#it's been almost 36 hours when will i stop freaking out about it every three seconds
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time to rewatch the bucktommy kiss one last time before i have to go and be a person in the world
#going to a ren faire today w some friends and i am so very excited!!! but also how am i going to contain my feelings about canon bi buck#it's been almost 36 hours when will i stop freaking out about it every three seconds#s.txt
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the 36 questions that lead to love
x <- read on ao3
dream finds a list of questions that can supposedly lead to two people falling in love, so him and george try it out on stream. turns out, they don't really need all 36.
“Come on, George. It’s just a couple of questions.” Dream pleaded into the call, making George roll his eyes. He’s been trying to end stream for the past 15 minutes, but Dream always convinces him to go “just a little longer!”.
“36 questions is not just a couple of questions, Dream.” George glances at his second monitor to make sure his green screen was still black and to check a few discord messages. He had no intention to fall into Dream’s trap for another hour of streaming.
“But it says it’ll lead to love!” Dream says, exasperated. He googled ‘questions to ask your friend’ earlier and found a list of them that apparently lead to falling in love. To George, it was bullshit.
“That’s such bullshit.” He expresses.
“You’re no fun.” Dream’s voice lowered, and George can feel the pout Dream has plastered on his face. He can already predict what the next 12 hours would be like with Dream: silent treatment and being a general dickhead. George was used to it when they lived an ocean apart, and even found it amusing, but it was a totally different experience living with him. Dream would mope around, go into George’s room randomly just to not talk to him, and go as far as to blast sad music from his own room across the hall while George was trying to finish up some editing. Sure, it was all light-hearted jokes, and Dream would stop his act in a heartbeat if George was truly annoyed by it, but George still dreaded it.
“Fine.”
Dream immediately cheers up and starts typing on his keyboard while George watches his chat fly by, seeing a lot of emotes and positive messages.
“Okay, um- first question. Given the choice of anyone in the world, whom,” Dream mocks the formality, “would you want as a dinner guest?”
George’s nose crinkles. “How is that gonna make me fall in love with you?”
“Just answer the question.”
“I don’t know! The queen?”
“That’s a stupid answer.”
“What!” George screeches and Dream barks out a laugh. “You’re so dumb.”
“You gotta give me a better answer than that, or else we won’t fall in love with each other.”
George rolls his eyes, but decides to think about his answer. Truthfully, he wouldn’t want anyone special as a dinner guest. “Um. My mum.”
George eyes his chat as it’s filled with “aw”s. He almost scoffs.
“See? That wasn’t so hard.” George wants to punt Dream into another universe.
“Alright, who would you want as a guest?”
“Tom Brady.”
“That’s the stupidest answer ever!” George yells, his eyes wide, perhaps offended that Dream picked Tom Brady out of anyone else in the world.
“Question two!” Dream ignores, “This one is kinda dumb, but would you like to be famous and if you do, what for?”
George hums. “Probably don’t want to be famous-famous. Maybe being well-known for being the first person to invent IRL-VR. I want my body to be submerged in the Minecraft universe.”
“That’s sick. I dunno what I’d want-”
“You’re already famous.”
“Shut up. I don’t even- I don’t even want to be famous, really. I just want to make whoever knows me smile.”
“Aww, isn’t that sweet, Dream.” George teases and he knows Dream waved him off. George has his habits practically memorized.
“Whatever. How about you ask some questions?” Dream sends a link on discord and George reads through them.
“There’s no way these can make people fall in love. What even is this question? Before making a telephone call, do you rehearse what you’re going to say and why?”
“Trust the process. I mean, I do that. I don’t want my brain all jumbled up, I guess. Words are hard.” Dream answers.
“I don’t think I’ve ever done that. I wing it.”
“That’s very you. Next question.” Something about Dream saying that made George smile the tiniest bit, made the serotonin flow through his brain.
“What’s a ‘perfect day’ for you?” George reads. It’s quiet for a moment.
“Hanging out with you,” his voice is sincere, “You and Sapnap. Recording, streaming, anything like that. What about you?”
“Hm. Me too.”
George isn’t one to show his feelings often. He remembers being asked if he did, and he answered with “not ones that matter”. It still rings true to this day. His walls are still built up and that’s okay to George. Mushy feelings aren’t important, but he’d be damned if he didn’t say his heartstrings were playing a beautiful melody during this moment.
The questions and answers fall easily after that. George knows it’s around 1 am, and he should go to sleep, but answering the questions was kind of addicting.
“Do you have a hunch on how you’ll die?” Dream reads the question with a chuckle. “That’s such a weird question to ask someone you wanna fall in love with.”
George tries not to read in between the lines.
“Heart failure. For both of us.”
“You know how I’ll die?”
“We’re Minecraft streamers, Dream. We’ll probably die at 40.” They share jokes and giggles of scenarios where they die and what they’d do, and something about it feels a bit too honest.
“I’ll die the day you die, George. Emotionally and physically.” Dream says, dramatic as ever. George only huffs, and they leave it there.
“Name three things you and your partner have in common. Dream, do you have a secret girlfriend?” They start to bicker back and forth, because of course they do.
“It doesn’t mean romantic partner, you dumbass. Like- it’s like a science partner,” Dream sighs, “Well, we do have a lot in common. We have the same job, we care about the same things, and we love each other! Easy.” Dream answers.
“Who said I loved you?”
“You literally did last night.” George had closed chat a while ago, already prepared for what was to come. He can only imagine what they’re saying.
“They’ll never believe you.” George says with a sadistic grin.
“Ugh. Okay, what are you grateful for in life? You have to answer this.” George can hear Dream get a little closer to his mic, almost anticipating George’s answer. Dream knows how much he doesn’t like to express any feelings, and probably expects him to skip the question overall. George prevails.
“You. Obviously,” and before Dream can get out an aww, George says, “You made my career, dummy, and I’m grateful for that. And my friends, family, all the normal things. Chat! I’m even grateful for chat.”
“Well, I’m incredibly grateful for you especially.” Dream’s voice is soft, almost loving. George rolls his eyes. He could’ve guessed Dream’s answer, but it weirdly hurts him when it was spoken aloud. He doesn’t know whether it hurts because it might be a fun little joke or if it’s because someone might care about him that much. George decides to stop thinking.
They answer more questions, from taking four minutes to tell each other their life stories (“There was no reason to add that detail; you’re so gross, Dream.”) to what significant quality they would want to wake up and suddenly have (“You’re already good at code shit, George. That’s the saddest answer ever.”). They move onto section two of the list, which are deeper questions.
“Is there something you’ve dreamed of doing but haven’t yet, and why haven’t you?” George asks. He knows about Dream’s unfinished projects. There’s probably a million answers to the question, and George would listen to every single one.
“Uh, well. You know I was writing a book, yeah? I was halfway done with it, and I can’t make myself finish it. It’s probably writer’s block, but I don’t think I’ll be able to do it.” George frowned.
“You can’t finish it with that attitude, silly. You’re annoyingly amazing at everything.” George says with a snort, “I don’t have an answer to this. What did you say that one time? Your future is my future? Well, your dreams are my dreams, then.”
George cringes a little at what he said. He doesn’t know his viewer count, but knows that at least a million people will watch that clip out of context. Dream doesn’t say anything back and moves on to the next question.
“What is your most treasured memory?” Dream asks, and George immediately laughs.
“I definitely know your’s.”
“Do tell, George.”
“Our first Christmas together. Sapnap insisted on getting a real Christmas tree, and when we started decorating the stupid thing, Sapnap sees a spider and screeches. Then, our neighbors come knocking on the front door and you had to explain to them that nobody was being murdered, it was just your roommate being a big baby. And as if it could get any worse, I got tree-sap all on my fingers and clothes and you couldn’t help me because you were laughing too hard.”
“Pretty sure I almost choked on my own spit.” Dream adds, and George scoffs. “But no, that’s not my treasured memory.”
George sputters. “What? You’re telling me I told that to thousands of people for nothing?”
“To be fair, you were all soft on Christmas morning, so our first Christmas might be your treasured memory. Anyways, remember the first time you helped me with a code?” George stays silent, giving Dream the answer. “Well, that was the first time we had a real conversation. I made you laugh, then I started to laugh because you laughed, and we didn’t get the code done. It sounds dumb, but I always smile whenever I think about it.”
George’s face falters a bit. God, he just wants to hug Dream; he wants to make a beeline for his room and attack him with affection and make sure he knows that George loves him, platonically or romantically, George wants him to know.
He just can’t express it with words.
“That… sweet.” George’s eyes travel down the following questions and panics, seeing how personal the questions are. He fakes a yawn. “As mushy and stupid this thing is, I’m really tired.”
Dream doesn’t say anything. It almost scares George, but he deafens on Discord and bids farewell to his viewers, who were completely freaking out. George doesn’t blame them. He’s abruptly leaving after a sweet moment? That’s a recipe for disaster, and George knows better. Yet, he clicks the end stream button.
The door to his office swings open instantly and startles George. It was Sapnap, someone he didn’t particularly want to see.
“What the fuck was that?” His roommate whisper-yells.
George groans and slides deeper into his chair, covering his face. “I don’t know,” he muffles.
“Are you even trying to hide your feelings at this point?” He can hear Sapnap close the door and flop on his office’s couch. “You might as well buy a billboard that says ‘I’m in love with my best friend! His name is Clay!’ with a big ass picture of your dumb face beside it.”
“I know,” George whines. “Do you think he knows?”
“He’s not the one I’m worried about knowing. I’ve told you a million goddamn times that he’s too whipped to notice. I’m worried about the fans. They’re gonna go fucking bonkers because of this stream. Clips are gonna be shared. People are gonna speculate.”
George uncovers his face and narrows his eyes at his friend. “Thanks for the reassurance,” he deadpans.
Sapnap rolls his eyes. “I’m being serious, dude. I know you’re very deeply in love with him in the gayest of ways, but you gotta be careful in front of the fans.”
“Oh my God. I know, Sapnap! I know. I forgot we were even streaming. It felt like it was just the two of us, and I got too comfortable. And it was so nice. I can’t even do anything about it now, so it doesn’t even matter.”
Sapnap sighs and pulls himself from the couch. “You need to talk to him before this gets out of hand. You know I love ya, and that I’m here for you.” George cringes out of habit, but nods. It reads as ‘I love you too, I guess’.
Sapnap leaves without another word, and George is left alone with his thoughts. It’s not long before he sluggishly makes his way back to his bedroom. He opens the closed door, enters, and shuts it. He turns around, only to be greeted by a familiar person in his bed, and yelps.
Dream laughs. He’s wearing blue pajama pants and a white t-shirt. His hair looks messed with, and his cheeks seem to have more color to them. George can’t help but stare.
“Well? Aren’t we gonna finish it?”
George cocks an eyebrow.
“Finish what?”
“The questions, dummy. You don’t… you don’t have to. I mean, it’s kinda stupid that I want to do it in the first place, but…” Dream trails off. George hops on his bed and grins lightly.
“Go for it.”
They answer questions they skipped, like what is your most terrible memory (“My, uh, grandma. She died when I was about 14. It was… hard on me.” “Oh, George…”).
The overhead light was off at this point, the only light coming from a lamp on his desk and the stars shining through the window. The two are on their sides, Dream on the right of the bed and George on the left, facing each other, occasionally looking at their phones to ask the questions.
“What roles do love and affection play in your life?” Dream asks, his voice softer than ever. George can almost not answer. He doesn’t know.
“I’ve never been a super affectionate person, so I don’t know. I’ll give you guys quick hugs of course, but with really close relationships, I don’t know what to do.”
Dream looks as if he’s searching for something in George’s face, and George can’t tell what he’s looking for. His movements are hesitant, George sees.
“Do- um. You wanna maybe,” Dream pauses, closes his eyes,and scrunches up his face. “Try?”
“Try what?”
“Affection.” Dream lets out a breath and opens his eyes. “Affection is my strong suit, afterall.” His mouth forms into a teasing smirk despite his eyes showing nervousness.
“Um. Take the lead.”
It’s slow. So, very slow. Dream’s hand raises up and lands itself on the dip of George’s waist. He’s whispering instructions, and George listens. His hands are hung around Dream’s neck, and their legs are starting to tangle together. They laugh when they realize how far apart they are, and Dream pulls him closer. George can feel his heart beating out of his chest as he lays his head where Dream’s right shoulder meets his neck.
“Do you want me to ask the rest of the questions, sweetheart?” It sounded like a coo, and George is surprised at how effortless the pet name comes out of Dream’s mouth.
“Was that okay?” Dream whispers after a moment of George going still. He perks up.
“Yeah! Yeah.”
“Okay.” Dream pulls George closer and rests his left hand on his back. He starts rubbing up and down in slow motions.
George simply melts.
The questions and answers go by slower, and their voices become gentler. Dream announces that they’re on section three now, and to state three true “we” statements. Dream goes first.
“We… are cuddling?”
“Obviously, idiot.” George chuckles. “We are really tired?” Dream hums.
“We meant everything we’ve said tonight.”
“We are going to mean everything we say tonight.”
“You can’t just steal my answer.”
“Just do your third one.”
“We will be ‘Dream and George’ forever.”
Forever is a long, long time. And yet, Dream’s statement is still true.
“We don’t know what is going to happen tomorrow.”
There’s a beat of silence.
“Very vague.”
“Next question, Dream.”
“Alright, alright. Complete this sentence: ‘I wish I had someone whom I could share…’”
Without a second thought, George replies, “My emotions with. Your turn.”
George swears he felt Dream squeeze him.
“My everything with. Every single little thing. Physical, metaphorical, emotional.”
“Even Patches?”
A laugh.
“Yes. Even Patches.”
“Next question.”
“Tell your partner what you like about them and be very honest.”
“Your voice. It’s like… I don’t even know how to describe it.”
“Does it get you going, George?”
“Shut up. I definitely don’t like your smart-assery.” George can feel Dream lean down into George’s shoulder and smile. “I like how you act around people. It’s always different depending on the person. Different with me.”
“I like how you act around people too. You’re almost always bubbly, even though you like to say you aren’t. And, God, your laugh. It’s so overwhelming, but in the best way possible. You have no idea how many times I’ve said the stupidest shit just to hear your little laugh.” George digs his head deeper into Dream’s shoulder. “I also… really like it when you say my name. My real name.”
George raises slightly, gaining the tiniest bit of confidence. “Clay?”
“Yeah. Yeah, that.”
“Clay,” George whispers.
“George.” Dream sounds weak. So, very weak. George gets closer to his ear.
“Clay.”
George can’t tell if he’s joking.
“You’re gonna kill me, George.”
George’s lips brush against the outer of Dream’s ear, and his friend shivers. He decides this isn’t a joke anymore. He thinks the invisible line they had drawn in the sand many years ago has been kicked and stomped on to the point where neither of them remembers the line being there. George goes further.
“Clay, Clay, Clay,” George is still whispering, slowly brushing his lips across Dream’s jaw, and the hands around his waist get the littlest bit tighter.
George finally raises his head to meet Dream, who was a mess. His cheeks are glowing and his eyes are almost bloodshot. His breath is labored and his hands are shaky.
“Calm down, love.” George whispers and raises his right hand to meet Dream’s cheek, who leans into the touch.
“Kiss me.” Dream begs quietly, as if saying anything louder would shatter the moment in little pieces.
An adrenaline rush fills George’s veins. “Anything you want,” he says, and closes the gap.
The kiss is soft. Dream is maneuvering their bodies to be more comfortable, meaning George is pulled on top of Dream. Their lips didn’t part once.
They move together in harmony, both in the kiss and their bodies, putting everything they got into it. It was unsaid feelings and years and years of thoughts, and George felt every single one of them. George is straddling Dream’s middle and Dream is leaning up to meet George’s touch. His hands are rubbing up and down and squeezing George’s hips and George’s hands find their way into Dream’s hair. It’s perfect and imperfect and everything George has been waiting for, yearning for.
They part, and Dream pushes their foreheads together. George assumes they look dumb, but how could he care in this moment?
“Beautiful. You’re beautiful.” Dream says, his breath tickling George’s mouth. He lets out a breath and breaks out into a smile. His hands start brushing through Dream’s hair and George backs away to get a good look. Dream is staring back.
George lunges forward and wraps his arms around Dream’s neck, sending him flat on the bed with an “oof”.
“Jesus Christ, George. A warning would be nice.”
“I love you. I-love-you-I-love-you-I-love-you-I-love-you-I-love-you-I-love-you-” George couldn’t get enough of saying it. George’s dam cracked when Dream held him and fucking exploded when they kissed. He doesn’t have to hold back anymore, so he doesn’t.
“Slow down, baby.” Dream says through a chuckle. He makes George lean up with tans hands on pale cheeks and a lot of eye contact. “I love you, too.”
George’s breathing slows down to a normal, less-adrenaline-filled pace, and Dream kisses him again. George forces his head back up.
“What does this mean for us?”
“Isn’t it a little obvious?”
“Not really.”
“Boyfriends, George. We’re dating now.”
“How do you know I wanted to even be your boyfriend.” George narrows his eyebrows in faux-suspicion.
Dream’s stare is blank. “I mean. You’re- well- you know, um-”
George dismisses this shortly and confirms, “I want to be your boyfriend.”
Dream sighs in relief. “You’re such an idiot.”
“Yeah. Whatever.” George slides off Dream’s waist and lays facing him. Dream turns as well. “Was that question the last question?”
“No, actually. There were a few left.” Dream blinks, then muses, “Guess we didn’t need 36 questions after all.”
“That was the cheesiest thing you’ve ever said and I hate you for it.”
“You wound me, George. You wound me.”
George makes up for it by letting himself be engulfed in Dream’s embrace, and feels tiny kisses on the top of his head. George nuzzles closer.
Yeah, everything was going to be fine.
#idk how to tag this but um anyways u should read this#I SPEEDRAN THIS SHIT IN 3-4 HOURS#dnf fic#dreamnotfound#dnf#dreamnotfound fic#dnf fic rec#dreamwastaken#georgenotfound
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I combined two asks for this one since they fit so well together and it’s quite long. Thanks for the suggestions! Credit for Sweater Weather characters goes to the incredible @lumosinlove!
TW for mild panic and self-blame
Prompt 31: “He’s not answering his phone”
Prompt 45: “It’s bad again. It’s really, really bad again”
“He’s not answering his phone.”
“Still?”
James slipped his cell phone into his pocket. Remus’ eyes were trained on the floor, as they had been since his arrival. “Look, Loops, you remember what he was like before. You know him better than any of us. I think—I think you might be a little too close to this, though.”
“Too close?” Remus snorted without humor. “The fuck is that supposed to mean?”
“Loops, c’mon.” James sat next to him on the couch, but Remus refused to make eye contact. “Remus. You know how Sirius deals with his problems. He shuts down and pushes everyone away because he feels like he has to be perfect all the time, even though we tell him every fuckin’ day how much he means to us. It’s just—with you, he doesn’t do that.”
“He’s never like that with me,” Remus muttered. James remained silent. “Not—not since the airport. He promised.”
And, shit, if that didn’t just break James’ heart. He wanted to be angry at Sirius: who gave him the right to cause his loved ones so much stress? That day at the airport, leading a shaking and shell-shocked Remus away by the shoulders, had been once of the worst of James’ life. “I know, that’s why I’m worried about you.”
“36.” Remus’ voice was so quiet that James almost missed it.
“What?”
“I called him 36 times while he was at All-Stars and he didn’t answer a single one. He swore he would never do that to me again.” Remus let out a trembling breath and James placed his hand on his shoulder, giving it a gentle squeeze. “Fuck, I’m not even angry, I’m just scared.”
“Me, too,” James confessed. Sirius’ instinct to run may have helped him survive for the first twenty-odd years of his life, but it wreaked havoc on his new support system. “Do you want me to try again?” Remus shook his head. “I can call Coach and see if he’s at the rink?”
“I already sent him a text, and Moody,” Remus said, running a hand through his hair. There was a gentle clacking noise and Hattie appeared around the door with her head cocked to the side. She wagged her tail and trotted over to them, then rested her head on Remus’ knees with a low whine. “Hey, babycakes. James, you don’t have to stay here with me.”
“I want to.”
“No, you don’t.”
“I know what this feels like and I don’t think either of us should be alone right now or we’ll both worry ourselves into a spiral.”
“That’s fair.”
They sat in silence for a moment. James had knocked on Sirius’ door in the hours after the photos were released until his hands and feet when numb from cold, and he wasn’t looking forward to trudging through parks all afternoon to track him down. He knew he would never understand the urge to self-isolate and couldn’t blame Sirius for his shitty upbringing, but he wished his best friend had a better way to deal with his feelings.
He was about to suggest turning on the radio to distract themselves when Remus’ phone rang, startling them both with the volume. Remus scrambled to answer, his eyes wide. “Sirius?” There was a low buzzing noise on the other end and he frowned. “Dumo? Are you—who?”
Sirius? James mouthed. Remus nodded. Thank god. He leaned back against the couch and let out a long, slow breath that he hadn’t realized he had been holding. If Sirius was with Dumo, he would be safe. He kicked himself a little for not thinking to check there as well, but they had no time to waste on self-pity.
“Pots and I will be there in twenty,” Remus said. “Thank you. Thank you so much, Pascal.”
James’ had the car running by the time Remus got his shoes on and let Hattie into the backyard. “I’m driving,” he said before Remus could protest. “You get to take deep breaths and focus on not strangling your fiancé when we get there, okay?”
“Got it.” Remus reached over and stopped James’ fingers from tapping on the steering wheel. “If you’re driving, you’re not allowed to freak out either.”
A knock on the front door startled Pascal Dumais out of his algebra-induced haze. He had been a decent student in school, but Adele’s math homework was a whole new level of confusing that he was not nearly prepared enough to review with her. There was another knock, harder and more frantic than before, and he frowned. The team always called before they came over, and solicitors rarely stopped by.
Adele raised an eyebrow, but cleared her stuff off the table and headed up to her room as Dumo went to the door. “Bonj—oh, mon fils.”
“It’s bad again,” Sirius said quietly. He was blinking fast and his hands flexed like he wanted to reach for something. “It’s really, really bad again.”
“Come inside.” Dumo opened the door the rest of the way and led Sirius into his office, away from any possible disruptions or unwelcome eyes. He had total faith in his family’s ability to comfort and support, but this was not the first time Sirius had come to him for help. He needed space to work through whatever was going on. “What happened?”
“I don’t know,” he croaked, swallowing thickly. “I wish I did, but it came out of nowhere. I was just thinking about how lucky I am now and then I remembered that I left Reg with them and he got hurt because of it.”
“Sirius, look at me,” Dumo said gently. “When did this start?”
“An hour ago? Maybe two?” He shook his head. “Time is…hard, when I get like this.”
“What did Remus say?” Sirius remained silent. “Mon fils, did you tell him what’s going on?”
“No.”
“Why?” A murmured answer. “Pardon?”
“He has enough to worry about. His parents are visiting in a week, and he hasn’t been sleeping, and he’s stressed about the Knights game—”
“Arrête.” Sirius’ jaw closed with a snap and he looked up with guilty eyes. “Remus loves you, of course he’ll be worried about you.”
More misery darkened Sirius’ face and Dumo reached for his hands. “Fuck, I left again. I promised I wouldn’t do that.”
“Has he called?”
“I put my phone on silent. The ringtone…” he gestured vaguely at his ears. Headache.
“Hold on while I get you some water. I’m going to call Remus and tell him where you are, alright? Just so he knows you’re safe.” Dumo stood up, but paused by the door. “He’s going to want to come and see you. C’est bon?”
Sirius sniffled. “Ouais.”
Celeste was waiting for him in the living room with concern etched all over her beautiful face. “Il est bon?”
“Oui, mon amour. Thinking about Regulus and his parents again.” Dumo kissed her forehead and she held him tight around the chest. For all her softness, her love was fierce. “He didn’t tell Remus where he went.”
She made a heartbroken noise. “That poor boy. Should I call?”
“Non, je vais.” Dumo let her go with one more kiss and dialed Remus’ number. He had barely lifted it to his ear when the line connected.
“Sirius?”
“Sirius just showed up at my front door.”
“Dumo? Are you—who?”
“Sirius. He’s having a rough time and mentioned that you didn’t know where he was, so I figured I’d call.”
“What happened? I was taking a nap and when I woke up, he was gone. James has been here for half an hour. We couldn’t get ahold of him. Can we come over?”
“Of course. I think he needs you more than me right now.”
“Pots and I will be there in twenty.” There was a moment’s pause on the other end, where Remus’ anxious breathing crackled. “Thank you. Thank you so much, Pascal.”
“Anything for my boys, eh?” Remus laughed weakly and the call ended with a click. Dumo made sure to keep his ringer on as he put his phone back in his pocket and went to get water from the kitchen.
“Is Sirius okay?” Adele asked from the doorway. “He seemed upset.”
“He’s feeling better now, mon chou. He just needed someone to talk to.”
Adele tugged the end of her braid, an old habit from when she was younger and tried to grow her hair out like Rapunzel. “Are he and Remus fighting?”
“Not that I know of.”
“Good. Remus makes him happy.”
Dumo smiled and pressed a kiss to the top of her head. “Oui, he does.”
Eighteen minutes and three glasses of water later, Sirius had calmed down enough that his chest didn’t hitch with every inhale. The rapid knock on the door startled them both; Dumo saw some of the guilt return to his face and made a mental note to kick Orion Black in the back of the knees the next time he showed his face. Sirius was a good man down to the bone and he deserved to be able to live without regret over things he couldn’t control.
“Sirius?” His shoulders sagged as Remus’ voice floated in from the hall and Dumo patted his forearm.
“In here.”
Remus appeared half a second later, flushed from the cold, and nearly collapsed against the doorframe when he saw them. “You’re okay?”
“I’m okay,” Sirius confirmed, but his tone wobbled on the second word and he scrunched his nose up. Remus crossed the room in three steps and wrapped him in a hug, squeezing his eyes shut as Sirius buried his face in his neck. “I’m sorry.”
“You scared the hell out of me.”
“I know. I’m sorry.”
“I’m not angry.”
A strangled huff punched out of Sirius’ chest and a tear trickled down Remus’ cheek. “I know. I know you’re not, and I love you.”
“I love you, too.”
Dumo stood up walked silently into the hallway, closing the door behind him with a nod to James. This conversation was not for anyone else’s ears.
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Nervous Regrets - Tyler Seguin - Part 36
Word Count: 2,529
POV: Readed
Warnings: Language, Smut, NSFW
Notes: So I didn’t get a chance to work on NSDL but I did get to finish this one, so I hope you guys enjoy it. I know it’s been a minute since I’ve put out a chapter on this, but I haven’t forgot about this little family. Happy Reading!!!
Nervous Regrets Masterlist
It seemed like everyday Jace grew a little bit more though you never admitted that to Tyler, for he thought he was missing out when he was on the road. Jace was Tyler's pride and joy, not that he wasn't yours but there was just this visible change in your husband when he was around your son. Tyler had always been this carefree and loving guy, and he was still that, but now there was this fierce protectiveness for both you and Jace; especially since the Instagram incident. He was extremely careful of anything he posted, even though you told him it wasn't necessary and really only put up one other picture of Jace when he turned a month old.
What surprised you most was how helpful he was, getting up at all hours of the night with you, even though you told him not too. He needed his rest especially with playoffs coming up, but Tyler would say he wanted to change his diaper and who were you to argue with that. You were grateful for the help and you knew that he wanted those extra minutes with Jace. You'd caught him more than once having a private chat with your son and your heart just melted.
It was six weeks after Jace's birth and you were finally ready to take him to a game. Tyler had another road trip coming up the last long one of the season that was seven days and you knew that taking Jace to one of the home games would make him happy. True to his word, Ty got you a private box, it was one of the smaller ones which was fine and you called Jenna and Andrea, as well as a few of the other women, to see if they wanted to join you. Tyler rode with Jamie so that he could take both you and Jace home afterward.
You picked Jenna up and she rode in the back with Jace. "Oh my god (Y/N), he looks freaking adorable." Jace had on his Seguin Daddy jersey, though you knew Jenna couldn't see the daddy part at the moment. In the couple weeks since you took him to practice, he'd gained a little weight and while the jersey was still a little big it fit much better.
"I think Tyler would kill me if he didn't have that on. I just hope he doesn't spit up on it before the game is over."
"You could always take it off for a bit after everyone sees it of course. Then put it back on before we go down to see the guys."
"Perfect, though I hope he'll be warm enough." You tried to pack everything that you thought you'd need, but you never know.
"Well from the look at his baby bag, you've got more than enough." Jenna was right, of course.
You pulled into the reserved parking for family and entered the arena in the private entrance, avoiding all the crowds. Once you were safely ensconced in the box, you pulled the blanket off of Jace's car carrier. You'd shielded him from prying eyes just in case anyone would recognize the two of you. The three of you were the first ones there but it didn't take long for the other ladies to arrive. Andrea brought Ben Jr. with her and there was a cute photo session of the two little boys in their jerseys. Ben kept grabbing at Jace, who had no idea what to do when Ben's little hands would touch his. It was all so adorable.
As the guys came out for warmups you saw Tyler's head immediately look up to your box and search the two of you out. You had been standing back a bit, but walked down to the front seats of the box, so Tyler could see his son. His face instantly lit up and you moved Jace to your shoulder so that Tyler could see the ninety-one and daddy on the back of Jace's Jersey. The smile on Ty's face grew even wider and you saw him nudge Jamie and point up to the box. As if on cue, the jumbotron switched to you and Jace, as well as Andrea and Ben, and you heard a collective 'Aww' from the crowd that was gathered there. You felt a modicum of comfort in the fact that Ben's little boy was up there with yours and you weren't in this by yourself. It stayed on the two of you for a minute, well really it was more about the babies then you or Andrea, but you breathed a sigh of relief when the shot finally went back to the players on the ice.
Jenna came down then with Jace's headphones as the music got louder and you wanted to protect his little ears. He absolutely hated them on and started crying loudly, which had you taking him back to the interior of the box. "Aww, he really hates those doesn't he?" Alandra asked.
"Yeah, he's not a happy camper at the moment." You tried bouncing him and rocking him back and forth in your arms but nothing was really working. "Could you hand me his pacifier?" Alandra searched your bag; it took a bit and you almost had a panic attack thinking you forgot it when she finally found it. He quieted after a few minutes, his lids growing heavy the longer he sucked on it and you silently chuckled thinking he was kind of like his dad; temperamental until at times until his mouth was on your breasts.
The game started and Jace slept through most of the first and second periods, which meant that he was sleeping through two of Tyler's assists and his delay of game penalty. At intermission time all the girls grabbed pictures with Jace and Ben, and you took one big group picture, which Alandra posted and tagged is as #babesandbabies. It was so incredibly adorable and you clicked the like button immediately. Jace did wake up for the third, where Tyler was able to rack up two more assists both on Radulov's goals. As the period neared the end, you put Jace in the car carrier so you could go down and see Ty after the game.
Jace was wide awake when all the guys came out and of course, they made a fuss over both the kids. "There's daddy's boy," Tyler said as he kissed you then grabbed the carrier, so he could coo over the baby. "Did you have fun, buddy? Were you good for mommy?"
"Well, he wasn't nuts about the headphones at first. We're going to have to start wearing them a little bit at home, just to get used to them." You told Tyler as the two of you started to head out to the car. "Why don't you sit back with him this time and I'll drive. He's pretty awake right now, doubt he'll fall asleep before we get home." Tyler sat in the back and your two boys chatted the whole way home.
"Did you see Uncle Rads' goals that daddy assisted with?" Jace would coo at the sound of Tyler's voice. "I know buddy, daddy got the third star tonight all because you were there to cheer him on." You swear Tyler put in that part so that you and Jace would come to the games more often, which you already decided you'd be at every home game of the playoffs. If Jace would go, you weren't entirely sure just yet, but he would be there at some of them.
Traffic wasn't that bad and you made it home in no time, Jace still awake though, you knew it was only because he needed to be fed soon. You all piled into the house, Tyler taking Jace so that you could play with the dogs a few minutes before feeding Jace. "Sorry about the jumbotron babe, I'll try and remember to tell them next time to not put you guys on."
"It wasn't so bad with Andrea being there. Though I will say I'm a bit nervous about sitting in the family section, but the girls said they'll help out with him if he gets fussy."
"Does this mean you're going to come to the game on Thursday?" There were still two more home games before the Stars roadie happened and you were sure your husband would try his damnedest to get you both there.
"Maybe, we'll see how he does with the headphones tomorrow around the house and then go from there."
Tyler came over to where you were burping Jace and bent down to the baby. "You're going to do great with them tomorrow, right bud?" Jace's little head bobbed on your shoulder and Tyler took that for a good sign.
It wasn't long after that and Jace was sound asleep as you and Tyler crawled into bed, Jace now sleeping in the nursery for the last week, with the dogs guarding him. Even Gerry had taken up a spot under the crib; leaving you and Tyler alone in the master bedroom. Tyler pulled you close to him, his hands sliding up and down your back as he kissed you. Just as it started to get heated, he pulled away. "Don't stop Ty."
"But babe," he mumbled looking at you with a pained expression on his face.
"It's ok Ty. I had my checkup today and we're cleared for everything."
He looked you in the eye as if to make sure you were telling the truth. "I knew you had an appointment but didn't realize it was for that. Like you're sure it's ok? I don't want to hurt you."
"Just go slow."
"I will babe, just say the word and I'll stop." You nodded then went back to kissing Tyler. Your body felt slightly different as Tyler's hands roamed up and down it, and you chalked it up to the fact that the last time you had sex you also had an almost seven-pound human growing inside you. Now you could feel Tyler growing hard against you, where you hadn't felt that in months. His hands tweaked your nipples which were sensitive to his touch and you were a bit freaked out when you let yourself think about the fact that you just fed Jace, but then Tyler's hand stole down to cup your core and those thoughts evaporated. His fingers circled your clit outside your panties and you moaned into his mouth. It wasn't long before you felt yourself grow wet with anticipation of what was to come. You reached between your bodies to fondle Ty's cock through his boxers, letting your hand sneak inside so that you could feel his hard length. He hissed out his pleasure as you pumped him with your hand. The last couple of days when he'd been home you'd given him blow jobs now that Jace wasn't sleeping in your room, but you were excited to have him inside you.
He pulled your panties off you and threw them somewhere in the bedroom, fingers running between your folds as your moans grew louder and louder. Tyler always knew how to get your body excited, something he didn't forget during this six-week hiatus. His lips ghosted down your stomach, which was almost back to normal before they settled on your clit. He flicked and sucked it with his tongue as your body thrashed around on the bed. Carefully he slid one finger inside your wet pussy. "You ok baby?"
"Yes…Ty…keep doing that." You said breathily and he started to pump that finger in and out of your body while sucking on your clit. It didn't take long for your climax to hit. You'd been so keyed up for this moment that just a few strokes from him and your toes were curling as you screamed out his name. "Fuck Tyler that felt so good."
"I missed that so much." He told you as he crawled up the bed to hover over you. You spread your legs a little wider, as he settled between them. "Tell me if it hurts." You nodded and tensed slightly as he lined himself up with your center. He must have sensed your hesitation for his mouth was on yours in seconds, kissing away any tension that you held in your body. The head of his cock nudged your folds and it felt a bit foreign as he entered you. Almost as if it was your first time together instead of what was probably your millionth. He went slow, letting you adjust to every inch until he was fully engulfed in your warmth. There was this familiar stretch once he was inside you and it felt wonderful. His brown eyes looked into yours and all you could see was love in them but yet you knew he was holding back, wanting this to be good for you. "You ok?"
"Yeah…but Ty…" you breathed out and he looked at you all concerned. "Please move." He chuckled, the vibrations going through your body before he carefully slid out just leaving the head inside you. Wrapping your legs around his waist, you pulled him back inside you and the two of you started to build a rhythm. His mouth was on yours kissing and swallow each of your moans.
When your nails bit into his flesh, he groaned at the feeling. "Fuck baby, I'm so close." You were too, and you clutched at him holding him close as he thrust inside you.
"Yes…Ty…yes," you moaned out as your legs started to tremble, the orgasm crashing over you. Your back arched as the euphoric pleasure of your climax took control of you and you spasmed around Ty's cock as he spilled deep inside of you, calling out your name. His arms shook with the force of his climax and even with all his upper body strength, you saw it took everything in him not to collapse on top of you. Instead, he rolled you both onto your sides; his cock still inside you.
"Damn (Y/N), that was amazing." He pecked your lips quickly before pulling back to look at you.
"Well, maybe we should wait six weeks before we do it again."
"Why? Did I hurt you?" A giggle escaped your lips as you were only teasing him, but the look of concern on his face had you sobering quickly.
"Ty, I swear I'm fine. I was just teasing you. There's no reason to wait another six weeks." You took your hand and cupped his cheek. "In fact, we should probably do that again." The fact that you both yawn at that exact moment wasn't lost on either of you.
"Round two, in the morning?" He asked, swinging your leg over the top of his hip as he drew you closer to him. "I love you baby; now, let's get some sleep before Jace wakes up."
"I love you too, Ty." It wasn't long after that, that you fell blissfully asleep unaware of the comment left on Alandra's Instagram post or the direct message that had just been sent to you.
#Nervous Regrets Series#tyler seguin#tyler seguin imagine#tyler seguin imagines#nhl imagines#nhl imagine#nhl fanfic#nhl smut#tyler seguin smut#hockey imagines#hockey imagine#hockey fanfiction#hockey smut#dallas stars imagine#dallas stars imagines
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FALLEN GRACE
— in which kasper is sick
characters / oh aejung, kasper yang
words / 2k
warnings / mentioned drug use, vomit/throwing up, bad vibes all around — if i missed anything please let me know!
수파 at 9:31: aej
수파 at 9:36: aejung
Aejung hadn’t seen the string of messages Kasper had sent her within the last hour, she had no immediate reason to, she had only just gotten back to the dorms a couple minutes ago.
This was one of the few nights she had picked out to hang out with the girls, ones she had promised them all when she moved out only a few months ago. The whole event had been planned to the detail by her: go out with the girls and do what they like and then come back to the dorms and stay the night there. It was pretty simple, and it was supposed to be a fun night.
After having spent hours walking around with everyone, Aejung was glad to finally reach home and call it a day. She missed her bed back at the dorm and it was the perfect opportunity to indulge in the freshly washed sheets she had left there.
She had only kicked off her shoes before she realised her phone had been blowing up with notifications, each one a message from Kasper slowly getting more and more concerning and ending with several missed calls.
수파 at 9:43: aejung please answer me please
수파 at 9:43: please answer me i need you i’m so scared
수파 at 9:44: help me
She almost raced to her contacts, immediately calling him after reading each text. He picked up quickly but there was no noise coming from his end, rather just the static of his phone taking up the space.
“Kasper what’s wrong? Where are you?” Aejung was worried now, even when he was high with her he never talked like this, and to be greeted with nothing but silence? She couldn’t bear it.
“I don’t know what’s happening, I’m at home but please, please just help me.” She sensed urgency in his voice, an urgency she hated hearing. Fuck she had no idea what to do.
“Okay just stay where you are and I’ll come to you, please don’t do anything bad before I get there.” She hung up the phone and ran towards the apartment door, barely stopping to grab her coat and keys.
It’s times like this that Aejung is glad she finally got her driving license. She knows it’s a more mundane thought to have right now, especially when her boyfriend seemed to be having the worst experience of his life but she had to fill her head full of mundane thoughts, anything to get the idea of something seriously wrong happening to leave her head.
With the rate she was going at she was surprised she made it all the way to their apartment without getting caught for speeding. The elevator had never seemed slower than it did as she waited for it to bring her to the right floor, speeding out to their apartment as soon as she saw the door opening to the familiar hallway.
“Kasper!” She called out his name, worried when she couldn’t see him slouching on the sofa like he always did.
“I’m in here.” His voice was so weak, she wouldn’t have been able to hear it over the sound of anything else.
Aejung slammed the front door shut and ran towards the bedroom, finding his limp body only a few centimetres away from the pool of vomit near the door, the sight almost made her tear up.
“What did you take?” Aejung threw herself onto the floor beside him, careful not to step in the vomit.
“Please just hold me.” He sounded exhausted, his sluggish body heaped on the floor and his head just barely resting on the edge of the bed.
She pulled his body into her arms so that his head rested over her shoulders and his legs were laid over her own. He seemed so lifeless, like some doll that she could just throw about.
This wasn’t the man she had known for the past three years. A couple of months ago he would have been the one cradling her in his arms, stroking her hair and singing her to sleep. She didn’t mind, she thinks she shouldn’t anyways, she likes taking care of him but this time was different. He was different.
Still, she continued to run her hands up and down his back and hum some childish lullaby, anything to get him to calm down, “It’s okay, this will be over soon.”
“I-I took a tab, I think, Insung gave it to me.” He was shuddering, clearly cold despite the warmth radiating around the room.
“You took something from Insung?” Aejung knows she can’t be mad, not in this moment, he was too vulnerable. Really she should place her frustrations with Sera but that’s at the back of her mind once Kasper starts talking again.
“He said I would be fine, I thought I would be fine, b-but I don’t know what happened. I was just thinking about you and then the next thing I know I’m throwing up and suddenly everything was so dark.” God, he sounded so scared, she hated seeing him like this.
“How long has it been since you took the tab?” She kept her voice calm, she didn’t want to freak him out even more.
“I know that I took it at around three but god it feels like it’s been so long Aejung, is it still the ninth?” He looked up at her and she had to hold herself back from sobbing right there.
She caught his eyes first, his eyes that were once so full of love just staring back at her entirely empty and dilated. She saw that his eyes were now accompanied by incredibly dark circles in the space where they once were faint, Aejung used to adore his eyes.
She chose to exhale deeply, a shaky breath exiting her mouth before she began to speak, “It’s about ten o’clock now which means you’re seven hours into a trip, but it’s okay I’ll stay here with you for the rest of it.”
“But weren’t you doing something with the girls today– oh god I’m keeping you here, I’m so sorry.” There was genuine concern in his voice, it was unmistakable and it only made it harder for Aejung to want to stay.
“Please, it’s okay.” She rests his head back down on her shoulder and goes back to rubbing circles on his back.
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” He just kept repeating those same words over and over until he had stopped shaking.
Something had changed in the room. Aejung wasn’t sure if it was the fact that the only thing she could see was the streetlight through his window or the fact that both of them were crying silently, almost as if they didn’t want to alert the other of their tears.
“We have got to get you into a better mood!” Aejung tried to be positive as she wiped her tears away and quickly put on a lighter voice.
“I feel like I’m going to die.” Aejung supposed that she shouldn’t take his statement to heart, people say all kinds of things on acid but he just kept on repeating it.
Over and over the words rattled in her head, slowly going from “I feel like” to “I’m going to die” and she simply couldn’t put a stop to them. She couldn’t be here, she couldn’t deal with the thought, but there’s no way she could leave. She was stuck, with her boyfriend breaking down in her arms, she had nowhere to go. This was her home now, he was her home and she couldn’t just leave him here.
“Please, stop.” She sighed, “You’re not going to die, I’m going to make sure of it.”
“How do you know that? This feels like the end Aej, I’m scared.”
“I know you are, but you’re strong, you can do this!” She tried believing her own words but it was so hard when he just seemed to be decomposing in front of her.
“Oh god I’m gonna be sick again.” Aejung took that seriously, trying to pull both herself and the five foot ten man towards his bathroom as quickly as she could.
She had only made it about halfway there before he had thrown up again, thankfully nowhere near anything important.
Aejung slumped back down to the floor, her back leaning against his bedroom wall. She was going to have to clean this up at some point, wanting to groan at the thought.
Out of all the thoughts she had processed within the last hour the ones that hurt her the most were her own musings of the situation. She wished and wished that Kasper hadn’t texted her, that she could’ve just gone to bed and got the sleep she had desperately been needing. She knew it was selfish of her to think such thoughts but it also wasn’t her job to take care of a grown man through a bad trip, actually it wasn’t her job to take care of him at all. It was his.
Every time, Kasper always promised to be safe, he always told her where he was going, what he was doing and with who. He trusted her, she trusted him, and they respected that all throughout their relationship. She didn’t have to ask him to tell her things and yet he decided to keep this one hidden, she reckons this is his consequence but she shouldn’t think such things.
“Do you want to lay down on the bed, it’s comfier.” She tried talking to him again.
He simply nodded at her words and tried getting himself up this time. His arm was slung over Aejung’s back, desperately leaning into her as they both walked over to bed and laid themselves down side by side.
Aejung’s hand went over to brush the stray white hairs out of his eyes. He was beautiful, he always was, even in his moments of fallen grace.
“I don’t – no – I can’t sleep, not now, not tonight.” The panic started rising in Kasper’s again. She sat up, preparing herself for just about anything from him now.
“Why not, love?” She tried her best to be understanding, using a mellow voice and leaving her hand over his, but she wanted nothing more than to be asleep.
“I won’t wake up, I just know it.” There he goes, Aejung expects another mortifying rant from him to take up the next few minutes, “I feel it Aejung, like the moment I drift off that that will be the end for me.”
“I will watch over you, think of me as your guardian angel,” She gave him a tired smile, “As your angel, I don’t think I’m ready to let you go just yet.”
Kasper noticeably softened, his once tense expression now painted with soft lines and the glimpse of a smile. His knuckles were no longer white as he loosened his grip on the blanket and Aejung could’ve sworn she saw his familiar brightness begin to fill up his face again.
“You know you’re glowing right now,” he looked up at her as though she were the only thing in the world.
“Am I?”
“Mmmh, you’re glowing slightly golden, just like how I imagined you would.” She can’t begin to fathom what Kasper was seeing with his brain on acid but hearing his words made her feel warm inside. They made her feel loved, probably for the first time that night.
“Does that make you feel better?”
He nodded, shuffling up the bed to sit by her side. His head rested on her shoulder ever so delicately, he seemed calm. Aejung only hoped that he had finally made it out of the deep end.
Everything seemed as it normally would, Kasper and Aejung hand in hand, resting on their shared bed with only the fluorescent beams of the streetlight outside highlighting their faces. Aejung finally felt at peace, her fingertips were no longer cold and her heartbeat attempted to match Kasper’s. He had finally stopped thinking at sixty miles per hour and enjoyed the slowed moment, trying his best to push all the dark thoughts out of his brain.
Aejung was his guardian angel, she was there to protect him. He couldn’t fall tonight, not any more than he already had. For now, both of them could just revel in the moment of comfortable silence between them, all worries to be left for another day.
#bobakocnet#aeskocnet#aejung — dev#oc — kasper#kpop oc#kpop oc group#fake kpop idol#fake kpop group#this is not my best writing piece but it’s super emotional for me and i’m happy with it so that’s all that matters
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Hi!! I’m absolutely obsessed with your writings! You are absolutely amazing. If you’re still taking prompts would love to see 11. “How could you ask me that?” and 36. “You’ve shown me what love can feel like.” Thank you so much. 💕💕
thank you so much! i’m sorry for the wait on this one but i hope you enjoy!!
feel free to send me a number from this list if you’d like. also available on ao3!
“It feels like it’s been forever since I’ve gotten you alone.”
There’s no bite to Michelle’s words as she speaks, but Carlos immediately picks up on the insinuation that she’s lying down: that Carlos is a little too caught up in the whirlwind that is TK Strand for him to make time for their weekly tradition of drinks and street tacos at their favourite place downtown. He’s missed the last three or four chances they had to hang out, due to picking up shifts or getting wrapped up in his — what, friend? boyfriend? guy-that-he’s-exclusively-seeing-but-has-no-label-for is too wordy, but it’s really the only thing that makes sense when trying to describe what he has with TK.
“Sorry,” Carlos says, because he is. Michelle’s been there for him through thick and thin ever since he was barely out of high school and he started hanging out with her as much as he hung out with Iris. But she waves him off immediately.
“No need to apologize, I know that boy of yours, you should feel no shame for getting as much time in with him as you can,” Michelle offers him a wink, but when he just sort of sighs and sinks down into his chair, she cocks her head to the side. “Is everything okay with you two?”
Carlos could offer her the same response he’s been giving his sister, who’s wanted to meet his so-called mystery guy for almost a month, now. She’d noticed his change of tone whenever he spoke about his and TK’s relationships, and Carlos had quickly chalked it up to him being tired after a long day. Which was true — but he could just sense that something was up with TK, and it wasn’t something he was ready to get into with his sister. But Michelle’s different; she might actually know if something’s up with the 126 that could be attributed to TK’s slow but steady act of pulling away from him.
“Actually, uh, he’s been kind of distant, lately,” Carlos says, trying to keep it casual, but Michelle’s eyebrows furrow almost immediately.
“For how long?” Michelle asks, bringing her beer to her lips and taking a sip.
Carlos sighs. “Two weeks. I thought maybe something was going on at work?”
Michelle presses her lips together, but the corners of her mouth still turn down in a frown as she shakes her head. “I mean, he seems normal at the station. The whole team does.”
They’re quiet for a few moments, as Michelle taps her fingers against the neck of her bottle.
“How is he being distant?” Michelle finally asks, and Carlos shrugs, squinting as he looks off into the distance, the setting sun just low enough to be in his line of vision.
“We still go on dates and stuff, but he doesn’t really talk to me like he did before. He always seems like he’s lying when I ask him if he’s okay,” Carlos shrugs, taking a breath before speaking the words out loud, finally voicing the fear that’s been brewing in his chest. “I think he might want to break up with me.”
“Are you serious?” Michelle looks at him with wide eyes, and Carlos slowly nods.
“I mean, what else could it be? We gave us a shot for real two months ago, maybe he doesn’t like how it’s turning out,” Carlos rubs at the back of his neck.
“I’ll talk to him,” Michelle says, eyes suddenly a little darker as her protective side starts coming out. Carlos quickly reaches across the table and takes her hands in his.
“God, no way, Michelle, I don’t want you to scare him off,” Carlos insists, rubbing a thumb along the inside of her wrist to calm her, a little. “I think I should just ask him tomorrow. Be straight up about everything.”
He makes the decision without really thinking it through. Maybe he’s the one that’s freaking out too much — TK could just be exhausted, or dealing with his dad’s chemo appointments on top of having a strenuous job. But he knows what his ma would say, that he probably should’ve already talked with TK about this when he first started worrying. And the way it seems to settle Michelle’s willingness to go after TK herself is also a bonus.
“How’s your mom?” he asks, to shove the focus off of his issues for a little while. And it seems to work, Michelle only giving him one last wary glance before she talks about their plan to bring Iris a care package, Carlos quietly stewing in his own mind over what to do next.
* * *
Carlos knows that work isn’t the best place to do this. But he also knows just how distracted he’s been all day just thinking about all the possibilities of what TK’s struggling with, and if he doesn’t get his emotions off his chest he’s going to crash and burn. Besides, they’ve been called to an accident at a state fair — a malfunctioning ferris wheel, that hadn’t moved for half an hour with people stuck on the ride — and once the 126 rescued the ten stranded people, they were all milling around, waiting for the all-clear, and Carlos has been watching TK just chat with Marjan for the last ten minutes and he figures this is as good a time as any.
Marjan catches his eye before TK sees him, and she says something quickly to him as TK begins to turn around. He offers Carlos a small smile as he approaches and Marjan clears her throat.
“I’m just...not going to be here right now. Nice to see you, Carlos,” Marjan says as she slips away from them, going over to where Mateo’s checking on equipment. Carlos nods at her as she leaves, and TK steps a little closer.
“How’s your night going?” TK asks, and Carlos frowns a little at the way that TK has yet to really look him in the eye.
“This is going to sound stupid,” Carlos says, instead of actually answering the other man. “But are you trying to break up with me?”
After ten seconds of silence, TK barks out a laugh. But when he takes in Carlos’ worried look and his tense jaw, his eyebrows shoot up. “Wait, you’re serious?”
“Sorry, I’m just being an idiot, I—”
“Wait, Carlos,” TK says, curling his fingers around Carlos’ wrist. “Talk to me?”
“It’s just...you’ve been distant, over the past couple of weeks. And at first I thought you were just tired, or maybe wrapped up in your head, which I totally get. But I want to be there for you no matter what, and I feel like you couldn’t wait for me to get out of your hair on our past few dates.” Carlos explains, watching as TK runs a hand down his face. “So, do you want to break up with me? I just can’t keep doing this, Ty.”
“How could you ask me that?” TK’s brought his voice down to a whisper, and Carlos shakes his head.
“I’m just wondering where we stand, Ty,” Carlos says. “I really like you, but I don’t want you to feel forced into this relationship if you—”
“I don’t,” TK quickly interjects, stepping even more into Carlos’ space. “I don't feel forced into anything. You have to believe me, okay? I’ve never wanted anyone like I want you. And it still blows my mind that I get to have you in my life. Carlos— you’ve shown me what love can feel like. After all I’ve been through and all that I’ve put you through, you’ve stood by me, and I can’t even express to you how important you are to me.”
Carlos feels warmth spread through him, but he still doesn’t get the distance. He opens his mouth to speak, but before he can, TK presses on.
“I’ve been distant because I wanted,” TK stops for a second, inhaling shakily as he glances around, his eyes illuminated under the twinkling lights of the various rides and the signs advertising games and food. He meets Carlos’ gaze again and finally continues. “I wanted to ask you to be my boyfriend. Officially. But I didn’t know how to do it because you mean so much to me and I wanted to do this right, and I’ve been kind of stressing out about making things perfect and—”
“Hey, hey, TK,” Carlos says, bringing his hands up to frame TK’s face, practically feeling the other man’s mind going thousand miles a minute. “I think boyfriend has a nice ring to it.”
TK’s mouth quirks up in a lopsided smile. “Yeah?”
Carlos hums in agreement. “Yeah.”
“I’m sorry for making you worry,” TK says, “that’s the last thing I wanted to do.”
“Well, this is much better than all the other scenarios I was imagining,” Carlos jokes, but when he sees the flash of worry clouding up TK’s eyes, he presses a quick kiss to his boyfriend’s temple. “It’s okay, Ty. I swear.”
TK opens his mouth to speak, only for Judd’s voice to pipe up.
“Hey, loverboys! I won’t hesitate to use this hose on y’all,” Judd teases, as the others smirk all around them. “Come on, TK, we gotta go save some chickens from a barn fire.”
“Texas manages to surprise me every day,” TK mutters, meeting Carlos’ eyes one last time. “What are you doing later? I have to make things up to my boyfriend.”
TK waggles his eyebrows and Carlos snorts, leaning in quick to kiss him. “Come to my place when you’re done, I’m making you dinner.”
“You’re seriously the best,” TK says, as he turns to head toward the rig, where Marjan’s holding the door open for him.
“Be safe!” Carlos shouts out after him, and TK gives him one last smile and wave before he’s disappeared into the truck. As he retreats to his squad car, he shoots Michelle a quick text — things are all good, won’t need you threatening my boyfriend any time soon — before he heads off to the next call, unable to stop himself from smiling to himself over that label, one he hopes will stick for as long as humanly possible.
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For the OTP Drabble Challenge could you do 35 and 36 together?
Hi darling anon! When I saw these two prompts together I knew exactly what to write, but I was a little surprised by the pairing that came to me, I hope you enjoy it anyways and I’d love to know what you think! <3
Warnings: absolute fluff!
35. “Why’re you dressed like that?” - “Does that mean it looks good or should I go change?”
36. “Fine, just do what you have to do” - “Can you stop being so freaking cute so I can concentrate?”
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Hearts Disarmed
Why’re you dressed like that?” Peter asked, his tone almost panicky.
You looked down at the dress Natasha had chosen for you and pulled down on the hem, not sure what else to do, “Does that mean it looks good or should I change?”
“No,” He blurted, running a hand through his hair and making it more of a mess than it already was, “No, it looks good. Great actually. I’m just, uh, it’s not what you usually wear, that’s all.”
You raised a brow, “Peter, I’m not going to wear jeans and a t-shirt to a black tie fundraiser. I’m pretty sure that would blow our cover.”
“Oh, yeah. Good point,” He laughed nervously, tugging on his tie.
That was when you noticed how much of a mess it was.
“Here, let me fix it,” You said, motioning for him to come closer, “Our ride’s not here yet anyways.”
He nodded and took a step forward, eyes darting nervously around the apartment that belonged to you and your supposed family. As far as undercover jobs had gone, this one hadn’t been so bad. You looked up at Peter. Not bad at all.
“Do you think we attract the bad guys, or do the bad guys’ kids just happen to go to the same schools as we do?” Peter asked as you slowly undid his mess of a tie.
You laughed. It was hard to think that the fact that the Vulture’s daughter and Brock Rumlow’s son went to your respective high schools was much of a coincidence. You would never admit it to Peter, but you were pretty sure your abilities attracted crazy; you had the ten boring years before the accident that given you your telekinetic abilities to prove it.
“I think it’s all a coincidence,” You lied, pulling on one end of the tie.
He shot you a look of disbelief.
You gave him a pointed look in return, “Regardless, the fact that us and the crazy are in the same place makes it easier for us to deactivate the bomb tonight without raising any suspicions.”
“Speaking of,” Peter looked down at you, brows furrowed, “I still don’t get how you managed to get this invite so easily. I didn’t think you actually knew Brad Rumlow.”
“Oh you know…I’ve had a few school projects with him…we’ve always been friendly, you know?” You answered vaguely, not sure why exactly, but knowing you didn’t want to tell Peter that you were pretty sure Brad was interested in being more than friends.
“No. I don’t know,” There was something different in his voice you’d never heard before, “Especially that he knows you and I are dating.”
Suddenly, with your hands on his chest, smoothing out the tux and his newly fastened tie, you were all too aware of how close the two of you had gotten. And yet, you couldn't make yourself take a step back or even take your hands off him.
“You know we’re not actually dating, right?” You whispered.
Peter grit his teeth, “He doesn’t.”
You almost thought, for a moment there, that Peter might have been bothered by it, but you pushed the thought aside quickly. He was probably just making sure both your covers were still intact.
Forcing a laugh, it took all your strength to pat his chest and back off, “Don’t worry about it, Parker. Our covers are fine.”
He stared at you for a long moment, not saying anything. Then, with a tight lipped smile, he nodded and ran his hand through his hair again, “Yeah, you’re right.”
Three hours later, you were in the men’s bathroom at the concert hall where the charity gala was being held, and you were arguing with Peter about the best way to disable the bomb - why stash it in the men’s bathroom, you still had no clue. The argument had gotten pretty heated, but eventually you’d decided that time was running out and that Peter knew what he was doing even if it wasn’t the way you would have done it.
“Fine,” You huffed, moving away from the stall to act as a lookout, “Just do what you have to do.”
He muttered something under his breath - probably something sassy knowing him - and got to work while you sat on the counter, letting your bare legs dangle off the edge. Peter glanced back at you, quickly averted his gaze but could seem to help looking back once more.
You raised a brow, “Is there a problem?”
“Can you stop being so freaking cute so I can concentrate?” He growled before turning back to the bomb.
You opened your mouth to answer but closed it again. You’d gotten used to comments like those - albeit said in a less grumpy tone - whenever you’d been undercover with Peter, but there was no one around to put on the act for. Whatever the reason for his outburst, there had to be a logical explanation you just couldn’t figure out yet.
“Would you prefer I turn around and face the wall instead?” You asked with an annoyed huff.
He didn’t turn around, “No, that wouldn’t help. Help me out instead?”
You hopped off the counter and bent over beside him. Following his instructions, the two of you manage to deactivate the bomb with too little time to spare for your comfort. Peter fell back against the wall, and with a long sigh, loosened his tie.
“Sorry for snapping at you,” He said with an apologetic smile.
You shrugged even though what you really wanted to do was ask him why he’d been so worked up in the first place.
“Ready to go?” He extended his hand and lifted you up so that in the tiny space, the two of you were almost nose to nose.
“Peter,” You whispered, his name escaping your lips before you even knew what you were about to ask him.
It didn’t matter though because the door banged open.
“You didn’t lock the door?” You whisper yelled.
His eyes widened and he shook his head. You jabbed him meaningfully in the chest with a finger before messing up his hair even further and pulling him out of the stall with you.
You only made it two steps before almost running into a wide-eyed Brad.
“YN,” He said, glancing between the two of you and making the exact assumptions you’d hoped he would, “This is the men’s bathroom.”
“Hey,” You smiled, feeling Peter lean into the act and pull you in closer, “It is. Well, see you Monday, Brad.”
“Oh, uh, yeah,” He nodded, eyes alight with the prospect of a juicy story that would be everywhere by the time you came into school on Monday.
When you were out of the bathroom and far enough out of earshot, Peter pulled you aside.
“You didn’t have to do that. We could have figured out another reason for being in there,” He said, about to run his hand through his hair again but realizing he was still holding yours. Instead of letting go, he let it fall back between the two of you.
“It’s the job,” You said even though you knew school was going to be hellish for the next week, “They already think I’m weird and crazy anyways. It’s not like this will change much.”
You tried to be cavalier about it, but the truth was, from the moment you’d gotten your powers, it was as if everyone had somehow known you were different. You pretended that it didn’t bother you, but every once in a while, it was hard to keep the comments at bay.
“Hey,” Peter murmured, squeezing your hand a little tighter, “You’re crazy amazing, that’s what you are.”
Grateful for his words, you shot him a small smile.
“What do you say we get out of here?”
You nodded, “I need to get out of this dress. It’s the last time I ask Natasha for one.”
Peter pulled you along, glancing down at you with a funny look on his face, “I like your usual jeans and t-shirt better anyways.”
#peter parker#peter parker x reader#peter parker fanfiction#peter parker fic#marvel fic#fan fiction#fanfic#marvel drabble#OTP drabble challenge
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Title: Love, Maybe? {36}**
Chris Evans X Reader OFC Vixen Giovanni
Warning: Cursing, Plot, Fluff, Angst, Slow Burn, Tease, NSFW, SMUT
Word Count: 6.3K
Summary: After a night of drunkenness you wake up next to warm, hot as hell body, a migraine and no memory of the night before. When you come to realize that the hot body belongs to none other than Hollywood’s golden boy Chris Evans you freak out. As events unfold you become even more panicked to find out you got married in your drunken haze. What else is there to do but get it annulled, right? Before walking away, you share one more night of molten kisses and passion. Three years later you are still living with the repercussions of your brash decisions, but the surprises don’t stop there. The past has a way of coming back and have you questioning is this fate that you’ve been running from, hell could it have been love, maybe?
NOTE: **Italic texts is an inner Vixen thought. Bold Italic texts is an inner Chris thought. Recommended listening when indicated by the musical note 🎵: 1st: Pssy & Wine by: Mike Champion and 2nd: All On Me by: Sean Paul
**Loosley Edited/Proofread**
***Interactive***
Thank you guys for reading!!!! If you enjoyed this please LIKE, COMMENT, REBLOG. 😊❤❤️
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Chapter 36: Seize The Day
-Vixen-
Singing along to the sounds of Lauryn Hill’s version of Can’t Take My Eyes Off of You, you danced around and finished preparing breakfast. This was one of your favorite songs and today you were feeling it.
“Oh pretty baby, don’t let me down I pray.”
You rocked your hips and used the tongs as a microphone and hit the high note as you turned to see Chris leaning against the wall with a smile on his face.
“Shit!”
“Wow, serenade and breakfast.” You pinched your lips and turned back to the stove to finish the sausages to hide your embarrassment.
“Morning.” You felt him wrap his arms around you and kiss your cheek then your neck.
“Good morning,” you whispered with a smile.
“Mmm, it smells great, it’s been quite a while since anyone made me breakfast,” Chris added.
“Liar, I’ve made breakfast almost every morning since we’ve been in Boston.”
He smiled and turned you to him. “Wow, liar is a bit harsh. Take it back.” You smiled and shook your head.
“Nope. You take it back. I’ve been feeding you well.” his smile was wide as he dropped his lips to your collar.
“Oh yes you have, very, very well,” he answered placing kisses across your collar and chest. You moaned and quickly got lost. His lips felt amazing. Before you knew it he was stooped before you and kissing your stomach and quickly making his way to the apex of your thighs. His tongue was a weapon and he knew just how to use it.
You groaned and enjoyed the pleasure he gave before you remembered the plan for the day.
“Mmm, Chris. Stop.” As soon as the words were said he pulled away from you.
“I’m sorry.”
“No, no, it’s okay, nothing like that. I just have a shoot to get to,” you explained.
“A shoot?”
“Yes, because I had to come here for work, Kassius rearranged the promo shoot for here. I have to be there in an hour which means we only have time to eat and go.”
“Oh, okay. What’s for breakfast?”
“Uh, waffles, sausages, some fruit, and chive scrambled eggs. Don’t tell anyone I stole some ingredients last night.” His smile was perfect, you loved it. Pushing it to the side you put a plate in front of him on the counter.
“Thank you.” You hopped onto the counter beside him and began eating.
It was interesting how all this felt as natural as breathing like you’ve been doing this for the last three years and no time had passed at all. You wondered what he thought of your life here. You knew bringing him here would mean he’d see the restaurant, see the house and it would be like confirmation that you’d led this life without him, on purpose. You wondered if he was angry and was hiding it.
Last night there was no anger in him. He was gentle and amazing, everything you’d remembered him to be. You’d be lying if you said you didn’t feel anything last night. How could you not especially with that song playing? Occasionally you listened to it when you couldn’t sleep and now he knew it, he knew just how much you thought about Vegas and him. you didn’t feel embarrassed then to tell him the truth, but now you felt exposed and you hated it.
After breakfast, you went into the shower and used it to get your thoughts and emotions under control. It was quite the feat because you were everywhere but after almost forty minutes you managed. When you met him in the foyer he was dressed and ready for the day. The two of you got into the rental car and drove through the city to the address of the shoot. He asked plenty of questions about the area when you pointed out Ella’s preschool he had a lot more of them. His interest in your life made you feel good.
When you arrived at the location of the shoot it was time to get to work. The photographer and one of the guys from the team were there to convey just the look Kassius wanted to achieve. You listened in and corrected them when you heard something that just wasn’t you. You wanted to remain true to who you were and not give in to this fake image, you weren’t Hollywood and you would never pretend to be.
The first look was your chef’s and kitchen attire that you’d chosen for the new restaurant, complete with a chef’s hat. You smiled for the pictures and tried to listen to the instruction for poses but you felt so out of place, so awkward that you were sure that it was coming through in the photos.
“Okay Vixen, how about you do some poses you normally do in the kitchen,” Albee the photographer suggested.
“Uh, poses in a kitchen? I don’t pose in my kitchen. I cook,” you announced. Those around smiled.
“Fair, I walked into that one, but what are some actions that you do in the kitchen? Can you do those?”
You looked around the set and walked over to the kitchen area and tried to imitate chopping without a knife then tried to stir a pot without an actual pot to stir. You felt ridiculous and after a few minutes, Chris came to stand beside the photographer. He then whispered something to him.
“All right let’s take five everyone,” Albee announced.
Chris walked over to you with an amused look on his face.
“On a scale of one to ten, ten being the worst how bad did that look?” He smiled and took a deep breath.
“Well, I don’t want to lie, so eight.” You nodded and sighed out feeling frustrated with the day.
“Okay look, this is new for you. you’re used to being in the kitchen whipping up incredible dishes being in front of a camera and doing this is weird. I get it, we all get it but you’re overthinking just a bit. I do this way more than I like. It usually helps to make it as natural as possible,” Chris explained.
“And how do you suggest I do that?”
“I am glad you asked. First, loosen up you have no need to be self-conscious or nervous, you’re gorgeous and the camera loves you. Put yourself in natural positions, think of it as acting.”
“I am not an actor.”
“Neither am I, but don’t tell anyone. Just put yourself in a mindset. You are playing a chef, think of their traits, characteristics, emulate those. When I watched you in the kitchen last night you demanded attention, you were authoritative, confident, controlled, and efficient. You can easily portray those to a camera. Think of poses that show just that.”
You were hearing him and everything he said was good advice, but you also were focused way too closely on his mouth. It would be so easy to get lost in watching him. The way his mouth moved and then his expressions to convey the meaning of his words were poetic.
“Try it. I promise it’ll feel easier.”
“Okay. Thanks.”
“Anytime.” Chris walked back to stand next to the photographer then he gave you a thumbs up. You nodded and took a few relaxing breaths and went through his advice once more in your head.
“Ready Vixen?”
“Yep.”
You crossed your arms and gave a smirk then remixed it and planted them on your hips and flicked out your shoulder to slightly look over it.
“Nice, great shots. Keep em’ coming,” Albee critiqued. You felt some of the nerves fall away as you got a little more comfortable. That comfort had you settling into this role that Chris laid out. You glanced at him and he was nodded with a smile of approval. It felt nice to have it.
Fifteen minutes later, you were posed on top of the kitchen counter like some pin-up model doing role play.
“All right Vixen, we’ve got some good ones here. Let’s try something different, follow me,” Albee said.
You hopped off the counter and followed him to a neighboring room that had a real-life kitchen and plenty of things scattered about.
“Uh, what’s this?”
“Chris brought up something good, you can’t fake what you do. What you do has to be done to be captured, so everything you need to make a dish. As you make it I’m going to snap your pictures. It’ll be real-life art,” Albee explained.
You looked to Chris who shrugged as if it was nothing. He did this and acted like it was just something regular, something that didn’t need attention.
“Ready?”
You nodded and walked to the kitchen and surveilled your surroundings then went to work. This you could do because it felt as easy as breathing, you didn’t have to think about it or plan steps ahead of time. You could hear Albee’s camera clicking but it was easy to ignore it, he worked around you and your actions. There were quite a few comedic flubs that Albee said not to worry about they looked endearing on camera and would work well.
Halfway through you’d forgotten you were being pictured and now filmed and you were just enjoying what you loved to do. Soon you’d drawn the attention of those who were on set and in the building. They shouted out question after question about the steps you took or how you did something and it turned into a live cooking show.
About forty minutes in all and you were finished. With the final product in front of you, you finished the shoot with a few shots. You felt in your zone like this was you and not an act.
“Great work Vixen, my god we got some great shots and footage. You did great.”
“Thank you. this wasn’t that bad.”
Albee laughed and patted your arm before he walked off. You looked around for Chris but didn’t see him anywhere. You heard a “psst” behind you and saw him peeking out from behind a wall. As you approached you saw he wore a bright smile.
“What’re you doing?”
“I didn’t want to be seen by the people who came in. I wanted this to be just about you.”
“So you hid back here the entire time?”
“Not the entire time, maybe thirty minutes. It’s no big deal. You were great. How’d it feel?”
You quickly pressed your lips to his giving him a sweet kiss that quickly turned into a sultry one. Chris had one hand on your hip and the other cupping your cheek as you intensified the kiss. You wrapped one arm around his neck and just enjoyed it. When you pulled away his eyes were closed.
“Wow.” Chris looked at you with complete shock and a dumbfounded expression. You pinched your lips and looked down.
“What was that for?”
“Uh, thank you. You—you did this, and I appreciate it.” He didn’t speak for a few moments; he just stared at you and gently stroked your cheek with the back of his hand.
“I’d do anything for you Vixen.” His words hit you like a ton of bricks and several moments passed with the two of you just staring at each other.
“Excuse me—Vixen?” You stepped away at the sound of Albee’s assistant’s voice.
“Albee wants to know if you want to see some of the shots.”
“Yeah, definitely. Thank you.” Without a word to Chris, you walked off to Albee.
The shots were amazing, and they made you look better than you actually did. You were more than pleased with them and knew Kassius would be too. You mentally checked off another thing on your to-do list and felt excitement bubble with how close this all was to being finished.
When you and Chris stepped out onto the sun-drenched sidewalk you took a deep breath. “All right, work is done for the day. I have an idea. Let me show you my San Francisco. I’ll take you to a few places I go often, and we’ll grab lunch in there at some point,” you suggested.
“Sounds good. Lead the way.” He slipped his sunglasses on and tipped his hat low securing the incognito celebrity signature fashion and the two of you were off.
Five minutes later, you were on a cable car. You were standing on the side holding on to the bar with Chris behind you with one hand on the bar and the other holding you around the waist. “The likelihood of me falling off is slim,” you assured.
“Better safe than sorry, there’s a little girl who would kill me if anything happened to her favorite person in the world.” You smiled and allowed him to hold you close, you didn’t mind, you actually liked it.
When you got off you brought him into your favorite bakery. Once he walked inside he moaned. At the counter, he damn near pressed his face to the display case as he admired every treat there. You took care of ordering one of each of the eight things you, Ella and Nex loved here. Once they were ready you were off again. As you walked and talked you ate, it was the San Franciscan way.
Next, you took him to Telegraph Hill and to some of the famous stone step paths in the city. You talked about a variety of things as you walked toward the steps you knew that would take to you the waterside. He told you stories about his childhood, his siblings, stories about his first few years in Hollywood, stories about those he was closest to in the business and even how he’d med them. It was enlightening. Occasionally he’d initiate contact either through a securing hand at your back, or an assistive hand down a steep decline, every time it made you feel like a girly girl and gave you butterflies.
Once you’d made it to one of the waterside locations where you pointed out Alcatraz. He was able to use the telescope there to find it. That was when he proceeded to list off a few impressive facts about the place, surprising you in the process with his broad knowledge. After his near five-minute lecture, he stopped and the most adorkable expression washed over him, it was one of embarrassment and humor. It was perfect and gave you a sight of a new side. You sat at the waterside for some time and enjoyed the smell of the water, the sun, and the breeze through the trees. It was a beautiful afternoon. Chris would brush your hair from your face often. When you felt him take your hand it made you smile like an idiot which made him smile like an even bigger idiot and you were two idiots holding hands smiling.
When you took him to the best seafood restaurant in town the two of you did not downplay how much you ate. You ordered everything on the menu and plenty of beer to go with it as did he and the two of you pigged out without an ounce of shame. It felt good to just relax and not have there be any awkwardness or tension between you. It felt like the night in LA when you’d had tacos together, comfortable.
The sun had set by the time you made it to your last stop, a chocolatier. Turns out he has a mean sweet tooth that he likes to keep under wraps. While there, he tried almost all of their seventy variations of chocolate treats one after the other. You had no wonder where Ella got her sweets obsession, neither of them had any chill. A few times he’d feed you a few pieces as if it didn’t take a thought. He even finished something you’d had a bite of or wiped chocolate from the corner of your mouth and licked his finger afterward. By the time you left the shop, you were holding hands and slowly strolling to the cable car. On the car, he stood behind you with both arms wrapped around you whispering into your ear with his chin on your shoulder. You had no idea how you’d gotten here, but you liked it here.
When you were home you and Chris split up. It allowed you time to shower and check emails and respond to Kassius and other work obligations. After an hour, you’d finished applications for the new restaurant, chosen your kitchen staff and most of your wait staff and signed off on most of the vendors before you got caught up talking to Ella. She told you all about the great things she’d been doing with her grandmothers and cousins. She sounded like she was having a blast and barely missed you or Chris. After promising her you’d be back tomorrow she asked to talk to Chris. You found him in the living room doing some work of his own. Once he heard her voice his face lit up.
You went back to your room to give him some space. When you were in your closet a great idea hit you. When you turned Chris was walking in.
“She doesn’t sound like she misses me at all.”
You snorted and laughed then patted his shoulder. “Aww, you’ll get over it.”
“I don’t know if I will.”
“I have a great idea. This is your last night here, how about I take you to one of my favorite places.”
“What kind of place is this?”
“Uh, it’s a bit of a dancehall,” you informed. Chris’ eyebrows shot up.
“Dancehall? As in club?”
“Not a traditional club, it has more of an underground vibe to it. not many people know about it, the music is good, and the drinks are strong. Nexus and I like to go there every once in a while when I’m not too swamped.”
“So, I’ll see you in your natural environment?”
You laughed and gently pushed him. “Natural environment? What am I some endangered species?”
Chris pulled you flush against him with a wide smile on his face then wrapped his arms around you. “Of course, you are. You’re a rare unicorn, mother of unicorns,” he teased. The two of you laughed together until he softly kissed you once then twice and teased your bottom lip. You kissed him back and allowed him to press you against your opened door.
“So, do you want to?”
Chris nodded and kissed your nose. “I do, I want to do everything with you.” You smiled and tried not to blush. The way he easily made you feel like a schoolgirl was crazy.
“Okay. So get ready.” You pulled away and bit your bottom lip, an action he imitated. Neither of you moved again and you felt the air in the room change. You knew he felt it too.
“Thirty minutes?”
You nodded and walked away toward your closet trying to create space between you to prevent the inevitable.
An hour and a half later, you walked inside the dancehall with Chris close behind you. One hand was on your waist as you held the other. The music was loud, and the air was hazy from the mixture of smoke from numerous substances. Off to one corner, you saw a group doing hookah, and nearby a few were smoking blunts and cigarettes. The combination of scents wasn’t unpleasant. As you passed people you noticed a few guys who looked you over before looking to Chris. His hand on your waist tightened possessively.
At a small table in a far-right corner you sat and crossed your legs, Chris’ eyes immediately fell to your exposed thighs.
“That outfit is bringing plenty of attention,” shouted over the music. You smiled and shrugged.
“Is it?” He nodded and scooted closer to you stretched his arm around your shoulder and whispered to you.
“Trying to make me jealous?” You smiled and locked eyes with him.
“I didn’t know I had the power to make you jealous.”
“You have more power than you know,” he whispered back. The look that you shared stole your breath and made your heart race. Everything around you faded and neither of you noticed anything or anyone.
“Eh-em!”
Before you was one of the bottle girls with a smile on her face. Chris dipped his head down and hid it behind your shoulder just a bit.
“Hi.”
“What can I getcha?”
“Two bourbons, double,” you answered.
She nodded and walked off but not before glancing back at Chris.
“I don’t think she recognized you,” you assured.
The music changed to a modern day soca hit and everyone around you livened up and began dancing and chanting along with it.
“Do you dance?”
Chris smiled and went back to your ear. “I think you know the answer to that.”
You remembered your time in Vegas, you’d been in a club together and danced together. He had rhythm. That coupled with his charm made him a great dancer, although you may have been so drunk and horny anything was good to you.
“I was drunk as hell; everything was great that night.”
He smiled and nodded then stood and held his hand out. You looked at it then him and took it. Chris pulled you to him and then brought you toward an even darker corner. Once there he began bouncing to the beat trying to coax you into joining him. slowly you began dancing with him and it didn’t take any time at all for the two of you to begin to enjoy yourselves. You were right he had rhythm and was such a goofball that even if he messed up he didn’t care.
You took a break and went back to your table to enjoy your drinks and some conversation. The energy in the club was great and you loved that it didn’t get overpacked, there was a max occupancy of a hundred or so and even then it wasn’t as if everyone was all over each other. The music changed several times and went between reggae to soca to sultry RnB and it was all working together with the drinks you had.
A few hours later, you were as loose as you were going to get, and you grabbed his hand and lead him to a dark corner that wasn’t occupied. Halfway there Chris pulled you back into him and softly kissed your neck. The music changed as soon as you got to your destination and you couldn’t have planned it better. The sounds of 🎵Mike Champion surrounded you. You turned to Chris and locked eyes with him and began swaying your body. He didn’t pretend not to look at you, his eyes slowly raked over your body before his bottom lip caught between his teeth.
The song was one of your favorites and it always put you in the mind frame where your thoughts easily flowed to him. With him in front of you, you decided to tease him. Turning your back to him Chris squeezed your hip and stood there as you swayed and ground your hips onto him. you could hear his breathing change and felt one of his hands trail to the top of one of your thighs. You leaned your head back onto his shoulder and then you felt his teeth latch onto your earlobe and gently bite down.
“Mmm.”
“You like that?” His voice was crazy deep and it opened the door of your desire. That was all it took.
“Tell me.” It was an order and one you had no problem obeying.
“Yes.” Chris kissed then sucked the sensitive part of your neck and began swaying with you keeping up with the pace you set. You couldn’t believe that you were horny in this club from nothing but his voice and a kiss to the neck.
Chris’ hand snaked around to your backside but slid down to the back of your thigh. He slowly felt your skin and just as he was about to kiss your neck again the song changed. You could have shot the DJ for it, but when you realized what song he’d changed it to you could have kissed him. 🎵You turned to Chris and draped your arms around his neck. In the same breath, he pulled you on him. The two of you swayed together and kept to the beat. With your forehead just below his nose, you kept your eyes down and focused on the words of the song and how quickly you were fell under his spell.
Chris’ hands on your lower back squeezed the skin there before he moved them to your hips to squeeze again. A soft groan escaped your lips, a groan you know he heard. Chancing a look at him, you found his eyes already on you. the temptation between you reached an almost critical level. Chris took your hands and spun you, so your back was to his chest. You took the opportunity to whine against him making sure to roll your hips slowly. When you heard him suck in a breath you smirked to yourself.
You dipped down just a little and let your ass do all the talking. You felt his undivided attention and from the quick glance you got of him from over your shoulder he knew just what you were doing. When you stood up to press your back against his chest Chris moved your hair to the side allowing you to feel his breath on your neck by your ear.
“Cause I'm searchin’ just to find a toppa top girl, and you lookin' fine. I love that shape and that design, gimme your body anytime. And I know you hear me clear, girl, you gotta know I got no fear. And you know I will be prepared if you give me your body anywhere.”
Your head snapped back to look at him, he had an amused grin on his face. “I may be white but I’m not vanilla.”
You laughed loud and shook your head and sunk back into him again only this time adding more of a belly dancing flare to it, Shakira was not the only one who could do it. When Chris’ hands rested at your pelvis every urge wanted you to grab his hand and put it where you wanted it. When you turned to him you could see he was struggling with his desires as well. The look on his face was masked but only just a little, you knew just what he wanted and you were going to tease the hell out of him before you gave it to him.
“C'mon now let’s go, where nobody knows. You and me alone, you and me together. Wanna feel it in my soul, baby take control. Love when you, oh, make it last forever,” you sang along while staring into his eyes.
There could have been the biggest fight going on around you but neither of you would have known it with how wrapped up with each other you were. Song after song played but the two of you only had eyes for one another and the bubble you were in only got smaller and smaller.
When you made it back to your house once the front door shut you were on him. You each peeled off your clothes and threw them around not caring where they landed. When they crashed into something the two of you giggled like drunk kids. Your lips and teeth clashed but neither of you cared you just giggled your way through the hall until Chris carried you up the stairs. He stumbled and lowered you to the steps and hovered over you. his lips kissed, licked and sucked a path down your exposed skin. When he got to your waist he didn’t stop instead he went to your core and placed a suctioned kiss right on your clit.
“Fuck!”
“Like that?”
“Mmm-hm.” Your pitch was high, and you sounded desperate, you didn’t care.
“God, you’re irresistible!”
Chris scooped you up and scurried up the remainder of the steps to your bedroom where he dropped you on the bed. You laughed while you bounced then sat up to help him undress. As he worked with kicking off his shoes, you busied yourself with peeling off his pants. Chris then took over and kicked them off and jumped onto you. Your laughter mingled together. Chris then slithered down your body to pull off your underwear and again he kissed your clit and went to work.
He didn’t take his time, his mission was to get you off and it was evident with how expertly he commanded your body to do what he wanted. After only a few minutes you felt your orgasm take over and you clamped his head between your thighs as you rode the wave. He easily pried them apart and pressed them to the bed. The strength he exhibited made you want him even more. You rolled onto him and kissed down his chest across his abs and went right for your prize.
As you were going to grab him his length spasmed and nudged you right on your nose. That cracked the two of you up and you both broke out in a fit of laughter especially when he apologized.
“He has a mind of his own.”
You couldn’t stop laughing. Eventually, you did though and wrapped your lips around him. His groan was deep and guttural. It made goosebumps scatter across your skin, you loved it. Slowly you bobbed your head up and down his need. Each time your lips wrapped around his tip he whimpered and grabbed the sheets beside him.
“Christ, your mouth feels incredible.”
You smirked and swirled your tongue around him. making him shiver.
“Does it? Do you like it?”
“So much,” he whispered, again you smirked.
“Do you want me to keep going?”
Chris quickly nodded his head with his jaw dropped. “Yes, please.”
Amusement filled you and you continued pleasing him. Everything you did had him grunting, moaning and bucking his hips up sending his full length further down your throat. Your moans joined his and soon his hands sunk into your hair and he began guiding your head. When you picked up the pace he angled his head back and grunted and sucked in a breath.
“Fuck Vixen. Slow—slow baby.”
The sound of the endearment made your heart flutter and had you speeding up rather than going slow. When his grunts turned to loud whimpers you pulled your head back and stared at him. When he looked to you, you smiled and crooked your finger to him.
“Come ‘ere.” Chris slid to the edge of the bed and kissed your stomach up to your breast and sucked a nipple before he kissed you with urgency. His hands squeezed the flesh of your ass and he pulled a moan from you before you turned and slowly sank down onto him.
“Aaah.” He sighed and held you there, so you didn’t move. You enjoyed the feel of him filling and stretching you to capacity. Slowly you whined your hips circling him. he bit your shoulder harshly then kissed it soothing the ache.
When you began bouncing on him you looked over your shoulder, locked eyes with him and enjoyed how helpless he looked. It made you feel powerful but you also couldn’t ignore how good he felt. After a few minutes, Chris began pumping up to meet each of your bounces sending him further inside of you.
“Fuck, yes Chris.”
That was all he needed to hold your hips where they were to plow into you setting a heart-racing pace. Your moans fell from you one after the other as did his. You were so close to losing your shit and he must have known it because when his fingers made contact with your clit you flung your head back and gave him full control.
“You feel so good, you make me feel so good,” Chris whispered. He then stood with you and pushed you onto the bed and angled your ass in the air then continued his thrusts. The new angle was all you needed for your release to break free. You screamed then felt his hand at the back of your neck holding tightly. Another orgasm washed over you even before the first finished.
“Mmm, come all over this dick Vix. Come for me.”
You hadn’t seen this man since Vegas, the man who got off on control and orders, the man who had a clear dominance kink, the man who had the power to make you come over seven times in one night. You gripped the sheets because you knew it was a matter of time before you came again. Chris’ hands wrapped around your hair and gently pulled as he slammed into you to the hilt. As expected you came again and clenched around him. Chris hovered over your back and kissed a path up to your shoulder then bit down.
“Mmm, God you’re gonna make me come.”
“Come for me,” you ordered.
“You want me to come?” His strokes slowed but the depth of which he reached increased. Your jaw dropped, words failed you as your toes curled and body shook with your fourth release of the night.
“I can’t hear you, Vix. Do—you—want—me—to—come?” With each word, he enunciated he slammed into you. By the time he slammed into you once more he ground against you sending his cock to touch every wall and involuntarily pull yet another orgasm from you.
“Shit! No! Fuck me.”
“No please?”
“Pretty please.” You felt his smile on your ear then he gave you just what you asked for—the pounding of your life.
Your screams echoed around the room and mingled with his loud grunts and groans. The room filled with the combined scent of your sex and it was a hedonistic scent, one that fueled the fire of desire between you. By the time Chris finally came, you were exhausted. You could barely move let alone keep your eyes open.
~~~~~~~~~
-Chris-
You were going to be the death of him. He’d buried himself so deep in you he’d made you come over and over. He should have been tired, but he wasn’t. He should have passed out after he came but he couldn’t. He had way too much going on in his head and his body wanted more of you. It had never been like this with anyone. He could easily control himself but with you that control was nonexistent. He didn’t even know what it felt like. You were his addiction, temptation, and relief.
Ten minutes after both of your breathing had returned to normal he knew he had to tell you. He took a deep breath but hesitated yet again. He was afraid, he knew that by now. He knew there was a fifty-fifty chance that you’d be upset and that you’d want to proceed with the divorce. He knew he could lose you—again. He didn’t want to, but he had to face the music.
“Vix.”
A soft moan rumbled on his chest. Closing his eyes, he began.
“I have a confession, a confession that I should have told you weeks ago. A confession that may come as a shock. First I have to tell you what a huge mistake I made three years ago. What I said to you—there is no excuse for it. I’m sorry. I know I’ve said it before, but I have to say it again. I’ve regretted it for years; I still regret it. I wanted to find you and went back and forth if I should or shouldn’t. I didn’t have the courage to find you really. I was so ashamed of myself and how I’d treated you, I was such an asshole. Uugh.”
He hit his head on the headboard and hated himself all over again. It was his words that had him missing the last three years. His words, his fault.
“Since finding you again I’ve—I’ve been reminded of the things I felt. The things I felt, I ignored and buried. I was not prepared for you or what I felt then. I ran from it and ended up right back there. I think about you—a hell of a lot, I dream about you. I want things with you I’ve never wanted with anyone else, I want things I didn’t know I wanted until you. You’re—you’re everything I’ve ever wanted. I really, really—like you. You have no idea how much. I want to start fresh, I want to build a life, a new one. A few weeks ago, I found out that there was a mix up with the original divorce papers we signed. Sherman—Sherman went through a personal ordeal and the paperwork got lost and was never filed. We’re still married.”
He waited for you to say something but when you didn’t he continued. “I know it’s a shock and probably an unwelcomed one, but maybe it’s a blessing in disguise. Maybe it’s a sign that we shouldn’t be divorced, that we’re supposed to be in each other’s lives. Maybe what God intended three years ago was to bring us together and he’s not letting either of us off the hook.”
Still, you didn’t speak.
“Vixen?” He glanced down at you and saw you were fast asleep.
“You’ve gotta be kidding me.” He dropped his head back and closed his eyes in disbelief he’d gone through all of it only for you not to hear him.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
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Catch Me If You Can (39/40)
298 days. That’s how long Killian Jones was away from a baseball field. It’s less than a year, only part of a season for him, but it might as well have lasted a decade as he alternated between physical therapy and spending an excessive amount of time sitting on his couch.
But then he came back and won the World Series.
It’s something no one saw coming, and it’s certainly not something anyone who knows about his arm would predict. Now it’s a new season with new possibilities, and anything could happen. On-field reporter Emma Swan will be there to cover it all even if she is not his biggest fan right now.
Asking her out live on-air will do that.
Rating: Mature
a/n: thank you to @resident-of-storybrooke for literally everything, to @imagnifika for this banner, and to all of you for all of your support on this story and on others. I never expected to get quite so attached to this one, so I like that you guys are too. Misery loves company and all that. lol.
I hope you enjoy the last real chapter. The epilogue will be coming soon! ❤️⚾️
(If there’s any weird formatting, hop on over and read on AO3. Tumblr is being funky with my formatting.)
AO3: Beginning | Current
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-/-
Outside, thunder rolls, quickly followed by a flash of lightning that illuminates the bedroom.
It’s raining.
Raining.
On the final day of the World Series.
Fuck.
Emma jolts up in bed so quickly that her head gets a little dizzy, all of the blood that’s supposed to be in other parts of her body very obviously in the wrong space, and she has to shut her eyes to keep from throwing up while the sound of rain continues to pitter outside, a continual drip that she doesn’t want to be hearing.
It cannot rain today.
After a few seconds, when Emma’s head feels normal again and not like she’s about to feel dizzy enough to fall down even without standing, she opens her eyes and twists to the side to make sure that Killian is still sleeping.
He isn’t.
In fact, he’s not even in bed.
For a moment, Emma wonders if she should bother to go and find him or let him be by himself wherever he is in the apartment. He was understandably quiet on the entire way home and through dinner last night, and she could practically see all of the gears turning in his head. There’s an unwritten list up there of how he wants to pitch to each and every batter on the Dodgers today, and Emma is almost positive that Killian is currently going through it and changing his game plan over and over again until he perfects it.
Considering the fact that her phone says it’s three in the morning, Emma is thinking that she needs to drag Killian back to bed. He may not fall asleep, but he can at least stay in bed so that his body gets a little bit of rest. Maybe he’ll fall asleep. Maybe he won’t. But it’s worth the effort.
Sighing, Emma pulls the thick covers off of her legs and adjusts her pajama pants so that they’re not hanging below her ass from where they shifted in her sleep. She doesn’t bother turning any lights on, the city and the storm bringing in enough that she can see without it, and after walking out into the hallway, Emma doesn’t even have to look in the spare bedroom or the gym to find Killian.
He’s sitting on the window seat in the living room, his legs pulled up to his chest and his cheek resting against the window as he looks outside, very obviously awake.
Killian is going to stress himself out far too much.
Quietly, she makes her away over to him, and while he doesn’t say anything to acknowledge her presence, he does let his legs fall open in obvious invitation for her to join him on the seat. She does, slowly adjusting herself to make herself comfortable while Killian wraps his arms around her stomach so that the warmth of his palms permeates over her skin to warm her from the chill of the apartment. It’s November in two days, but New York is already cold.
There’s a brush of scruff against her cheek followed by the soft press of lips against the underside of her jaw before Emma sees the reflection in the window of Killian resting his chin on the top of her head.
His fingers tap against her stomach in a pattern that she doesn’t recognize, but she doesn’t mind. She may have come out here to convince Killian to come back to bed, to get some rest so he won’t be like a zombie out on the field today, but there’s something almost soothing about watching the rain fall down to the ground to cover the street under the florescent lighting of the street lamps. Even with the thunder, the sound of rain is relaxing, and Emma can understand why Killian was out here being consumed by it.
(She’d still prefer the rain to stop.)
“What are you thinking about?” Emma whispers.
“You.”
“Liar.”
Killian chuckles, something deep in his belly, and she can feel it reverberate throughout her back from where he’s pressed up into her. “I mean, at this particular moment I was legitimately thinking about how good you smell, but no, I haven’t been thinking about you and the softness of your hair the entire time.”
“Damn. I thought our deal was that you always had to think of me and nothing else. Don’t you love me?”
Killian squeezes her stomach. “It’s too early in the morning for you to be so cheeky.”
“Says the man who probably never even went to sleep.”
“I did go to sleep,” he sighs, and Emma watches his eyes flutter closed in the window. “I maybe woke up an hour or so ago to use the restroom, and my mind just…it didn’t bloody turn off. I have changed mine and Al’s game plan at least seven times.”
Wow. She knows him so well. It’s almost a little ridiculous. Not that she’s complaining.
“Let’s…” Emma hesitates, not sure what exactly what to say that she hasn’t already said. “Let’s talk about something other than baseball, okay? We will talk about it after we’ve gone back to sleep and gotten some rest, but for now, this apartment is a no baseball zone. So, talk to me about literally anything else.”
His fingers keep tapping against her stomach, and Emma moves to place her hands over his, a silent reminder that she’s right here and not going anywhere. She may have run before, may have not known what to do when he lied about his shoulder and his accident and everything that came with that, but she’s not going to run now.
This entire relationship has been terrifying, but she’s glad that she took the leap. They’ve conquered some big freaking mountains.
“I’ve emailed someone to see what I need to do to finish my degree.”
Emma almost jolts forward so that she can turn to look at him, but Killian doesn’t let her, holding onto her that slightest bit tighter so that she loses a little bit of her breath.
“When did you decide to do that?”
“A couple weeks ago.”
“Why didn’t you say something?”
“Wasn’t sure if I was going to go through with it. I’m…I’m still not sure when exactly I’ll go back. The woman said they could arrange online classes for me, and they can help arrange a different schedule. I don’t know if I’d start during the off season and see how many credits I can finish before next season starts up. Or maybe I’ll go all year round even while playing. I could always wait until I’m retired, but I don’t exactly want to do that.”
Emma tries to take it all in and figure out the best way to respond to him. This is obviously something Killian has thought about a lot. There’s not a reason in the world for Killian to have to go back to school. He’s not going to be a physics teacher or professor any time soon, if at all, so this is obviously something he’s decided to do for himself just to have as an accomplishment.
Killian deserves to get to do things for himself.
“I think you’ll figure out exactly how you want to do it, babe. I’m really proud of you for doing that.”
“It’s nothing to be proud of.”
“Too bad.” She pats his hand again and shifts her head back so that she can kiss the underside of his jaw. “I’m proud of you. Unless this is some kind of long con to actually become professor Jones so that Will can’t say it mockingly anymore.”
He chuckles, and she kisses his jaw again. “Damn. You’ve foiled my plan.”
“I knew it,” she yawns, unable to cover her mouth with her hands. “You know, when I graduated from college, I got some kind of fancy ink pen that I never used. They gave them to all of the journalism majors. What do you think they’d give physics majors? Calculators?”
“No, because we’d already own a hell of a lot of those. I might need to get some new ones, though. And possibly find some old books and go through them. It’s been almost a decade. I’m not sure I even remember anything.”
“We can go back to school shopping for you. We’ll have to take a picture of you in your cute little outfit with your backpack on your shoulders. I’ll put it on the fridge and everything.”
“You realize I’m doing this online so I’ll just be wearing my regular clothes sitting on my ass in here. I may not even wear clothes while I’m doing it.”
“Well, I can still put that picture on the fridge, but we’ll have to take it down every time someone comes over. No one needs to see that much of you.”
Killian practically purrs in her ear as he trails hot kisses down the side of her neck, and it sends chills down her spine and up over her skin. “You certainly do. You could see it now if you want to.”
Emma brings her bottom lip between her teeth and tries to rein in any budding arousal. “As tempting as that sounds, you and I are both deliriously tired, and I really only came out here to get you to come back to bed…to sleep. We should go do that.”
Teeth bite down onto her neck. “Fine. That seems like the sensible thing to do, and as an almost college man, I have to be sensible, right?”
“Or binge drink and then study all night for a test at the last minute even though you had weeks to study for it?”
“Do people still do that?”
“I think so.”
“We’re really old, Swan.”
“Yeah,” she sighs as she stands from the bench and pulls Killian up with her, “but I think we’ve still got it.”
Emma easily falls back asleep, especially when Killian closes the curtains and turns on the box fan to drown out the sound of the storm outside, and while she doesn’t really know when Killian fell asleep, he’s slumbering away when she wakes up, his breath coming out in small puffs and his hair falling over his forehead. The weight of the world isn’t on his shoulders right now. He’s not thinking about what he’s got to do today or not do today, and Emma hopes that he sleeps as long as he can.
Hopefully right up until he needs to eat breakfast and go to practice.
But hopes are not always reality, and in reality, Killian wakes up a little past nine and all of the tenseness in his body returns. She can see it in the set of his shoulders and the way that he carries himself as he does some stretches to loosen his body up before making breakfast and getting on with his morning routine. She’s terrified, her stomach absolutely in knots, but she’s not going to tell him that. Emma is sure that he’s aware that she’s in this and wants this for both herself and for him, but she’s not going to tell him and put any extra pressure on them.
It’s more than just one man out there. It’s more than just Killian, but Emma understands how Killian works. If they win, he won’t take any credit for it. If they lose, it’ll be entirely his fault. She’s sure he’s talked himself into thinking otherwise, but his brain will revert back to that.
The storm in the night seems to have disappeared, the streets beginning to dry even if large puddles of rain water are left in dips in the cement, and according to all forecasts, it should be dry enough for them to play today. There are supposed to be light sprinkles, maybe a scattered storm or two, but it’s all sunshine when the game is scheduled to start. If there are any delays, Emma hopes that they aren’t long.
Killian may very well lose his mind.
(She may too.)
He’s currently showering, and while she hasn’t been keeping track of how long he’s been in there, it’s been long enough for her to curl her hair. She’s entirely sure that the humidity is going to cause it to frizz and fall flat, and the network will probably have her hair constantly attached to a curling iron and hair spray until her hair is like a bird’s nest of tangles and product.
Whatever it takes to look good on TV today, right?
She’s supposed to wear a dress or a skirt, something form flattering and attractive for television, but since there are no technical rules as long as she stays dressed, Emma completely ignores that suggestion in favor or her favorite jeans, a pair of trusty boots, and one of Killian’s jerseys, buttoning it up and tucking the front into her jeans. She’ll have to put on a sweater later to combat the cold, but she doesn’t want to do that just yet.
It’s ridiculous, but putting on the sweater means it’s time to go and she’s just…she’s not ready. They need a little more time.
“Are you wearing my jersey?”
Emma jumps and clutches her hand against the chain around her neck that’s visible with the way the jersey is buttoned up. She did not hear the shower turn off or hear Killian open the bathroom door. But considering he’s standing in the doorway with a towel wrapped low around his waist, he obviously did.
“Yeah?”
“What about – ”
Emma shrugs, a smile stretching across her lips. “Fuck them. I don’t give a damn about what anyone has to say. I can do my job while also dating you. It’s not a mutually exclusive thing, and today is a big day. If I want to wear the jersey, I can wear it now.”
Both of Killian’s brows rise high on his forehead, but he’s smiling too as his arms cross over his chest so that his muscles bulge the slightest bit. “I think this is the most attractive you’ve ever been.”
“Because I’m wearing your jersey? I thought we’d gone over that before. I – ”
“No,” he laughs with a shake of his head. “Because you’re saying fuck ‘em to all of the people who we both know will say shit about you wearing that. I personally think they should all pull the sticks out of their asses, but then what would they have to talk about?”
“Happy things?”
“Nah, that’s too boring for them.” Killian walks toward her, a definite swagger in his stride, and the cool tips of his fingers come up to touch her cheeks as he cups her face and brings his lips down to move over hers, slowly and thoroughly kissing her until she can’t breathe. It’s the good kind of breathless, though. “I don’t know if I’m going to kick ass today, but I know that you are. It’s pretty much undeniable.”
“You’re going to kick ass. Think it into existence, twenty-nine.”
“Yeah, but I don’t…I don’t know. I – ”
Emma sighs, and she swears it goes all the way down to her bones. There��s only so much she can say. At the end of the day, Killian has to be the one to believe in himself.
“You know,” she starts as her hand reaches up to her neck so that her fingertips ghost over the cool metal again, “about two months ago I had this really big thing happen to me, and I don’t think I’d ever been that nervous. Well, that was until my idiot boyfriend decided to play with an injured rotator cuff because he was too dumb to say something to anyone.”
Killian playfully rolls his eyes, but she sees his jaw tick. Still such a stubborn ass.
“Anyways,” Emma continues as she reaches up to unclasp the necklace, grabbing onto it and the ring before guiding her hand up to his where they’re still resting on her cheeks. Killian’s blue eyes widen so that she can see every color in them, and they get the slightest bit bluer when she places the ring in his palm and closes his fingers over it. “I was given this really beautiful, special ring so that I had a reminder that someone was cheering me on even when I couldn’t hear the cheers. You had this for a lot of years. I think you might need it back.
Killian’s Adam’s apple bobs up and down before he starts shaking his head from side to side, his eyes closed so that black lashes land against his cheeks.
“No, no, no. I’m just…no, Swan. I’m not taking it back.”
“It’s your mom’s ring.”
He opens his eyes then so that she’s consumed by the blue even as he steps away so that they’re no longer touching each other. Has she done something wrong?
“Aye, my love,” he mumbles even as he opens up the chain and wraps it around her, easily clasping it back so that it hangs around her neck once more. “It was my mom’s, but I gave it to you. I’m not taking it back. It’s yours now.” Killian smiles at her, the soft one that makes his eyes crinkle that she’s come to know as her own, before bringing his closed fist to his chest and tapping right over his heart. “I know right here that people are cheering for me. I know that my mom, my family – I know that you are cheering for me no matter what happens out there today.”
Emma’s not crying. She swears that she’s not crying and that the tears in her eyes are allergies or something, but that would be a lie. It would because she loves him a ridiculous amount, and she’s proud of him over everything that he’s done and been working toward lately.
He’s a good man with a good heart, and he deserves all of the world.
Stepping forward, Emma reaches up to tuck his wet hair behind his ear as her thumb traches over the apple of his cheekbone. “I love you, and I don’t care what Liam or Elsa or Addy says. I’m your biggest fan in that stadium today, and I promise I’ll be cheering you on no matter what happens. Tonight, win or lose, you and I are celebrating, okay? We’re going to sit in our pajamas stuffing our face with all of the food that you’ve been stress baking, and we’re going to drink copious amounts of alcohol.”
He arches his brow. “This sounds unhealthy.”
“You’ll have either won or lost the freaking World Series. I think we deserve a little unhealthy.”
“I think you might be right,” Killian chuckles, dipping his head down to slant his lips over hers. “I love you too, by the way. I’m probably going to tell you that a lot today.”
“You won’t hear any complaints from me.”
“I don’t believe that at all.” He winks, and Emma swears that her heart flutters. “I’m going to get dressed, and then we can go to the stadium, okay? I want to get my practice in early in case it does rain again.”
“Yeah, sounds perfect.”
-/-
The stadium is nothing like it was yesterday morning. There’s no empty field that’s covered in morning dew with a quiet air around it that allows someone to simply sit out there and think about the history of this place that’s happened before and the history that’s still to come both for the team and for each individual player and for those who love them. People are bustling everywhere. Vendors are already in their stalls, executives are walking up and down the hallways in their suits, heels clacking along the tile, and players are seemingly everywhere. Emma wasn’t quite expecting anyone to be in the clubhouse, maybe just a few people, but they’re all watching old tapes, eating food, stretching, and bouncing strategy back and forth.
It’s like being thrown into chaos with no hope of getting out, but Emma manages to when Ariel pops up out of nowhere with a bright smile on her face that only broadens the moment she sees Emma.
“Perfect.” Ariel claps together her hands. “Just the couple I was looking for.”
Emma points to herself. “Us?”
“Yep. Things are about to get really crazy today, and I need the two of you to pose for a picture before we forget. It’s just perfect that you’re wearing his jersey.”
“Why do you need a – ”
“Just go with it, Swan,” Killian laughs as he wraps his arm around her waist and tugs her closer so that Emma can rest her hand on Killian’s chest. “When it comes to A, it’s best to obey.”
“That sounds like a great motto.”
“Kind of like a cult, though.”
“Just a little bit.”
“Shut up,” Ariel groans as she lifts her phone in the air. “And smile, I mean. Don’t look like I’m forcing you to do this.”
“But you – ”
Emma doesn’t get to finish her sentence before Killian is squeezing her hip and making her squeal as he brushes his lips against her cheek so that his scruff scratches at her skin like the asshole that he is.
But at least he’s an asshole in a good mood.
“Perfect,” Ariel sighs. “Now, Emma, I need you to come with me.”
“Why?”
“Because it’s about to get even crazier in here, and I’m saving you from the madness.”
Emma doesn’t even get a chance to tell Killian goodbye or good luck before Ariel is dragging her by her forearm out of the clubhouse and down the hallways of the stadium going on and on about everything that’s going to happen today like Emma doesn’t already know. Of course, there are several things that Emma didn’t know. Apparently, her plan for she and Killian to go home and eat junk food and get drunk isn’t really going to happen. He’s got press obligations that far exceed anything that she does, and then there’s usually some kind of team celebration that they all do together. It could be moved to the next day, but that’s usually reserved as an off day before the city does a parade and other celebrations and…
This is only if they win.
Emma points that out, and Ariel immediately corrects her and says “when.” She’s convinced that they’re going to win, and she will not take any other kind of thinking around her. Positive vibes only.
Emma and Killian are totally going home and eating junk food and possibly getting drunk before falling in bed. To sleep. Everything else can wait. And if it can’t, fine. They’ll deal with that and do all of the celebrations and be happy about it because it’s a really big deal, but at some point in the next week, they’re both locking the door, turning off their phones, and then not letting anyone or anything bother them.
Unless it’s the food delivery guy. He can bother them.
But that’s it.
She’s gained approximately ten new wrinkles on her face in the past two weeks, none of them coming from being a year older, and Emma very much needs the season to be over for her own sanity.
Without a doubt, she’ll start to miss baseball in no less than two weeks.
Ariel Fisher, however, lives and breathes baseball and managing baseball players and quite possibly being the most supportive woman on the planet – and that includes Mary Margaret Nolan and her continual positivity – and even if the Yankees sucked, she would somehow cause them to win by her willpower alone.
Emma has known her in a personal capacity for over half a year now, and she’s still not used to all of the never-ending energy. Ariel probably had a full night’s sleep last night. Or maybe she didn’t sleep at all, and she’s in that stage of sleep deprivation where everything is heightened and you’re hyperactive.
Emma would bet on the latter of the two.
But Ariel does eventually finish talking once they’ve made it far away from offices and weight rooms and restaurants up to the suites that Emma is so familiar with now. She’s also familiar with all of the people waiting inside. Killian’s family doesn’t joke around when it comes to baseball. There is no reason for them to be here this early, and yet here they are.
And suddenly Ariel has disappeared, probably off to talk someone else’s ears off.
“That isn’t rain.”
“That most definitely is rain.”
“Anna,” Kris sighs as he and Anna stand at the windows looking out to the field, “that’s rain. It’s this thing that happens when – ”
“I don’t need a science lesson. I need it to stop.”
“I’m pretty sure the entire team is doing some kind of rain prevention dance downstairs because I think we all need it to stop.”
Everyone turns to look at her like they didn’t hear she and Ariel come in.
“Emma,” Lucy shouts, scrambling up from the couch to run toward her and tackle Emma in a hug that’s quickly joined by Addy.
“Hey, girls. Are you guys excited?”
“I’m bored,” Addy sighs out, which is not at all what Emma was expecting.
“Bored? How can you be bored?”
“Because I want the game to start! It’s taking too long, and we’ve been in here forever.”
“It’s been fifteen minutes,” Liam tells Emma as he walks over to her and scoops up his daughter while bending to kiss Emma on the cheek. “But we’ve been very impatient with waiting even though whining isn’t going to speed up the game time.”
“So it’s been a fun morning in your house then?” Emma asks.
Liam rolls his eyes, and even though he and Killian don’t look too much alike, she can see the resemblance there. “Joyous. And from my chat with Killian this morning, I can tell it was about the same at yours with the sleepless night.”
“Well, it is a big day today.”
“Just look up the weather forecast, Anna,” Elsa groans as she moves to rest her head against the countertop. “It’s supposed to rain in the middle of the game. We have known that the entire time, but the sun is literally coming out. It will be dry enough to start play on time.”
Emma arches her brow. “Was Elsa the one not sleeping?”
“Yeah,” Liam mumbles as he adjusts Lucy on his hip, “yeah, she was. She and Addy sat in the living room all night because they couldn’t sleep. I expect them to crash soon.”
“I’m fine,” Elsa promises even as she takes a sip of coffee out of the largest mug Emma has ever seen. “I’m exhausted, but I’m fine. Where in the world did Ariel go?”
“I have no idea. She was here and then she wasn’t. I’m not even sure why she pulled me away from the clubhouse. It’s all been a bit of a blur.”
“Her nickname could be The Blur or something ridiculous like that. She’s always zooming in and out of rooms.”
“How’s Killian?” Anna asks as she steps away from the windows. “Is he freaking out? Has he tried to run away yet?”
Emma’s hand reaches up to toy with her necklace, moving the ring from side to side and choosing not to worry about the weather any more than she already has. “He’s fine. He’s freaking out, but he’s fine. All he needs is for the game to start so he can stop psyching himself out.”
“I want the game to start too,” Addy whines once more as she falls out on the couch and throws her arm over her eyes.
“Darling,” Liam laughs, “have we ever considered that we made her too big of a fan?”
Elsa shrugs. “I don’t think we ever even had a choice.”
Emma stays up in the suite talking and eating cheeseburger sliders and drinking hot chocolate for the next hour, and it’s enough distraction that she doesn’t really think about what’s going on and the nerves radiating deep from her stomach and out to every inch of her. That only really begins when she has to officially start working, leaving the suite to walk to the ESPN booth and get her microphone hooked up to her and prepped for the start of the game. They have her hair curled again, just like she thought, and Isaac and James most definitely eye the jersey she has on. Emma ignores them, even if she does put on her sweater and take the raincoat the network offers her, and leaves the booth to go find the spot they have saved for her behind home plate.
People are filling the stands, a hushed murmur covering the stadium as the sun continues to peek through dark clouds, and Emma’s eyes are stuck on Killian as he continues the last of his pre-game warm-ups.
This exact day last year was one of the craziest days of her life, and she doesn’t think any of it could compare to this.
“You look like you’re going to vomit,” Jeff murmurs as he sets up the protective cover over his camera.
“I kind of feel like I am. Don’t date someone on the team. It’s too much.”
“I think I’m safe in that department.”
“You know what I mean.”
“I do,” he laughs, and Emma doesn’t miss the rare smile on Jeff’s face. “You ready to go?”
Emma adjusts her earpiece. “Yeah, I’m ready to go.”
-/-
The Dodgers score on Killian’s first pitch.
A home run right off the bat – literally – and Emma feels the collective groan around the stadium in her bones. That is not what was supposed to happen. It was supposed to be a strike, then two more, and an out. Easy as pie, right?
(Killian would tell her pie isn’t actually easy.)
But that’s obviously not how things are going to go today.
Sports have really got to be a little less dramatic. Her nerves can’t take it. Can’t things just be simple? Can’t they have gone back to the beginning and have won in four straight games instead of losing enough so that they’re in game seven of the World Series?
“If” doesn’t exist, especially in sport, Emma reminds herself. That’s what Killian would tell her, and that’s what she has to remind herself.
It only works a little bit.
One pitch at a time. It’s how Killian is going to be out there, and it’s how Emma is going to be sitting in the stands talking back and forth with the guys up in the booth thinking the same thing. It’s kind of hard to think that, though, when there’s a continual string of near hits and misses and Isaac and James up in the booth won’t stop being so damn negative that it makes Emma want to scream.
The score is 1-0 in the top of the third inning. It’s not the end of the world.
The looming dark sky overhead is kind of making her think that way.
“I’m too nervous, Rubes,” she mumbles while Killian winds up his arm to throw a pitch. There’s two men on base, both due to errors from King. She’d feel petty and a little glad if she didn’t need him to play well for the team. “Tell me about wedding stuff. Distract me.”
There’s static in her earpiece before Ruby’s voice comes in. “We’re getting married on a beach with no clothes on. Don’t worry. We can get waxed on the bachelorette weekend, so we’ll all be as smooth as babies.”
Emma huffs. “You’re not funny.”
“I’m hysterical,” Ruby corrects, and a part of Emma knows that Ruby and Graham might legitimately get married like that. “We haven’t planned any more than what we talked about last week. Small, intimate, and then a killer party with good food and drinks. Finding a location is hard. Everything is so expensive.”
“Destination wedding?”
“How is that cheaper?”
“I’m sure you can find a really inexpensive place in Nebraska or something.”
“You can get married in Central Park for one hundred dollars,” Jeff adds in, and Emma snaps her head away from the game to look at him. He shrugs his shoulders. “What? I know things.”
“I think the one hundred dollars is only if you want to get married in a certain spot, though,” Ruby sighs. “We’re going to keep looking. Graham said that he’d ask some of his buddies at the precinct if they knew of any spaces. It doesn’t have to be pretty since I know Mary Margaret will work her magic to make it that way no matter what.”
Killian’s pitch lands right in Will’s glove, and the umpire calls the batter out. Thank goodness. She doesn’t know what she’d do if someone else got on base. Then they’d be loaded with no outs, and things would pretty much be screwed from here on out.
Emma reaches over into her bucket of popcorn (she bought the jumbo size because she is stress eating) and stuffs a handful into her mouth instead of eating one or two at a time. One piece falls out of her mouth and down her shirt, landing somewhere in her bra so that she has to pick it out.
“You’re on the jumbotron right now, Emma,” Ruby giggles.
“Ah, fuck,” Emma mumbles as she looks up to see there be a replay of her digging in her shirt. “I hate everything.”
“That’s a little dramatic.”
“Me eating is like a running joke this season. I don’t get it.”
And she doesn’t really have time to get it before there’s the thwack of a ball against a bat straight past first base and away from everyone.
Shit.
It’s not good. Not at all. The two runners already on base get home, and the batter manages to make it to second.
It’s 3-0, and this is not at all how today was supposed to go.
Emma’s lungs are doing that thing again where they’re not taking in air, and there’s not enough popcorn in the world to make any of this better. If the tick in Killian’s jaw is any indication, she knows that there’s no one in the world more pissed at what’s happening than him. They don’t have anything together, and if they don’t get it together soon, they’re going to run out of time.
And then the sky opens up, little droplets of rain falling and landing on Emma’s nose, and that saying “when it rains, it pours” seems oddly appropriate right now. Her sadistic sense of humor is about to get worse.
They can’t lose. They can’t. she won’t allow it.
The rain keeps falling, a steady downpour of water, but it’s not enough to call for the rain delay. Not yet. And Killian is able to strike out the next guy and then get the third out of the inning with Eric catching the hit.
And just like the rain, the play stays steady. It’s not spectacular baseball by any means, mostly just a sludge match as everyone tries to keep their hands dry and the water out of their eyes, and the score slowly improves. Lance hits a good ball to get two RBIs, making it 3-2, and they manage not to allow any runs in the top of the fourth inning.
Good.
They’re creating chances. That’s what matters. They’re creating chances, and Emma can continue to eat her soggy popcorn while she freaks the hell out about what’s happening and continues to try to act like she’s a professional and not overly invested in the outcome of this game like she’s got money on it.
It’s the bottom of the fourth inning now, a chant of August’s name moving across the stadium so that it shakes in anticipation, and the bases are loaded. There are also two outs. Emma’s not saying that this could be the thing that changes the momentum of the game, but if the way that she’s gripping onto Jeff’s arm is any indication, she knows that this could change the momentum of the entire World Series.
“Come on, Booth,” Emma yells out as her free hand hits against her thigh, the wet denim clinging to her skin. “Be smart. Watch the ball.”
August obviously doesn’t know how to follow instructions because then it’s a swing and a miss.
Strike one.
There’s no chance for a strike two because while the rain has been sprinkling for the past hour, it’s pouring now. Jeff is mumbling about his camera and the cover not doing enough, but all Emma can focus on is all of the players running inside to the dugouts and fans shuffling inside while an announcement comes over the speakers that there’s an official rain delay.
An hour ago, she would have welcomed it. They didn’t have any of the momentum then. They do now.
This isn’t how things are supposed to be going.
Fuck.
-/-
“So how long is the rain delay going to be?”
“I don’t know.”
“But can you find out?”
“I can’t control the weather, Emma.”
“But you know things that we don’t, David,” Emma groans as she paces back and forth in a tunnel in the stadium, her hair frizzing around her face and her jeans completely soaked through. “It’s been an hour. Are they going to call the game? Are they going to continue it? This is agony.”
“You need to calm down.” Emma looks over to David with raised brows, and he holds his hands up in the air. “Sorry, sorry. Didn’t mean to say that to you, but you’re going to give yourself a heart attack if you keep worrying like this.”
Everyone they know is going to give themselves a heart attack, apparently.
“I know, I know,” she sighs, reaching up to hold onto her necklace and quieting down as some people pass by the two of them, probably looking at her like she’s a crazy person. “I’m nervous. This is really hard. I just…I want to be allowed into the clubhouse so that I can see him. He’s going to be freaking out. I just know, and I – ”
David walks toward her and places his hands on her shoulders while he looks down at her with a soft, reassuring smile on his face. She’s sure that he would hug her right now if she wasn’t soaking wet.
“Killian is fine, sweetheart. You are fine. We’re in the fourth inning. There’s still five more to go, whether it’s finished today or tomorrow or a week from now. They have time to come back. You, however, need to be back in hair and makeup because you’re supposed to be doing a clip on SportsCenter in fifteen minutes to fill the dead air time.”
“Shit. Why didn’t you say something earlier?”
“I couldn’t get a word in. You were kind of having a meltdown.”
Emma practically has to run down the hallways, which doesn’t help her appearance at all, and she’s sure that here makeup is streaky and her hair a wild mess that can’t be tamed, and the entire world can probably see her bra underneath her jersey right now. There’s not a hell of a lot that the makeup department can do, especially without a change of clothes besides a dry raincoat to replace the one that got soaked through, but they try their best before she’s standing in front of a plain backdrop inside the stadium talking back and forth about what’s going on in the game, breaking it down inning by inning in a way that she hasn’t had to do quite some time.
Considering she does it all with last minute notice and no notes in front of her, she thinks that she does a damn good job.
None of that really matters, though, because right as they’re wrapping up the segment, they get the announcement that play will resume in the next twenty minutes.
It’s time to play some more baseball.
Emma shouldn’t have eaten all of that popcorn because her stomach is most definitely churning with nerves.
They can do this. They have to. They will.
-/-
August immediately gets struck out, and the fourth inning ends with the Yankees still down 3-2.
The next two innings are scoreless for both teams, and Killian wraps up his game after that. He played well. It wasn’t his best, the weather and the nerves probably impacting him, but she’s proud of him.
She’ll be proud of him no matter what.
And she really wishes that the network wanted her to do a mid-game interview or let her go into the dugout just so that she could see him and tell him that in person, but they seem to be determined to only allow her to stay on the sidelines by herself.
Emma: I love you, I love you, I love you.
Emma: You’re my favorite player (and person) no matter what, and I can’t wait to see you when this game is over and you’re holding that trophy.
He texts back almost immediately, and he must have his phone out on the massage table.
Killian: Will you go out with me if we win? Or if we lose?
Laughter bubbles up inside of her, and it’s the first time all afternoon that she’s felt this light.
Emma: Only if you ask me out on live television like the asshole you were when you did that last year.
Killian: I think I can do that.
Her stomach flutters again, and even though this is kind of the biggest game that Emma has ever watched in her entire life, her eyes keep switching between her phone and the game. It’s pretty much the only way that she can stay calm and keep getting air into her lungs without one of them collapsing and her having to go to the hospital.
This game is going on forever. Literally. Each inning is longer than the last, and the sun is beginning to set over the horizon so that the remaining gray clouds disappear into the dark of night. Florescent lights fill the stadium, lighting up the crowd and the players, and Emma can’t stop shivering, especially with the remaining dampness of her clothes and the chill that’s whirling around. It’s got to be forty degrees out here at the most, and if it weren’t for Mary Margaret brining down her coat for Emma to use, she’d turn into an icicle by the end of the game.
Probably before the end of the game.
Today is obviously going very well.
It’s not just Emma, though. The crowd is starting to get a little delusional now too. The game has been going on for over six hours now, the last three completely scoreless, and everyone is getting restless and antsy and probably very, very drunk.
Some rum or whiskey or several shots of tequila is sounding really good right now.
She can’t have any of it.
And she’s moved on from popcorn to copious amounts of hot chocolate to keep her warm.
It’s now the bottom of the ninth in what could possibly be the last inning of the game and the end of the season, and they’re still down by one run. It’s almost exactly what happened last night, and Emma’s dentist is going to hate her for how much she’s grinding her teeth.
Just one run to tie it up. One more to win the whole damn thing.
Easy, right? Right.
“Fuck,” Emma mutters underneath her breath, unable to keep the thoughts inside. This cannot end up like last night. They’re so damn close. They can do this.
Eric settles into his position in the batter’s box, his hands moving up and down his bat until they’re in the right spots, and Emma would probably give up her entire salary to know just what Ariel is doing right now up in the suite. She’s got to be losing her mind.
Emma is kind of losing hers.
One. Two. Three.
The ball flies off of Eric’s bat, straight down past third base so that it practically paints the line, and Eric is off like a cheetah, quickly passing over first base and turning so quickly that he nearly falls on his way to second base. Emma stands, unable to stay sitting down, and she can’t even hear herself yell over the roar of the crowd as Eric slides against the dirt to mark up his uniform and have his fingers touch second base right before the ball gets to him.
Safe.
Holy shit. They have a man on base.
And August is up next. God, she hopes that he doesn’t choke again. There’s been a hell of a lot of pressure on his shoulders in the past two days, and he’s crumbled underneath it after having some really big opportunities to close things out. As good as these guys are at playing in the moment, the past does have the ability to creep up around them and wrap around their neck to pull them back to the past so that they can’t move on.
August has to move on.
One. Two. Three.
Strike.
Shit.
One. Two. Three.
Ball.
Okay.
One. Two. Three.
Strike.
Fuck.
Emma cannot do this. She absolutely can’t. It’s too much. It’s all too much, and she has to bend down to put her head between her legs. She knows that her phone is going off, that she’s got texts and calls and emails, but she can’t look at any of them. If it’s something for work, Ruby will speak into her earpiece or Jeff will say something.
This is the worst. Who likes sports? This is just the worst.
One. Two. Three.
The ball thwacks against August’s bat, and it flies toward left field. Emma is positive that it’s going to go over, absolutely positive that it’s going to be a home run and that they’re about to win this game. But then it hits against the wall, and suddenly it’s back in play. It’s not a home run, not quite, but it’s enough to have Eric round third and run toward home, his body barreling as quickly as possible before he’s sliding through the dirt once more so that it flies up around him.
Safe.
3-3.
Holy fucking shit.
Emma can’t hear. She can’t. The crowd is that deafening, and while Emma isn’t jumping up and down, her knuckles are going white as they grip onto the sides of her seat. All she can focus on is the way that Eric runs straight into Killian just outside the dugout, the two of them jumping up and down and hitting each other’s backs and asses as every other member of the team surrounds them in a celebration that sends chills down her spine.
Her cheeks are warm for the first time all night, and Emma has to force down the emotion in her throat.
It’s not over.
But that’s a good thing. They have the chance to do this, to win this now, and Emma’s heart is pumping blood faster than it ever has in the entirety of her life. It may very well beat out of her chest.
She doesn’t even care.
The high comes down five minutes later when King is easily struck out, putting their first out of the inning on the board, and even Emma isn’t petty enough to want Arthur King to do poorly when him doing well is good for the team. She’s petty. Just not petty enough.
Will Scarlet, though, deserves the entire world, and all of the organs in Emma’s stomach shift again when he steps into the box and adjusts his helmet. Sprinkles of rain are falling down from the clouds and spitting against Emma’s skin, but it’s not enough to stop the game. Not yet. The momentum is with them again, the game and the championship on their bats, and Emma has never known Will to be scared of a little rain.
One. Two. Three.
A swing and a miss.
Strike One.
One. Two. Three.
No movement. Deep breath inhaled.
Ball.
One. Two. Three.
No movement.
Strike Two.
“Damn,” Emma mumbles under her breath as she tightens the jacket a little further over her arms, her legs shaking and tapping enough to power the electricity in all of the Bronx. She’s going to break the chain around her neck for how tightly she’s tugging on it. It’s fine. It’s all fine.
It’s got to be all fine.
The water is spitting a little harder now, Emma’s vision getting a little bit blurred, and it’s taking everything in her not to stand up right now so that she blocks the people behind her. Ruby is chattering in her ear cursing or hoping or something, her phone is still going off, and Jeff has to be complaining about how much Emma is crushing his forearm.
She doesn’t care.
Because Will is standing in position again, and he’s ready.
One. Two. Three.
There’s a sharp blow when the ball makes contact with the bat, and while the rain and the stadium lights make it hard to see, Emma already knows that the ball is going over the back wall and into the crowd.
Gone. It’s gone.
It’s freaking gone.
Will Scarlet is an absolute legend.
The Yankees just won the World Series.
Killian just won the World Series.
Everything is so loud around her, cheers reverberating and shaking the stands so that Emma can literally feel sounds, but she has trouble focusing on any of that over the sound of her heart pounding in between her ears and Ruby yelling in her earpiece that Emma has to get down to the field.
The field.
She has to get down to the field, and somehow, she does. Jeff must have carried her there or pushed her or something. It’s a madhouse, one Emma can’t navigate, and she knows that she’s supposed to be doing some kind of interview, preferably with Will, but there’s no way for her to find anyone. It’s a mass of players all huddled together and jumping up and down as coaches and wives and children all join in, the rain coming down even harder than earlier.
All Emma really wants is to find Killian and kiss him like she’s never kissed him before.
That’s saying something.
Emma sees him standing ten feet away from her on the outskirts of a pile of men embracing each other in happiness, his hair a mess like he’s been running his hands through it for the past two hours and his smile so large that it reaches his ears. He looks beautiful, ethereal almost, and Emma can scarcely breathe looking at him after pushing through so many people to find him.
That’s when he sees her through the people and the rain and the unending joy.
Killian pulls his arm up to tap his closed fist over his heart, and Emma’s heart stutters at the movement before a slow grin stretches across her lips while she reaches up to tap her fist over the ring and her heart.
She was cheering him on the entire time.
One. Two. Three.
Emma takes off toward him, ignoring Ruby in her ear and Jeff behind her with the camera, and in six strides, she’s pressing up onto her toes and wrapping her arms around his neck, holding onto him so tightly that her feet come off the ground and Killian’s hands scramble for her ass, barely holding onto her as he lifts her in the air and swings her back and forth as they both get covered in the continual downpour of rain.
She can hardly see, the water far too much, and when she cups Killian’s cheeks and slams her mouth into his, he tastes like water and spearmint gum and quite possibly all of the happiness in the world bottled up into one human being.
Kissing him and being here with him is everything she ever wanted and everything she never allowed herself to dream.
“Fancy seeing you here, Swan,” Killian laughs, his mouth still pressing against hers.
“What are you talking about, Jones? I was right here last year.”
“Yeah,” he smiles, the grin the most infectious thing she has ever seen, “but I think I like this year a hell of a lot better.”
“Can’t wait to see how you try to top this next year.”
Killian throws his head back in in laughter, his skin covered in rain, and he finally puts her down on the ground so that her feet sink into the soft grass below her, arms still wrapped around Killian’s neck so that she’s close enough to see the sparkle in his eyes and the smile on his lips.
“You know what, my love? I think I’m good staying right here in this moment for now. We can figure out the rest later.”
-/-
-/-
Tag list: @dorisquinn @onepunintendid @authorarsinoe @stunningswan @eala-captian @galaxyzxstark @xellewoods @mariakov81 @ultraluckycatnd @royalswan @shey-starsfury @superchocovian @sals86 @iam2307 @ashley-knightingale @karenfrommisthaven @scientificapricot @captswanis4vr @ultimiflos @jamif @idristardis @nikkiemms @resident-of-storybrooke @tiganasummertree @bmbbcs4evr @onceuponaprincessworld @jennjenn615 @mayquita @captainsjedi @teamhook @notoriouscs @kmomof4 @ekr032-blog-blog @cs-forlife @andiirivera @jonirobinson64 @qualitycoffeethings @carpedzem @tornadoamy @397bartonstreet
#catch me if you can#cs fic#cs ff#cs fanfic#captain swan fanfic#captain swan ff#captain swan fic#captain swan
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Sometimes, and I do not mean for this to sound malicious, which it will, I feel the need to defend hairdressers.
Hairdressers and hair stylists are skilled technicians who go through thousands of hours of training in order to hone their craft. Some of us were lucky enough to go to a technical school while in high school and are not in debt. I, however, paid almost $25,000 to go to school. I had to go for 1500 solid hours. In my state, that meant Mon-Thurs evenings for 5 hours a night. In my opinion, people don’t give stylists enough credit for what they need to know to get licensed in their state. Specifically, my license is for cosmetology. I had to know skin disorders, chemical reactions, actual strand structure - and we still don’t get told enough because we don’t get proper training on different types of hair, but that’s a whole different post that a lot of other people have done better than me.
The predominant way we are paid in the industry is via commission. So if we have no one scheduled, we don’t get paid. If we have a client cancel, we don’t get paid. At my first salon I was expected to stay as early as I could to as late as I could, unpaid, just in case someone came in. Of course, corporate places are mildly better in that they offer a minimum wage, but that’s usually somewhere between $7-9 an hour. In order to earn commission in that type of situation you have to do more in services than what you would have been paid for the hour. Again, probably an entire post in itself.
I tried a lot of places. I paid a lot of money for a license I was very proud to own. The final straw was a salon near my house. Personality-wise, I really felt like it would work out because I enjoyed the people I was around and I was disappointed when it didn’t work. When I first started, they insisted I do two unpaid apprenticeship days because I was (licensed for 6 months at that time) too new to work on their clients. They would provide models and charge the models a lower service fee than their usual service fee. I would then have two paid days at $10 an hour where I would basically follow the owner around, clean and do shampoos. On my days off, I was expected to want to come into the salon and continue to apprentice for free. There was a point in my apprenticeship phase where I was only being paid two days for 5-6 days worth of work.
Again, this is not uncommon in the industry. Maybe not to this extreme, but certainly there’s a lot of free work being done. Does your stylist have someone help them blowdry? You might want to make sure that apprentice is being paid.
My skills did improve greatly during this period, but I maintain that was because I put a lot into it. The owner took all the credit- through his great teaching methods, I was becoming an ‘okay’ hairdresser.
During the apprenticeship, unless you handed me a cash tip, he kept all of my credit card tips. So if you added a tip after service with your credit card, the salon kept them because they said I was using their electricity/taking up space in the salon and I needed to pay for that.
In addition to all of the time I listed above actually being in the salon, I was also expected to attend continuing education classes. In summary, and again this is not an uncommon culture in the industry, if you do not eat-sleep-breathe HAIR, you are told you’re not good and you won’t do well. The only exception seems to be if you have children, but if you’re single/without kids they will work you to the bone.
When I was finally promoted to a junior stylist, I stopped being paid hourly at all. I was told I would get 36% commission for services and I was specializing in color corrections/the blonding journey at the time, so I was doing $200-300 services quite often. Some of those services took 4-6 hours of my time, but if I had no one scheduled I was still expected to straighten up, do laundry, sweep the floors and help other stylists with color application and blowouts. Which is fine, kind of. The problem became that from the start of my journey at that specific salon, I would be expected to arrive when we opened at 10 AM and stay until the owner finished his clients- sometimes I didn’t leave until 11-12 PM, and was expected to come back the next day.
So yes, one $300 color service could mean that I earned 14-16$ an hour, but… when you’re working 10-12 hour days that kind of knocks it down to minimum wage again.
Then there is the opinion that this is an easy job that so many people can do and you don’t need to be vaguely intelligent to do it. That the people who chose hair are stupid or unskilled. I was sitting on the steps of my school once, reading an Agatha Christie book and comparing certain passages to an ACD Sherlock Holmes story via text message with SpicyMags, when an older couple walked by. The man looked up at the school sign and scoffed, “These girls are getting suckered into a scam. This is nothing but a scam and they’re stupid enough to fall for it.”
Well, in retrospect, he’s not wrong, but at the same time when you know the blood and sweat and tears- the thousands of hours and dollars that are poured into not only the initial licensing but the continued education classes- being a hairdresser is so much more than people give it credit for. It’s an abusive industry that exploits a lot of unpaid labor and even when you get to a point where you have skill, where you are an artist, you have people asking for a luxury service and then complaining when that unnecessary luxury costs them actual money.
One last thing I’d love to point out- the 100% customer service guarantee. A lot of salons these days are trying to change, but a lot of them also still have a guarantee that if you don’t love your hair, you get a free redo or a refund. Do you know what that means? Your stylist doesn’t get paid.
So I can spend 6-8 hours on your hair after you tell me it’s been box dyed brown attempting to take you through the lightening journey to get it blond. I can tell you that because of the molecules and ingredients in the dye, the actual damaged structure of your hair, that it is not possible to do it all in one day but I can get you close. I can explain to you the entire process, waste all my time being completely honest with you about how golden it’s still going to look because it IS a journey/process, and at the end you can decide that because I didn’t get your hair to solid white in one go that you want a refund…
And I don’t get paid for the entire day that we spent together.
That’s some fucking bullshit, but it’s - and this is a quote from several of the places I’ve worked- an “industry standard”.
The cherry on this shituation cake is that we also don’t get any health benefits, life insurance, retirement- no freaking anything (corporate salons being a slight exception although having worked in the medical field I can tell you the benefits offered by corp. owned salons are not great.)
So please, next time you decide that it’s laughable that a salon quotes you $150 for a craft haircut that takes a certain level of knowledge and skill, remember that the salon gets most of that and if you don’t like it there’s a huge change your stylist isn’t getting paid.
Edit: Things that I did not mention but should have- the toll it takes on your body (repetitive motions and standing in heels on concrete floors cause back issues, neck and hip issues, knee issues, carpal tunnel and risk of cutting off your knuckle with your instruments). I had to sign a release that my school was not responsible for me cutting any part of my body with my shears (I’ve had bosses who lost toes and knuckles). You think that heels thing is a joke? I’ve worked in several salons where ‘female’ stylists were required to wear heels and at least three items of make-up because ‘this was the beauty industry and we had a standard to keep’. Say you gather a clientel and can rent your own chair or booth, you’re responsible for purchasing every single bit of supplies you might need to continue doing what you’re doing, so you’re still having business costs eat into your hourly wage. People need to give a fucking standing ovation to hairdressers, okay, because this industry is brutal.
I’m not saying I dislike doing hair, or that I’d never do hair again, but there are several reasons I’m not doing it right now.
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Uncommon OC Questions! For Ardolf: 1, 2, 14, 18, 33, 38, 45, 50 For Martin: 4, 5, 10, 15, 20, 21, 36, 49 And 25, 41 and 43 for both! ＼(＾▽＾)／
Whoa, that’s a lot. You always know exactly how to pander to me.
I’ll do my best! These are probably going to be some pretty long answers, though.
________________________________________________________________
First up, Ardolf:
1.) A little-known talent of your OC?
Hm, for Ardolf? It would probably be his ability to work with children. Like, if he had been in a modern setting, he probably would’ve gone into family medicine or pediatrician work. Though he’s not a terribly charismatic person, he is pretty soft and fatherly and has high-key adopted nearly every child we’ve come across in the D&D campaign I use him as a character in.
Otherwise? Whistling. He’s really good at whistling.
2.) What trait does your OC like best about themself? (Eyes, guitar skills, random bird facts, etc)
He’s extremely proud of his practical doctoring skills. Though he’s learned healing magic and divination now that he’s gotten older and wiser, he grew up in the Greymouth Clan – a house of human doctors and surgeons that almost specifically worked with hands-on medicine. Give him some bandages, some leaves, and a bit of elbow grease and he can patch you just as well as any spell! (Though maybe it’ll take a bit longer. He really just wants to be as helpful as possible, even after he can’t cast anything).
14.) Happy birthday! What kind of present would your OC want?
Anything from the heart! It could be a song, a poem, a letter, or even a neat looking rock. He hasn’t celebrated his own birthday for years and just the gesture of someone remembering would probably make him tear up. Had he been a bit younger, freshly baked sweet or herb bread would’ve been his jam! That’s only changed in the recent years because, you know, lycanthropy makes eating that sort of thing real difficult.
18.) Something that makes your OC laugh without fail?
Carved pumpkins, gourds, and really anything that has a face when it probably shouldn’t.
Like, a goofy face? A scary one? A half-baked monstrosity that could barely count as a Jack-O-Lantern? Doesn’t matter, it’ll get him every time.
33.) A song that reminds you of your OC?
There’s too many to choose! Probably Kind Folk – instrumental by Kenny Wheeler and Brian Dickinson, Secunda by Jeremy Soule (from the Skyrim soundtrack), or The Bygone Days from Porco Rosso. Kind of just dependent on the scene!
38.) Random thunderstorm! How does your OC react?
He’d probably around and watch it go by. The thunder gets a little uncomfortably loud, considering his hearing is all lycanthropic, but something about rain and a nice mist reminds him of home at the times when he’s farthest away.
45.) What kind of self-esteem does your OC have?
A very poor one!
Though he does try to keep his chin-up, as he’ll say, the first word that would pop in his head to describe himself would be something like ‘monster’ or ‘creature’. Though his lycanthropy is something he wasn’t born with, and he’s spent a good portion of his life fighting against it, he’s begrudgingly settled on the idea that it’s a part of him he cannot control. And that tends to be a bit of a bummer sometimes! Though he tries to, he has a very difficult time separating the wants of the curse with his own – and though he’ll say he and the beast are two different beings (and ultimately, he’s right) he worries, deep down, if that might not truly be the case.
50. What is your OC’s happy place?
On the top of a mountain somewhere – close to his family – close to his friends – watching the clouds of morning mist roll across the peaks. Mostly anywhere safe, warm, and together with people he cares about.
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On to Martin!
3.) Is your OC good at keeping secrets?
Hahaha, no.
He certainly tries! But if he gets off on a nervous tangent (which is about 60%-85% of his dialogue) he has a tendency to overshare. Quiiite a bit.
4.) Your OC’s worst habit?
He cannot keep quiet. Half of the time he’s speaking, he’s usually not even sure what he’s saying! But boy will he say it. And he’ll say it in staggering, stuttering bulk. See above.
10.) Would your OC prefer to live in the city, the suburbs, or the country?
He has no idea. The suburbs?
A close-knit community, nice, quiet, everyone-knows-everyone and that means everyone knows who he is and maybe they’ll use that to catch him off guard.
The city?
So many people that he’d be faceless, could be safe! But also very, very unsafe. Notoriously unsafe. Wait, doesn’t he live in a city? If something happened would authorities even have time to help him? What if there’s so many people that they gang up on him? Hold on.
The country?
That’s isolated, safe, lovely – but what if it’s so isolated that if something bad happened no one would hear him calling! What if his neighbors were strange and odd, then what would happen? He’d be stuck with them! And the land prices!
If he’d have the choice, he’d probably live in a Minecraft house. On peaceful.
15.) Something that grosses your OC out?
Ironically, considering he’s a vampire spawn, blood! He’s super, extremely squeamish and cannot stand the stuff.
20. An obscure/ridiculous fear your OC has?
Honestly if you talked it up right, you could convince this poor man to fear anything. I cannot pinpoint just one. (Though high-key, reality television. He knows it’s usually fake, but what if it wasn’t? What if someday he’s just trying to watch TV or go grocery shopping and all of a sudden a camera crew shows up Truman Show style? Horrifying.)
21.) Does your OC have any type of disability, whether it be mental, physical, etc?
Mhm. Overarchingly he suffers pretty majorly from Post-Traumatic-Stress-Disorder (something that I plan to cover/work with pretty majorly in the stories) and Generalized Anxiety Disorder (something he had been working with since before the whole vampirism thing). After the vampiric attack/turning, he also has some unnamed disorders he’s working with (I, as the author, have applied them as symptoms of his pseudo-vampirism, and didn’t want to apply real-world diagnosis to avoid some really poor misguided diagnostic attempts!) such as a whole lotta’ paranoia and general poor-coping with being a half-undead. He also has some pretty major ticks (specifically an eye twitch he, for the life of him, cannot get to stop).
36.) Your OC’s favorite fashion era? (20’s, 70’s, etc)
I’d say 90s grunge. But that’s kind of a stretch, and probably more of an excuse to not futz with his hair and wear clothes three times his size.
49.) Your OC’s most prized possession?
:･ﾟ☆✧ The friendship he creates with the other Ghoul Parade protagonists :･ﾟ☆✧
In his apartment (which, mind you, is extremely cluttered and it the apartment equivalent of that Pepe Silvia picture) he has a small battery powered waterfall set up on what used to be his kitchen counter. It has a frog at the top that spits water into small pots that then pour into each other, and if he presses a button it’ll turn on some very soft LED lights. That. That is one of his most prized possessions.
29.) Someone does something awful in front of your OC. How do they handle it?
That depends on what sort of awful we’re talking about. He instinctively wants to help – to really help – and will go as far as putting himself into a hypothetical (or literal, who knows!) line of fire if someone’s really in danger. Though smaller things, in more everyday situations, he usually finds himself freezing up.
________________________________________________________________
And now, for both!
41. Does your OC like/make puns?
Yes. Absolutely. Without a doubt.
43. Your OC wakes up with a coin super glued to their forehead. How do they react?
Ardolf would probably spend the whole morning trying to pry it off, before either succeeding or just giving up and asking one of his friends to help. To which they’d probably have no better luck. He wouldn’t be angry with whoever did it! More just kind of flustered until ultimately laughing it off.
And Martin probably wouldn’t notice for some time (he doesn’t really keep any mirrors in his house. He can very-well see himself in them, but something about the connection they have to vampire lore makes him uneasy) and wouldn’t notice until someone pointed out. He’d then drop everything and take hours trying to figure out how someone got into his house to put a coin on his head. Why they did it. What kind of coin it was. If it was really, actually a coin. All to probably learn that he somehow did it himself in some freak minor mishap.
Yes, that’s absolutely what he would do.
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Headcanon that after Rose and Kanaya decide to move out of their flat and get a house, Vriska and Terezi (who have both returned and are dating by this point) move in with them. They just ask to stay temporarily at first, promising that they’ll find their own flat eventually, but as time goes on, Vriska reels in favours and invents reasons to stay for longer. Rose and Kanaya don’t mind, however; they appreciate the company. And eventually it becomes obvious to all four of them that the current living situation is effectively permanent.
When you have functional (barely) lesbian wives, disaster bisexual girlfriends, and three cats all living in the same house, you get sitcom-level scenarios.
Take note that aside from Rosemary and Vrisrezi, all relationships are platonic.
This got really long so I’m putting it under a Read More tag.
First, about the cats. Technically, they belong to Rose and Kanaya, since they’re the ones who feed them. But one of them, a ginger tom, has practically glued himself to Vriska. Vriska wears a lot of black. I think you can see where this is going.
The cats pose a problem for Terezi for two reasons. First of all, she’s prone to tripping over them or sitting on them by accident. Second, on multiple occasions, she has licked something and gotten a mouthful of cat hair for her efforts. Needless to say, none of the cats like her.
After The Saliva Incident of February 16th, Terezi is no longer allowed to lick anything not within her and Vriska’s room. Nobody is allowed to talk about The Saliva Incident of February 16th for fear of going under the business end of Kanaya’s lipstick.
Rose is fairly neat but is prone to mess when sleep-deprived, which she often is. Kanaya is a neat freak. Vriska and Terezi are slobs on par with stereotypical university students. There is an ongoing feud.
They’re all kept busy in some manner. Kanaya’s the only one with a real job: taking care of the mother grub. Rose and Terezi are both in university, studying psychology and law respectively. Vriska bounces between part-time jobs a lot, trying to figure out what she’s going to do with herself for the rest of eternity.
Kanaya has remarked that Vriska and Terezi are vacillating through all four quadrants simultaneously. Karkat is trying to confirm her claim but is hung up on the auspistice part.
Vriska has expressed interest in acting. She’s torn about whether it would be a good or bad idea due to her god status.
Jade is slowly but surely teaching Kanaya how to teleport. She practices a lot. The cats are afraid of her now. Terezi refused to speak to her for a week following one incident that shall not be discussed.
Rose and Kanaya, even though they’re married, are not clingy. Kanaya in particular is reticent to express affection through physical means. Vriska and Terezi, however, are very clingy. More need not be said on this matter.
In contrast, Rose and Kanaya often call each other pet names. They most frequently use “honey” and “dear”, but sometimes they branch out. Vriska and Terezi only call each other pet names if they’re actively trying to make other people uncomfortable. It happens more often than you’d think.
The four young ladies hold game/movie nights every Thursday. Occasionally, Dave and Karkat join them. Sometimes, they do livestreams. Those often deteriorate into madness.
They watched “The Sting” one evening. Vriska now has ideas. She is officially barred from watching “Ocean’s 8″.
Rose once convinced everybody to join her in binge-watching all the Lord of the Rings movies in one day. It went over surprisingly well. She’s now trying (unsuccessfully) to get Vriska and Terezi to read the books. (Kanaya has read them but doesn’t like them quite as much as Rose does.)
Kanaya and Terezi used to duel on the front porch on occasion. After Terezi nearly lost a finger, they stopped.
Vriska is the reason why Terezi failed her bar exam.
None of them can cook. Like, not even Kanaya can make anything more complex than a sandwich. They get takeout about twice a week.
Vriska has been known to subsist on nothing but graham crackers and those pull-apart cheese stick things for upwards of 36 hours. It’s not that she forgets to eat, it’s that she snacks on them nigh-constantly and doesn’t feel hungry enough to consume an actual meal.
Rose is the one who forgets to eat. Some days, she only has lunch and drinks coffee the rest of the time. Kanaya posts sticky note reminders for her all the time. They don’t help much.
Terezi, on the other hand, has a ridiculously fast metabolism. They always order two medium pizzas instead of one because Terezi will finish one all on her own.
Kanaya’s diet is mostly normal. She has acquired a liking for rare meat.
Vriska can sleep through a fire alarm (and has done so before), which is a good thing because Terezi snores. However, Terezi’s a fairly light sleeper, so sometimes she wakes herself up.
Kanaya sleeps like a mummy. She lies on her back and just. Doesn’t move. Rose doesn’t seem to find this odd.
Terezi stole a copy of Roxy’s old Complacency of the Learned fanfiction and brought it home for her and Rose to read. Rose claimed that she was simultaneously expecting both better and worse out of it.
At one point, Aradia burst through the window and asked to stay over for the night. They let her stay. She left in the morning without any explanation.
Kanaya has a deal with the local hospital with regards to her blood-drinking requirements. (They let her purchase donated blood from them for a fee.) Sometimes, if she runs out and forgets to go shopping, she’ll ask one of her friends to donate.
Terezi is proficient in the slide whistle, to the detriment of everybody else.
Vriska knows that Kanaya should never be trusted to name things in any timeline. She stopped her from naming one of the cats Nepeta.
The names of the cats are:
Glenn: The ginger tom who loves Vriska. Is found sleeping in very strange places.
Shepard: Grey tabby tom, slightly ornery but mostly lazy. Kanaya’s cat, by process of elimination.
Artemis: Brown tabby she-cat, slightly lazy but mostly ornery. Only likes Rose. Was almost named Nepeta.
They all have wildly different tastes in music. Terezi prefers so-called “single-colour songs”, which can be anything from smooth jazz to EDM to heavy metal. (Her playlist is like an acid trip.) Rose likes classical music and dubstep and dubstep remixes of classical music. Vriska likes rock, both classic and alternative. Kanaya prefers show tunes and the like. However, they are all united by a strong distaste for country music.
Rose is learning Alternian so that she can understand what Kanaya, Vriska, and Terezi say behind her back. She already knows what her birthday present is going to be. It’s either a set of golf clubs or a necklace. She’s still pretty shaky on vocabulary.
Kanaya claims she is the sole reason why Rose and Vriska haven’t killed each other yet. (Vriska actually HAS killed Rose, but it was ruled a stupid death. Thank God.)
Terezi hung a stuffed Dirk in effigy in the dining room once. Rose took it down almost immediately, but she took a picture of it first.
Rose is practically nocturnal at this point, given her university studies and the nocturnal habits of her housemates. One time, she stayed up for 53 hours straight. Lots of hallucinations and espresso were involved.
Other than all the clashing caused by the differing personalities, the four young ladies get along surprisingly well. Sometimes, they claim that their time spent on the meteor was training.
#etaccurate#homestuck#headcanon#this has been in my drafts since october#rosemary#vrisrezi#rose lalonde#kanaya maryam#terezi pyrope#vriska serket#queue#if you tag this as po/ly I'll rip off your eyelids#the BrOT4
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One Scene, 42 Takes and 2 Hours in a Bathroom Stall
By Greta Gerwig
May 9, 2013
Scene 63. INT. BATHROOM. NIGHT.
Frances and Sophie inside a stall together.
FRANCES: I was lying. I don’t love Patch.
SOPHIE: I do love him.
FRANCES: Since when? When did this happen?
SOPHIE: It’s been happening.
FRANCES: That’s [expletive] [expletive]. Sophie, COME ON!
SOPHIE: No, you’re [expletive]. And you’re making me feel really bad right now.
FRANCES: I want to love him if you love him, but you don’t love him.
SOPHIE: I DO.
FRANCES: (tearing up) Sophie! I [expletive] held your head when you cried. I bought special milk for you. I know where you hide your pills. Do not treat me like a three-hour-brunch friend.
SOPHIE: I’m not talking to you while you’re like this.
She turns away. Frances hits the wall close to Sophie’s head. It’s violent and kind of scary.
In the film “Frances Ha,” Scene 63 is 28 seconds long. We did 42 takes in total, two hours of shooting in a bathroom with no breaks or pauses other than for direction and blocking. In 50 days of shooting, we averaged around 35 takes per scene. Most independent films shoot in 25 days with, at most, 10 takes per scene.
A take, in this case, refers to the entirety of the above printed text, acted from beginning to end. Meaning that Mickey Sumner, playing Sophie, and I, playing Frances, said those words and performed those actions 42 times in a row. The scene had to play “in one,” a take in its entirety, with no edits. The take is the scene. Noah Baumbach, the director and my co-writer, was going to have to pick only one of those 42 takes for the final film.
To write this essay, I went back to the editing room and watched all 42 takes. I also read the script supervisor’s notes, which include Noah’s opinions of each performance. Using the footage, the notes and my memory of the day of shooting, I created the following take journal.
Take 1 (2:04 p.m.): The first one. Not great, but not bad. The first go-round always has an adrenaline to it that is thrilling and unwieldy. There is a pride in simply getting through it, saying everything pretty well correctly and not melting into the ground with embarrassment for all the acting that we are doing.
Take 2 (2:08 p.m.): Because the first take went fairly well, I immediately become cocky and start overplaying it. I’m acting toodrunk. It’s whiny and high-pitched, and for some reason I’m leaning over the sink in a way that makes me look like a hunchback.
Take 3 (2:13 p.m.): Now I swing too far in the other direction and pitch my voice a lot lower. It sounds fake, as if I’m trying to sound important. Frances’ rhythms are more fleet and funny. I touch Mickey too much, it’s too aggressive. She flinches, and she’s right to, because what I’m doing is weird.
Take 4 (2:16 p.m.): I know I’m doing the scene badly, but I can’t figure out how to do it well. Usually by Take 4 something has settled, but not this time. I do a weird line reading just to change it up. That surprises me midperformance, and then I mess up my next line — I say “three-hour-lunch friend” instead of “three-hour-brunch friend.” I apologize immediately after Noah calls, “Cut!” Little words count.
Take 5 (2:20 p.m.): Still hunched over. Less angry, more sad. I’m probably just sad for myself, which is a terrible trap for an actor to fall into. I can tell that Noah is not thrilled with what we’re getting. He hasn’t said anything yet — no “Good take” or “Mark that one” to let me know that I’m on the right track.
Take 6 (2:22 p.m.): Slow. REALLY slow. I try to straighten up! Well done! The crazy-anger is all gone, which is good, but it doesn’t have any energy. By the end of the scene, I’m back to hunching.
Take 7 (2:24 p.m.): For some reason I totally lose my lines. I trip over my tongue. I get very angry with myself and slam the wall next to Mickey’s head too hard at the end of the scene. She lets out a gasp — I’m frightening her.
Take 8 (2:27 p.m.): Because I am playing the scene angrier, Mickey is fighting back harder. A very strong “I DO” from her. I hit the wall quite violently. Mickey starts crying.
Take 9 (2:30 p.m.): I am upsetting Mickey too much — it’s hard for her (or for anyone in that position) to come down from so much emotion and reset and do the scene again. Now she looks upset throughout the entire scene, not just at the end. Sophie is stronger than this, more justifiably angry with Frances than frightened by her. I’m not doing my job as a scene partner.
Take 10 (2:32 p.m.): We start, but then I immediately stop the scene. “Sorry, sorry for this,” I say. I hate breaking a take. But I have a question. Writing a script does not necessarily mean you understand it as an actor. Noah and I talk about Frances’ sincerity. Me: “When I say, ‘Since when,’ am I serious about that?” Noah: “Yes, but it’s not like you really want to know.” Me: “Right, right, let’s go again.”
Take 11 (2:36 p.m.): Calmer energy. Too calm. It’s death for the scene. It’s clearer though, less drunk. At the end, I get a “Want to run it again right away?” from Noah. Nothing else, just “Run it again.” This angers me. I want praise. We do another one right away while the camera is rolling. It’s better, less forced. He was right.
Take 12 (2:38 p.m.): Now I’m underacting deliberately. But it feels more specific. I’m building it from the inside out, trying to wait for it instead of flinging myself in one direction or another.
Take 13 (2:41 p.m.): I start and stop. It’s a dud.
Take 14 (2:44 p.m.): It’s beginning to take shape. The rhythm is kicking in. Mickey is a rock, hitting it perfectly every single time. Acting against someone who has the showier moment is always difficult, but she’s nailing it.
Take 15 (2:47 p.m.): I’m still leaning over — why am I doing that? I laugh through the scene, which seems like an interesting choice, but as soon as the take is over, Noah says, “I think that you’re fed up with her already, so don’t laugh.” I nod and say, “O.K., right, it’s not funny.” I am taking in his direction now. Acting is not simply performing but being in a state of pliable awareness, like hot metal — all possibility and softness in something that is inherently strong.
Take 16 (2:50 p.m.): This is the first take for which there are any script notes. It reads simply, “Good.” This means that after the take, Noah leaned over to the script supervisor and said, “That was a good one.” First genuinely good take, and we’re almost an hour into it.
Take 17 (2:52 p.m.): Another “Good” in the script notes. We’re on a roll! When a scene starts working, it feels as if every choice you make is the right one. It’s getting into a zone where each take can be wildly different, but it all feels true. Frances is the right mix of drunk, angry and self-righteous, while Sophie is simultaneously over Frances’ antics and infuriated by them.
Take 18 (2:55 p.m.): The notes read, “Blocking changed.” Thank God! After 18 takes, I finally stop leaning over in a death hunch. We’ve changed my action so that I’m turning off the water and drying off my hands as we start. The scene is instantly better.
Take 19 (2:58 p.m.): The acting is good, but there are weird sounds of doors opening somewhere in the club outside, which messes up the audio.
Take 20 (3:02 p.m.): I’m making a meal out of drying my hands with the paper towel. I am drying them too vigorously, enjoying having a prop far too much. It has become a crutch.
Take 21 (3:05 p.m.): I’m not paying enough attention to Mickey, which is a bad choice. The only way to make a scene work is with the other actor, and the minute I start thinking about myself more than them, I am sunk.
Take 22 (3:09 p.m.): Another “Good” in the script notes. My performance is finally clean and focused, and Mickey is great as always.
Take 23 (3:12 p.m.): Because I’m washing my hands every single time at the top of the scene, my fingers have started to pucker. But it’s a good action, so I keep washing.
Take 24 (3:15 p.m.): I overarticulate some of the words. I emphasize the “me” too much in the way I say “Don’t treat me like a three-hour-brunch friend.” It makes it sound as if there is someone we’ve just been interacting with who is the three-hour-brunch friend.
Take 25 (3:17 p.m.): The take is pretty good, but as soon as Noah calls, “Cut,” Mickey says, “I was waiting for it, sorry.” Meaning she braced for my wall hit before I did it. It is difficult to keep the surprise of the moment alive.
Take 26 (3:20 p.m.): It’s a good one, but when it ends, I don’t hear anything positive. I react and say with a slightly hard voice, “Was that a good one?” Noah says, “Let’s try another.” I close my eyes and try to focus on the next one.
Take 27 (3:21 p.m.): Script notes read, “Good.” Victory! I didn’t get derailed by my wanting and not getting praise.
Take 28 (3:24 p.m.): Another good one for Mickey and me, but the hit at the end is kind of strange. It doesn’t quite land right, making the moment seem awkward and airless.
Take 29 (3:26 p.m.): It all works. The characters are there, not the actors struggling. After we finish it, Mickey cries, which is not quite the scripted reaction, but it she resets easily.
Take 30 (3:29 p.m.): I start the scene and then stop myself. Noah says, “That was good, though, a good beginning.” I am angry at myself. I start over. I totally flub the lines but stumble through it. Sometimes when I do a great take or have a great moment, I scare myself back into mediocrity. As if it’s too frightening to actually find something that works, because I lose myself inside the moment and my conscious mind wants to pull me back into something more familiar but more banal. I see this happen to other actors all the time, too. Fully swimming in a character and a scene can be terrifying.
Take 31 (3:31 p.m.): Script notes read, “Good.” I’ve calmed down, I’m not as freaked out. Back into being in control but also out of control enough to make it interesting.
Take 32. (3:34 p.m.): We start, and it’s going fairly well, but the camera “rolls out,” and they have to change the memory card.
Take 33 (3:37 p.m.): Another “Good.” It is good: I’m there for Mickey, and she’s there for me.
Take 34 (3:40 p.m.): Inverted a word here. I say, “I bought you special milk,” instead of “I bought special milk for you.” It is a small thing, but it messed with the pace of the line.
Take 35 (3:42 p.m.): This take is pretty good, but I’m getting tired, I can tell.
Take 36 (3:45 p.m.): Mickey says, “I do,” really strong and angrily. She is a workhorse, indefatigable. It feels as if we might have gotten the scene already. We unconsciously start to wind down.
Take 37 (3:47 p.m.): Noah stops us in the middle of the take; I don’t know why exactly. We do it again. Because this happens a lot, a stop and a start over, the take count doesn’t reflect how many times we actually do it. Often we do it more times than recorded.
Take 38 (3:49 p.m.): There is a way-too-long pause in the middle. I apologize right away at the end of the take. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry everyone.” I am suddenly reminded of our crew. The cinematographer, the focus puller and the sound woman who have all been cramped in this bathroom with us. Actors are allowed to screw up much more than anyone else on a set.
Take 39 (3:53 p.m.): Script notes read, “Good.” The trajectory of filming a scene: at the beginning, it’s all emotion; in the middle, it’s all ideas; then for a brief moment between the middle and the end, it’s quite good; but at the very end, the actors get annoyed, because we believe that we’ve already delivered, and why are we still doing this?
Take 40 (3:55 p.m.): Script notes: “Very good.” Despite ourselves it has become better. I look to Noah like, Are we done? He says, “Let’s try another.” I sigh. I want it to be over.
Take 41 (3:57 p.m.): After the end of this take, Noah says, “Good, I think we’ve got it.” Me: “Really?” Noah: “Yes.” Me: “I mean, are you sure?” Noah: “Yes.” Me: “Mickey, do you want to . . . maybe let’s just do one more?” Mickey nods. Noah: “O.K., one more time.” Even though a second earlier, all I wanted was to be free of this scene, now I cannot let it go. I have to try one more time.
Take 42 (4:01 p.m.): Script notes read, “Best take.” Always good to end on a high note. Noah: “That was great.” I look nervous still. Me: “Do you really think we have it?”
In the final cut of the film, Noah used Take 29.
A version of this article appears in print on May 12, 2013, on Page 54 of the Sunday Magazine with the headline: ‘I Know I’m Doing the Scene Badly, But I Can’t Figure Out How to Do It Well’.
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Captain Wonder Backstory!!
There’s no pain in this one! I promise
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Captain Wonder doesn’t mess with romance. It’s one of his rules, he doesn’t meddle with other peoples love and he doesn’t waste time looking for his own. Not that he thinks it’s wrong or anything, he just doesn’t understand it. He’s never wanted what people idealize as romance, or even the unidealized versions he sees his teammates live through. Hand holding sounds embarrassing and kissing sounds gross. He doesn’t even want to think about sex.
It makes him a freak for most of his life. He gets used to the teasing from teammates, even misses it when some of them die too young. But then, about the time he’s turning 30, things start changing. More and more “freaks” start standing up, demanding respect and rights and change. And it happens. Acceptance comes so quickly it’s a wonder this didn’t happen earlier. There’s so many words he’s never heard of, and the world expects him to be resistant. Captain Wonder stands for good old-fashioned values of freedom and justice, hundreds of thousands of bigoted people believe he’s on their side. He goes to his first pride at 36, picks up two flags, and comes out to the world as aro-ace and proud. The bigots shut up after that.
It keeps him happy for years, until he enlists as a mentor at 41. It’s later than most heroes, but he’s respected and well-known for his calm and serious personality, so he gets assigned a reckless upstart of a kid and a deadly partner named Ibis.
Ibis is 38, and incredible. She fights with long, sweeping blades and a silent demeanor that puts most people on edge, heroes and villains alike. She’s tall and angular, sharp features and piercing eyes. She’s a good match for Captain Wonder, and they’re both good for Harvey. The kid is chaos incarnate, his weather powers routinely spiral out of control and into tornadoes, and he firmly believes that he should be risking his life from the moment he steps into the Association. Captain Wonder thinks he’s a fool.
He keeps that opinion long after Harvey leaves his mentorship. He’s headstrong and careless like only a child can be, 16, because the enlisting age gets higher every year as the public decides super are humans, not fighting machines, and isn’t that something. But working with Harvey begins to reveal bright streaks in his personality. A genuine need to help others. The desire to protect, and be looked up to. A rock-solid resolve. Captain Wonder meets Ibis for meetings once a week to gauge Harvey’s progress, meetings that turn into lunch breaks as their schedules fill.
It takes a year for him to call Harvey by his name, and they grow close quickly after that. At a year and a half a conversation about meal and sleep habits turns into Harvey holding back tears as he explains why he lives alone in Hero Housing, and Captain Wonder spends three hours that night filling out paperwork for him to move in. Harvey starts calling him Cap, and they have Ibis over for dinner twice a week. On his 43rd birthday Harvey enlists Ibis’ help to throw him a surprise party, and it’s the first time in years that he’s enjoyed celebrating. Harvey begins combat training at the two-year mark and everything is better than it’s been for a long time.
It’s been two years, nine months, and six days when he realizes he’d like to hold her hand. He and Ibis are walking to his home from the Association for the bi-weekly dinner when it happens. He thinks about it until Harvey goes to bed at ten, and then pulls out his computer to figure things out the same way he did eleven years ago. It takes far less time than it did back then, mostly due to better internet he’s sure, but after looking through many sweet and well-meaning blog posts about how normal it is to change he finally finds a word he likes. Grey aro-ace. It fits, and he thinks it sounds cool.
He informs Harvey that his labels have changed over breakfast, and is a bit surprised to learn that he didn’t know. Or, to be specific, he’d “figured, but I didn’t know if you knew, y’know?” They miss an hour of morning lessons having a discussion, about the rights movement and the assholes, Harvey talks about being demi-pan and Captain Wonder mentions the teasing from his teammates and they feel closer than he’d ever thought possible.
The first step, he supposes, is actually holding her hand. It’s not something he’s ever had to consider, so it takes about a month before he decides he ought to watch some romantic films. For research. Harvey has lots of suggestions, and they waste a few months on romantic comedies and romantic tragedies and romantic action adventures and romantic buddy-cop movies, which might be his favorite, and in the end he’s a little overwhelmed.
Typically his next step for something this big would be to plan obsessively for months, but he doesn’t get the chance. At three years and two months a villain targets Harvey, supposedly his powers will be perfect to fuel her plans once she’s drained them from him and left him a lifeless husk, and it’s fair to say that Captain Wonder loses his shit. It’s been nearly two decades since he’s been seen seriously fighting a villain, and it seems a bit like people forgot how freaking good at it he was. The villainess is so surprised when he makes it through her traps that it’s almost easy taking her down. Harvey is okay, mostly, and it’s terrifying in a way that Captain Wonder is not comfortable with. He hovers, he knows he’s hovering, but he still hovers the whole time in the ambulance to the Heroes Hospital, in the hospital room as a doctor checks them both over, he even insists on sharing a hospital room with Harvey- with his kid - for the week he’s there. And he is his kid and Captain Wonder spends most of the time worrying and the rest of it wondering how it only took three years for him to emotionally adopt someone when it had never happened in any of the forty other years of his life. They celebrate Harvey’s 20th birthday on his last day in the hospital and Captain Wonder debates whether you can even adopt an adult. They take him home the next day, him and Ibis, and when Harvey passes out Captain Wonder pulls out the dusty wine he never drinks and they each have a glass. It’s the calmest he’s felt all week, sitting here silently drinking wine with good company, and he almost says something. But he likes this moment as it is, and maybe the perfect time to say it passes, but then when he eventually walks Ibis to the door she leans in to kiss his cheek and smiles softly at him, and isn’t that something. The next time they have dinner he ditches a supportive Harvey at home and takes her to a sky-high restaurant and he gets to see that soft smile illuminated by distant city lights.
They take it slow. There are movie nights and dinner dates, and the bi-weekly family dinners. One year, Ibis moves in. Three years, Harvey moves out. Five years, the mentorship ends and he and Ibis register as a couple. They talk about marriage. No papers are ever signed, but they call Harvey their son. Six years, they get a cat. Ibis names her Georgie.
Captain Wonder is 52 when he opens his door on a cold night to find his son carrying an injured supervillain. Alastair’s face is pale and Harvey’s eyes are wet, and it’s only hours later, watching Harvey sleep in a chair next to his old bed and the unconscious villain in it, that he lets himself think about how lucky his son is to find love so young. Three weeks later, watching his son and Alastair interact, he thanks the gods that Harvey’s not such a fool to love someone who wouldn’t love him back.
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See! No pain! And this might be the longest short I’ve written, its about three pages in MS Word! This is a backstory piece for the story, and is entirely canon, as well as the first m/f couple I’ve ever written. It’s also pretty special to me because it’s the first time I’ve written a character who is asexual like I am, and when I was asking a friend for feedback it started a great conversation about our sexualities and she discovered she’s demi!! Which was really awesome and a wonderful conversation to have! Anyways I’ll stop rambling now, thanks for reading!
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1D Day, Hour Three
Almost halfway through this hour, which is almost halfway through this day, is the point where Louis Tomlinson stops having fucks left to give and starts getting real. He’s still a professional throughout hour three (not like Harry in hour two, oof), but god, how??? Everything here is a disaster, and it’s infuriating when you consider that a) this must have been somewhat planned out (the band is HUGE, allegedly 32 million people are watching), and b) it’s being produced in LA, presumably with easy access to professionals who have had some experience with live shows (since, what, the 1930s???). Anyway, I would have loved to hear the choice words Louis no doubt had for Ben Winston when he ran away during one of the Google+ Hangouts, lmao.
When I first watched this two years back, Niall’s nervous laughter nearly drove me insane, but this time around, I’m loving the subtle nuances w/r/t wtf is happening on this here day as Louis’s rage starts to climb and Niall’s Slytherin core starts to emerge. Deets under the cut.
Niall and Louis literally burst through a paper wall to launch hour three and reveal Niall’s lilac hair (also revealed: the fact that Niall’s “a diva,” according to Louis). The color’s hardly even noticeable, but Niall’s all worked up about it, and I’m betting he had to do this because he has no tattoos, so everyone wanted to freak his Virgo ass out with something “permanent.”
The first bit is so tiresome (Louis’s childhood friend, Stan, forcing the Milkshake City staff to perform the world’s sleepiest version of “Rock Me”), but I’m a huge fan of Stan’s for the Larry purple dildo video alone (ICONIC; ping me if you need a link), plus I love the tidbit about the time Harry came in for a milkshake for himself and “a friend back at home.”
After we survive this long-ass bit of fill, Louis and Stan take the piss out of each other and banter a bit with Niall, which is all pretty hilarious and also makes me sad in the key of “oh how I wish that was me.”
Because it wasn’t at all tedious in hour one, it’s time for another Guinness Book of World Records challenge (Louis: “Of course it is”), this time balancing coins on faces. Hey, speaking of faces, did you know that men are at peak hotness between the ages of 32 and 36? This guy is 22 years old, doing the stupidest task ever, help me, Jeebus:
Next up is the randomizer, which randomly pulls celebrity videos, and this is when the in-ears start acting up for Louis, who’s midway through Robbie Williams asking them for the best live performer they’ve ever seen, prompting Louis to give Ben the evil eye off camera and go off script to say Michael Buble, ha.
Some random sports man (update: Doncaster Rovers manager) demands that they do pressups up and burpees, and Louis gives us a surprisingly strong and steady nine pressups before proving why he’s most relatable:
After fits of unnecessary laughter from Niall, and a lot of exasperation about the technical problems so far from Louis (friend, you’ve seen nowt yet), we get the best VT from this entire day, the iconic bts video for “Talk Dirty to Me,” and if you watch nothing from any of this, please tell me you’ve seen it in full for Zayn the goofball! Liam’s hanky code shoutouts! Harry’s hip chub! Louis and his glorious torso! Niall in full Farmer Ted mode!
Next up, we get astronauts congratulating the D from space, and whyyyyyyyyyyyyyy. I mean, honestly, WHY? Are these astronauts fans? Is anyone besides Niall into space? I know there’s an intense interest in making space interesting for teens (how many times have people on the international space station beamed their way into MTV award shows at this point), but whyyyyy.
Scott tells us we’ll soon see Doctor Who (mild interest from Nouis) and Simon Cowell (Louis: “SIMON COWELL, WOO HOO, I LOVE THAT GUY!” Niall: “Simon GROWL”), but first up is Doctor Who, and this is where the wheels fall off the bus, technically speaking. First, there’s a 15-minute delay (!!), so Nouis are standing around while the Doctor handles some other interview for the BBC. Eventually, they connect, and Louis makes the understatement of the year (“This is gonna be tough”) as both the video and audio go full Inception and echo in and around each other to make us all woozy:
Louis again understates the chaos happening on screen by saying, “I think actually that this is not working,” and then begging for any VT, they don’t care, help (the VT is Niall being all humblecholy about their success and Ireland and something something, I’m not actually interested, sorry).
We come back to Louis still losing it, curious as to how they can have a link to space but can’t have a studio in LA link to the BBC, and yeah. YEAH. But enough about that, it’s Google+ Hangout (lololololol) time, and we don’t get too many answers to these vital fan questions because Ben is in Louis’s ear so much that Louis starts arguing with him about it and eventually runs off stage to yell at him in person, and god, it’s glorious. READY 2 FIGHT:
Because this is an utter trainwreck, the team decides to do another live link again, this time to the X Factor while it’s airing in the UK, and it’s…yeah, not good. Just awful, cameras out of synch, no sound, etc. Save us, random VT of Denmark!!
Hearing Louis say “tits up” is my new religion, but honestly, this chitchat with McFly is such a revelation. Apparently, they worked with Niall on something, so they gossip with Louis about what a diva Niall is (!) and how he brought a friend of his named Shawn around (!!), and there’s a lot of inside jokes I know nothing about, but I’m LIVING for Niall looking at all these boys on the screen and saying, “I feel like I’m alone in my bedroom,” and Louis’s response, “Okay, Niall!”
“Don’t Forget Where You Belong” is announced, but we don’t get to hear it (although we DO get to see some sweet Nouis dancing), and two more girls go into the call box of doom. Because this show’s producers can’t go ten minutes without a disaster, there’s increasingly urgent screaming from Louis to Ben to just roll the Zayn graffiti VT, which takes at least a full, tense minute to post.
Zayn is incredibly hot, but my heart breaks for him saying it’s their 127th show, and he’s feeling inspired and creative to make art, and I just wonder how??? How are you not banging your head against a wall instead of painting it? Anyway, it’s a lot of spraypainting/artist au Zayn come to life, with Liam working out shirtless nearby and heaping praise on just about every single thing Zayn puts on the wall (awwwww). Also some nice Flicker reference points (Niall: “Zayn, will you draw a picture of me?” Zayn: “No. I don’t like you”). Ouch.
We come back to Rebecca, an opera singer who’s here to sing some tweets, and this is a horrible idea that Ben Winston stole from Jimmy Kimmel, right? When he used to have Josh Groban sing tweets a million years ago? Anyway, this ripoff doesn’t work because nobody can really understand the words, but credit to Louis for trying to cheat and speed this whole thing up:
When Rebecca finishes, Louis says he got emotional (Niall just laughs), and this poor girl says not to worry, she’ll do more later, and lmao at Louis: “Oh, OH, there’s more in store, Niall” (Niall: “Can’t wait”), sighhhhh, it’s torture for us all, tbh. Anyway, time for some Belgian VT and reinforcement that Louis’s part Belgian, which is why it’s super relevant, I guess.
The last bit is back to Dynamo, to redo the magic bit that failed with Harry in hour two. I’m still curious about this trick because there’s a piece of paper locked in this box (Harry’s dick holds the key to it), and tl/dr, Harry says April for the month an hour ago, but Louis says November, and sure enough, November plus all the other details are in this locked box. HMMMMM. Me as Harry’s finger delivering the key immediately in this segment, meaning he’s literally right there watching all of it. Pick someone supportive, etc.
Anyway, back to the trick, there’s a bit where Louis says he told Dynamo all this information earlier (Niall starts chewing his nails a bit ferociously at that), but then he backpedals brilliantly later about what an amazing, stunning trick, etc., and this group of sneaky liars, god, I love ‘em!
We get more terrible highlights, which sucks, because I kind of liked the way Louis was asking Niall what HIS highlights were, but never mind, let’s get Ben’s. I’ll leave you with this picture that makes me think of Louis hosting Family Feud, you know, the final round, when you have to see how your answers stacked up with a family member’s and if, together, you cleared 200 (“Name someone a person may confess a crime to”):
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Just want to flail over Adam’s parts? People, I AM HERE FOR YOU. Here’s a time-stamped cheat sheet of Adam’s comments and generally precious moments. (Basically Round 2 of my overall flaily recap of this panel right after it happened.)
I start the video and my heart freaks out remembering when he first walked on stage. Get me a paper bag before I pass out... His little ‘Hello!’ and one-handed wave when he walked out I was already deceased.
1:35 - Everyone please just watch this adorable tall man awkwardly sit and fidget and bite his lip and make his oh god public attention face
11:25 - Adam makes no judgments about his character’s morality. He empathizes more with Ben Stiller’s character in the While We’re Young film than with his own, but recognizes that his own feelings about the character are irrelevant; as are his feelings about his own performance.
“It’s not about me feeling it, it’s about an audience feeling it.”
I’m constantly struck by his humility and maturity in always thinking of himself as only a small part in every film project, regardless of how large his role might be. He’s hyper-aware that none of it is about him, and becomes uncomfortable when people try to make it so. Although he explains here that he relates to the “debilitating” pressure to play a role correctly or authentically, and we know that he constantly over-thinks and scrutinizes his own work to the point of not being able to watch himself on film; He also recognizes his personal gratification with his performance comes second to the overall story being told. Internally, he might hold himself to high personal standards, but he never presumes those standards should be projected on anyone else. He finishes this answer with “Who am I to say if they’re right or wrong?” (If audiences respond to a less authentic version of a work.)
I would love to hear him answer this same question about Kylo’s character.
27:50 (One of the moments when I had to physically restrain myself from flailing in my seat because he’s so damn presh) - The moderator tried to “bring back Adam” because he’d hardly spoken so far, and Adam goes “I’m good, I’m good.” Ben Stiller interjected, “Can I just say something about acting with Adam?” and Adam immediately shakes his head and waves his hand in a silent “Please no”, but then very magnanimously tells Ben to go ahead, even while squirming in his seat a tiny bit while Ben talked about him.
29:00 - Adam says Noah’s writing is very “theatrical.” I did find it interesting how he talked here about a whole range of different potential meanings within the same words of a script, depending on how they’re delivered. I also love when he talks about working in theatre, just because I have a soft spot for stage actors.
(Watching this whole video back makes me realize Adam really did quite effortlessly and unconsciously charm the audience (not just me), even speaking so little compared to the other panelists. I remembered clearly when he had his ~showdown with the moderator towards the end the audience was 100% on his side, clapping for him, but generally there are so many audience laughs for the little self-deprecating jokes Adam mixes into all his answers.)
31:10 (Alert alert, fangirl moment) - Perfect capture of how he fiddles with his fingers and listens so attentively.
33:28 - THAT L A U G H
35:08 - My other favorite funny/presh moment! “There’s humor in doing the same things in life and still trying to make them more efficient... Like I still don’t think I’ve ever gotten into a car the right way.” (Confused audience laughter?) Then Adam gets serious with chagrin right away like “...that was a bad example...” (Audience continues laughing with him even though most people probably don’t get it.) He made a last-ditch effort to explain himself by saying “the Tesla” - but didn’t quite get to fully explain that he was referring to the uber-modern Tesla car that was driving him around the island over the weekend. Regardless, everyone found it amusing and I was there like I stan a man who can’t get into a car right WHAT A GEM
36:27 (Alert alert, another fangirl moment) - Everyone please just watch him take a drink of water. Why every single damn thing he did was totally mesmerizing to me I don’t know, but you’ll thank me later.
46:13 - The moderator mentions Paterson screened at the Nantucket Film Festival several years ago. Adorable moment where he goes to start listing all the famous people from Paterson and has to give up with “...and a bunch of other people I can’t remember right now.”
47:10 - Hilarious moment but first strike against the narrator. Ben Stiller had to ask Chris Matthews if Paterson was the first movie he’d seen Adam in because yeah, he’d kind of been neglecting Adam a bit (not that Adam minded, clearly), but Ben went “...he’s also in Star Wars,” and the whole place cracked up.
49:10 - Non-Adam moment, but I was really intrigued with Noah Baumbach’s comment here, talking about developing his dialogue and how “there’s communication, and then there’s talking.”
50:10 - THIS IS IT, FOLKS, THE GOLD MINE OF ADAM CHARM AND SASS. THE LEGENDARY MOMENT IS NEARING. Watch Adam’s life flashing before his eyes in a panic when the question “Who is the most influential person in your life” is suddenly thrown at him. He wasn’t ready for this!! (Although great question, Rea, so glad it was asked!) Then after he says he’ll pass on the question, you can see him basically flying to Mars in his head pondering. Then the cuteness and laughter when he announces he does have an answer!! He was 1000% the whole audience’s darling by this point. Then his answer is basically, “Listen to how insightful my wife is because she’s the best.” Then after boasting about his wife it’s right back to his modest self: “On to the next question and then I’ll finish this monologue...”
LOOK, okay he wasn’t even talking for that long! He’d given what, 3 answers before this during the whole hour-long panel?! The moderator himself blabbed at least twice as much. I was loving this monologue because it was the first time Adam was actually talking for an extended time. But apparently we can’t have nice things becomes here comes Mr. Rude-ass, Clueless Moderator...
(Also, Ben and Noah were 100% engaged with what Adam was saying so literally this was only the moderator’s problem...)
52:32 - The moderator audibly sighs into his microphone in the middle of Adam’s “monologue” and I’m SO glad Adam unpretentiously called him out: “.....Are you bored by my answer?” The whole audience laughed in sympathy with him because it was so weird and rude? Then Adam went on to be even more of a clever QT like: “You were thinking about another question? That’s what I was doing during your answers...” And the man is so straight-faced about it you genuinely can’t even tell if he purposefully meant that well-done, five-course ROAST.
I cringe so hard at this memory I can barely watch it back, but ughhhh queue the moderator interrupting Adam’s attempt to resume his answer, with some bullshit about Jeff Goldblum... What even? Jeff Goldblum was mentioned once in the panel previously, but wtf how does your mind go there when Adam Driver is giving a painfully earnest, precious, and over-thought monologue for you???
52:50 - “...SO STAR WARS.” BOOM. In three words Chris Matthews has been KO’d. omg look at the almost proud look on Noah’s face like yeah you tell him bb and Ben’s cracking up, and the whole audience flips out like DAMN, SAVAGE!!!
(Also for ~context reference, walking out from the auditorium afterwards, I remember overhearing two guys saying to each other “Chris Matthews was like one of those old guys who just blurts whatever’s going through his head.” “Yeah but you’d think when you’re talking to Adam Driver you’d be more respectful and reign it in.” and in my head I was like DAMN RIGHT. Watching this whole thing back, Matthews gets on my nerves basically the whole time. He seems to enjoy hearing himself talk so much that he forgot what a moderator’s actual job is.)
58:40 - Adam’s advice to aspiring filmmakers about the usefulness of going to school, getting a firm foundation in your craft, and having the insulated space to fail and build yourself.
Just so I can ~complete my revisiting of this whole experience~, I’ll add this photo taken by @wherethepastaat aka Rea aka https://twitter.com/cosmicreas in the parking lot outside after the event. I love her for asking the incredible question that gave us a world-class #SassybutClassy Adam moment, and also for snapping this A+ covert photo documenting the referenced Tesla car that caused Adam so much stress about how to get in it correctly. (Joanne’s getting in before him.)
I also owe her my firstborn because she inadvertently GOT ME IN THE PHOTO WITH ADAM!! That shoulder in the pink tank top directly behind him? THAT’S ME. THAT’S ME AND ADAM. IN THE SAME PHOTO. DEEP BREATHING, OKAY. Now I can always prove that I really was that close to him! (He came by even closer when he walked down the sidewalk. No, a month later I still have not gotten over it even .00001% percent.)
Admittedly, there have been brief moments where I berate myself like ‘ugh why didn’t you ask for a photo?!’ but A) I was frozen in awe for the 10 seconds he was in front of me (pretended to be on my phone so I wasn’t overtly staring, lol) and B) You can see in this photo that there were a bunch of people milling around. If I’d asked him to stop, he probably would have gotten stuck taking pics with lots of people. I did the right thing AND got to witness more wholesome Adam moments as he was leaving!
Once again, Rea I owe you a gift basket because I am SO glad I got to witness when you/your brother called ‘Bye!’ to Adam from your car and your dad called “Hi Kylo!” and ADAM RESPONDED, smiled and waved and said ‘Hi Thanks!’ back. IT WAS SO PURE I CRY AT THE MEMORY.
All in all, despite the fact that Adam didn’t actually talk that much on the panel, it was still a 100% Quality Event and I still think about it daily. :’) My Adam crush has morphed into an all-consuming real-life thing that I do my best to control but look, a girl can only do so much in the face of THIS. I AM ONLY HUMAN, ADAM.
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