting spirit of the enemy. The commander character whose name I just read but I can’t remember now says that he is a veteran of both Venezuela and Nigeria-- both real world locations in which the U.S. has invaded and destabilized for material interests under the guise of American ideology.

In Avatar, we see the thin veneer of “freedom and democracy” as the driving forces of U.S. intervention stripped away explicitly. The opening narration of Jake’s arrival to Pandora has him say that “on Earth, these men were soldiers fighting for freedom...but here, they’re mercenaries”, however, the line between a supposed freedom fighter and a mercenary is borderline nonexistent.

3. western scientific objectivism sucks

Another current running through Avatar is the juxtaposition of what is “real” with what is “unreal-- aka Western objectivity science versus belief systems. This is embodied in the character of Grace, a scientist and anthropologist who has been researching Na’vi culture for some time. The reading characterizes her as “the happy face of liberalism” that tries to put a nice coat of paint over the same imperialist ideas that the more blunt military types embody-- she is kinder to the Na’vi and sees their culture and planet as worth preserving, but she is ultimately dismissive of their beliefs and of Eywa (”pagan voodoo”) the same as the other mercenaries.

We’re gonna put on tinfoil hats for a little bit here to make a relation between Western culture (imperialism and colonialism) and capitalism and paganism. Are you ready?

Okay.

So you know how they burned witches at the stake at the onset of the Industrial Age in America and the pagan practices of “hedge magic” were pretty much obliterated? I don’t think that’s a coincidence. Capitalism is a system that can only operate materialistically-- people aren’t “people” but “workers”, and the concept of magic and belief exists in terms that capitalism can’t define, and more importantly, can’t exploit. So witches were burned and women were placed with great reinforcement back into domesticity, where their function in capitalism was to give birth to and rear new workers.

You can see this dichotomy between the science of objectivity (what is “real”) and belief systems (what is “unprovable”, “unobservable”) in the way Grace uses scientific terms to justify the Na’vi’s spirituality. A very powerful through-line can be seen in the way that imperialism, capitalism, materialism, and objective science intersect. Their interconnected natural collective consciousness is like the raw function of a brain to her, likened to a network. It isn’t until Grace is mortally wounded and experiences the Na’vi’s healing ceremony that she is able to transcend the capitalistic, materialistic terms for definition for Eywa to have a spiritual experience, and to become one with Eywa herself (”she’s real.”)

In a plot that hinges on the material (Unobtainium) interests of a capitalist mercenary force, the ultimate refutation of this is the Na’vi’s spiritual values.

4. avatar: endgame

So what is this all working towards? Well, the idea of an interconnected spirituality like Eywa. The idea takes root in geomantic ideas, more commonly known as “feng shui”-- it’s sort of the concept of an earthly energy, a flow that moves through and connects the Earth and its people and creatures. The strange braid cord things that allow the Na’vi to interface with certain points and other creatures is a very straightforward metaphor for that concept of feng shui and geomancy.

Here we come back around to the concept of Jake as the White Savior/chosen one/The Guy. It’s kind of obtuse, but the general theory is that Eywa chose Jake as a sign that all peoples must needs transcend their boundaries and become one with the larger concept that Eywa represents. This of course comes packaged with an urgent environmental message-- our life is that of the planet, and to exploit and sacrifice one is to sacrifice the other.

Pandora, Eywa, and the Na’vi represent the polar opposite of everything that capitalist imperialism is. Thus, James Cameron, ironically, used a huge budget Hollywood endeavor to refute everything that Hollywood is. Now he’s making Alita: Battle Angel.

Funny how that works. Oh, I made myself sad.

3 notes · View notes