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oh-my-damn · 3 years

Text

Meeting Captain America

Chapter one from my Stucky x OC story on Wattpad; Electric - Steve Rogers/Bucky Barnes

Story is rated M for mature as it contains a lot of smut. Kink warnings can be found in the Author’s note (there’s a lot..)

MADELINE

I am out of breath but I keep fighting. I am using my last remaining energy as I kick a robot in the face with a back kick. As another one charges at me, Peter comes flying out of nowhere.

"You okay?" He yells, flying past me, his webbing holding him in the air.

I manage to yell back "Yeah just... a little out of breath at this point"

"I FEEL YA" he yells as he continues to fly through the air.

Even my powers are getting limited now, my stamina was not prepared for this kind of battle and as I launch an energy attack towards, what seems like, a never ending parade of robots, it only does half the damage I know it could.

The robots come charging at me and I know it's over. There's no way I can win now.

"Alright, that's enough for today. Great job kids" Tony Stark's voice soars through the speakers and all robots freeze in motion.

The training facility lights come back on and everything goes back to normal. The robots stand up, turn around and walk away like nothing happened.

Even the ones I thought I had done significant damage to.

Tony Stark walks down the big staircase from the glass box up top and finally reaches us on the training floor.

"That was good work you guys. You are really improving. We are reaching the highest levels my training bots can muster up and you put up a good fight."

I look at him confused as I felt this session was a giant failure. I lost my energy way faster than normal.

Before I can speak, Peter interrupts him.

"Thank you Mr. Stark. I really appreciate that. I've been working on increasing my stamina."

Damn it Peter. Why do you always have to be such a perfect fucking student? I should have been doing that too. It was obvious today I wasn't at my best.

As I sit on the training floor looking at my hands in disappointment, Tony Stark addresses me.

"Madeline, stop being hard on yourself. You did great. You are becoming more in control of your powers every day and with a little more training your martial arts will improve immensely as well."

I look up at the hero before me and I blush. "Thank you, Mr. Stark. But I do feel I haven't been improving as much lately..."

As I drag my sentence out he observes my face.

He then looks away and after a second of thinking, looks back at me and says "I know. That's why I want to move you in to the Avengers compound permanently so we can train you every day instead of these sporadic trainings. You have been doing well in the early stages of recruitment Madeline and I think moving you into the compound would be the natural next step. That is, if you still want to become an Avenger, of course."

I look at him in disbelief. Did Tony Stark just say I should move in with the Avengers? I can't believe it.

Before I can even think straight I hear Peter's voice.

"But Mr. Stark, what about me? You know this is what I want and I feel I am more than ready!"

I look over at Peter. He's not wrong - he has been doing a great job and considering we have been training together for so long I wouldn't be surprised if he was offered the same.

Tony turns to look at Peter.

"Kid, I know you do. And trust me, you will. But you are still in high school. Madeline is 21, she is ready to become part of recruitment for the Avengers. You are still too young for me to want to put you through that. Besides, how would I ever explain it to your aunt May?"

Peter looks at Tony with pleading eyes but Tony looks back at him with a stern look.

After a couple of intense seconds Peter finally exhales. "Yeah, okay Mr. Stark. I guess you're right."

Tony smirks. "I'm always right kiddo. Now let's get you back to your aunt or she will rip my head off."

He helps Peter get up and they start to leave. Right as they are about to exit, Tony turns to me.

"Oh, by the way Madeline, I'm sorry but I have to take Peter home personally. But, I arranged for a friend to come get you and help you find your way at the compound. See you soon!"

"Thank you Mr. Stark" I yell after him as he exits the room.

I am still sitting on the floor of the training center trying to catch my breath.

As I look around I realize I am suddenly very alone. If someone were coming to get me wouldn't they have been here by now?

I decide to get up and try to find someone when I hear a voice behind me that makes the hairs on my entire body stand up in shock.

"Hello there. Madeline? I am here to take you to the compound."

As I stand with my back to the voice I know exactly who it is.

I have heard that voice a million times in my head.

I have fantasized about that voice for as long as I can remember.

Once I finally turn around, I see him standing there, in all his beauty and glory.

"Captain Rogers... Hello".

I watch intensely as Steve Rogers walks towards me the way that only he can.

He is wearing that beautiful dark blue suit of his, carrying his shield on his back.

You know the one - it hugs his body perfectly and it's impossible not to admire this specimen of a man.

As he stands before me, I am speechless.

I quickly look him up and down because I need to remember this moment but at the same time, I don't want him to notice just how much he is affecting me right now.

"It's very nice to finally meet you Madeline. Tony has told me a lot about you and your abilities." He looks at me and as I stare into his beautiful blue eyes I feel like I'm drowning.

I am lost.

But I honestly don't mind.

As I stare at him I don't realize that he has been talking this whole time until he interrupts my trance.

"Madeline.. Is everything alright? You look a little.... tired..?"

Once I hear him say my name I snap out of it.

I manage to clear my throat and very loudly yell out "I'm fine!"

Followed by a very embarrassing "I'm sorry I'm just a really big fan!".

He furrows his eyebrows and clears his throat. "Yes, well... Thank you."

He looks at me quizzically, while still staring into my eyes, and it's making my entire body tingle.

He clears his throat once again before saying "should we get you to the compound and get you settled then?"

"Yes, thank you," I manage to muster up as he strides past me towards the exit.

I cannot help but admire him as he walks.

When you have been infatuated with someone for so long it's just hard not to be affected the first time you meet them.

Steve has never been to any training sessions we've had - he's been doing a lot of his own work without the remaining Avengers.

So while I've already met Natasha, Wanda, Thor and Sam, Steve Rogers has been a fleeting fantasy in my existence. Until now.

We enter a black limo together and he sits on the opposite side of me.

I see him studying me with his eyes and it makes me instantly blush.

I turn away - I'm shy and I really don't want this man to notice the effect he has on me.

We drive in silence for a while as he looks out the window. Whenever I can, I steal a glance.

I cannot believe I am in a car with Captain America.

After ten minutes of driving he turns and looks at me.

"So, Madeline, you're special aren't you?"

I look back at him in surprise.

As I hold his gaze I say "I guess, I mean that depends on how you define special, Captain Rogers."

He lifts his eyebrows at me, "Well, I mean, you have powers, don't you?" His voice is low and deep as he speaks.

"Yes. I do. I have energy surges running through my body at all times and if I concentrate or focus enough they come out as very powerful shocks." I look him straight in the eye as I speak.

Once I finish my sentence I see him turn away quickly and then he looks back at me again. Was he blushing?

"That could be useful. Any complications in normal life?" He looks me over and he is clearly studying me and my reaction.

I find the question silly as anyone in control of their powers wouldn't have an issue with this.

I dryly reply "No Captain. I am fully in control," as I look at him confidently.

He smirks at me but doesn't say a word.

The rest of the ride is in silence.

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kawaii-harrys · 3 years

Text

MAYBE HE HATES ME

Word: 2k+

Synopsis : Your particularly rude neighbor takes an interest in your friend.

TW : None, just that it gets shitty

______

“KEEP YOUR CAT IN CHECK!”, was the first post-it on your door from an angry neighbor after Small Tinkle managed to scratch the neighbor’s door.

“STOP THE FIRE ALARM”, was the second post-it on your door after you had accidentally managed to set the fire alarm.

And since then, there was silence. Although, the smell of the luxurious cooked meal would waft around the hallways at times and you could hear the clattering of crockery too. You had seen him, once. Once when you had to be stuck in the elevator with him after having a shopping spree. He looked like he hated you. After all, the whole time, he did not look at your side, even once and ignored your presence altogether.

Caitlyn was a good friend of yours. To be said, she was the one who listened to you at times like this. She bothered herself with your business and you couldn’t ask for more.

You could easily admit, you were not even near as lucky as Caitlyn when it came to guys. In a room full of people, if someone like Harry had to walk in, he would easily choose Caitlyn, while you would be left behind in the shadows.

She was kind, beautiful, cheerful, and without a second nature. When it came to studies, she was super intelligent. School, music, dance, cutlery, martial arts, and love, she was good in everything. While you could find nothing good about yourself, she was a walking prodigy. You did feel self-conscious when you were next to her. People who you assumed hated you, were kind to her. You didn’t feel like you belonged by your side.

So, today, you were in the cafe you both always met, all alone. You thought it was fair for her since she was stuck with you ever since college started. You even thought the chances of her getting a guy had gone low since she was stuck with you.

When your phone rang, you jumped a bit at the sound. It was Caitlyn.

“Hello?”, you asked, wondering if everything was okay.

“Are you at the same cafe as always?”, she asked through the phone.

“Yeah, is everything okay?”, you asked.

“Is it okay if I bring over the guy I have been seeing for a few days? I want him to meet you”, she sighed at the other end.

You were in a frenzy mode, though. Your hair was all over the place and your skin was blotchy. It wasn’t like you had put in an effort for your looks like Caitlyn did. You were in a gray shirt with mud brown jeans and you wondered if the guy would leave Caitlyn because she had a friend like you.

“I--I mean, if you feel comfortable enough”, you said, knowing there was nothing you could do.

“Alright, we are nearby so we will drop-in in 5 minutes”, she said hanging up the phone. Your glasses were getting foggy due to the steam of the coffee nearer to your face.

You didn’t really feel confident in yourself. Black braided hair, purple rimmed glasses, a copy of a country-themed book by your side, and coffee that looked near beige due to the amount of sugar you used.

Would her boyfriend really like you?

It didn’t matter though. It was their thing.

When the bell at the door chimed, you looked up to see the fair-skinned, blonde, navy blue-eyed girl, that you had always adored and then, there was the guy who lived next door to you.

In a minute both of them approached you, Caitlyn with her big smile and him with just a small one. But when he looked at you, you wondered if he even recognized you.

“Hey Y/n, this is Harry. And Harry, this is Y/n, the most important person in my life”, she said, giving you a big hug.

“Y/n? Aren’t you--”, he stopped mid-sentence as Caitlyn looked at him expectantly. “You look awfully familiar”, he mentioned, looking closely at you.

“Y/n here is very shy around new people. But, she is cool when you get to know her”, Caitlyn babbled.

“Really? I am waiting to get to see her cool side”, Harry laughed along.

“Y/n, I have told you enough times to not braid your hair. You look beautiful when your hair is open, you know? ”, she said, waving a spoon in her hand as Harry called out in the order.

“I just feel comfortable when the hair is out of my face”, you mutter lowly.

“Well, whatever suits you”, she said, dropping her shoulders.

“So, may I ask why your fingers look toasted?”, Harry asked, noticing the burns you had.

“I was just cooking something”, you lied.

Ever since the last post-it note, you had been dropping variety of sweets at his doorsteps anytime you could. Sometimes cookies, sometimes pastries, sometimes jelly. You didn’t want to know who the sender was, since he might get irked off and throw them in the dustbin. You didn’t know what he did with the sweets though, but not seeing them when you returned to get you relaxed for a while.

“Y/n, are you okay?”, Caitlyn asked, noticing the change in energy.

“Yeah, I just have a bit of stress. Miss Evelyn asked me to submit the homework as soon as possible, but I haven’t even started”, you replied.

“Is Miss Evelyn the one who teaches graphics design?”, Harry asked and you looked up at him, easing for a while.

You nodded.

“She can be uptight sometimes”, he laughed. You looked at him for a while. You had been dropping off sweets, hoping to get on his good side, but, all it took was Caitlyn getting him talking to you. It really showed how you were not fit near Caitlyn.

“Caitlyn talks about it all the time. Although she is a Physics major like me, she has taken an interest in Graphics designing”, Harry laughed.

“Hmm”, you nod again.

The rest of the time, it was Harry and Caitlyn flirting with each other all along, not even noticing your presence.

“I think”, you say to grab their attention, “I will go home first. I have some work to do”, you say and grab your purse. “Sorry, y/n, did we make you feel excluded”, Harry asked, with a gentle smile and you shake your head in a ‘no’ and left. Tears pricked at the end of your eyes as you walked down the chilly road.

Small Tinkle needed you anyways. It was time for his food too.

So, you sped your feet in order to reach home sooner.

Your apartment was around the corner so it didn’t really take you much time. As you entered the empty lift, you had an urge to cry out loud. You would be shamed to accept that you were jealous of your best friend; one who was kind enough to be your friend in the first place. But as you unlocked the door, Small Tinkle jumped to your face, making you fall behind.

“Small Tinkle, what’s the matter?”, you asked as you wondered why she was acting such. You thought, she must have escaped through the window to take a patrol. “Oh, are you hungry?”, you said, scratching the cat’s back and as it purred, you smiled and walked in. It was like a miracle, the way she always knew when you felt bad or sad.

“Sorry, Small Tinkle, but you have to do with the dry food again today. I haven’t cooked any meat or fish, you know”, you speak to your cat and you see it visibly sigh, even if it wasn’t possible. “A cat’s life is difficult, isn’t it”, you say jokingly as you lay out the food and water.

You look in the fridge to see if there is anything you can eat, but unluckily, you seem to have finished the last packet of ramen last night, in the spur of the moment. You sigh, not wanting to make a run to the supermarket. Maybe you can sleep hungry today. But, the angrily rumbling stomach wants food. You could order a pizza or a takeout, but, it’s month-end after all.

“Small Tinkle, stay here until I come back in five minutes. Don’t go patrolling today, the weather looks bad”, you say looking at the particular gray clouds out the window.

You re-wear your coat, get your purse and walk down the hallway to the elevator.

The wind has picked up its speed and is even raising the dust. You walk into the supermarket and look for some cheap meals. The instant noodles have at a 20 % discount and the frozen meal some offers on them too. You rush to take a glance at them, but being clumsy for not having eaten for a while, you feel weak and sway back to fall into a hard chest.

“I am sor--”, your words don’t find a way out as you see Harry holding your arms.

“Yo, you are her friend, aren’t you?”, he asked, despite the fact that you both had met just a while ago. You nodded your head again. “Instant noodles and frozen food. Must admit, they aren’t good for your health”, he said, frowning a bit. “It’s the month-end, I can’t help it”, you mutter and he quirks his brows up. “How long have you been relying on this, may I ask?”, he asks waving the box in his hand. “Not your business”, you say, turning away from him, twiddling your hair in between your fingers.

“Means, nearly every day. Am I right? ”, he asks, and you look away trying not to look like a pauper.

“Then you can stop by my house any time you want. It’s nearby”, he says while you push in all the frozen meals in your cart.

“I am not the one to burden anyone”, you mutter under your breath. “Lately, my annoying neighbor has started leaving sweets by the door too. Well, sometimes they aren’t a treat to the tastebuds, but there is way too much that I can’t seem to finish”, he says, walking by your side. Your breathing had visibly taken up speed. “S--So, ask them not to leave them”, you suggested. “I am not the one to pass up free treats”, he says with a bright smile.

As you walk to the counter, he follows you close behind.

“Do we live close to each other?”, he asks and you gulp in your saliva. He had more ravishing raw vegetables and spices in his bag. Maybe he was going to do something good today too.

You notice his eyebrows crinkle when you both get on the same elevator. And he is more certainly shocked when you walk in the same direction. When he realizes that YOU were the annoying neighbor, he was talking about, his face falls. Small Tinkle comes to you when you open the door.

“Missed me?”, you ask her and she purrs. You cradle her to relieve some of the anxiety now that he knows.

“Wait, Y/n, YOU are my neighbor?”, he asks, shock on his face. You nodded again and walked in the door to close it on his face.

He wondered if you already knew that he was the neighbor.

And as it neared 9 PM, the downpour outside, making you crave something warm, you walked into the kitchen to get one of the frozen meals out and microwave it. Just then, there was a knock at the door. You wondered who it could be and walked to it. There stood Harry in all his glory with a casserole. “What happened?”, you asked him, puzzled. “I am really sorry for earlier and as an apology, I thought I could leave you some mushroom ravioli. I have extra, so…”, he trailed off, biting his bottom lip as you smiled.

“It’s alright.”, you said as you let him in. “I was wondering if you were vegan or not. I was even contemplating if you were allergic to mushrooms, but, I didn’t really have much time, so, I hope you understand”, he smiled at you again.

“Thank you”, you smiled at him through your glasses.

“And the next time you are starving, don’t go to frozen meals, you can ask me instead. I make extra for my roommate and sometimes he isn’t around, so…”, you wondered what his obsession was with leaving sentences open.

“I get it”, you mutter.

You wanted to ask him to eat with you, but maybe if there was a chance of a next time, then. Because today, was eventful.

#harry styles fluff #harry styles angst #harrystylesoneshot #harry styles oneshot #harrystylesfanfiction #harrystylesfanfic #harry styles fanfiction #harrystyles #i absolutely hate it #harrystylesfluff #harry styles daily #harry styles

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friendlylocalwhumper · 3 years

Text

retirement

“Adrian, how smart phones were developed. Your expert is Mrs. Langley.”

The class murmurs with jealousy as Adrian is assigned a teacher - not only is she fun and friendly, but she works in this same building. An easy assignment. Someone mutters about how he got an easy one because he’s the teacher’s nephew.

“Kristen, the politics of the nineties. You have a retired senator to interview for this one, isn’t that fun?”

The goody-two-shoes students make impressed, interested sounds, while the rest shift in their seats waiting to hear who they’ll be assigned.

“Okay, this next one will be a group of three, because the source always talks too much for one student to catch all the details.” She opens her mouth to continue, but already, kids are groaning.

“Not the one from-”

“Not the old-”

“Come on, Mrs.-”

She speaks over them, used to the complaints by now. “Sheela, Maxim, and Zach, you three have Quinn Mae. You’ll be interviewing them about-”

“The history of the magic community,” Recite the three named students in unison, one rolling their eyes, one slouching in their seat, and one clenching their jaw.

“Yes. That one’s just down the street, so I don’t want any excuses. A late assignment isn’t acceptable at this level. I want an essay from each of you. Mx. Mae will give you plenty to work with, so no copying.”

The retirement home is nice enough, all neat and studded with simple, pleasantly neutral furniture. The generic art on the walls gives an aura of charming, if manufactured peace. The deep ticking of a grandfather clock warms the lobby. A smiling lady at the front desk offers caramel candies to all who drag their feet past her.

None of it quite makes up for the walkers left lying around, or the smell of old people, or the tired sass of the caretakers walking around briskly. To a couple of teenagers, it’s the worst place in the world to be. Boring beyond measure, and the old ladies will grab you by the wrist to say something about how your hair looks, or what you’re wearing, or whether they think you’re their grandkid.

The receptionist informs the kids that the senior citizen they’re looking for is on this floor, with all the residents who don’t need supervision. “Quinn Mae is a feisty one,” She says with a fond smile. “They’re all mild-mannered, know all the right things to say, until suddenly your name tag is missing, and they’ll only give it back if you catch them with it. Smug little smile. Watch your wallets and phones, kids.”

Maxim is the only one who doesn’t smile politely at the advice and very adult-like oversharing. The three proceed into the lobby, briefly arguing about which hallway the receptionist said to go down.

“You three lost?” Says some old bag of bones on the lobby couch, wrinkly fingers wrapped around the edges of a newspaper. Thin wire-framed glasses sit low on a flat nose, hanging on for dear life. Dull white hair lies in limp curls on slender shoulders, big faded freckles spread across cheeks that have seen more sun than any other retiree that ambles past.

“No, sir,” Sheela says with bare-minimum politeness.

“Not sir,” Sasses the old person gently, folding their newspaper.

“Uh. Sorry, ma’am.”

“Not that either. Were you asking about Quinn Mae at the front desk?”

“Yeah. You know ‘em? What room’re they in?” Asks Maxim, stepping forward. His bushy eyebrows are cocked with frustration and slight amusement, as if anything the retiree says will be made fun of later.

The senior citizen gives a bare smile, a hint of a quirk to thin lips. “Room one-seven-three, young man.”

The students talk amongst themselves, eager to agree that that was the number the receptionist gave them and get away from this old person who will surely trap them in boring conversation if they linger. Off they go, down a hallway they were gravitating toward anyway, searching for room 173.

Five minutes later, they’re back, looking disgruntled. “Unless Quinn Mae’s disguised as an old lesbian couple, wrong room, old guy,” Grumbles bushy-brows.

“Not a guy,” Reminds the lobby couch-warmer. “Forgive me, you said Quinn Mae? That’ll be room one-twenty-six.”

Off they go again, the grumpy boy nudging at the girl who glances back at the retiree paging through a newspaper and pointedly not watching them go down a different hallway this time.

It’s ten minutes later, this time, that the kids return. One of the boys goes over to the front desk while Maxim and Sheela return to the old person on the couch.

“Okay. Try again, grandpa. Not one-seventy-three, not one-twenty-six. Quinn Mae. Where is Quinn Mae? We’re here from the high school, doing a school project. Old geezer probably talked about us coming, all excited, since nothing else happens here. Where’s Quinn Mae?”

Sheela’s looking at this person with white curls, wise brown eyes, and a slowly spreading, sly smile. She doesn’t join in as Maxim grills them for answers. The retiree looks over the disgruntled boy, then finally meets the girl’s eyes.

“You’re Mae, aren’t you?” She accuses.

Finally, that newspaper is folded and lowered. Quinn nods.

Just in time for them all to hear from across the lobby as the receptionist sighs and nods to the couch, informing Zach, “That’s Quinn Mae right there. They gave you the runaround, didn’t they?”

Maxim looks flustered, but Sheela speaks first. “Mr. Mae-”

“Mx. Mae, if you please.”

“Yeah. Sorry. Mx. Mae, we’re supposed to ask you about the history of the magic community.”

Quinn gives a soft, wobbly hum. They flip over the paper in their hands and run an age-softened finger over a line of text. “Young Man Found Beaten, Rescued. That’s what this article is titled. That sound odd to you?”

Sheela shakes her head. Maxim frowns.

“The article goes on to mention that the young man has magic. Mentioned, not announced as the clear reason he deserved to be beaten. When I was forty, this headline would’ve been, Warlock Found Alive, Scaring Citizens.” Approaching to listen, the other boy, Zach, winces at the word warlock. That word hasn’t been okay to use for years. “When I was your age, there wouldn’t have been a story printed in the paper about it at all.”

“Yeah. They were killed in the streets back then. No statistics on it ‘cause no one cared. We know all this,” Complains Maxim. “Times changed.”

Brown eyes scan across the teens before settling on the one who spoke. “You remind me of someone I used to know,” Replies Mae, looking wistful for a moment before they add, “Someone unintelligent. Times haven’t changed much if a person with magic is still beaten for being warlock scum, have they?”

“Language, Quinn,” Reminds one of the caregivers, pushing a cart of sheets and towels over to the service elevator.

“Oh, heavens, did I do it again? I’m sorry, Julie!” They offer her a kind, harmless smile until she’s out of sight. The teenagers catch a glimpse of the retiree rolling their eyes. “The younger ones don’t understand. I’ll forgive them for it, it’s what I fought for. The luxury to be ignorant without it costing lives.”

None of this aged-revolutionary talk impresses the kids. One of them even looked incensed by it. Quinn’s eyes, having wandered off to ponder their memories, lock onto the one who stands out from the group.

“What’s your name?”

“Maxim,” Says the one who reminds them of Major. They miss him, the old idiot. He used to cause so much trouble.

“Maxim. Do you have something you’d like to say?”

Glancing at his classmates, the young man shrugs one shoulder. “Nah. Just keep talking, we’ll get something we can use.”

“I’d love to help you all with your assignment. Your teacher informed me that you’ll fail this class if you don’t hand in an acceptable essay, each of you.” The newspaper has one corner folded back neatly that they play with slowly as they watch the three kids before them. “But I know someone who hates magic when I see them. If you want me to help someone like that to pass an advanced class, you’ll all have to do better than this. I don’t want to teach you about the history I lived through. I want each of you to study it on your own, come present what you learned to me, and show me that you have the base understanding to even believe what I’ll tell you.”

Maxim turns to leave, uninterested, ready to pay someone to write his essay for him. Zach looks anxious, mouth opening to make excuses and beg for Quinn to just tell them what they need to know to get their project done.

Sheela watches Quinn. Just stands there and waits, judging whether they’re being honest. Quinn leans back in the lobby’s couch and beams.

“You. I’ll tell you everything you want to know. The others, they have to hear it from you. I want you to retell my stories before you write anything down on paper.”

“I’d type it on my phone, no one uses paper for notes anymore,” She argues mildly.

“Fine. You’ll relay it by word of mouth, then take the notes on your phone. Do we have a deal, Miss…”

“Sheela. Yeah, that’s - we can do that. Right?”

Maxim sighs and turns back around, glaring but grumbling his agreement. Zach nods to show he accepts the terms as well.

“Wonderful,” Says Quinn, standing with all the aches of a senior citizen, but the glowing energy of someone about to do their favorite thing. “Let’s go out for a walk. We’ll start with the war and go from there.”

#whump #drabble #recovery #i had so much fun writing this!#fluff #letting quinn live to get this old is like the comfiest kindest thing i can do #characters in this verse usually die before they hit the age of 25 #but quinn makes it! and they ended up causing a lot of change in their society!#i'm proud of them they're so good #lil old quinn bullying teenagers #mine #quinn

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retvenkos · 3 years

Text

“i am a little bit of everything i’ve seen in my life.”

requested

MY HEADCANONS FOR THE HYBRID HARRY POTTER HOUSES...

gryffindor/ravenclaw

if you’re in gryffindor you think you’re more “refined” than everyone else, and if you’re in ravenclaw you think everyone’s a stiff

this is the person with the braincell! let it be known that they have it, but refuse to use it

they have to be a little chaotic because they know what consequences are but disregard them

these people call themselves ambiverts but it really just means they won’t talk to you if they hate you

and i say that lovingly

okay, but if they do talk to you??? best people to talk with - they can hold an interesting conversation masterfully and it’s all because their enthusiasm is off the charts

let them ramble, it’s very endearing.

and physical touch is probably their love language so cuddle with them, too

they’re sci-fi and superhero nerds change my mind

now their loyalty is really interesting because gryffindors are really loyal where as a ravenclaws are individualistic and prioritize #1, so i feel like they are very much on guard

befriending is hard - they’ll keep you at bay until they are sure you can be trusted. and they won’t be made to feel bad about it either.

but once you are close to them,,,,, they would save you or die trying

their inside jokes are god tier

i don’t know how they do it other than they know how to make people laugh using the most unexpected methods and because it was such a weird experience, people are able to remember really well?

like, they could say “nutmeg” and everyone around you starts laughing, meanwhile you’re just ???

gryffinclaws are also really interesting because they don’t do well with conflict, but drama sort of gravitates toward them because let’s be real here, they can kind of be actively seeking it out, sometimes.

i mean, it’s usually to avoid having to deal with deeper emotions or even bigger problems, but sometimes they have a hand in their own suffering....

also, these people never study if they don’t like the class. they don’t. if they dislike the subject, they procrastinate with every fibre of their being.

but if it’s something they love, they are the first to get it done and will 100% do extra research and talk about it all the time.

they say they love both cats and dogs equally, and they actually mean it.

they are most likely concerned with wanting to change the world in some way - but they want it to be a tangible way that still allows for creativity and freedom

this is also the friend who stays up wayyyyyyy too late, and when you ask them what they’re doing, all they can say is “memes”

and they really do love memes - send them some. it’s their primary way of communicating

they love going out to get lunch and chatting with friends

food + people = love

they’ll even do it in their room! just bring bread and a good conversation - they can stay up for hours

also,,,, creativity and courage??? these are the people who actually have the confidence to publish their writing/art/whatever, and i admire that.

but writers block hits them so hard... i’m so sorry

okay, but if i understand the meme right, i’d give them wine aunt status.

gryffindor/hufflepuff:

these bastards

but i say that lovingly!

this is your meddling friend - that person that knows all and you can’t hide a secret from them to save your life.

and they seem to know everyone?????

they could ruin your life if they wanted to, but they are sweet uwu children and would never - in fact, they’re appalled you would even suggest it.

don’t let them hang out with gryffindor slytherins, no matter what. they will be corrupted and then it’s all over.

“but why are they bastards?” you ask. well,,,, if you’re acting surly or really don’t want to do a thing™ they will use their knowledge against you, prodding you in the direction you did not want to be going

of course, they only ever use this power when it’s for your greater good, but it’s annoying and invasive enough to grant them bastard status.

10/10 the mom friend.

even has the mom stare.

you know - the whole “you’re being irrational and you’re going to do this no matter how you hate it” stare

they have the m o s t energy and i honestly admire that

and they’re so hard working and dedicated that motivation isn’t a problem? it’s really just trying to get a solid, coherent thought that plagues them.

someone please get them a planner - they are constantly running late, but excited to be here!

100% have cottagecore vibes, or at least naturecore or adventurecore

point is, they want to be outside, doing things

they most likely want to make change in this world, but on a smaller level - with the people they care about, or the place they live

they really want to see what this world has to offer, but they are deathly afraid of being lonely

ngl, they probably get hurt by people a lot. they’re a little too trusting and go in a little too deep and when that other person leaves it does irrevocable damage.

it’s kind of like idealism and optimism, but at what cost?

100% smother their own feelings with a pillow and then preoccupy themself with the problems of others to not deal with their own

get them someone to talk to, please. they deserve it.

most likely they are an extrovert and surround themself with people so that they won’t have to feel loss as hard

spoiler alert: loss is always crushing.

gryffinpuffs believe in people - it’s their greatest gift and worst downfall

and they cannot live without them

do they have the braincell? sometimes. most of the time they share it and forget to ask for it back.

they probably like to do tangible things - like sculpture or knitting, baking, caring for plants....

something they can hold close

and if they read, they 100% finish books in one sitting. they just binge and it’s very iconic of them

probably a romantic, idk

they want a meet cute in real life and read all of the marriage fanfics

gryffindor/slytherin:

now these are the people who smile when you call them a bastard

and are most likely to be called a bastard unlovingly

at first glance they might be a little low on the empathy scales, but if you make it into their circle they would kill, die, and resurrect themself for you

BUT! all things come with a cost.

these are your friends with shifting loyalties. they are loyal until they feel your loyalty toward them fade, and they can and will shift against you for self preservation.

and they won’t feel bad about where their loyalties lie.

but please love them because if you really do believe in them they will feel it and it will rock their whole world

and if your feelings are strong, you’ll be surprised how quickly they can turn to you for guidance

if you haven’t noticed, this group is extremely intuitive - they can just sense what everyone feels about them

all that intuition... and quite a lot of tact

maybe it’s the cunning or the self preservation in them, but they can read a room really well - only bested by the hufflepuff/slytherin - and can sway everyone to their side

you want someone to give oddly accurate motivational speeches? this is the person you’re looking for!

slytherdors.... you either love them or you hate them

but no joke these are the people that the gryffinclaws and slytherclaws are constantly fighting - and the slytherdor is ready to throw hands at any given moment, someone pLEASE send a ravenpuff (huffleclaw?) to save them

if you wanted someone to embody teenage angst, HERE YOU GO!

it’s either that or they are extremely competitive and not afraid to call someone out

if there’s a dueling club, someone please put restraints on these children

as you can imagine, these people have a lot going on, and what they really need is just some quiet stability.

they need to see this world isn’t constantly out to get them.

they absolutely love music, so listen to songs with them! they have the best spotify playlists with the most obscure vibes, and it’s very aesthetically pleasing

also! listen to them in any group setting - they make the best, dry comments under their breath

if you laugh at them they will reach into the heavens and give you the moon and the stars

they really want the ~found family~ and definitely seek it out

they crave redemption arcs

they give me baby wolf vibes - they are wild killers, but they’re at that tender age where they’re still vvv similar to a puppy, when given affection

their slytherin side has tamed the impulsivity of a gryffindor, but the level of tactician a slytherdor is varies wildly. you never know what you’re going to get, and they are actually really good at covering it up

kind of like on those alignment charts where it’s like “looks like they could kill you but is a cinnamon roll” except it’s “seems competent, but is really an idiot”

they really need an animal companion, probably a cat or tarantula

the slytherdor probably doesn’t feign to study - they either do or they don’t and if that’s bad for their mental health then they’ll fight god himself

i get a lot of vibes of zuko screaming at the sky in that lightning storm, where he’s like, “come on, strike me! you’ve never held back before!”

maybe i’ve been a little negative, but uh,,,, their love language is sitting in the dark, holding hands and talking about the lamest part of their day

also, they hate meaningless endings to tv shows - they just want to see everyone be happy or die trying

ravenclaw/hufflepuff:

you mean the adjusted ravenclaw?

maybe that was mean, but what i really mean is that they are the most emotionally intelligent of all the ravenclaws

these ravenclaws know how to use conflict resolution skills, and they are very much needed in ravenclaw tower

they’ve been coaching the gryffindor/ravenclaws, but good luck maintaining their attention if they don’t want to listen

they also have patience! that means they get along well with slytherins.

even if they’re tired, they’re a good sport about it

light academia aesthetic, or just soft vibes in general.

they are probably the only artists with a coherent schedule that they keep up on, while still remembering to stay hydrated and function like a normal human being

they lowkey crave structure - the unexpected is not for them

riddles? those have a right and wrong answer - they absolutely hate it when the gryffindor/ravenclaws or ravenclaw/slytherins give an answer that is “technically” right

they probably don’t tell anyone, though

passive-aggression? yep. i can feel them seething from here.

like, they can solve minor problems and can get over bigger ones in time, but if it’s a huge slight, they are never going to let go

and it’s super palpable when they dislike you because they are so kind to everyone else

they probably have a passion for poetry but can’t seem to write any themself

definitely still keep a book of it hidden under their bed, though

and if they are good they vehemently deny it but continue to write anyway

the biggest thing they struggle with is knowing their direction in life - who do they want to be?

abstract thinking is an art form, and these ravenclaws ponder existence in the most intangible ways you’ve ever seen

10/10 lay on the ground and stare at the ceiling for like 3 hours straight

they can vary wildly on the introvert-extrovert scale, but they are never in the middle. extremes only.

you can get close to them out with acts of service - they give so much, please just treat them ONCE

they attach themself to so many people, though. even if they’re an introvert, you’d be surprised with their connections.

they’re so level headed and yet, they can feel so lost

kind of reminds me of 50′s moms who seem perfect on the outside but have existential crises while making a roast in heels

they don’t necessarily want to be “known” - they probably feel like that definition is changing all of the time, so it would scare them to put themself in a box

i guess they’re kind of free spirits - maybe more like the aunt who does yoga with baby goats and collects crystals and pretty shells

they are great at conflict resolution, yes, but don’t expect them to be your therapist (that’s the hufflepuff/slytherin)

they have absolutely no idea when it comes to deep feelings - they barely understand their own

probably paints, tbh, or at the very least loves to go to museums w/ really abstract art.

they actually have the braincell! they keep it a lot of the time and can be stingy with it.

they either wake up really early in the morning or stay up until the sun rises because it gives them “clarity” or something.

ravenclaw/slytherin:

they’re definitely the blunt friend who will just say things as they see them

yeah, tact is lost on them

they also love to claim that they “don’t need” people, so they butt heads with the hufflepuff/slytherin and the ravenclaw/hufflepuff a lot

they have quite a bit of stratagem up their sleeve, so people can be weary of them

their attitude does nothing to solve this, but it could also be that the slytherclaw has this idea that flattery gets them nowhere

they are so divisive in their individualism,,, good luck befriending them

but if you do befriend them, you have a powerful friend in your corner.

they are 100% that distant relative that you think hates you but you aren’t sure if that’s just the way they are

but let me tell you a secret,,,, their love language is words of affirmation and if you stroke their ego they’ll grow soft

while slytherclaws may not be very persuasive on their own, they actually work really well in teams. they know everyone’s strengths are are unafraid to take charge and tell people what needs to be done and how

they’re also really good at logical thinking, so you definitely want to be lab partners with this one

and schoolwork? they do it and they take good notes. a really great student

and their ambitions and competitiveness means they are unafraid to go far, and they will do it in style, too

this is the epitome of dark academia.

and there is very little that is chaotic when it comes to them - the slytherclaw is an excellent planner

maybe they desire more out of life - they never feel like they are quite getting what they want

they are cynical, but they they have such high hopes for this world

when they are let down, they’re not surprised but disenchanted nonetheless

they ponder the meaning of the world and what this world could be far more than they ponder their own life

they tend to see a bigger, more sweeping picture

100% they love the odyssey and definitely think it’s better than the iliad

they adore high fantasy with every fibre of their being and can really get into period dramas

i would say that a gryffindor/ravenclaw would be a good friend for them - we all know a gryffinclaw can talk, and sometimes a slytherclaw just needs to hear someone else’s take on this world

and, of course, it helps when anyone shows appreciation

okay, but they love sweets - chocolate, liquorice, peppermint, caramel... it’s one of the few childish things they allow themself to have.

they are actually relatively quick to trust? the fastest slytherin, actually

they keep their group small, but they get vibes about people and once you show them loyalty they trust you entirely.

i suppose they guess you don’t have any games because they don’t have any

ooh, but if you betray them??? they are a mess, emotionally, and will not hesitate to lash out.

but they are caring in their own way, and will do little things like reminding you to drink water or bringing you toast if you haven’t eaten and it’s very sweet

hufflepuff/slytherin:

so i know we have this idea of the slytherin sweetheart, but a slytherpuff is so much more than that

one of their strongest traits is the intersection of ambition and hard work - they will not stop until they are the best (in their mind at least)

it’s almost a petty form of competition. a bit of schadenfreude when they win.

and everyone’s immediate thought is that a hufflepuff/slytherin would be the most trusting slytherins but no.

not even close.

slytherpuffs are guarded at first, while holding a secret soft spot for you in their heart. but they won’t act on it until they are 100% sure you won’t hurt them. they are suspicious, but really want to like people.

it takes a lot to break down their walls, but when you do they already have a steady foundation for your trust to grow on, and it’s the strongest thing in this world

because of this they can often come off as cold or distant, but once you’re in their circle, oh yeah. there’s the hufflepuff qualities you were searching for.

a good contender for the mom friend position, but they aren’t overt enough to be so.

they’re not getting into your business or being slightly invasive like real mom friends, but if you need advice or a hug,,,,, this is the friend to go to.

they’re like the nice aunt. vvv comforting, but only if sought out.

oh, they have the strongest moral code i have ever seen - it cannot be shaken or swayed.

but! it can often go against the rules, so you do have a bit of chaos working beneath the surface.

i 100% believe that their love language is quality time, and most of that can be spent quietly, just sitting in the other’s presence.

i feel like 90% of their conversations is hand gestures or subtle facial expressions, so it make take a while to be able to read them, but it also means they are soooo good at reading other people

seriously, if you need a therapist in the group, this is your person. they know people so well. their intuition is off the charts.

BUT ALSO,,,, their levels of introvertedness are sky high. i feel like this is a given, but they can be in your orbit for 5 months and speak to your twice and think that is a decent amount of exposure.

please get them an extrovert. they need the exposure.

sEcReTS??? this slytherin probably has some, but you have to be like at level 50 to unlock their tragic backstory

they also have academia vibes and do really well in school work, but whether or not it’s dark academia or light academia is disputed. maybe grey academia? (is that a thing?)

they struggle with wanting to be known and yet wanting to hide parts of themself they find unattractive or unwanted

probably feel like they’re pulled in too many directions and overthink their choices just a bit too much.

everyone knows they have the braincell, but whether or not they use it is unsure

it’s so easy for their friends to coax them, they probably give it to someone else and never ask for it back even though they should be in sole custody of it

AND FLUFF ENSUES. (i realize some of these are kind of aggressive, so... vibe check!)

-- taglist: @musicallisto, @theletterhart, @locke-writes, @randomfandomimagine, @brokenandheadoverheels, @timeofmadness, @writerdream22 // message me if you’d like to be added to the taglist!

#harry potter #hogwarts #hogwarts houses #slytherin #ravenclaw #gryffindor #hufflepuff #headcanons #imagine #gryffinclaw #gryffinpuff #slytherdor #huffleclaw #ravenpuff #slytherclaw #slytherpuff #hybrid hogwarts houses

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zabrak-show · 4 years

Note

can i request a fic where reader is maul's apprentice and kind of a daughter-like figure to him? and she accidentally calls him dad?

Uhhh OK!! This was such a cute request and yet I made myself cry writing it. lmao so I’m sorry in advance. This is a found family story. Also, I made this gender-neutral, I hope this is ok. The setting is Dathomir at the time of the Solo movie. So after Clone Wars Maul becomes the shadowy ruler of Crimson Dawn on Dathomir. He found an apprentice on Mandalore and has been training them for about 10 years.

Word Count: 1.5k

Warnings: Found Family!, Family trauma

Whoosh!

A training orb narrowly missed your head as you ducked out of the way and finally struck it with your lightsaber. You had let yourself get distracted and it was a close call. You’d been at this for too long to make mistakes like that. You felt a deep shame for an instant but turned it into energy to focus on the training lesson at hand. You ducked and rolled on the cold stone floor, striking down the last training orb in a flash of sparks. The air now filled with the scent of dust, ozone, and sweat as you breathed in a sigh of relief. To be able to sit for even just a moment was an immeasurable treat these days.

You’d been training under Maul for almost 10 years now and he’d always been an incredibly stern and demanding Master, but lately, he’d been almost overbearing with his training. You felt frustrated at times, but mostly just wanted to make him proud of all that you knew you were capable of.

“How is it an apprentice of mine could still flounder at training orbs?” The all too familiar hauntingly deep voice of you your master filled the large room. He walked in slowly with his hands clasped behind his back and his metal feet clanking against the stone in a soft tapping you’d grown to know and love through the years, but at this moment, felt disdain towards the intrusion.

“I still won in the end,” you protested as you quickly rose from the seated position.

“Spare me. You are better than this. Better than these errors. And you know it. What is distracting you these days?” he questioned you with the same stern tone, but a tenderness behind it only you could detect.

“I’ll do better. I will do the lesson again right now. Again and again until it’s perfect.” you offered desperately.

“Hmmm… so you will not tell me what it is that distracts you? You’ve been training all day. Go wash up and spend the night meditating and maybe then you can tell me why you are distracted.” he turned and walked out of the room his black robes lightly rustling with his sudden movements. You wanted to be defiant and yell after him how out of touch he was and what a crotchety old man he had become, but you held back and just stewed in your negative feelings for a moment before ultimately deciding to do exactly as he said.

After your shower, you felt immensely better and decided to go meditate, although it was a bit begrudgingly. You wanted to go hang out with the nightbrothers, truth be told, but you also were just not in the mood for that either. You felt like you were stuck, in a funk. You missed Mandalore. Your parents were trash and you thought you had come to terms with that, but then why did you still wake up in the middle of the night dreaming about them and being in the house you grew up in? You knew Maul sensed this unbalanced feeling in you. Even if he hadn’t so much as told you he knew, it was clear he could read it on you anyway.

You set your room up to meditate, lighting some magick Dathomrian herbs and setting all the lights down low. You sat on a pillow trying to clear your mind. All you could hear was your Master’s voice and try as you might to block it out it was too loud. You got up angrily to pace the room, but then you realized you weren’t just hearing his voice in your head, he was in the next room over having a conversation. Curiosity got the best of you and you wandered out into the hall to eavesdrop.

“I wasn’t there, but if I had been perhaps I could have saved him” you overheard a woman’s voice you slightly recognized, but couldn’t quite place it yet.

“hmmm, ha ha ha ha.” your Master began his iconic sinister laugh and you knew this was not good already, but also sensed the darkness surrounding his force signature.

‘Was he..scared? What could he have to fear?’ you pondered to yourself outside the room the voices emanated from.

“Bring the ship and come to me on Dathomir and you and I will then decide what to do about the traitor Beckett and his accomplices.” Maul snarled out and you heard the hiss of his lightsaber being activated.

“I’m on my way.” the woman responded with the immediacy that predicated only bad things on the way.

You crept back to your room knowing the peace you had known with Maul for the last ten years was about to change. You sat back down on your pillow and attempted to meditate in case your master were to walk by or come in.

“Y/N, get up. I’m sending you on a solo mission and you need to take whatever is most important to you.” Maul barged into your room as you had suspected may happen. You rushed to your feet and began looking for your bags to pack,

“Oh.. ok. Where am I going? Why aren’t you coming with me?” you tried to seem nonchalant, but his anxiety was boring into your soul and freaking you out. You’d never seen him so panicked.

“No time, just get ready and meet me at the ship hangar in an hour.” he ran out of the room before you could protest. His metal legs clanking against the stone down the hallway as you’d heard a million times before. You froze for a moment, trying desperately to always remember that sound. It was the first sound you remembered him from when he saved you on Mandalore. You had been run out of your home barely 10 years old, by your family for being force-sensitive and tried to survive on the streets of Sundari. It had gone ok for a month or so before you started to run out of party tricks to use on the gangs and you had been ambushed one night by several different gang leaders. Why your master was out walking that night and in that exact side street you’d never know, but he saved your life and the sound of his metal legs on stone pavement would forever be a reminder of that.

You swallowed a ball of anxiety and it snaked its way down your throat until finally settling into a heavy stone in your stomach. You knew he was sending you away, you sensed it. You hated that you could sense these things. Ignorance was bliss and it was not something you’d ever been privy to. You tried to breathe in the calming herbs still burning on your altar in a futile attempt to acquiesce some of these feelings. You snuffed out the incense, grabbed your bags, and left your room, not looking back as there was simply no sense of dwelling any longer.

You met Maul at the hangar and he was still in his fake calm, but frenzied mood.

“Master, you know I sense your feelings as well?” you asked with a concerned look on your face.

“Yes, my apprentice. You are more powerful than you know. I simply cannot afford to let anything happen to you. I’m sure this will all blow over in a couple of years, I just need you to hide for a while.” He reached out to grab your arm as he spoke, his fiery amber eyes gazing into your soul.

“A couple of years? That’s so long. Why won’t you tell me what’s going on?” You shifted your body away from him snatching your arm out of his grasp. You were an adult now and yet he still treated you like a child. It was more than you could stand.

“There’s no time to explain it all now, and I know you are no longer a child. That’s why I’m sending you away. If my old master finds out about you, about me. about any of this... Trust me, please?”

He barely spoke of his old master and when he did it was not good. You knew this was bad, but you were still so sad and confused.

“Can’t I hide on Dathomir? Please don’t send me away, dad.” the tears were spilling out of your eyes and you didn’t quite register what you had called your master until you looked up into his red face, his amber eyes widening in shock at the words.

Before you could completely die from cringe he grabbed you in a robust hug. Something he had only done once before when you were very little and your pet loth-cat had died.

“I would be so honored to be your dad. And that’s why it’s even more important for you to get away from me from awhile.” He grabbed your face to wipe away the tears with his gloved hands.

“Remember how I said we survive in the shadows? My shadow may have been lifted up and I can’t afford any more losses. You are all I have.” he pleaded with you and you choked back your sobs to give him another hug before you boarded the next passenger ship to maker knew where. You’d be on the run for a while you knew.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.

as always thanks for reading and thanks for requesting <3

tag list:

@brilliantbutbatty

@maulieber

@botherbother-blog

@emissarydecksetter

@wolfpack-arts-industries99

@a-dorin

#reader insert #maul #darth maul #crimson dawn #found family #family dynamic #solo star wars #prequels era #star wars fanfic #darth maul fanfic #family trauma #gender neutral reader #fanfic request

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iwantitiwriteit · 4 years

Text

Slow Burn: Act I - Part 6

The Museum

Pairing: Chris Evans x Famous!Reader

Summary: You and Chris enjoy a day at the museum as the first act of your newfound clean slate.

Warnings: pure Fluff for once, the usual silly antics

Notes: Back to our regularly scheduled fanfic-ing. Hope y’all didn’t mid that mid-series break; I literally forgot how to write. But it was fun getting back in the groove of fluff! P.S. I miss museums. Read the previous part here and check this part’s moodboard + music.

Chris’ pace is quick as he walks the city sidewalk, evading puddles in his path. Sprinkling now, he doesn’t want to test his luck walking leisurely as he normally would. Normally, he’d take the time to gawk at the beauty and bustle of his city. But not today.

Today is a rainy Monday in Boston, perfect for your indoor date. Except, this is not a date. That’s what Chris told himself. That’s what he told his friend and brother… then himself again, especially now as a reminder to slow down his increasingly speeding heartbeat with each step. He’s only late for a friendly hang out with you, not for a date.

“Chris! Slow down!” Chris’ mother yelled from behind him. Oh yeah, and Ma. He stopped momentarily for Lisa to catch up. With a smile, he offered his mother his arm to take, and they walked together at a more acceptable pace to their destination. “Well somebody’s eager to see a certain somebody else,” Lisa teased, her son’s nervous and excited energy not going unnoticed by her maternal eye.

“Just… just don’t want to miss any part of the tour, is all,” he says, ears tipped red.

“Uh-huh…”

A few more paces, and the mother-son pair arrived at the MassArt Art Museum. Inside, they’re greeted by high ceilings and white walls like blank canvases. Grandiose, multi textured sculptures add a plethora of color to the space, some stand tall from the floors, others hang low and ceilings. The bright colors and lights could easily make you forget the dreary Fall day outside, the inside of the museum matching the inside of Chris’ chest.

Chris is shrugging off his raincoat when his mother goes to check them in. “She’s probably already in the crowd over there,” she points in the direction of a large group. “Go ahead and look for her; I’ll find you in a bit.”

The tour group with a median age of about 78 is already eagerly gathered in the lobby around a museum tour guide. Chris scans the crowd, large than he anticipated, probably about 100 if he were to guess, but can’t seem to spot you. He decides to remain in the back of the group, figuring he’ll find you once the tour gets moving. Chris tunes into the addressing tour guide for the time being.

“Once we’re in the exhibit, I want everyone to remember…”

“On your left.”

Chris side-glances down to his left side to be met by your profile staring straight ahead in the same direction he was just a moment ago. He took in your kinky-curly fro, a little shrunken and and slightly frizzed than usual because of the humidity, but it worked for you. Your face is fresh and free of makeup, a look you seemed to like to sport, and he thinks to himself that he likes it on you, too. After a moment of no response from Chris, your eyes flutter up to him. He’s met with your smirking face, but you then turn your attention back to the tour guide. You both pretend to listen.

“Really? ‘On your left?’” Chris finally says.

“What’s the matter? Captain Amer—“

“Shhshsh!” Chris hovers his thick pointer fingers, over yours and his mouths to signal you to stop your thought.

You brought your chin all the way into your neck as a natural instinct to retreat the offending phalange in your face. You push his hand out of the way before harshly whispering. “You gotta not!”

“YOU gotta not!” He harshly whispers back. You quirk your brow and slightly roll your neck at him. In a less anxious whisper he says, “Keeping a low profile, thank you.” Then it all makes sense. The cap, the hoodie, the shrunken stature and a standing in the back.

“Oh… my bad.” You deflate, once again returning your gaze to the speaking tour guide. You truly hadn’t thought of the repercussions of mentioning his Marvel movie moniker.

You’ve not had to deal with that level of notoriety… not yet, anyway. The level where a blown cover in public could mean the dissension of fans and paps alike. The level where you needed a cover in the first place. Sure, you get recognized every now and again, but you’re by no means at mega star, shades and hoodies, constantly looking over your shoulder status.

And you loved that. You could sympathize with Chris. You’ve seen how crazy it can get, and it definitely is worth protecting yourself from.

Chris has been trying to keep his attention ahead, but he glances at you every few seconds. He senses the air around you change. There’s a ballet of expressions dancing across your face. You knitted your brows together, released and raised them, with your eyes and lips following suit in similarly stressed movements and shapes. You’re deep in thought.

“You alright over there? Museum guidelines aren’t that moving.”

“I really didn’t mean anything by it. I just was trying to poke fun at you, not blow up your spot.”

Chris sighs and smiles at your sentiment. “It’s alright,” He bumps your shoulder when he sees you’re still distraught. He gets a smile out of you. “Hey, you know what would help? If you stopped staring at me. Would draw less attention.”

“Uh, puh-lease! You wish I was staring. Nice try at projecting, though.”

Chris quirked a confused brow, turning to you. “What do you mean?”

“I mean what took you so long to answer me a minute ago?” Shit, Chris thought. “That’s what I thought,” you sassed.

“I wasn’t staring at you per say. There’s a lil somethin’ in your hair…”

“What? What is it?!” You delicately touch around your curls searching for the offending object.

“Here lemme help,” Chris says as he stands to his full height over you. You look up at him with those darling eyes of yours, and he looks down at you, breath caught in his throat. Just a second later, he comes back to earth as he’s plucking something weightless from your hair. He slowly brings his hand down from your head to show you what he’s retrieved. “It’s just a little… piece… of stupid,” and he boops your nose.

“You know what!” You say in a loud whisper while you enjoy hitting his arm as retaliation.

Chris feigns hurt with a gasp. “That was mean,” he’s pouting trying to suppress his smile. He pokes out his elbow towards you. “Kiss it, make it better.”

“Ugh!” You shove him away, turning your head away from him, biting back your smile. You're failing miserably when you look back to him, and he’s wearing a boyish grin himself. “You are absolutely—“

“SHHHHH!!!!” You jump and Chris clutches his chest, both of you wide-eyed and taken aback by an old man that’s turned around to shush you two.“If you two are gonna flirt, do it quietly!”

You and Chris start to stumble over your words while talking over each other.

“No, whaaa? Flirt… Huh?”

“We weren’t, like…”

“Yeah, that’s not— um…”

“Totally not what’s—“

“Not like this is a date,” Chris blurts out with a nervous chuckle then freezes in place. It’s one of those *unfortunate* moments when his mouth moved faster than his brain. He stares straight ahead, not daring to look at you. If he had, he would have seen you had a matching stunned look from his blab.

“They’re sorry, Mr. Abara,” you both feel a hand on your shoulders as Lisa comes up behind you to intervene.“They’ll be on their best behavior from here on out, right?” She nods in a prompting manner, you and Chris following her lead.

“We’re sorry,” You mumble.

“It was her fault…” Chris says, earning him smack on the shoulder from his mom. “What?! It was!”

Mr. Abara turns around with a ‘hmph’, causing you and Chris giggle like teenagers at the grumpy old man. Lisa clears her throat and you and Chris straighten up.

“You two can’t help but draw attention to yourselves, huh?”

Before either of you could refute, the tour guide is ushering your group to the showroom for your day at the museum to really begin.

——————————————————————————

The exhibition was amazing to say the least. You’d never heard of the artist before, but you were astounded by her unique use of color, texture, and light in her work. And she was a sista? You were definitely going to keep her in mind for upcoming projects you had.

However incredible the artwork was, you’re not too sure how it compared to the entertainment that was the social show.

Your trio strolled together, taking in the majesty of the first few pieces. After a while Chris starts to linger behind you and Lisa for a bit. He admires the way you and his mom get along, walking arm-in-arm looking at the art.

The tour guide has everyone gather around a specific piece. “This one is my absolute favorite! It’s called ‘Mother Earth’. Do be shy; you can get close, but do not touch.”

When you step up to the piece, Chris is also does from the other side. He smiles and offers a quaint wave as if it’s your first time meeting. You reciprocate, and both proceed to lean in to the art for inspection.

“Wow,” you say as you marvel at the depth of blackness that outlines gaps for open air to breeze through. The piece has incredible curvature that makes the inanimate object look as if it were ready to continue dancing any minute now. All it needed was the right song or magic words to bring it back to life. You move around the pedestal to look at it’s other sides, Chris moving at the same rate across from you, equally as intrigued. There’s glints of gold, silver, emerald, and jade that add to its enchantment. “You ever see something so mysterious and beautiful and wonder, ‘Where did you come from?’”

“Yeah,” you move slightly, and your now eye to eye with Chris through one of the spaces within the sculpture. His Cerulean orbs pierce through to you thoughtfully, endearingly, making you wonder what he is thinking. “Yeah, I have.” Surely he’s not talking about…

“Alright people!” The tour guide shouts with a clap. “Let’s keep it moving!”

You stand up straight, while Chris glides over to you, hands his pockets, bouncing on his toes. You both have found the ground to be particularly interesting as you walk alongside each other to view the next piece of art. Standing before it, there’s not much of intellect input you can give with Chris’ presence fuzzing your brain. The silence is kind of enjoyable between you two, though. The pressure to fill the air with witty quips is at bay at this moment, and it's nice.

After a while, you both tentatively turn towards each other. Chris goes to say something, you’re sure it’ll be his analysis of what the artist’s intent is, but he doesn’t start his thought. Instead, his arm is being linked by some elderly woman.

“Uh, hello?”

“Hiya, Handsome,” she purrs, causing Chris to chuckle and rub the back of his neck. She leans her head on his shoulder and places her free, wrinkly hand on his chest. “So tell me what you think of this piece?” She says coyly.

“Umm…” Chris looks at you for help, but you are none. You just smirk and motion your head towards the art, urging him to answer her question. “Well, I think it’s speaking to the unique experience and intersectionality of being both black and a woman in the Diaspora. There are nods to the many hardships, horror, and passed down trauma that black women have and continue to endure, yet it so often turn into the most beautiful fruit, works worthy of high regard and praise by graceful, powerful women who are also deserving of such, tenfold.”

“Wow…” you and the ogling old-timer say simultaneously. He shyly looks at the ground and you shake off the spell of his summation. I’m not REALLY about to give this man points for stating basic YET ignored facts, am I? I’ll put a pin in this, but damn will I look at him differently.

“Y’know,” Chris’ amorous aged arm-candy starts, “I love a man who knows some BIG words and is not afraid to use ‘em!” she punctuates with a growl.

It takes everything in you not to laugh at Chris’ bugged out eyes and rosy face. You think you might’ve even seen a drop of sweat form on his brow. “Oh, okay…” he says as he tries to subtly pry the woman off of him. He looks to you for salvation again, but you’re already making your way to the next piece, waving at Chris over your shoulder, “I’ll leave y’all to it,” you laugh.

——————————————————————————

The tour’s come to an end and museum goers are starting to trickle out, some staying for the cheap hors d’oeuvres that are laid out. Chris managed to get his new lady friend off of him (might or might not have taken a few minutes of hiding in the bathroom), and he’s now flicking through his pictures of the day on his phone. There’s some of you and his mom smiling nicely at one another, him taking selfies with some of the work he considers posting later to shout out the artist, and some blurry ones of you, Chris, and Lisa, taken by a shakey hand museum goer.

The pictures that stop his swift swiping are of you admiring paintings on the wall. There’s nothing particularly special about these paintings; they were in the Baroque hall outside of the featured exhibit. You however, are thee something special. He can’t quite put his finger on it, but the way you fill the frame and effortlessly draw him in is magical to him. His favorite one from the set is the one with your back to the camera. Your silhouette has become iconic to him; standing out amongst the tired and basic. Holding your own in his brain.

“Just go talk to her. It’s better— less creepy— than staring at her picture.” Chris looks to his side to find Mr. Abara walking by extremely slowly passed.

“Oh, hey, Mr. Abara. Like I said before, it’s not—“

“What’re you scared, son?”

“Um… no, it’s… it’s just not like that.”

“Not like what?”

“Not… not like that,”

Mr. Abara nods slowly. “Sure it’s not.” Chris is thinks he hears Mr. Abara mumble something about not being born yesterday, but he’s already walking in your direction at the snack table.

When he arrives, you’re picking through the repulsive options. “Why the hell would they find this acceptable to give to old people?” You mumble under your breath. “I get their on they’re way out, but—”

“Talking to ourselves, are we?” Chris speaks up, causing you to yelp and jump out of your skin. His booming laugh and your screech cause some of the older museum goers to give you to the stank eye. “Oops, might’ve given some of ‘em a heart attack.”

“Might’ve given me a heart attack!”

“I realized something,” Chris changes the subject, picking up a grape to eat.

You sigh as your heart rate comes down. “What’s that?”

“That this is the first time we’re seeing each other in the daytime and without alcohol in our systems.”

You ponder on it for a second, “Really?” you question him and he nods.

“Huh, that’s… that’s a damn shame,” you laugh a little, and he does too.

“Sure is,” he agrees, popping another grape into his mouth.

“So, how do you like me sober and in natural lighting?” You jokingly ask him, motioning down your figure for added dramatics.

He sizes you up, eyes languidly travelling up your frame. The heat rises to your face just as his gaze does. He locks in on your eyes for just as second longer than what would be deemed an innocent look before saying, “Eh, you’re alright I guess,” nonchalantly, while going for another grape.

You shake your head at him slowly, a smug smile creeping on to your lips. “You just don’t wanna give me my props, huh? Whatever.”

The two of you laugh and chat for a while while waiting for Lisa. You’re interrupted by someone calling Chris’ name in the distance. You thought it was Lisa at first, relieved that you could call it day because your stomach was growling. However when you and Chris looked in the voice’s direction, you were more interested in staying a little while longer.

“Ooooh Handsome!!” Chris’ aged admirer chirped across the room. She must’ve been looking for him because her eyes were squinted and she moved her head from left to right in search of her unrequited beau.

“He’s right—”

“Don’t you dare!” Chris chides, his firm tone fluttering your stomach just a little. “We gotta go!”

He’s panicking over a lustful lady twice his age and you’re amused greatly, but you had no time to appreciate it as Chris put his hand on your lower back to lead you out of the museum. “Wait, what about your mom?” You tried to protest.

“She’ll find her way!”

“There you are!” Chris’ Boomer bugaboo exclaims.

“Go! Go! Go!”

——————————————————————————

“Well, this is my stop!” Lisa says as you all pull up to the youth theater where she works. She turns to you in the backseat. “Thank you for joining me today! Next time I’ll leave my son at home since he thinks he can leave me in the museum.”

“Hey! You didn’t see the look in that woman’s eyes! You would’ve ran like hell, too,” Chris exclaims from the driver’s seat.

“My poor baby,” Lisa pinches his cheeks as she facetiously dotes and Chris rolls his eyes, eliciting a giggle from you. She pulls him close to her mouth to whisper something you can’t hear. You turn to look outside your window, your way of giving them privacy.

“Are you threatening me, Ma?” You hear Chris humorously say.

“Threatening, mothering. Tomato, tahmato. Just do it. I’ll see you later, honey,” and with that Lisa leaves for work.

Chris drops his head, shaking it and laughing to himself.

“What is it?” You ask.

“Uh… my mom wants me to ask if you’d like to get some lunch. Since that museum food was shit and all.”

You arch a brow and contemplate the offer. You still weren’t so sure about hanging out with him solo. But I mean, I COULD eat.

Sensing your hesitation, Chris says, “It’s cool if… you don’t want to, I get it—“

“Sure,” you cut him off, unbuckling your seatbelt to climb over the front console to the passenger seat. You sit with a huff, and adjust your clothes. You looked over at him, and he’s got a look of slight disbelief. Unsure if it’s from you saying ‘yes’ or climbing into his front seat, you ask, “What?”

“Nothing, nothing…” he smiles at you. You look down at your lap, unable to meet his eyes. He lets his eyes linger on your shy form for a few seconds before clearing his throat, and asking, “So, uh, what kinda food do you want?”

“I’m down for anything.”

Chris amusedly huffs.“You women always say that, then when we men try to stick it in—“

“WOW, really?!” You swat at his arm and realize how buff he is because he didn’t even flinch. You try not to give in to your urge to laugh, but it’s hard when Chris is failing miserably and holding in his. You shouldn’t find it funny, but you kind of do. You let out a small laugh and roll your eyes at him. “You are absolutely childish.”

“No, not absolutely. I think I’ve prove to have some level of intellect today.”

“If you’re talking about your dissertation earlier, verdicts still out on if you get a cookie.”

“S’long as there’s a trial,” he says with a heartwarming smile that you mirror. “And I was kidding, by the way, with the-- I don’t want you to think I’m some kind of pervert. You set it up for the joke, and I —”

“You don’t have to explain. I can take a joke.”

“Ok…cool.”

“Ok, cool,” you mimic him. “So what are we gonna eat?”

“You like pizza?”

“Who doesn’t like pizza?” you retort.

“True. Well, there’s this place, a true local staple ‘cos it’s the BEST pizza in Boston! Probably the whole world!” Gushes about this place.

“Not in the whole world!” you mock him. “Do they have vegan options?” He blinks at you. “What now?” you ask with a shrug.

“Are you fucking kidding me? You’re a vegan? Uggghhh!!!” Chris dramatically puts his head on the steering wheel.

You laugh at his antics. “Is that a deal breaker for you?”

He scoffs, then looks out his window, trying to avoid you seeing his cheeks turn red. You smirk to yourself knowing damn well you just made him blush. Still looking out his window at the rainy Boston day, “No real pizza place is gonna have ‘vegan options’,” he finishes with a Valley girl accent.

“First of all, it’s scary how good you are at that voice, and secondly, I beg to differ! You’ve clearly never been to Mellow Mushroom. Best pizza there is, AND there’s vegan options. I mean what did you get up to when you were in Atlanta?”

“Oh sweethaht,” he stresses his Boston accent, “you’re not ready for those stories…” he chuckles looking at you sideways through his lashes with a smirk, hoping you’d get the joke. He finds you trying to suppress a laugh, shaking your head then turning to look out the windshield, make him laugh in that mischievous way you’ve come to be fond of

“I know a place we could go to eat” you offer.

“Yeah? What kind of food?”

“Um… I don’t think I’ll tell you. It’s a surprise.”

“You’re lucky I’m in a ‘surprise’ kind of mood.”

You put the address in his car’s built in GPS, and you guys are on your way to lunch. But just before he pulls off, he looks at you with that boyish smile of his and sparkling blue eyes. You were re-applying your lip gloss in his overhead mirror. You turned mid-gloss glide, the wand still on your bottom lip. “What now?!”

Chris' gaze lingers on your lips before he looks up to your own sparkling eyes. “Nothing…” he said though you knew it was something; your heart didn’t flutter delightfully for no reason. “Nothing at all.”

Part 7 coming soon! What’d you think?

#chris evans fanfiction #chris evans fan fiction #chris evans imagine #chris evans one shot #Chris Evans series #chris evans x black reader #chris evans x reader #chris evans x you #chris evans x y/n #chris evans x female reader #chris evans x poc!reader

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shakespeareanwannabe · 4 years

Text

Play by Play

Santiago ‘Pope’ Garcia x F!OC/Santiago Garcia x Rebecca Cooke

Summary: Santi gets in way too deep with this woman that he barely knows, but finds that sometimes a leap of faith can be worth it.

Warnings: References to parental issues, age gap in a relationship (both participants are well over the age of consent), child abuse/child trauma, misogyny, swearing, PTSD, low self-esteem

A/N: Hi everyone! So, I started writing this story way out of order. Started with Protective Instincts, jumped to Best Laid Plans, went backwards to Strange Comforts, then came all the way back to the beginning with New Beginnings. But that’s because I was just writing them as they came to me (or, if I’m being honest, as @darksideofclarke provided me with golden headcanons that I just expanded on). But now, I’ve sat down and written a general plan for this multichapter story that is turning out to be so astoundingly different from everything else I’ve ever written.

So, I’ll be posting in chronological order now, and I’ll make an announcement here in the A/N about where Protective Instincts, Strange Comforts, and Best Laid Plans fit into the whole scheme of things.

Anyway, here’s chapter 2!

**********

“Hey Jackie,” Santi greeted as he strolled through the front door of the clinic.

“Evening, Santiago. How’re you?” the red headed receptionist replied with a smile, looking up briefly before resuming her typing.

“Same old, same old,” he replied, eyes scanning the clinic. “How’re John and the kids?”

She smiled brightly at him. “Lorelai got accepted to Clemson with a scholarship!”

“That’s amazing, you must be so proud,” he replied, turning his attention back to her when he didn’t find who he was looking for.

“Why is Jackie proud?”

He smiled and felt his face heat up as he turned to face Rebecca, who was just slightly limping through the front door. She was dressed in her usual artfully professional work attire and toting a gym bag that was undoubtedly stuffed with her workout clothes.

“Hey Bex,” he greeted as he slid over to her. “Want some help with that?”

“Ugh, please,” she whined. “I spent the day running after three kindergarten classes, and my hip and back are aching.”

Santi relieved her of the bag and offered her his elbow, a slight tremor running up his spine as she leaned into him.

Three months. That’s how long he’d been going to physiotherapy with Steve. It also happened to be exactly how long he’d been working up the courage to ask Rebecca out.

That first day they met, he’d assumed it was the same kind of visceral reaction he’d had with other women in the past. She was stunningly beautiful, sarcastic, and witty. In other words, just his type. But he wasn’t looking for anything at that moment. He’d just gotten out of a year of trying the domestic thing with Yovanna, and it had crashed and burned spectacularly. He had a new home; he had his friends surrounding him once more. He was good. He was solid. He decided then and there not to do anything to screw up the upward trajectory he was on. That, plus he didn’t want to make things awkward for Charlie, who had a business to run.

So, he’d ignored it. Pushed down the desire to engage and romance, and focused instead on trying to get his knees back under him. But then, their appointment times had lined up and they spent their entire sessions chatting with each other and sassing Charlie. Then it happened again. And again. And, before long, Santi found himself listening in on Rebecca when she booked her appointment times with Charlie so he could book the same slots with Steve.

Three times a week for three months, he spent two hours talking and laughing with this resilient, funny, and kind woman.

That first week had been the introductory stuff.

**********

“So, what are you in for?” she asked, a sly grin on her face.

He grimaced. “Does a lifetime of poor choices count?”

She snorted, burying her face in her arms in an attempt to hide her embarrassment at the unladylike sound. “I’m pretty sure that’s why most of us are here.”

He nodded slowly in acquiescence. “Even you?”

She sighed as she settled further into her table, the heat from the heating pad soothing her sore muscles. “I got into a bad car wreck seven months ago. Idiot driver T-boned me when I was on my way back to work from an in-school art class. Fractured my hip, got a nasty concussion, and a wicked case of whiplash. I got lucky when the concussion symptoms stopped after a few weeks, but I had to come here to get my butt kicked to fix my hip and neck.”

“Jesus, I’m sorry.” He didn’t know what else to say. Being military, it was sometimes easy to forget that the civilians they were trying so desperately to protect could also be taken down by something as simple as crossing the street or taking a drive.

Rebecca leaned herself up on her elbows to fix him with a thoughtful look. “You know what? You’re the first person to say that to me.”

“Seriously?”

She nodded slowly as she relaxed back into the pillow beneath her. “My mom took the ‘Woe is me, my poor baby is hurt’ route and the doctors were more concerned with making sure I was physically okay than checking in on my emotional state. So, thank you for that.”

He shrugged as easily as he could lying down. “My buddy Will always says that sometimes the best thing you can offer someone are words, so they know you’re there.”

“Will sounds like a smart guy. How’d you two meet?”

“We were put into the same squad in the military. Worked together for years.”

“Ah, I shoulda guessed you were military,” she groaned as she shifted slightly, moving quickly to catch the heating pad before it slipped. “You’ve got that kinda look.”

“You mean the beat to shit look?” he sighed, turning his head away from her to stare at the ceiling fan rotating slowly above him.

A poke in the arm startled his attention back to her. She had strained herself across the gap between the tables, barely able to poke his arm with her middle finger without sliding off.

“I didn’t mean it like that,” she replied gently. “I just meant that you look like the kind of guy who has seen too much bad in this world. Which isn’t fair. Nobody should have to carry that kind of burden.” Santi struggled to swallow; his emotions all caught up in his throat and his skin tingling from the slight brush of her finger against his arm. “I’m not gonna say ‘thank you for your service’, because I feel like that’s just an empty platitude at this point. But I will say that I hope you find a way to make that burden just a little lighter.”

He looked over at her again and smiled. “Thank you.”

**********

Okay, so the introductory stuff got heavier than Santi anticipated. Parental problems, traumatic events, talk of his service. He was in heavy with this girl and he didn’t even know her last name.

That came in week two.

**********

“Basketball or baseball?”

“Baseball. Same question.”

“Baseball. Hockey or football?”

“Football. Same question.”

“Hockey. Cats or dogs?” Rebecca grunted as she kicked her leg out, struggling against the sliding weights attached to her injured leg by a cuff and a cord.

“Dogs. Same question to you,” Santi replied, voice distorted as he squatted on the FitVibe.

“Dogs. You know, you can’t just say ‘same question’ every time it’s your turn. It kind of defeats the purpose of the game,” she gasped as she finished her first set, twisting around to grab her water bottle from the chair behind her.

Santi shrugged as the machine stopped vibrating, giving him 90 seconds to rest before his next set started.

“Did you have a dog growing up?” he questioned as he sipped from his own bottle.

She nodded as she gulped down her icy water, Santi trying and failing to keep his eyes off her delicate neck and chest, which were gleaming with a sheen of sweat. “A St. Bernard. Cookie. I loved that dog, but I hated his name. I mean, really? Cookie Cooke? What were my parents thinking?”

Santi chuckled as his machine began counting down to start the next set. “Probably that it was cute? Who knows? Your turn…” He grunted as he carefully squatted as the pad began to shake again. He closed his eyes against the twinge of pain and missed Rebecca blatantly staring at his ass before beginning her next set.

“Star Wars or Star Trek?”

“Star Wars. Books or movies?”

“Both. Goonies or Stand by Me?”

“Can’t go wrong with Goonies.”

“Ugh, and here I was just thinking that you had good taste! Who in their right mind picks Goonies over Stand by Me?” she teased.

He shot her a glance out of the corner of his eye. Even blurry from the vibrations coursing through his body, she was the prettiest girl he’d seen in a long time.

“Never said I was in my right mind, sweetheart,” he winked and that giggle that he was so enchanted by escaped her lips again.

**********

Week three was when he really tried to pump the breaks on his rapidly developing feelings for her. Not only had Yovanna sent him a box of his stuff via airmail, but he became privy to some information that assured him that this thing between them would never work.

**********

“Don’t tell me you’re done already!” he called from the Kin-Com as Rebecca practically skipped over to the table closest to him. She had her good days and her bad days with her injured leg, and Santi liked chatting with her the past nine days, but he loved chatting with her on her good days. There was this spark, this energy she radiated when she was feeling good that he just wanted to bathe in.

“This is what you get for showing up late, Santi! You’re strapped into the death machine and I get a massage to wrap things up.” She shot him a bright smile before lying down on the table, just out of his range of sight thanks to the half partition wall that separated the machine from the rest of the clinic.

“Don’t tease the old man, Rebecca,” Charlie cautioned in a faux-mocking tone.

“Hey, if I’m an old man, what does that make you? Frankie is two months older than me!” he pointed out, pressing against the mechanical arm that was slowly manipulating his leg.

“Apparently the term is ‘panther’,” she replied, straight-faced. “Learned that one at ladies’ night after one of my friends had a few too many and found out Frankie’s 10 years older than me. Me, I call it lucky.”

“Yeah, you better,” he warned as the machine stopped moving. A quick look at the computer screen told him he had finished his set for the day, and he quickly unstrapped himself and hopped down, walking slightly creakily to the table next to where Charlie was carefully massaging and manipulating Rebecca’s hip.

“Your fiancé’s ten years older than you, Chuck?” Rebecca asked, her eyes closed as she tried to relax her aching joints.

Charlie shot Santi an unamused glare as he lowered himself onto the table and laid back, Steve approaching with the cryo-cuffs and ice machine.

“Yeah, Frankie’s 40 and I’m 30. Why?” she asked, an accusation hiding deep in her voice as her body tensed up.

Inwardly, Santi was nodding approvingly. Frankie sometimes got too in his own head about his age, especially in relation to his fiancée’s, and Santi knew how much Frankie doubted himself when it came to their relationship. Charlie was a successful business owner and college graduate. Frankie was a retired soldier who almost lost his pilot’s license because he’d been desperate for money when his girlfriend got pregnant and knew just how lucrative drug running could be. It wasn’t difficult to see why Frankie felt so insecure about the relationship, but Charlie was so good at getting him out of that headspace, and even better about shutting down anyone who had anything negative to say about her man.

“Nothing!” Rebecca was quick to reply. “I was just curious. Age is just a number, right? Besides, I saw you two together when he came to pick you up that one time, remember? You two are cute as hell. He just doesn’t look 40.” Rebecca rolled her head to look at Santi, and he felt his own hackles raise a little, suddenly self-conscious of his greying hair and his weak knees. Then, she smiled softly at him and, if he wasn’t fooling himself, a warm affection infused her gaze. “Neither do you.”

He felt all the blood rush to his face and once again had to bat down the idea of asking her out. A box full of old mail and knickknacks had just arrived on his porch that morning from Australia. Domesticity didn’t work for him, and even casually seeing someone felt like too much of an effort. Still, there was something about that look in her eyes, the easy repartee they had going on, the support they gave each other during their workouts, that told him that, if he was going to try again, she was the one to try with.

“Hey Becky!” a loud voice boomed across the clinic. “Where you at?”

Rebecca smiled apologetically at him and Charlie before raising her voice just a little to call back, “I’m over here!” She turned her attention back to them, looking almost sadly at Santi as she said, “Sorry guys, that’s my date for tonight.”

A tall guy sauntered over from the reception desk and Santi felt himself reacting instinctively.

He was tall, well over 6 foot, and wearing a fancy, well-fitted navy suit with a white button down underneath, no tie and the first two buttons undone.

“Ah, there’s my girl!” he leaned down and gave her a claiming kiss, almost like he knew that Santi was watching.

“Uh, hi Derek. I thought you were going to wait outside?” she asked, looking away from them all as she raised a hand to her cheek.

“I was, doll, but I’ve been out there for twenty minutes. Our reservation is set for 7:30, and it takes ten minutes to drive out there, so go get yourself cute and let’s go.”

“Uh…” Rebecca looked between Santi and Charlie while worrying her bottom lip between her teeth.

Santi had never wanted so badly to punch someone he hadn’t even officially met. He wanted to speak up, tell Derek that Rebecca was already cute in her leggings and off-the-shoulder t-shirt. Tell him that he can’t just barge in and interrupt an appointment in a place of business.

Charlie leaned into his line of sight and subtly shook her head and, deep down, he knew she was right. If he punched him, or called him out, he would be just as bad. Plus, what right did he have? He’d spent a few hours with this woman and had zero claim on her time or her attention.

“It’s okay, Rebecca. We’re done for today anyway. You can use the staff bathroom to wash up if you’d like,” Charlie assured, helping Rebecca off the table.

“Okay, thanks Charlie. Santi?” He slowly slid his eyes up to meet hers and read the apology there clear as day. “I’ll see you next week, okay?”

He cleared his throat. “Sure thing. See you then.”

Rebecca smiled, a hint of relief overtaking her features as she sighed. “Good. Have a good weekend everybody!”

She headed towards the staff bathroom with her gym bag in tow and ‘Derek’ left, presumably to go and wait in the car like he was supposed to.

“Frat boy lookin’ douche,” Santi grumbled under his breath.

“Yeah, and the bag it came in,” Charlie muttered as she wiped down Rebecca’s table.

“Isn’t he a little young for her?” Santi asked rhetorically. “He looks like he just stepped off the stage at college graduation.”

“Dude, she’s like, 25. They’re probably the same age.” Charlie flung the white towel she had been using over her shoulder. “Don’t tell anyone I told you that. Patient confidentiality and all that.”

Santi felt his heart sink but told himself it was for the best. Now he had a good reason for not asking her out. What 25-year-old would want to date a broken-down old man anyway?

**********

Week four didn’t happen, and it was the one time Santiago Garcia considered himself a coward.

He’d promised. He’d explicitly told her that he would see her the following week, but he’d called at the last second and rescheduled with Steve for times when he knew she would be at work.

He just didn’t know how to face her. Yes, he had no claim to her time or attention. Yes, he’d spent a grand total of 18 hours in her presence. No, he had never explicitly asked if she was seeing anyone. And, yes, he had sworn off dating for a while, so he had no right to get his back up about her having a date.

And yet, the thought of seeing her, all smiley and happy after her date with ‘Derek’ made him sick to his stomach.

Week five he tried to reschedule again. He picked a time slot that aligned with the closing of the museum she worked at, knowing she often stayed a little longer after closing to chat with coworkers and stare at the art. He should have known, however, that things rarely ever turned out the way he wanted them to.

**********

“Have you been avoiding me?”

The soft voice made him trip over his feet, his left foot tangling in the rungs of the rope ladder he was currently working with.

He looked up and met Rebecca’s soft eyes, tinged with sadness. He sighed and walked around her, stooping to pick up his water bottle before perching himself on a padded wooden block.

“No. Why?”

“Because I haven’t seen you in a week and Charlie wouldn’t tell me why,” she huffed, wrapping her arms around her chest as she moved to lean against the wall across from him.

“I was busy.”

“Really? Huh,” she chuckled sarcastically. “So, this has nothing to do with Derek coming in here?”

He shrugged, not meeting her eyes. “Nope.”

She rolled her eyes and scoffed. “Okay, Santiago. Whatever…” She turned and began to walk away, out of the back room where he was working out and back into the main gym area.

It was then that he noticed her clothing. A really pretty black blouse with a purple and red floral pattern and a black pencil skirt that pulled his eyes straight to her ass, and no red gym bag hanging from her arm.

“You not staying to work out?”

She turned back to him and laughed humorlessly. “No. I called reception and asked if you were coming in today. Gwen wasn’t going to say, but then Jackie got on the phone and told me you were here. Apparently, she’s got a soft spot for you. So, I left work early because I couldn’t stand not knowing if you were mad at me.”

“You didn’t have to do that,” he mumbled looking down at the silky fabric of his gym shorts, guilt beginning to gnaw at his core.

“Oh, I’m getting that message loud and clear,” she snapped, marching back over to him and getting right up in his face. “But I did. Because I was worried that I had offended you with my age comment, or that I made you uncomfortable by saying that you didn’t look your age, or that I somehow upset you by not telling you that I was, unfortunately, going on a date that night.”

He stood up, standing nose to nose with her. “Don’t worry, sweetheart, we both know you don’t owe me anything. I hope you and Derek had a wonderful time together.”

“Screw you,” she seethed.

Santi scoffed and shook his head, turning away from her to escape into the bathroom.

Once he had the door locked behind him, he sighed heavily and splashed cold water on his face.

This. This was why he didn’t want to seriously date anyone. He inevitably would screw things up. Or, worse, he’d ruin things before he even had the chance to really start with someone.

Fuck, Yovanna had been right. He somehow always managed to dim whatever light there was around him. Rebecca’s warmth and energy were so bright, so addicting, that he had thought it possible to bask in them without hurting her. She was like the Sun, drawing him in even when he wanted to stay away. Nobody could hurt the Sun. It was so warm and so bright and so uplifting that it couldn’t be damaged. Yet, there he was.

Santi sighed and stared at himself in the mirror, resolving to fix things next week. He’d switch back to his regular time and pray to a god he wasn’t sure he believed in that she would be willing to hear him out. That was his long-term plan. His immediate plan was to get through the day’s session and go home to drink that bottle of whisky he’d been saving.

Opening the door, he took two steps onto the rubber flooring of the back room and froze.

Soft sobs echoed in the airy space, and he felt his heart sink down to his toes as he followed the sound back to that padded block, finding Rebecca hunched over on it, a hand pressed delicately to her mouth as she tried to muffle the sound.

He grimaced to himself, knowing he was the cause of her distress. Hesitantly, he reached out and tried to place a gentle hand on her shoulder, but Rebecca caught sight of his shoes first and jerked back in surprise, looking up at him with tears gleaming like diamonds in her eyes under the harsh florescent lights.

He slowly crouched down in front of her, balancing on the balls of his feet.

“I’m an idiot,” he started, and felt his heart lift slightly as she choked on a laugh. “And I’m so sorry.”

She shook her head at him, desperately swiping at her tears. “No, you were right. We barely know each other, so we don’t owe each other anything. I had no right to get mad at you. For all I know, you had a family emergency that made you switch your appointment times.”

Santi was already shaking his head. “Your instincts were good, sweetheart. I did change times to avoid you, but not because I was mad at you.”

“The age comments—”

“Were sweet,” he finished for her, meeting her gaze for the first time since he had lowered himself down. “If you had said anything bad about Frankie, I wouldn’t have had time to argue with you before Charlie jumped down your throat.” She laughed again and his heart lifted just a tad higher. “And I appreciate you saying I don’t look my age. I always think the grey gives me away,” he added wryly.

“It suits you,” she rebutted quickly. “Not many people look good with the salt and pepper, grey thing. All I can think of are Idris Elba, George Clooney and you.”

Santi laughed loudly. “Well, I will take that compliment.”

“Good,” she nodded decisively. “Now get off your knees before Steve comes and yells at you.”

She shifted over on the block and he laboriously heaved himself to his feet, coming to sit next to her, a few inches of space between their bodies. They sat in a cloud of quiet calm, both knowing that there was more to resolve but unwilling to break the silence.

“Maybe it’s not my place, but I just think you can do a lot better than Douchebag Derek,” Santi finally said. “No offense,” he added quickly, silently berating himself for the slip.

She giggled at the nickname. “No offense taken. It was actually my first time ever meeting him,” she admitted quietly.

Pope’s mind rapidly went over the brief interaction and he felt his blood begin to boil. “But…”

She nodded sadly. “I know. He’s the son of the museum curator, so I felt like I couldn’t turn him down without affecting my job. And you know how much I love my job.”

He did know. She was the educational liaison for the local art museum. She led field trips that came through the museum, explaining different art pieces and their historical and artistic significance, while also leading the students through art lessons on how to either imitate an artist’s style or create their own styles. Occasionally, she would also make trips to low-income schools in the area through an outreach program, going into classrooms to teach art lessons and give the teachers a break. It was on her way back from one of those in school visits that she got into her car accident, but it hadn’t diminished her enthusiasm for her work. In fact, it had made her desperate to get back into the museum and back into the classroom.

“But he kissed you. And he called you Becky,” Santi commented, confused.

Rebecca allowed her head to fall into her palm. “I know…apparently his mom really talked me up and made me seem really desperate and really into him. Plus, he seems to think he’s God’s gift to women, so it was the perfect storm of misogynistic crap.”

Santi was shaking his head. “Next time, tell me. I don’t care if you have to do it in front of the guy, just let me know and I’ll get him out of your hair in ten seconds, tops.”

She sighed and shuffled closer to him. “Thanks Santi. It’s nice to know that someone has my back.” She ended up pressed right against his side and gently lowered her head to his shoulder.

Oh.

Oh fuck.

**********

That day marked the end of Santi sticking to his guns about not dating. After that, it became an increasingly difficult game that he was playing with himself.

Get closer to her, get to know her more, be that shoulder for her to lean on when she needed it, but don’t cross that line. Just because she said he didn’t look his age; it didn’t mean she wanted to be with someone his age. It didn’t reduce the 15-year age gap between them. She said it was nice to have someone have her back, so that’s who he became. Her constant cheerleader, her confidant, her friend. It was the first female friend Santi had had since Charlie. Before Charlie, never.

They exchanged numbers that day, and soon his days became filled with texting her different stories about his day, like how he ended up at the hospital with Benny because the idiot accidentally put a nail through his finger when he was helping nail down Santi’s new kitchen floor, or how he couldn’t move after a session where Steve had him in the therapy pool for 45 minutes. She’d send him funny quotes she heard her ‘kids’ say on field trips or in the classroom, or photos of paintings in the museum with ridiculous captions.

After she laid her head on his shoulder, he knew he loved her. After she sent him a photo of Queen Elizabeth the First’s portrait with the caption “wanna thank your mother for a butt like that”, he knew he was in love with her. And after she showed him a picture of her childhood dog Cookie and her at age 6, he knew he was drowning in her and that his only salvation would be asking her out.

Still, he kept drowning for months.

“Santi?” He turned his attention to Rebecca, still leaning gently on his arm as they stood outside the change room. “You okay? I lost you there for a second.”

“Yeah, Bex, I’m fine,” he smiled warmly at her and felt a silent thrill go through him when she got a little flustered. “Uh, Jackie was excited because Lorelai got accepted at Clemson.”

“Wow, good for her.” They both paused, a slight awkwardness hanging over them. “I’ll, uh, I’ll see you out there?”

“Oh…uh, yeah.”

The door closed with a quiet click and Santi wanted to kick himself. They had spent weeks dancing around this thing, and it was pissing him off to no end.

He had never been like this. Not since he asked out Libby Stiles in the fourth grade. Why was this one girl sending his head spinning? Okay, he knew why, but it wasn’t fair. He could ask out any girl he ran into, except the one he wanted.

“Hey!” Santi turned around at the hissed greeting and found Charlie pumping up an exercise ball behind him. “If you don’t ask her out, I am going to ask her out for you!” she whispered.

Santi took a cautionary glance back at the door before stepping over to her. “What are you talking about?”

“Cut the shit, Santi!” she huffed quietly. “You think I haven’t noticed that all of your appointment times line up with hers? Or that you spend more time talking to her than you do actually doing your stretches? Or that you get this sad sap look in your eyes when you look at her?”

“And what the fuck do you know about it, Charlie?” he snarled under his breath.

“Because it’s the same way I look at Frankie, you dork!” she smirked. “It’s the same way Frankie looks at me, it’s the way Benny looks at every fucking Ring Girl who walks by. Oh, and it’s the same way she looks at you when you’re not paying attention. Now, get this ridiculous sexual tension out of my clinic and ask her out!”

“How?” he exhaled. “And what do we do? Where do I take her?”

“Jesus, Santi…” she breathed, straightening herself and running her arm over her sweaty forehead. “Who are you and what did you do with Santiago Garcia?”

He rolled his eyes and stomped over to the stationary bike. A minute later, Charlie rejoined him after adding the exercise ball to the ball bin.

“I didn’t mean it like that,” she murmured softly, one hand on his back.

“I know,” he apologized, grinning at her and nudging her with his elbow.

“It’s just clear as fucking day, Santi. What’s holding you up?” Charlie crossed her arms and leaned against the handlebars of the bike he was riding. “And don’t say it’s the age gap. Not to me.”

He rolled his eyes. “Is 15 years not a good enough reason, Chuck?”

She shrugged, leaning down to rest her chin on her arms. “Not to me it isn’t. Besides, Santi, that girl is into you.”

“Right, yeah. These looks she’s been giving me. Okay.”

“Jesus…” Charlie swore under her breath, Santi chuckling as he recognized a few Spanish curses mixed in with the English. Charlie really was Frankie’s lady. “Okay, you didn’t hear this from me, right?” Santi nodded, leaning in as far as the bike would allow him. “Those first few weeks, before you started stalking her schedule to get the same time slots? She would call in and ask Jackie what times you were coming so she could book the same times as you. That’s why Jackie told her you were in here that day you made her fucking cry in my back room. Jackie’s a hopeless romantic and has wanted you two idiots to get together from the start.”

Santi sat back, feeling like the wind had just been knocked out of him. “S-seriously?”

Charlie nodded, a smirk on her face. “Yep. And if you ask her out this week, I win the jackpot.”

“You guys have been betting on us?” he hissed, leaning forward again.

“Oh, please. Like you and the Millers weren’t taking bets on when Frankie would finally pop the question, and I know for a fact you pulled the strings on that one to turn things in your favor, Mr. Best Man,” she rolled her eyes. “Look, ask her out today and I’ll use the winnings to cover your tab at the Beer Garden tonight. Deal?”

Santi fixed her with a suspicious look. “Is this you wanting to win or is this you actually having my best interest at heart?”

Charlie gave him a light smack on the back of the head as she moved away to her desk, conveniently located between the main gym and the back room, with the therapy pool behind her.

“You know me better than that, Santiago. Now get your girl, please.”

**********

Charlie was right. She was always right. It was one of the things that drove Santiago up the fucking wall. Frankie and Charlie were the perfect pair because, between the two of them, they were right one hundred percent of the time. Ben needed advice for his next fight? Forget Will, he was going to Frankie and Frankie’s future wife. Will revamped his speech and needed someone to read it over? Send it to Mr. and Future Mrs. Morales. Santi needed to pick paint colours? He just handed the paint chips to the couple of let them go wild. When they argued, it drove Frankie nuts because his lady had a knack for being right about almost everything. (The one time she was wrong in all their years of dating was when she claimed that Mateo would be a little girl, and Frankie wasn’t going to let her live that down as long as they lived.)

This time, she was right about Santi having to ask Rebecca out, and Santi was sure that ‘Fish would have the same advice if he were to call him up. This hurry up and wait bullshit was driving him crazy, so he needed to do it now, for his own peace of mind.

“Hey, man,” Steve hustled up to him, worry etched across his face.

“Hey Steve, you okay?”

He was already shaking his head. “My brother just called. Our mom took a nasty spill down the stairs. I’m really sorry, but I’m gonna have to cut this short. You’re basically done anyway; I was just gonna do some laser work with you but we can do that on Monday. I talked to Charlie; she can set you up with the cryo cuffs.”

“Yeah, man. No worries. Hope your mom is okay.”

“Thanks, man.”

Santi watched Steve leave for a minute before getting off the glider and heading into the back room, where he knew Charlie and Rebecca were.

“Hey Santi,” Charlie called from the goalpost set up in the corner. “Did Steve talk to you?”

“Yeah. Shame about his mom.”

Charlie nodded emphatically. “She’s a sweet lady. I’ve got my fingers crossed for her.”

“Me too…” Santi watched as Charlie bent to attach a weight to Bex’s foot. “You want me to go grab a table, Chuck? No rush.”

“Sure, if you want,” she replied distractedly. “Or…I was just gonna have Rebecca kick some soccer balls to work on her range of motion. Maybe you could goal keep for her?” she shot him a sly smile.

“I’d love that,” Rebecca piped up, a touch of embarrassment washing over her at her too-enthusiastic tone. “I mean, if you’re free.”

“Sure. Yeah, I can do that,” he agreed awkwardly, moving across the room to stand in the net.

“Alright then. Rebecca, you’re in good hands. Have fun you two.” Charlie turned and sauntered away, turning back once to mouth “Ask her out, dumbass” at him.

“You ever play soccer, Bex?” he asked, adjusting his stance so he stood in the middle of the goalpost.

“Ha, no,” she replied, kicking the soccer ball over to him. “My physical exercise is limited to yoga and swimming. Anything involving a ball or a racquet or running? That would be a no from me.” Santi kicked the ball back to her as it reached his feet. “You?”

“I played some when we would go visit my cousins in Colombia, and I played for my fifth-grade team in school, but that was about it. Sometimes we would play with some of the village kids when we were in Afghanistan. Give ‘em a taste of normal for a few minutes.”

She smiled sweetly as she returned the ball to him, leg moving a little steadier this time. “That’s really great of you.”

“Not really,” he shrugged, sliding over a step to stop the ball before kicking it back to her. “We were the ones fucking up their country. It was the very least we could do. But, god, Tom hated when we did that.”

She scoffed. “Well, that’s not fair of him. Those kids deserve something at least a little fun after all the crap they have to deal with.”

Santi grunted in agreement. “You don’t know the half of it.”

Bex laughed once, low and devoid of joy. “Oh but I do.” Santi stopped the ball and meandered over to her, looking at her questioningly. “Santi, most of my job revolves around kids. You’d be surprised how many of them tell me that their daddies hit them or their mommies throw things at them or that their grandparents intentionally starve them for being bad.” Tears welled up in her eyes and Santi quenched the urge to wrap her in his arms. “I’ve made more CPS calls than I can count and, the worst part is, I never know if that kid is safe after I make the call. Santi, there’s a reason my trunk is full of kid sized snack packs, granola bars, juice boxes. The museum doesn’t cover any of it, but at least I know that, when I walk into a classroom or those kids walk into my museum, they’ll feel safe and loved, and they won’t have to worry about food for at least a day.”

“Jesus, Bex,” he sighed, a small, sad smile on his face. “And they call us the heroes.”

She let out a tear-filled laugh and wiped at the single tear that had managed to escape. “We all do our part, Santi. You play soccer with kids in war torn countries. I feed the ones who get left behind at home.”

Rebecca turned away from him, heading for the main gym when he reached out and grabbed her elbow gently, giving it a squeeze as he turned her towards him and doing his best to ignore the electricity that ran up and down his arm at her touch.

He sighed and released her, his hand coming up to rub at the curls on the back of his head.

“Look, stop me if this is way off base, but if I don’t say this I’m gonna go crazy. I…I really like you, and I’ve wanted to ask you out for a while but, uh…” he smiled wryly and chuckled, hating how she made him feel like an inexperienced teenage boy.

“Santi?” Rebecca stepped closer and entwined her fingers with his remaining hand, giving it a tight squeeze.

“Do you want to go to the Beer Garden with me tonight?” he burst, the words falling out of his mouth. “A, uh, a bunch of us are going tonight. My old squad, Charlie and Frankie. Would you like to come with us? I mean,” he felt his cheeks heat up. “Would you like to come with me? As my date?”

A sweet, giddy giggle surged past her lips. “I’d love to.”

“Really?”

She squeezed his hand, more laughter bubbling up from her lips. “Yeah. I…I’ve been trying to build up the nerve to ask you out for coffee for the last, like, month.”

“Maybe if tonight goes well we could go for coffee next week?” he asked hopefully.

She sighed and tucked a piece of hair behind her ear. “Yeah, I’d really like that.”

“Awesome,” he breathed. “I’ll pick you up at 8?”

“That sounds perfect.”

**********

Tags list (open): @darksideofclarke, @writefightandflightclub, @eternallyvenus, @rae-rae-patcha, @himbopoes, @sophoclese, @phoenixhalliwell, @buckstaposition

#santiago pope garcia x oc #santiago garcia #frankie catfish morales #triple frontier #triple frontier fanfic #fanfiction #oscar issac #pedro pascal

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amphtaminedreams · 4 years

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A/W 2020 Fashion Month: Before Vogue Went Blank

Hi to anyone reading,

I’m sorry this post is so late! I really have no excuse apart from all my mental energy being taken up by shooting and editing my Euphoria lookbook up until now and me being too much of a lazy, nap-loving twat to face the mammoth task of a fashion month review; honestly, by the time it’s done, it’s like a dissertation-level amount of characters, so let’s say the final push to get this out is in sympathy with all my 3rd year friends I started uni with finishing their ACTUAL dissertations.

Things have got scary since I originally started saving the photos for this post, and the world has been turned upside down. In response to the COVID-19 pandemic, the likes of which have not been seen since the Spanish Flu, Italian Vogue’s April cover was blank. As I’m writing this, 26,000+ people have died of coronavirus in Italy, the worst affected country behind the U.S in terms of sheer numbers ( though quick update: as I post this, I’m pretty sure our incompetent prick of a PM has made sure we’re up there too). Proportionally, the actual death rate is even higher, along with a handful of other European countries. There have been some complaints made about the cover and it’s supposed “lack of imagination”; all I know is that in a country whose death toll accounts for 10% of worldwide coronavirus deaths, something of a visual silence feels appropriate.

That being said, for me, writing is one of the only things giving me a sense of purpose right now. Yeah, surprise surprise, working in a grocery store isn’t all that fulfilling. Who would’ve thought it? So what better time to reflect on a time when all the rich people of the world were going about their lives as usual and sitting front row at fashion week rather than crying on Instagram live to their millions of followers about how trapped they feel in their 10 bedroom mansions.

I’ve got to say, this year’s A/W offerings were a lot better than I expected, mostly due to the fact that I’m not generally a big fan of winter fashion; it’s hard to be disappointed given my preconceptions! There’s only so many knits and coats and jeans you can see before it begins to get a bit tiring, and I expected that to be reflected in the presentations. Fortunately, even the brands which are known for their bohemian, Coachella-esque collections generally managed to translate that into something recognisable and consistent on the runway whilst actually being weather appropriate. Of course, there were a few disappointments-I’m sure if I say one of them begins with D, you can guess which brand I’m talking about-but that was more than made up for by the standouts. Gucci in particular was my 2013 Tumblr wet dream and the Moschino show was what I can only describe as a live continuation of Sofia Coppola’s Marie Antoinette, though I’ll stop with my praise there and wait til I get to actually reviewing before I go overboard with kissing Alessandro Michele’s ass. And on that note, in chronological order, I’ll get one with the reviews! First up, Acne:

Continuing on a winning streak when it comes to catering to my personal preferences (if someone tries to tell me designers don’t care about my personal preferences I’m going to whack out that “just found out the world doesn’t revolve around me, shocked and upset” Marina Diamandis tweet), Acne once again channels futuristic hippy commune living in a dystopian wasteland. I know, those are very specific personal preferences

I love the shredded hems and the burnt velvet, the rawness of it all, and the baroque/your-nan’s-wallpaper patterns are actually a surprisingly nice touch. I imagine if Giselle from Enchanted had to make her dresses out of a thrifty goth’s curtains rather than an upper-middle-class New Yorker’s, they’d look something like this collection. You’ve even got the odd bit of classic fresh Scandi tailoring in there with the oversized coats and blazers which holds it back from being a bit TOO flea market. Plus, the renaissance painting detailing on the black leather-look coat is a stunning detail as well; I’m so glad it seems this trend is here to stay, why wouldn’t I want random nude bodies all over my clothes?

As for the styling, I can’t get enough of the tousled hair. As an eternally tired person who can't be arsed to pick up a brush most of the time, I feel represented. Along with the outfits, it says “I’m an art student/transient painter in the 70s living in a city loft who smokes a lot of weed and does acid on the regular” and that is a life worth manifesting.

Alberta Ferretti was dreamy, and a perfect example of how to translate the bohemian aesthetic of their S/S show to A/W. Somehow despite the furs, ruffles (pussy-bows under tailored jackets and knits/generally heavier pieces always looks really chic imo), tulle, metallic tapestry style prints and chunky jewellery, it all still looks very effortless, like a natural continuation of what we saw last summer; the typically masculine structure of the oversized suits with the ornate patterns and the accessories lends to the careful navigation along the line where maximalism and minimalism meet, the looks as practical as they are decorative. Picture it: you work some high-flying, powerful job in the city, commute on a motor cycle and roll up in one of these suit sets. This collection is for the edgy businesswoman who is completely comfortable telling all the twattish males she works with where to stick it and I want to be her.

The evening gowns are, of course, stunning too. In this analogy where I am a powerful businesswoman and not a pushover who works at a grocery store right now and only beefs with rude customers, I would be wearing one of them to the boujie work Christmas party. The ruffled dresses remind me of something Valentino would put out with the colour palette and the ruffles, and whilst we’re on the topic of colour palettes, this one is beautiful. The lilac and hot pink is SO right.

Though predictable, Alessandra Rich is just as much of a treat as usual, the first brand you’d go to if you were styling a throwback it-girl, Chanel Oberlin in Scream Queens if it took place 30 years earlier. Reminiscent of an amalgamation of vintage Chanel and Versace, there are so many cute details I love here, from the white tights with the black heels and the double breasted blazers to the gold chainlink belts and the pearls. The tartan suits with the shoulder padding are very Heathers, the prints the best of your mum’s 80s wardrobe, and nobody else out there is doing bows as well as this; these are the outfits that prissy bitch wears in the cartoons of my childhood that turn out to actually be quite good fashion inspo 15 years later, Trixie Tang from Fairly Odd Parents I’m looking at you.

This girl was the blueprint.

I think someone like Lilly Collins or Daphne Groeneveld would be an ideal fit for any of these looks, or Lana Del Rey if she wanted to stop serving us middle-aged suburban soccer mom and took us back to those H&M ad campaign days. Lana stans please don’t come for me for saying that, I am one of you; I say this because I love her. It’s all altruistic.

Whilst I admittedly didn’t love it as much as last summer’s, I really enjoyed the Alexander McQueen collection too, plus I had a better idea of what to expect this time round; no, we’re not gonna get a repeat of the Plato’s Atlantis show but we do always get some beautiful pieces. Again, like with Alberta Ferretti, this seems like a natural continuation of what we saw in the summer, just with adjustments made for the colder, darker, and altogether moodier months. A/W being the gothier older sister of S/S, it seems right that a lot of the looks turn their back on the ethereal, almost fairy-like feel of what we saw before and embrace the vampier side, reds and blacks (the ultimate Bratz Rock Angels colour combination), plenty of dramatic structures and formidable suit sets. It’s punk but it’s classy, and even with the lighter pieces, we’ve got the grunge inspired harnesses on top to contrast with the elegance and effectively, toughen the whole look up, something Gucci does well too.

The patterned suits with the clunky boots in particular are very cool and I need a gun metal grey heart detailing harness, but undoubtedly the MOMENT of this collection is Adut Akech in what appears to be a silver chainmail dress. She looks like an Amazonian goddess, and whilst I could never dream of pulling something like that off myself, I could happily admire her in it for hours.

There wasn’t much to get excited about at Altuzarra. The collection was very elegant for sure and the feathered belts are cute but it was all quite pedestrian and nothing new-the only detail I really like is the cut out on the second dress from the left, 3rd row down.

As for Anna Sui:

I’m not altogether sure why I wanted to review it. A lot of the outfits as a whole are a bit messy, and not in that avant-garde, expensive-looking Margiela kind of way, just in a “how many fabrics can we possibly get on this model” kind of way. Plus, the styling seems weirdly outdated-a lot of the jewellery looks like the kind of thing you’d see if you searched “gothic choker” on Ebay and ordered the results from low to high, and the makeup and hair in particular is very 2012 Tumblr fashion blogger. Backcombed hair and red lipstick? We’ve got a Zoella thumbnail on our hands.

When the collection did go down the bohemian route though (and when that route wasn’t a failed attempt at what Etro does a lot better), there were a few nice pieces and prints. I mean you really can’t go wrong with a teal fur trimmed coat.

Ashish, on the other hand, took their aesthetic from a similar era and did it a lot more creatively and kookily; this collection looks a lot more deserving of being on a runway. The prints are so loud and costume-y that at times the garments risk looking like something you’d wear at a decades themed dress up party, but they’re saved by understated and much more commercial silhouettes, plus some gorgeous hair and make up. On the whole, very groovy, unintentional disco queen, despite the few risks that didn’t quite pay off.

Next is a brand I always look forward to. In the words of Myrtle Snow:

BALENCIAGA!

Seriously though, if any brand knows how to blend costume and high fashion, it’s them. They take over-the-top, almost absurd silhouettes and turn them into theatre. This year we’re taking it in the direction of Phantom of the Opera, I guess? Dracula? The Woman in Black? An off-broadway production of Harry Potter where Snape is the protagonist? Whatever the direction of the collection is, I live for the dramatics of it all. Demna Gvasalia got these models walkin’ down the runway like they’re members of the Volutri, which is a reference you should all understand given the renaissance Twilight is having online atm.

Straight off the bat, I adore the staging, and all the models are exquisite-the theme of the show was climate change, and I always love when there’s a story behind the presentation of the clothes. I can’t imagine how amazing this must have been to witness in person, though I’m guessing equal parts mystical and intimidating. There are so many things I love here: billowing coats, cinched in waists, the pattens that are sprinkled sparingly in amongst the black, and the bloody shoulder pads that almost run PARALLEL to the model’s necks. This is really a collection that Myrtle Snow would be proud of and brb whilst I get rid of my padlock necklaces in favour of putting whatever meagre amount I can get for them on Depop towards a Balenciaga padlock belt (as if, lol, I don’t even think selling my soul would cover it).

And then there’s Balmain, which isn’t always the fashion critic’s favourite, but which I do tend to like.

I mean there are some really good takeaways here-though the 80s inspired suit, as wearable as they are, can get a little repetitive, they are staples which here seem to pave the way for Olivier Rousteing to try something new for the brand. The moulded breast plates (reminiscent of the Tom Ford one Zendaya wore though I’m not sure which came first!), for example, along with the Matador-style capes and the flowing silk dresses are the most glamorous incarnation of Lara Croft one can possibly imagine, probably just as equally suited for a Roman goddess as they are for an Assassins Creed style action heroine. And yes, I am aware of the fact that Tomb Raider and Assassins Creed are two separate games, okay! I just don’t know enough about the visuals of either to firmly plant this collection in the camp of either one, so I’m going down the crossover route with it!

Not to say there weren’t any bad choices-I omitted a good portion of the looks that were shown; there were definitely pieces that I found to be a little tacky, particularly a recurring chain print which has got to be one of my least favourite patterns out there. Overall, though, it’s gonna be the richly coloured art-deco prints, the wet-look boots and the gem-encrusted scorpion brooch which stick with me, so I’ll let it slide.

Bottega Veneta was very meh; even of the looks I picked out, there are a lot I’m now looking back at and wishing I hadn’t included. Some of the men’s pieces are nice, sure, and I feel like one of those vaguely sick, victorian ghost looking male celebrities everyone obsesses over (Timothée Chalamet and Dane DeHaan I’m looking at you) would make those suits on the second row look fine af, but it’s mostly the womenswear that I’m here for and on this occasion it wasn’t great. A couple of the coats are nice and that’s about it. Like I really had to act as if the tassels weren’t there on a lot of the clothes and go from there because I really don’t like them in this context and if I was to veto looks purely on one of the garments having tassels, there’d be nothing to show or reference when giving my opinion on the show. They were EVERYWHERE. In a summer collection, done right, they can be a nice detail but here they just feel unnecessary and if I’m being honest, are quite ugly.

Thank god for Brock taking the sour Bottega Veneta tassel taste out of my mouth. Never a let down. Literally, everything they put out sends me into a daze of imagining I’m in some romantic drama wearing one of the pieces, in a man’s idea of “no makeup”, running round in a field looking forlorn and windswept because my ghostly lover has-

Okay, you get the picture. I’ve never read Wuthering Heights, but it goes something like that, right? If not, lets just say envisioning myself in any of these catapults me straight into some period drama where I’m born into wealth and sit by my mansion window looking sad all the time and writing poetry and lusting over some stuffy upper-class man I can’t have and who is probably played by Colin Firth because I’m pretty sure that’s what happens in most of them (about to enrage my future English lit undergraduate sister with that line).

Nobody does modest, muted sexy to such a masterful degree. I mean, when Maison Marigela did face veils I was just mildly afraid, but here they’re subtle enough that they’re quite beautiful and almost other-worldly, acting as some kind of boundary between this world and the past that Brock aims to recapture through its designs-the red lip popping out from underneath is a perfect touch too. I don’t like it AS much as the summer collection but I would say that’s solely on the basis of the more autumn/winter appropriate colour scheme and the heavier fits, which is just a personal preference. I mean, I’m usually not a fan of empire waistlines at all and Brock even manages to make that work.

Burberry this season was a real mixed bag, mostly due to the styling. There are some really gorgeous, London back alley vintage shop looking pieces, especially the 70s style coats, reminiscent of outerwear a slimy record exec would've worn back in the day repurposed by someone like Alexa Chung or Zoe Kravitz or whichever effortlessly cool woman it is we all want to be-also the private boy’s school rugby gear looking shit is classic Burberry and I’m a fan of that, even though it’s not the most inventive or exciting. I just don’t get why there had to be SO much ill-fitting plaid over ill-fitting plaid. Again, like with Bottega Veneta, I thought the menswear was a lot stronger; whilst I wasn’t really wowed by anything, it seemed a lot less forced, whereas a few of the womenswear looks gave me the vibe of a design team desperately grasping onto some ill-conceived ideas of street style and relevancy.

The design team at Carolina Herrera for example, know their niche. They never try to be something they’re not, always sublimely preppy and pretty and predictable-when it comes to target market, the bag is reliably secured. Laid- back princess dresses never get old for those constantly “summering” in one expensive coastal town or another, for the rich American moms attending charity galas and the Spencer Hastings and Blair Waldorfs of the world; women with glossy hair and fresh faces who act as if they woke up looking like that polished but are actually anal as hell and take 2 hours to get ready and would NEVER, I repeat NEVER, shit in a public toilet.

Yes, I managed to worm toilet habits into a review of a Carolina Herrera collection. I’m sorry. Enough with the pearl clutching.

Next is Celine:

I mean, when there are THIS many looks, it’s hard not to find something you like, and though VERY predictable and verging on lazy when you’re putting out the same shit every collection, Celine’s aesthetic is so similar to my own ideal style, it’s hard to be mad at it. That being said, a lot of the pieces, as per usual, came across as cheap YSL knock offs; the overall outfits are cute, but the more you look at the details-it particularly pained me to include a metal bow belt and an ill-fitting velvet skater skirt but I liked the rest of the outfits-the worse it gets. Please, PLEASE someone drive it home to Hedi Slimane, I’m begging you: QUALITY NOT QUANTITY. I get what he’s going for, 70s hipster Jane Birkin is a vision I can very much get behind, but not when it seems to be so rushed.

With the men’s looks, you can get away with it a lot more; when so much of menswear is so plain and unchanging, the slightest hint of Mick Jagger is enough to make a outfit edgy. But even then, I still feel like we’re seeing a load of variations of the same outfit. There are always some pieces that catch my eye, this time round the capes and the velvet blazers, and I would wear most of these things, sure, however I don’t think the combinations SHOULD necessarily look like something I’d personally put together; a runway collection is supposed to be aspirational and cutting edge, not pedestrian (entirely intentional self-drag, lol). Also, side note, the lack of diversity really bothered me. 111 looks and not one of these models has a body type that is naturally achievable for most people. It’s 2020 for fuck’s sake. I’m tired.

SO, let’s liven things up a bit with the Central Saint Martins collection, a breath of fresh air in terms of diversity (though a few more plus-size models would be nice):

As a former University of London student, I hate to heap praise upon them. If you’ve studied in London as well, you’ll know CSM students are ANNOYING. I mean, I’m sure they’re lovely as individuals but you can’t fully understand the meaning of the word pretentious until you’ve seen a group of them at a Uniqlo Tate Late. That being said, they are very good at what they do and I’m so glad that Vogue Runway includes them; this is what Off-White thinks it is, and really it makes sense that a bunch of current fashion students are able to come together to present one of the most experimental and forward-thinking shows of this season.

And let’s talk about the RANGE. From catsuits worthy of comic book heroes to dresses Twiggy would’ve worn in a 1960s editorial, every subgenre of fashion has been fully delved into here. Whilst we’ve got the adrogyny of the suits and suspenders combo and kitschy gender-bending co-ords David Bowie would be proud of, at the other end of the scale we’ve also got models walking down the runway dressed like wood nymphs or some other kind of siren-like creatures. There’s looks that wouldn’t be out of place in a Gucci or Come Des Garcons collection but at that same time would be equally at home in a Berlin techno club.

Honestly, credit where credit’s due-it was a really interesting show and I wouldn’t expect anything less.

Chanel was quite literally the polar opposite of the CSM show.

Very blah.

It’s crazy because before you properly get INTO fashion, Chanel is like the epitome of style. And then you do, and you see the runway shows get lazier and lazier (with some exceptions) every year, and you realise that same prestige that had you aware of Chanel at the age of 7 or 8 is literally all that’s keeping the brand going at this point. I’m not saying the collection is flat out ugly, a lot of it’s cute, but you’re CHANEL for fuck’s sake. Yeah, I like the crucifixes but SCALLOPED HEMS!? No. I do NOT recall travelling back in time to witness Primark’s Spring 2013 collection on the runway and I am NOT having it.

It’s not at all surprising that a lot of the time newer brands Charlotte Knowles (above) tend to be more interesting than those more established-and yes that was a Chanel indirect if the transition wasn’t obvious.

With no room to rest on laurels or reputation, everything has to be bolder and smarter and more distinctive and most importantly, has to appeal to its target market with the fervour of an L.A sign spinner. I only found out about Charlotte Knowles because of a Vogue article citing her as Bella Hadid’s new favourite brand to wear, and once I saw the collection, it was clear why; daringly modern, slick, and edgy is both her street style (say what you want about her as a model but her outfit game is unbeaten) and Knowles’ USP to a T. If Dion Lee, Off-White, GCDS and Acne had an orgy, this would be the result, and that is a GOOD compliment.

Next, Chloe:

Not a huge amount to say, to be honest. Low-key, wearable, and cute. Like Emma Roberts’ Nancy Drew if she did an autumn exchange program at the Sorbonne and studied art history, libraries and coffee shops on the weekdays and galleries and protests at the weekend. On reflection, that definitely makes this collection sound more exciting than it is but there are some effortlessly beautiful pieces here. The 4th row in particular is full of stand outs-the vest with the watercolour faces on with the shirt underneath is perfection, and the burgundy suit with the saffron ruffled collar peeking out from underneath is adorable and not at all reminiscent of the Ronald McDonald inspired nightmare that any combination of red and yellow tones should theoretically be.

As for Christian Siriano, I see why people hate it, I really do. I understand that it seems kinda unfair to have it show the same week as Brock and Rodarte and Oscar de La Renta. We’re talking 2 very different kinds of quality here. BUT, at pure face value, his clothes are FUN, plus Coco Rocha will always have a special place in my heart as someone who lived on The Face and America’s Next Top Model and every show that could possibly give me an unhealthy body image ever.

Like are you telling me you wouldn’t wear these dresses to a party!? Live a little. They just need tailoring...which ideally would be done BEFORE the model’s walking down the runway in it but...you know...can’t have it all.

Christopher Kane is a show I always look forward to.

I would say his designs are the only thing that make geometry look fun but I’m going to expose myself and admit that would be a lie because I actually found geometry really fun. Trigonometry was my shit, lol.

He is a designer who perfectly demonstrates that juggling interseasonal consistency and taking risks can be done. There’s always something DIFFERENT about his collections, fresh and subtly experimental. There are occasionally a few misses, sure, but I’d rather that than for a brand to keep playing safe, plus he never goes too far in the opposite direction either; no going weird for the sake of weird. I don’t like it AS much as the summer collection but it’s mostly because of the more muted, autumn/winter appropriate colour palette.

Comme Des Garçons? Too weird?

Never.

Honestly when it comes to a CDG collection, I have to really shift my perspective to appreciate it. I’m not looking at fashion presentation, I’m looking at a moving piece of experimental art. I know, it’s a stretch. But you know you’ll never be bored by one of their shows. Not gonna lie, this specific collection crossed the line into plain ugly a couple of times for me. We had padding so extravagant it looked like several models were walking round with Ikea pillows stuck to their chest and headdresses reminiscent of the kids’ game Headbandz. In amongst that though, we did get some gorgeous veils like the ones seen above and the shoes and socks combo is actually quite wearable.

I’d say Dilara Findikoglu is the cut-off point after which things get a little too avant-garde for my personal taste, and it hovers over that cut-off point flawlessly; despite the other-worldly elements of her collections, they remain somewhat grounded by nods towards conventional fashion that allow the beauty, be it inner or outer, of the wearer to shine through. Comme Des Garcons garments undeniably have character but they tend to swallow up any trace of the individual underneath, whereas the character of Dilara Findikoglu garments seamlessly merges with the wearer and in turn elevates both to something transcendent and ethereal. If the Pussycat Dolls got transported into a rugged, post-apocalyptic future, they’d scrape together these outfits to perform in, I know it; the energy of the collection, with the body jewellery and the frayed cut outs and the chalk white faces, is very warrior princess, just as raw and intimidating as it is hot as fuck, and I want that energy in my life. Along with a Dilara belt, of course. I would wear her name like a badge of honour anytime she wants. Dilara, pls pls let me be part of your tribe. PLEASE.

Anyway, this is where I thought I’d cut things off, so as to end on a positive note. You know what that means: Dior is coming up. I feel bad knowing my first post was defending Maria Grazia and yet here I am now, looking at the bar down on the floor, but I mean, you never know; maybe girl is doing this on purpose and one day she’s gonna come out with a Gucci level quality show like a phoenix from the ashes.

If you got this far, THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR READING even if you’re just here for the pics. Part 2 will be covering some of my most anticipated shows from Elie Saab, Fendi and Etro to Gucci and Moschino, Miu Miu and Marc Jacobs, and everything in between. Yes, the shitty ones too.

I’m plowing through all the material as quick as I can so I hope to get the next post up really soon, and yes-you can count on the overwhelming sense of needing to be productive pushing me into fulfilling that statement.

Thanks again and I hope you’re well!

Lauren x

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syms-things-5 · 4 years

Text

Clear The Area - Chapter Fifteen (Part One)

Previous Chapter Here

Tags: @jennmurawski13 @kelbabyblue

Warnings: Some mild language

Notes: This is the first of a 3-part chapter. It moves the story along quite a bit (finally) and I am about 80% complete on the second and third parts, too. Shouldn’t be too long ‘til they get posted, fingers crossed. Thanks again for stopping by. Let me know if you have any comments or advice; all greatly appreciated, good and bad!

Chapter Fifteen: Part One

“So, what you’re saying is if I don’t put out a statement, they’re going to roll this all over me? And there is nothing we can do to stop this?” Chris yelled into his phone, his hand coming down hard on the white marble counter in front of him. “What do I even pay you for?!”

“Listen to me, will you?!” Matt was on the end of the line attempting to diffuse his client’s growing anger from 3,000 miles away. “There isn’t anything in this that harms you, OK? I’ve read the copy and honestly, you come across as a really sweet guy. She paints you out to be a lovely person, someone who was helping her come to terms with the end of her marriage.”

Matt was getting no response from the other end of the phone but could picture the look on Chris’ face as it he was standing in front of him. “I know it’s not ideal. It’s not great timing but it could be so much worse. You’re not being painted as a homewrecker. We can absolutely deal with this when it happens, put out a couple of cute pictures of you and your nephews or something and all will be forgotten.”

Chris sighed in exasperation. Or was it desperation? He didn’t even know. “...who the fuck ever writes this trash? None of it is remotely true.”

“I know, I know, we’ve pushed back on a lot of the smaller details, dates and things like that, but I honestly think if we put out this statement it’ll clear up a lot of the ambiguity they’ve left in theirs. They’re just trying to get some clicks, that’s all.”

“It’s not ambiguous, Matt, it’s downright bullshit. I mean, the whole thing about the hotel is not even close to being true. I booked it ‘cos I was feeling unwell and needed a break. She just turned up. I didn’t invite her.” He was losing his cool again and becoming more upset. “And what have they said about my mom?”

“Ummm...” Matt scanned the pages scattered over his desk. He quickly located the offending quotes and just as quickly sugar-coated it to avoid one of his biggest stars passing out from stress. “Just that they’d met and got along. I actually don’t think that’s a problem for us. If anything, it shows you are close to your family and they visit you on set from time to time.”

It had been a long morning and Chris was already feeling like he wad done for the day. No, the entire week. He needed a beer. He needed beers plural and he needed to get wasted for a night and forget everything arising around him again. Better yet, he needed Sarah. She’d know what to say and when she’d finished saying it, she’d help his mind feel quieter again.

Oh fuck. Sarah.

She’ll think he’s a dickhead when she reads this. It almost goes against everything he’d explained to her and his family so far.

“When is it coming out?” Chris asked after a few moments had passed.

“They’re pushing for late August and I actually think that is out best chance. September is a busy time for magazines across the board and everyone will be talking about the big ones, Vogue and Vanity Fair etcetera. There’s no competition.” Matt was talking in a calmer tone mirroring Chris’ own change of pace. “We can slip out a quiet rebuttal and end it before it’s even began.”

“Yeh, yeh, OK. I understand.” Chris took a deep breath wearily and leaned his whole body onto the counter. He ran his free hand down his face and rested it on the beard underneath his chin, tugging slightly on the hairs in a bid to feel something else that would hopefully bring him back into the room.

“You need to trust me, Chris. That’s what you pay me for.” Matt reassured him. They exchanged as polite a goodbye as possible before hanging up. Matt threw himself back onto his desk chair, swinging it around to take in the view of a bustling downtown Los Angeles outside his office window. stuff like this was child’s play for a pro like him but Chris wasn’t a typical client. He was normal for one thing, whatever “normal” meant these days. He’d been representing him for close to nine years, one of his longest relationships now he thought about it, and one that meant a great deal to him.

Professionally, the work helped pay for his mother’s retirement home and his own holiday apartment in Aspen, Colorado, but it ran deeper than that. Chris was also a very good friend. If Chris had stuck to low-budget Indie dramas like he originally planned, Matt wouldn’t have minded even though he had worked with and had experience of dealing with mega-studios like Marvel and stars who actively sought to cover themselves in PR glory any chance they got. That sort of thing was strangely easier to handle but Chris remained quiet and adamant about sticking to his guns when it came to his private life and Matt held a very high respect for that. So, when stuff like this came along, well, Matt knew exactly what to do and was all too happy to hold a light up to the hypocrisy of the Hollywood press machine.

Thousands of miles away in a small kitchen in Boston, Chris remained holding on to the edge of the countertop as he brought his breathing back under control. Lisa, had ventured in and out at times only to fall back when she felt Chris’ bristling, nervous energy. It was rare that he got angry at Matt so something was clearly going on to cause him to lose his cool but she knew now wasn’t the right time to ask him.

“Shall I make us some lunch, sweetheart?” she finally plucked up the courage to take a few steps into her kitchen. She ran her hand lightly across his broad shoulders causing Chris to look up and take stock of his surroundings again.

“Yeh, that’d be nice, thanks.” He pulled a stool out and sat down. “Sorry if you could hear me shouting. It’s just some stuff with work but it’s fine now.” it was sweet that he was trying to make her feel better as though he himself had done something wrong.

“I didn’t hear you so don’t worry. Glad it’s fine now, though. Ham and cheese OK?” she asked, a broad smile now painted across her face that only grew wider when he nodded back at her. “Also, Scott and Shanna were going to cook some dinner later on tonight so we could pop over if you like? Save us cooking here again.”

He would very much like to head over to his sister’s apartment. That way lied harmony and he could relax in calmer surroundings and spend time with the people he loved the most. This press nonsense could wait another day. If it was going to happen regardless of his intervention, why even bother stressing about it in the first place?

It wasn’t much of a surprise to find Shanna’s kitchen a total mess when they arrived later that afternoon. Despite the comforting smell of fried onions and garlic that greeted them from the hallway, the physical view of her kitchen provided an altogether different experience. A stack of unwashed pans and remnants of chopped tomatoes and leeks spread out across the counter surface and what Scott had actually meant when he said he was also going to be helping with the cooking was that he would stir the bolognese for half an hour and check the garlic bread hadn’t burned. Other than that, Shanna appeared to have built some kind of living art installation.

The four were seated around the table, a second bottle of wine down, and gabbing about sport and nothing in particular. Chris’ quietness had not gone completely unnoticed with Scott and his mother sharing a few glances as the evening wore on.

“Is Sarah staying at work for a while, then?” asked Lisa, picking at the final slice of garlic bread after her children had decimated the rest of it.

“Yeh, I think so. It’s been a bit up and down lately after the crash and I know she’s keen to muck in as much as she can now before she goes away.” offered Shanna.

Chris’s ears perked up. “Away? What do you mean?”

“Oh crap.” Shanna banged her hand on her forehead. “Um, OK, this isn’t common knowledge and I didn’t tell you guys this but she’s possibly heading back to college to train to become a doctor.”

“Really?” Scott dropped his fork on his plate causing a loud clang that reverberated around the kitchen. “Well, good for her. She’d be an ace doctor. She looks great in scrubs and I know for a fact she handles drunk people exceptionally well.”

Shanna rolled her eyes at Scott. “She actually has the exam in New York next week and if she passes that, who knows? I can’t really tell if she’s excited or not but her parents don’t know so please don’t mention anything to them...” Shanna looked across the table at her mother whose eyes widened in response to the insinuation.

“If she gets back into college, will she stay here to train or move or what?” asked Chris trying his hardest to keep a rising level of confusion at this new information to a minimum.

Shanna merely shrugged non-committedly and he felt his frustration with his sister boil close to the surface. “I can’t see her moving or if she does then it’d be more of a commute. Like, a couple of days there and here or whatever.”

“She likes living in Boston, doesn’t she? And I imagine it would be harder for her folks to visit if she lived in New York full time.” Scott offered, some logic that Chris was grateful for. “Jocelyn hates busy cities. She would hate New York for sure.”

“Lincoln is a teach hospital, right?” Chris asked, his tone more urgent than he’d intended. “I mean, she could train here? There’d be no problem with that. I’m sure they wouldn’t wanna lose her.”

“Well, selfishly I hope she doesn’t move ‘cos who’s gonna look after your sorry ass?” Scott needled his sister with his elbow and was rewarded with a slap on his shoulder. “Or if she does move full time it means we have a party base in the city again!”

“Oh yeh I’m sure she would love you rocking up at her home at all hours of the goddamn morning.” Lisa remarked. “When is her exam, honey?”

“Thursday. She’s staying at a hotel in town a few days before to swot up on some notes Greg lent her. He rocked up with a frickin’ suitcase the other night. Just books and books of the stuff.”

“What’s he getting out of this?” Chris asked. It was not the first time talk of Greg had ruined his day and now on top of that he was starting to feel distrusting of the interest he appeared to show in her future. He especially didn’t like the knowing look he caught his family give to each other either. “Oh c’mon. He’s not her type, really. She’s said as much herself.”

“Yehhh but he’s super cute and have you seen his car?” Scott asked, pouring another glass of wine for himself. “He reminds me of, fuck, what’s that actor’s name again? The guy from Sons of Anarchy but with darker hair...”

Chris threw him a puzzled look before dismissing his comments with a wave of his hand. “Sarah’s not like that. She’s not into trivial stuff.”

“No, I know, but he’s also stable. I mean, he’s ambitious to a fault, sure, but he knows exactly what he wants and where he’s going.” Scott reasoned. “That could be good for her. I think we can all agree that this stuff with Charlotte left its mark and maybe she’s wanting to try something different? Find a bit of stability? Y’know, settle down a bit or whatever.”

“Since when did you become an expert?” Shanna spoke up. Chris was glad somebody else said it but was less glad when she laughed a second later. She nodded, evidently in agreement with his rationale.

The room fell quiet again as they finished what was left of their dinner. Chris was feeling the dread borne from this morning’s conversations now manifesting itself in the very bottom of his stomach. He regretted coming now. He should have stayed at home and gotten drunk by himself. It would have felt a whole lot nicer than what he was experiencing now.

He swirled what was left of his wine around his glass before downing it and reaching for the bottle. Just as he poured, the front door went and in and walked Sarah surprisingly fresh-faced and smiling upon catching the clan sat peacefully around the kitchen table.

“Hey!” she exclaimed, happy to see them all. She walked over to the hob to smell what was left in the pan before catching sight of them staring at her. “Why are you all looking at me like that?”

“Nothing honey. Ignore them. How was your day?” Lisa started, breaking the silence.

“The usual. I did, however, manage to separate a grown man from a Tonka truck he had glued to his hand.”

“The fuck?” Scott quizzed almost choking on his food and turning around in his chair to face her. “I swear, you have the best job I have ever heard of.”

“Hmm true story. He was making some kind of art display and held on to it for too long. Took us an hour and a tonne of olive oil from the cafeteria to free him.”

Sarah glanced between Scott and his mother laughing before clocking Chris, stony-faced and not quite making eye-contact. She left her eyes on him a little longer than she was usually comfortable with in these settings but he didn’t budge. Shanna eventually grabbed her attention by handing her a bowl of pasta that she gratefully accepted with a “yummy” and grabbed a seat at the table.

Lisa left a little over an hour later but Chris and Scott remained loitering around the kitchen and the lounge. Scott was helping to wash up alongside Sarah when she excused herself to go to the bathroom. When she emerged, she nearly ran full-on into Chris.

“Sorry.” he said, shifting to the side so she could move by him.

“It’s OK.” she moved further out of the way so he could walk in behind her. “Are you OK? You’ve barely said a word all evening.”

He glanced back to her, trying to play down his obvious discomfort. “Yeh, fine. I’ll be out in a minute.”

He closed the door behind him leaving her in the hallway at a loss as to the reason for his agitation. She could hear Shanna and Scott making a mess of what was left of the washing up, the TV volume a little louder now in anticipation for Drag Race, and she retreated into her bedroom to fold away some of her clothes that Shanna had left on her bed from their washing that day.

Chris lingered in the hallway wanting to avoid the loud shrieking now coming from the kitchen before heading towards Sarah’s bedroom. She hadn’t noticed he was there so he allowed himself to watch her, smiling to himself when he heard her hum a tune under her breath. It sounded like ‘Beat It’ only slower. He never figured her as a Michael Jackson fan. Truth be told, he didn’t know all that much about her musical tastes other than making fun of the fact that she cried at a Pixies concert some years earlier.

He viewed the couple of photographs adorning the wall, one of a family gathering, one of her Shanna graduating, before resting on the Steve McCurry print she’d bought at the exhibition. That felt like a lifetime ago now. So much had happened since but he still clearly remembered the shit he had given her at the time. All she was trying to do, he now realised, was get some answers for herself. She wanted to put to bed all of the questions she had had since she was young, questions that might offer answers for who she was as a person. Isn’t that what everyone wants?

He liked Jocelyn and Noah, they all did, they were great people. but she wasn’t a part of them physically. There was something growing somewhere in the back of her mind and as she grew older and wiser, as time moved on, she increasingly felt the differences between them. She had once tried explaining it to him, that it was like a tree and an acorn; no matter what beautiful and wonderful branches and leaves grow from it, it always comes from something small at the very beginning. The acorn directs everything that follows. He couldn’t properly understand it at the time - why would he, he had had an easy life thus far - but as he watched her shuffled around in the closet, humming to herself quietly and in her own little world, he understood that what she longed for, that all anyone ever longer for, was to feel like she belonged somewhere.

He could hear Scott and Shanna joking around in the kitchen, no cares in the world, and knew he had it lucky. Despite the crap this morning still ruminating in the back of his mind, a slight unease at what might find its way into the press over the next few weeks, it was small-fry compared to the real, honest problems normal people experience in their lives. You never know what goes on behind closed doors. Maybe Scott was right. Maybe she just wanted some stability after all, and that realisation was stirring something uncomfortable that he couldn’t name inside him.

“Hey, you OK?” she asked and he realised she had been staring at him for god knows how long. All sorts of thoughts flew through his mind in quick succession but he didn’t immediately know how to respond to such an apparently straight-forward question.

“Yeh,” he responded, clocking how unsure he sounded. “I mean, I’m good. You?”

“Yeh, I’m OK.” She smiled at him and he instantly felt better, waves of stress just ebbing away. He wanted to reach out to her and give her a hug but he knew she wouldn’t feel comfortable with his family so close by and liable to walk in at any moment so he settled instead for smiling warmly back at her and handing over some folded towels from off her bed.

A couple of moments dragged by before she decided to break the awkward silence. “I know I said I would make it up to you but work’s been busier than usual and I’ve had to cover shifts for a couple of guys as well. Michael’s ill so Audrey’s been playing nurse at home.”

He leaned back on the side of her chest of drawers and nodded slowly. He was biting the inside of his cheek and she recognised his face from when he’d shown irritation towards Shanna. He was clearly contemplating something.

“Well, you can make it up to me now if you want?” He offered, arms folded, posing an interesting predicament. He noticed the confusion cross her face and chuckled to himself. “No, not that, not with... I just meant you could do me a favour now. If you wanted to.”

Sarah looked perplexed but Chris didn’t move. He didn’t immediately offer any answer to his question so she didn’t know what he was aiming for. She left the closet and re-entered her bedroom, taking up a stance a couple of feet in front of him. Even leaning back against her cabinet, he remained a good couple of inches taller than her.

“Shanna said something earlier and we promised not to bring it up with you ‘cos apparently it’s supposed to be some big secret,” he started, noting the hint of verbal aggression and thinking better of it, “but are you leaving Boston?”

“What?” She asked, stunned. She never anticipated that this was where he was going.

“She said you’re heading back to the college and that you might consider starting up your doctoral training again, and...I don’t know.” He was losing confidence with every passing word. “It just sounded like it was a done deal is all.”

She oscillated between feeling annoyed that Shanna had revealed her plan to re-take her MD exam, and concern that they all assumed she was suddenly wanting to leave town. As if it would be that easy to do so.

“No, I’m not leaving Boston. My God.” she rubbed her hand across her forehead in frustration. “I am taking the exam, yes, but I haven’t figured anything else out beyond that. Honest.”

He didn’t seem altogether convinced of her response but time was passing by and the noise had died down from the kitchen so it looked like it he would just have to accept whatever she was giving him. He had hundreds of questions, many far away from being appropriate, but the sincere look on her face did some of the work for him.

“It was only an idea. I tried it before and maybe, if it works out again, it could be something different for me to focus on.” she continued. Scott has been right about one thing at least.

“If you pass, you could always train at Lincoln, though, right?” he asked quietly. He sounded like a child asking his parents if they were still going to be friends once they divorced and he hated himself for it.

She shrugged, not having immediate answers that might make him relax a little more. He was clearly struggled with something. “I guess. I mean, I honestly have not thought about it beyond the exam. I have a lot of studying to do as well so I might not even pass it.”

“Yeh, she said Greg gave you some magazines or something.”

“Oh, good, so you’ve got the whole story, then.” Her tone validated the sarcasm behind her words. “Look, this is all so far into the future now and really, who the fuck knows what’s going to happen? But I promise that I will tell you guys everything once I know whatever the fuck it is I am thinking about.”

Selfishly, he wasn’t thinking of his family, or her family, or even her colleagues for that matter. He just wanted to know where she was going to be one month from now. Or, hell, even a year, and whether or not she would be open to him visiting her. Visiting her new apartment in Brooklyn. Or Greenwich. He could imagine her in Greenwich. It was greener and she could go for a run in the park every morning and they could grab a coffee on their way back home. He could walk her to work and wave her off and then spend all day lounging around her apartment reading the newspapers, waiting for her to come home again. One thing he had gotten used to was enjoying his quiet time a lot more when she was around. He wasn’t quite ready to give that up.

“Guys?” shouted Scott from the lounge. “It’s starting!”

“What’s starting?” he asked Sarah.

“Drag Race, I think.” she responded biting her lower lip and knowing exactly how he was going to feel about that.

“Oh fucking hell.” He threw his head back and laughed before resting his eyes back on her. “Alright. Let’s get this over with.”

#chris evans #chris evans fic #evans fic #chris fic #fan fiction #Clear The Area #Sarah Bernette #chris evans x original female character

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remys-lucky-franc · 4 years

Text

Comfort - Remy POV Fic (Queen of Thieves)

“Hey, I wanna ask for a Remy angst. Are you allowed to write angst?”

I’m so sorry it’s taken me so long to write this for you, life’s just been a bit crazy between work and studying lately, and it’s so annoying because I’ve had some really nice requests that I’m excited to write for people, but I just haven’t had any time to work on them! Anyway, I really hope you enjoy this @ilovewritingfics 💕

Notes: although it’s written from Remy’s POV (I’ve never written a POV before for anything!), the fic is set in Nikolai’s route, which sounds weird, but you’ll see what I mean. No specific TWs for the fic, it covers Nikolai’s trauma surrounding his family, so if you aren’t up to date and don’t want a spoiler on that, or if it’s upsetting to you, consider giving this one a miss.

Word Count 2100

I want to credit my lovely friend @stopforamoment for her suggestion on the topic for this short fic - thank you lovely.

—-

[MORE] [[MORE]]

Dinner Club. One of my favourite things we do together. Every member of The Gilded Poppy is different and everyone has their own interests, of course. But this is something we can all enjoy, and I love this family time so much: everyone laughing, sharing food, telling stories, teasing each other... It’s always such fun to be part of this, and after a successful heist, it’s even better!

After all, tonight we have a beautiful vintage fencing sword in our possession! I know, it’s part of a much larger plan, but for tonight at least, stealing it has made Niko really happy, and that makes me happy. He’s sitting at the end of the table with a glint in his eye, listening to Daisy and Leon chatter joyfully about the (I must say, very predictable) ‘twist’ at the end of some romance novel. It’s a glint that I’ve seen a lot since Daisy joined our (very attractive) crime family. I smile to myself as I watch how her cheeks colour so prettily when she notices his eyes fixed on her, like she’s the only person in the room. It’s been a long time since I’ve saw Niko’s interest pique the way it does when she’s close by, if ever, actually. The energy between them, it’s something quite unique: special. She’s a match for him in ways I’ve never seen before, and the challenge is good for him. It’s like she set off a spark in him and all of the wonderful things that make him Niko, are just ‘more’ with her around. I watch them play their game - anticipation, flirtation, power and control - I’m well-versed in ‘love’ and seduction (some would say ‘a master’) but this something else: it’s not part of a con, not something ‘to get out of your system’... I only hope Daisy doesn’t tire of it, because I’ve never seen someone get the better of Nikolai Stirling the way she can.

I lean forward skewering something delicious from the sharing platter in front of me, popping it into my mouth, laughing along to the friendly debate Zoe, Jett and Vivienne are having. Vivienne’s losing her argument and is trying to convince me to fight her corner, but I’m too preoccupied with how I could use my conman charms to ‘gently persuade’ my best friend and Daisy to forget who is winning their mindgames and push them closer together. Niko will hate me meddling, but it’s for his own good! Maybe tomorrow I can-

My plotting is abruptly ended as the waiter heading to a table behind us is jostled by a man who tries to squeeze past him in a space that’s too narrow. It’s like the world slows down... I can see what’s unfolding, but I’m powerless: I have no time, no way of stopping it. The waiter loses his footing, one arm flailing. I’m holding my breath! He recovers (barely) without falling over, but not before the glass of Amarone perched on his tray swirls and sloshes to one side, a crescendo of blood-red bursting free down the front of Nikolai’s crisp white shirt. The bold bouquet of fruit and spice hits my nose as deep red splatters bleed and seep across the fabric. Nikolai is frozen, complete horror etched across his face. Suddenly, all I can see is the scared fifteen year-old I befriended on the streets of Paris carrying a sick kitten.

The waiter has discarded his tray; he’s panicked and apologising to Nikolai, fumbling for a napkin to try to blot away the mess. Our friends have noticed, but before anyone else can react, I’m halfway across the table with the salt cellar slipped inside my pocket. I wrap one comforting arm around Niko, my other hand on the waiters arm, reassuring him (in flawless Italian, of course) that everything is under control and I’ll take it from here. Within seconds, I have Nikolai on his feet, gripping him close to me as I guide him towards the restroom: always moving forward. I keep my free arm across his chest, deliberately, to shield the stains from his sight; leaning in close, chattering to distract him. Anything I can do, anything to keep him walking until I can get him inside. He’s hyperventilating by the time we enter the plush restroom, and fortunately it’s empty.

“Niko? Breathe. Slowly. Come on.”

He’s still not responding, I gently put pressure on his shoulder, manoeuvring him onto an Art Deco-style chaise beside a large mirror. I crouch in front of him, cupping his face in my hands, offering comfort, speaking softly,

“It’s ok. I’m here. Your Remy’s got you. It’s going to be ok. You’re safe.”

It’s a mantra I repeat several times over while he trembles. Minutes feel much longer, but now his breathing is slowing and for the first time since the spillage, he makes eye contact with me. I’m so relieved! I nod and smile before I press a heartfelt kiss to his cheek. The worst has passed. He’s going to be ok.

I pause, taking just a few seconds to catch my own breath: getting him away from the table to a safe space, keeping him moving, it was all automatic, all done on instincts. But now, my mind races. I’m so glad this happened when I was at the table; would anyone else have been able to get him out the way I did? Would he have let anyone else lead him off like this? He looked so vulnerable just now, it breaks my heart to think of it...

‘Focus, Remy. Come on. You’re not done yet.’

I lean back, fingers shifting to his collar, offering him my most suggestive grin,

“Lose the shirt.”

Nikolai manages a weak laugh (I knew that would get him!) as his fingers move toward his buttons, I realise a second too late that his hands are shaking too much to undo them. He mutters a strangled apology and rakes a hand through his dark hair as I make short work of them, startled by just how hard his heart hammers inside his chest, even now, minutes after the incident. He shrugs his way out of the shirt and I take it to the counter, grabbing some paper towels to blot out the liquid before dumpling half of the stolen salt cellar onto the stain. Selecting an expensive-looking cologne from the selection provided, I head back to Niko, spritzing it around him as I go, trying to erase the lingering scent of the alcohol from his nostrils.

As I join him on the chaise, he clears his throat awkwardly, his usually crisp clear voice barely audible at all,

“Thank you.”

I bump my shoulder against his, still trying to lighten the mood,

“Pas de problème.”

He still looks like he’s met a ghost, and I can feel the seat vibrate under me from his agitated tapping foot. But at least he’s speaking to me: when things have happened before, things that have triggered horrible memories for him, sometimes it’s taken hours to get him to even look at me. The first time it happened, long before The Gilded Poppy existed, we were only street kids, sleeping rough and begging. I’ll never forget it as long as I’m alive. A group of men left a bar near where we were hoping to earn a few francs, one of them was worse for wear and fell to the ground, vomiting. It wasn’t until I turned to Niko, ready to make some sassy comment about how the drunk couldn’t hold his liquor or his wallet, that I realised something was very, very wrong. It took hours for him to come back around, and days to feel better afterwards... I didn’t have a very happy childhood, and I was forced to grow up quickly, but not in the same way as Niko. The things he suffered... I can’t help but put myself into his shoes, picturing my family around our small dinner table, my lovely old meme, my mother bringing food to the table, my father chatting to my young brother about school... How unreal it must have felt to Niko, how terrifying. I cannot begin to imagine: to watch your whole family die... And such a painful death... It’s little wonder it haunts him. I scrub my hand across my eyes trying to shake the sickening scene.

I clap my hand on Niko’s knee as I stand, heading back to check how the salt is working on his shirt: it may seem ridiculous, but a conman has to think fast, and you never know when a cleaning tip like this will be useful! Of course, the shirt is looking much better - now I just need to rinse it and dry it off. Almost done. I bustle around the washbasin, running the breast of Niko’s shirt under the piping water, rinsing away the salt, pink dye flowing down the drain, erasing tonight’s events. I hold it up to the lights, smiling as I do.

“I think the shirt will survive, Niko.”

I start the hand drier, just as I hear Niko murmur something, far too low for me to hear over the roar,

“What was that?”

I stop, making my way back across to the chaise, gesturing for Niko to repeat himself. He looks up at me with the saddest blue eyes,

“I never wanted her to see me, like, this. How can she...” His posture visibly stiffens, “She won’t respect me after this?”

I frown. Of course, he’s talking about Daisy. And something in his voice tells me that Daisy’s ‘respect’ isn’t the feeling he’s truly worried about, but while he’s shirtless in a restaurant bathroom really isn’t the best time for me to play Cupid... I try to tell Nikolai that Daisy is the last person who would think any less of him because of this, she is so lovely: surely he knows her well enough, to know that? Daisy is sensitive and kind: she would understand. But he’s still shaken and so agitated about what happened at the table, my honest words make no difference; his barricades are going up and he mutters that he doesn’t want her pity. I make a show of raising one eyebrow at him, and shaking my head before I march back to the hand drier. I love Niko dearly, but he can be so stubborn, it makes me crazy!

Ten minutes later, Niko is looking much more collected, and is back in his gleaming white shirt: I am a man of many talents, it’s true! He straightens himself up in front of the mirror as I watch on: it’s almost as though nothing ever happened. We exit the restroom and rejoin our friends. Everyone is wonderfully discrete: they pretend we never left the table. Niko doesn’t utter a single word for the rest of the evening. His expression is strained and he doesn’t touch a bite of his food - he’s going through the motions but I know he can’t wait for the evening to end. I chip in some delightful anecdotes to help keep the conversation flowing, but what happened tonight weighs heavily on me: what if this happened and I wasn’t here? What if something like this happened on a heist? What if I couldn’t get to him? What would we do? How could I keep my best friend safe? What if something went wrong and I wasn’t around anymore? Who else understands like me?

I meet Daisy’s big brown eyes over the table, concern is written across her face. She really cares for Niko, it’s so obvious. I wish he would let her in... Having someone else who loves you, an extra person in this world looking out for you, to rely on... She could be the best thing that ever happened to him. She could make him happy, I can see it all.

I make a silent promise to myself: they say that love will find a way? Well, it certainly will when Remy Chevalier helps it along.

#queen of thieves #lovestruck fic #remy chevalier

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fmdtaeyongarchive · 3 years

Text

— after meeting you.

date: 2011-2021.

word count: 1,886 words, excluding lyrics.

summary: ash makes a song over the course of ten years.

triggers: n/a.

notes: creative claims verification.

it’s a song a decade in the making. over the course of ten years, he comes back to it over and over as a diary of his idea of the perfect love.

2011

he begins it on the doorstep of the first time he’ll ever fall in love. he’s a trainee and his days are filled with nonstop practice. when he comes home late at night or in the early hours of the morning, he barely has the time to pull out his homework to complete enough to keep passing classes and avoid a scolding from the company, but he still finds time to try to put into words what he’s feeling.

love is everything he’d heard about and more. he’s had the butterflies, the moments of awe, but he’s also found himself confused at times by how much he has to learn about being someone’s boyfriend. hand holding on the playground in third grade and shy kisses during spin the bottle in middle school hadn’t prepared him for actually falling in love.

he’s young, only fifteen when he writes down the first words of what he has no idea will one day be one song of many he stands on stage and sings by himself. he has no idea about the heartbreak he’ll endure in the next decade, that the one he thinks will be his first and last will be far behind him by the time the world gets to hear the words.

we understand each other i was surprised how we got used to each other

he’s never felt this way with anyone. the quiet understanding, the spark he feels at every touch and every glance they share between ash leaving class and heading into practice or on the late nights of the weekend when he can slip in time to see them. if this is the love everyone’s always talked about, that everyone’s written countless songs about and based movies and art on, he can understand why.

in the bright morning i open my eyes while thinking of you

he’s young and it feels like no one takes his love as seriously as it feels to him. it’s all-consuming and he just knows they’re the two that got lucky to find their soulmates and life partners so young. the idea of fate battles with his desire for free will, but he doesn’t care which is real when his arms are around them.

it’s only a few lines, tucked away on a sticky note stuck to the margins of a school notebook, but they show a boy who believes in every word he writes, words he’ll reshape and flesh out when he’s older and his korean has refined itself into something more sophisticated than he can offer at fifteen, but one phrase he writes doesn’t change at all:

i love you

january 2016

more pieces of what will eventually become the song stick themselves together over the years, through relationships and flings, but it’s not until years later that he sits in a vocal practice room at bc entertainment alone, old notebook in front of him and his fingers on the keyboard.

the notes of the melody he writes link to years into the past and stay with him for years into the future.

solo music is still a pipe dream for him, but something he’s afraid to put a name to has sparked again in his heart. it’s not the only time since the first time he’d fallen, but it’s the most confusing for him.

see, they’re not dating. they’re friends who have fallen into the trap of letting skin on skin bleed into their hearts to mean more than it does.

for ash, at least. he doesn’t know if his touch has bled into her bone marrow the same way hers has into his, and so he doesn’t say anything. not to her. instead, he lets his fingers idle on a piano, recalling the moment he’d first looked over at her and realized he was in trouble.

for as complicated and messy as his situation is, the melody line he crafts doesn’t soar too high or too low, it doesn’t tumble over itself in rapid notes or odd time signatures, though he still simplifies it down some more a few years later when he comes back to it. it sits in 4/4 time signature, the most basic, for love sits inside such a simplistic framework, bent out of shape by the imperfect humans who inhabit it and, as ash has now come to learn, sometimes break the frame in half.

the piano piece is therapy in keys, the only therapy he knows at the time, not for lack of needing it, but because of lack of time and motivation to take care of himself in the way he should.

the impending spiral downward in the next few months he can’t foresee yet will be the breaking point, but he’ll never stop coming back to the keys when he feels emotions he can’t share with anyone else.

late 2016-2017

more lyrics and music slot into place over the rapidfire falling he does over a few months. there’s the model trainee he thinks he could love that shatters his heart in the aftermath of a heartfelt confession. there’s the ill-fated relationship that starts hopeful, but dissolves into fighting before he can even write much embodying that hope. then, there comes her and then him, the ones that leave him looking back on his record of love put into song and makes him want to spill tears to drown every instrument and wet every notebook so he can never write something so hopeful again.

there are times he writes words about them, but, often, he’s at a loss for words, and the song becomes more instrumental than voice, silence on his part.

silence is what damns him in the end.

2017-2019

in kijung, ash is sure he’s found the true muse to the song he’s been writing for years.

just like now when it’s peaceful i want to be with you forever i thought that as i was looking at you i was so happy after meeting you i was able to love you so much because you embraced and understood my young and immature mind warmly

he almost plays the song for him one night, almost decides he wants to rewrite it to be solely about kijung so he can sing it for him and only him, but fear makes him back out.

months later, fear makes him back out of the relationship altogether and the song remains a patchwork quilt of lovers past.

mid-2020

when she’s back in his life, the tone changes.

when we hurt each other with nonchalant tones i can’t bear our distant relationship so i’m sorry even now when i’m anxious i want to be with you forever i thought that as i was looking at you

he knows now that love can hurt just as badly when one’s in it as it can once it’s ended.

are you happy after meeting me, too? i’m sorry that i have more that i couldn’t give you i��m selfish and unstable but i wanted to treat you well

he breaks her heart and his own at the same time and comes to realize he’s no longer a man built to be deserving of the love he’s prayed at the altar of his whole life.

late 2020

there’s a piece of writing advice ash has heard over and over again for as long as he can remember: write what you know.

but when he pieces together the last lyrics of the song, they’re to everyone he’s known and someone he’s never known at once. they’re to someone he’s accepted he’ll never meet, or to someone he let slip away. he can’t tell which one, but he knows it’s more fantasy than reality.

he bleeds out every ounce of hope he has left inside of him and leaves it printed in ink and bared in song. ten years of hope etched into one song, meeting a man who now stands empty of it. he’s faced with a mirror image of someone brighter and bolder, touched with love, but left shielded from the inevitable heartbreak attached to it.

in the end, they sit over an instrumental that’s been recrafted so that something sad hits under the hope, harmonizing the truth with the dream he’s packed away and abandoned.

i think i found a perfect love that i’ve waited for for a long time because you held me and gave me energy because you hugged me by being considerate lovingly after i met you

2021

he sends in the demo to the company right before the release of his fourth solo album as closure, but he doesn’t expect to hear back that they’re interested in having him release it. it’s so different from the sound that most of lovesick had been drenched in. it fits better the music he’d been known for releasing three or four years ago when he’d been first starting out as a soloist. it makes sense that it does, considering much of the song had been created before then, but management seems more excited for it than he’d expected.

he doesn’t realize right away why, but once he gets the brief for some, he realizes that maybe they’ve decided he’s been too mopey as of late to be marketable.

despite his best efforts not to let his hesitancy about some infect his work on this song, some resentment builds inside as he spends time in the studio on it. the more he listens back to different takes of his own voice singing back the polished lyrics over the finalized melody, the more he feels like he’s mocking himself. it sounds out of place in his voice.

he’d give up if he didn’t know that letting bc know he was throwing in the towel would only mean they’d put someone else on the job to get the final product completed, and as sour as he is, the song still has strings that attach to the inside of his chest that he’s not ready to cut to hand the song over to someone else.

erin is the one who points out what’s wrong to him one night when she comes to visit him in his studio.

“you sound really young here.” she’s silent for a moment, and then she corrects herself. “you sound like you’re trying to sound young.”

she’s right.

he’s trying to sound like the fifteen year old ash who had been the root of all of this. for a man who’s been so insistent he’s not good at playing a character when he’s writing, he’s taken on the persona of someone who can skate along the surface level of the song for the sake of marketability — a man the words can’t hurt.

the song isn’t about first love just because those were what the first words had been written about.

so, he re-records it, singing it like the man who’s experienced everything he’s been through. he switches out the arrangement from coffee house acoustic to transition the instrumental from a simple piano and strings arrangement o a full-out orchestral arrangement toward the end.

when he’d felt the first rays of love, he may have thought that it was as easy as two complementary instruments, but in the decade since, he’s learned all of the moving pieces that have to come together.

by most accounts, its arrangement lends itself to a run of the mill emotional ballad, and bc will either love or hate that, but some of the pieces that had been failing to line up slot in to place.

listening back, the song still makes him sadder than he can imagine a younger ash would be proud of.

the night he finishes, he sits in his studio with the lights low and loops the track, searching through every line for a flaw he needs to fix. it comes without thought, looking for what he’s done wrong.

as he sits there, he hears his own voice repeat over and over again thoughts from years past, singing about once-perfect loves that had only been perfect for flashes of time in a broad expanse of history, and he stops the track. for once, he’s done searching for his own faults.

#fmdverification #&& when you're screaming but they only hear you whisper | self para #god i have had the idea for this verification for soooo long icb i finally wrote it

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evakuality · 4 years

Note

Could you witte a davenzi fic where theyre a bit older and David moves into Matteos appartement building and they lowkey fall in love? or something like that?

So apparently, this decided to be something relatively big. It’s also literally all entirely fluffy and light, in case you (like me) needed a bit of a break from any angst floating around. So here, have part one of apartment shenanigans:

Matteo

Matteo is exhausted, feet dragging as he climbs the stairs to his apartment, and his breath coming in short, sharp gasps. He’s maybe not as fit as he potentially should be and he’s starting to wish he’d done more exercise over the last few years. Not for the first time he regrets the impulse that led him to moving into an apartment on the very highest floor of the building. Sure, the view from his tiny balcony can be stunning when the weather is nice, but he’s not entirely sure it’s worth the long plod up the seemingly endless staircases.

His head is pounding from the amount of thinking he’s had to do today, and even the knowledge that he’s almost home isn’t enough to dispel the irritation he’s feeling at this neverending trek. He’s thinking wistfully of pain meds as he turns the corner on the second to last set of stairs and groans.

There’s some sort of blockage on the landing of the floor below his own. There are a bunch of people Matteo doesn’t know milling in the small, cramped space, most of them holding boxes. They’re loud, and there’s some sort of argument flowing between them. It seems mostly good natured, but it’s enough to make Matteo’s head pound worse than it already was. He can’t get past them, and his energy levels are so low that the idea of squeezing through them makes him shudder.

He stops, just behind a girl with long dark hair pinned back into a messy bun. She’s one of the louder of the participants and Matteo winces as her voice sends a stab of pain right through his head.

“David,” she’s saying with a booming laugh that reverberates through Matteo, “are you sure you don’t just want to stay with me a bit longer? This doesn’t seem to be working.”

Someone up ahead, who Matteo can’t quite see apart from a burst of tight curls on the top of his head, groans. He says something too low to carry to Matteo, but it makes the dark haired woman’s laughter peal out again. Matteo scowls. He doesn’t have time for this. Or he doesn’t want to have time for this, not even if the guy’s voice was musical and deep enough to send entirely inappropriate shivers right through Matteo.

Thankfully, it only seems to take a few moments before whatever has held the group up has been moved and the whole bunch of them start flooding into a door to the left of the landing. With another sigh, Matteo manages to weave his way around the last of the people and turns to go up to his own floor.

As he starts upwards, he glances down to find the curly-haired guy (David, maybe?) looking his way. The guy gives a small, apologetic smile as he shuts the door behind the last of the people with boxes.

One thing Matteo notices immediately is that he’s incredibly attractive, with dark eyes, an unfairly well-defined jawline, skin that glows in the soft light from the bulb just outside his door, and hair that’s been styled into a pile of curls that looks artful and which hasn’t seemed to have come loose during the move. It’s fairly devastating for someone who hasn’t had time for a relationship in the last several months, and Matteo knows that’s all this must be: residual longing for someone to be with and latching onto the nearest attractive man who happens to stumble into his path.

Still. Just admiring someone isn’t a crime, and if this guy is moving in here, well … as he keeps plodding upwards, Matteo’s realises not unhappy that this guy might be his new neighbour of sorts.

Despite the attractiveness of the new guy, Matteo doesn’t really give him much more thought for the next few days. It’s a busy time at work and so he’s out of his apartment at an unreasonably early hour and never gets home until so late that he can’t even think of cooking.

He’s struggling up the stairs, fumbling for his keys with a bag of takeout food clenched between his teeth when Matteo next runs into the guy. Literally.

“Fuck,” he hears as his head falls back with a sickening thud, and pain lances through his head. Matteo looks up in a panic. The guy is on that same second to last landing, holding his hand to his forehead and still looking ridiculously attractive in the dim light. His eyes gleam, and his lips are pursed in a way that makes Matteo’s stomach flip. Or maybe that’s the sickness from the crack to his head; he’s certainly not feeling entirely at his best.

Matteo stops riffling through his backpack, and grabs the food bag out of his mouth. “Shit, I’m sorry. I wasn’t looking.”

“I can tell,” the guy says, but his eyes are twinkling as he takes in Matteo’s appearance. His eyes flicker up and down Matteo’s body in a way that makes him feel exposed and vulnerable. Or sized up, maybe. It sends a wave of heat through him and he has to shake himself to regain his composure.

“Sorry, long week,” he says, pushing the backpack back up onto his shoulder to try to get the guy’s intense focus off of himself. “Thank fuck that’s over.”

The guy holds his hand out. “I’m David,” he says. “Just moved in.”

“Yeah I know,” Matteo says, then immediately blushes because that suggests he’s been paying attention and he hasn’t. Not really. David’s just the most interesting thing that’s happened in the building all week (and maybe he’s a little attractive too, but that was never the point, not entirely). “I mean,” he says, trying to cover up the faux pas, “I saw your friends in the corridor when you were moving. It made an impression.”

“They tend to do that,” David says with another laugh. “Laura is the worst.”

Oh. That must be the girl who was teasing him that day. The one who made it clear that he’d been staying with her before moving in here. Matteo swallows, thinking maybe he’d been misreading the signs. He needs to get out of here before he makes an even bigger fool of himself. So he turns to David and plasters a smile onto his face. He’s pretty sure it’s unconvincing, but maybe it’ll work since this guy doesn’t really know him very well.

David

“Anyway, welcome to the building,” the blond guy says with a wide smile that looks a little strained. David wonders what’s happened to change the feeling from something a little flirty to this tension. The guy looks down at the food in his hand and grimaces ostentatiously, possibly because it’s getting cold. He holds it up and wriggles it in a way that suggests that, in any case. “I’d better … uh, better go.”

“Yeah, okay,” David says, feeling disappointed. Having finally managed to run into The Guy from the day he moved in again, he’d really wanted to keep the conversation going, make some sort of connection. He can tell that he must be showing that disappointment all over his face, and the other guy’s demeanour changes as he looks at him. A tiny smile flickers over those lips and he ducks his head.

As if he is suddenly reluctant to move away too, the guy says “I’m sorry about crashing into you,” as he moves towards the stairs leading to the next floor. “I should make it up to you sometime.”

The idea sparks something warm inside David. His head is throbbing, but he’s not all that concerned. Just the opportunity to talk to this guy made the pain worthwhile. Still, he can sense an opening when he sees one and if this guy wants to make up something to him he’s not going to say no.

“Make it up how?”

The guy grins and raises his brows, nodding towards David’s door which is slightly ajar and through which piles of boxes can still be seen haphazardly plonked wherever his friends decided to leave them.

“I’ll cook,” the guy says. It must be hard in a new place to do anything much.”

David laughs, thinking of the new cookware Laura had smuggled into his home but which is still sitting in boxes under the kitchen sink. “I can’t cook anyway,” he admits, “but yeah trying to navigate the unpacked boxes isn’t all that great.”

He gives a pointed look at the takeout the guy is holding, trying to suggest that he’s not much better if that’s what he’s been eating, and is completely charmed when he rolls his eyes.

“It’s been a long week!” he protests with a wry smile. “I usually cook; I’m pretty good actually. I’ll make you my famous pasta, and you’ll be blown away.”

David laughs and agrees. He’s tempted to tease some more just to see more of that charming protesting, but the guy turns and starts up the stairs, indicating he’s done with the conversation.

As he watches the guy moving away, David realises he didn’t get his name in return and there’s no way he’s going to let that slide, not when he has this really attractive guy offering to cook for him. So he raises his voice a little and calls out, “hey!”

The guy turns back towards him with a quizzical look on his face. His hair is flopping down into his eyes and David’s heart flips a beat in his chest. He’d noticed the guy right away the day he moved here and he’d been thinking about that hair and the way it flopped ever since.

“I didn’t get your name,” he says, shaking himself enough that he’s able to focus.

“Matteo,” the guy says, running his free hand through that hair and making it stick up wildy. “You want to come for dinner tomorrow?”

“Yeah, sounds good,” David says. He watches as Matteo smiles again and starts climbing the stairs up to his own apartment. “Wait. Matteo!” he calls again. “You didn’t tell me which place is yours.”

“Oh.” It may be David’s imagination but Matteo looks embarrassed if the red flush that stains his cheeks is anything to go by. “It’s just at the top of the stairs there.” He points at a door that’s just visible when David ducks his head out to look upwards. “I’ll see you there about six?”

With an affirmation, David pulls back to go inside his own apartment. His head is still pounding from where Matteo had crashed into him, but he’s not too worried about that.

He’s been trying to catch another glimpse of the guy since the day he moved here, but until now he’d had no such luck. It seems like Matteo works some very unfortunate hours, and it was just good luck that they happened to pass in the corridor.

David’s been a little lonely since moving in, if he’s going to be honest with himself. He wants to make some new friends, since most of his own now live so far away from him that seeing them is proving more difficult than he’d imagined when he’d blithely suggested moving out of Laura’s apartment and into his own. His original plan had involved a lot of hanging around just outside his own apartment in hopes of running into someone interesting. Into Matteo. But that’s not going to work if Matteo consistently works these ridiculous hours. Running into him tonight had been pure luck.

Wanting to meet people in his new building is the only reason he’s been so focused on Matteo, David insists to himself as he closes his own door behind him. He wants a friend, and if that friends happens to be attractive, well that’s just an added bonus. So. If he’s going to manage to get to know this guy, David’s going to have to find a way to connect better than randomly seeing each other around, obviously.

And that means that dinner tomorrow seems like just the opportunity he needs.

#druck #my fic stuff #my ask stuff #noukeeeh

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awkwardnessandbaseball · 5 years

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Uhhh so this story got away from me and now has four parts, WHOOPS! Sorry not sorry!

It’s @csrolereversal AND @cshalloweek !! Roughly one BILLION thanks to @sherlockianwhovian for making sure my words make sense and, of course, @courtorderedcake for her lovely art that inspired this story. Without further ado, I present:

A Fan of Every Part of You

A Captain Swan Halloweek Story in three four parts

AO3 if that’s your jam: Ch1 | Ch2 | Ch3 | Ch4

Killian Jones has a really loud, destructive upstairs neighbor, and he’s about to lose his patience with them. But when he discovers that it’s a beautiful witch with a soft spot for his dangerous familiar, Captain, that complicates things just a bit.

Chapter Two:

It was eight days later -- not that Killian had been counting -- when he finally saw her again. He was coming back from his late-night trip to the store when he heard a familiar voice cursing out in the hall. He kept climbing past his own floor and found her with her head leaning against the closed door of her apartment. She glowed dark purple, frustration and defeat present in the waves around her.

“Swan?” he called softly, hoping not to startle her.

“Killian?” Her eyes widened in surprise. “I’m fine,” she said, just a bit too quickly. She glanced past him at Captain, a softness taking over her features.

“Let me guess. You’re locked out?” He’d worn the same look before when Liam had accidentally locked the house up with magic before Killian had control over his.

“No!” Emma cried defensively. A pause, then, “yes.”

“How’d you do that?” Killian asked as he approached her. He laid his bags of supplies down by her door.

“I used a spell to make the door stay shut until morning.” Emma stopped, and Killian waited until she was ready to continue. She slid down the wall, landing on the floor with a soft thud. The next part came out in one breath. “I’ve been sleepwalking, or something. And causing… problems. So I figured I would just magic the door shut and make it unbreakable, you know? Eight hours, big whoop.” She looked at Killian, as though she weren’t sure what to expect from him.

“Sounds like a solid plan,” he said, nodding for her to continue before sliding down to sit next to her.

“Well then I realized I hadn’t checked the mail and I was expecting a delivery so I ran down and left the door open, but the wind blew it shut and Odette is on the other side.” Her voice lowered as she spoke, the end of her sentence barely a whisper.

Ah, Odette must have been the name of her familiar. The furry-feathered creature with the changing patterns.

Being away from her familiar, even for only a few hours, would be painful for Emma. It was no wonder she was so frustrated.

“You can come and wait it out in my apartment,” Killian offered, leaving out the fact that Emma entering the apartment would entail locking Captain in the bedroom to keep him away from her. “Odette would be able to hear you through the floor, as we learned.” He gently bumped her shoulder with his own, hoping to lighten the mood a bit. It seemed to work, as she chuckled and the purple around her softened to a shade closer to lavender.

“Yeah, but then I charmed the apartment.” She shrugged in defeat. “She won’t be able to hear me. Or vice versa.”

“Well, you may not be able to break the timed spell on your door, but surely you can undo the silencing charm, even from out here,” Killian offered, and Emma started to look a little hopeful.

“You think so?”

“Sure, Swan. I’ve yet to see you fail,” he said with a grin, standing and offering her his hand. She took it, and their joined hands glowed a soft pink. If Emma noticed, she didn’t let on.

“You’ve yet to see me do much of anything,” she scoffed, but with a small smile of her own.

“The point still stands,” he insisted.

With a deep breath, Emma held out her hands in front of her and closed her eyes in concentration. As she tried to break the charm from outside of her apartment, her energy shifted through the entire rainbow of colors, finally ending on a bright green when the whirrs and clanks from inside of her apartment began echoing around the hallway.

“I did it!” Her eyes were bright with excitement and she hugged Killian. He was surprised by the sudden show of affection, but reacted quickly, wrapping his arms around her waist with a laugh.

“Aye, you did!” He spun her around, delighted by her excitement, and belatedly realized that they were quite close to where Captain had sat himself on the top step. Emma’s foot brushed him mid-spin and Killian froze, carefully placing Emma on the ground before positioning himself between his familiar and his… neighbor? Friend?

Were they friends?

Now’s really not the time, he silently berated himself, waiting for Captain to attack. Familiars didn’t touch. Witches didn’t touch familiars. It was all very widely known, universally accepted. But Captain, particularly, would be angered by the accidental brush of foot to chest. Captain hadn’t really been around anyone but Killian, and occasionally Ruby, after all.

To her credit, Emma seemed to have figured out what happened, and was backing away slowly, inching towards her apartment door.

Captain sat, observing the two of them, before finally turning away and curling into himself to, apparently, have a nap.

“Is that… normal?” Emma whispered.

“Ah, no one’s ever touched him before. So… not sure,” Killian admitted. All he had to go on were stories passed down through generations, all with the same lesson: Never touch a familiar, especially one belonging to another witch. “He’s lashed out at the delivery boy before, when he stepped over the threshold into the apartment. Poor kid didn’t even come near him.” Killian could hear the wonder and confusion mingling in his voice.

“Huh,” Emma breathed.

Killian’s eyes flicked back and forth between his familiar and Emma, unsure what to do next.

“I guess… I mean, now that Odette can hear me… we could… go to your place, instead of bothering the neighbors any more than my DeLorean already is.” She gestured vaguely towards her door and the clanks and bangs coming from inside.

“DeLorean?” Killian raised an eyebrow.

She flushed bright red, energy a mix of blues and yellows, not quite meeting in order to become green.

“It’s complicated. For a complicated spell.” Her tone made it clear she didn’t wish to go into any further detail.

“Mm, I see.” Killian nodded, then grabbed his nearly-forgotten back of supplies and led the way to his apartment. “Perhaps sometimes you’ll tell me about it.”

“Perhaps.”

Once she’d accidentally touched his familiar and elicited no reaction, it was a bit easier for Killian to allow Emma into his apartment. Captain entered first, and watched as Emma took a step across the threshold. He made a noise low in his throat that Killian took to mean he was giving his approval.

At any rate, they all still had all of their limbs.

Well, all of the limbs they’d started the evening with. Killian’s left hand had been missing since birth, a fact he hid with a variety of magic. Ordinarily, he used a spell to avert gazes away from his missing hand, but he’d toyed around with other options, including false hands and even an array of weapons. It was how he passed the time.

Once she’d been allowed in, Killian was unsure of how to entertain Emma Swan for the evening. And then she yawned, and he realized how late it was: nearly midnight. No entertainment necessary.

“The bedroom’s just down the hall,” Killian said. “But I suppose you knew that already.”

“Oh, I couldn’t--”

“We’re not gonna argue about this, Swan,” Killian laughed, scratching the back of his ear. “Please let me be a gentleman.”

She nodded with a small smile before heading down the hall towards his room. He settled in on the couch, Captain glaring at him from the small recliner in the corner.

“I know it’s not the greatest arrangement, Captain, but she needed the help.”

Captain stared at him for another moment before letting out a resigned breath of air and closing his eyes. Killian followed suit and was soon asleep.

“I’m late, I’m late, I’m late!” A voice in the kitchen woke him up. “Oh, it’ll never be finished on time and I’m already late and it’s all a mess!”

*CRASH*

“Bloody hell,” Killian groaned, rubbing the sleep away from his eyes. “Swan? What the devil are you doing?”

“I’m LATE!” she absolutely screeched from the kitchen, waking Captain this time.

I’ve been sleepwalking, or something… Emma’s words from earlier echoed in Killan’s mind.

Were you supposed to wake a sleepwalker? Killian could never remember. Perhaps he could calm her down without waking her.

“What are you late for, Emma?” he asked softly as he climbed off the couch and stepped towards the kitchen.

“I’m always late,” she whispered. “Never enough. It’s never enough!” Her eyes were unfocused, unseeing.

“Maybe I can help,” he kept his voice even. “If you just tell me what’s wrong--”

“There’s no time,” she replied. “The machine needs more time and there’s no time to give it. It’s not enough.” She tilted her head. “I’m not enough.”

“Of course you are, Swan.” The nickname caught her attention and she spun her whole body towards him, eyes still unfocused. “Whatever it is you’re trying to do, you’ll do it. And if you need it… if you’ll let me… I’ll help.” He’d moved closer as he spoke, finally grabbing her hand on the last word.

“Help?” She seemed to slowly come into herself, eyes directed at him finally. “Killian?”

“Good morning, sunshine,” he joked. “You were uh…”

“Shit. Was I sleepwalking?” She blushed, taking in her surroundings.

“Aye, it seems you were.” He still hadn’t let go of her hands. The same pink glow from earlier emitted from where their skin touched. “Are you… are you alright, Swan?”

She looked at him carefully.

“No, Killian. No, I’m not.”

#captain swan #csrolereversal #cshalloweek #captain swan fanfic #cs fanfic #caitlin writes

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riotatthemovies · 4 years

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Today we have a true wildman, maverick of low budget film Joel D Wynkoop. Let's get in the mindset of an actor, an actor's actor. An American Brian Blessed without the beard you could say (imagine Joe D Wynkoop as Hawkman and let that sink in) . To you regulars here at Riot at the movies you will remember Joel from 2019s Terrible Two Day fest where he closed the weekends events by appearing in Clownado as the cowboy pilot. Then just before screenings shut down in the first week for March 2020 we saw him again in the first film of this year Terrible Two Day Fest with a small but high energy cameo at the very end of Dinogore.

Let's pretend we are a live audience talk show and give a round of applause for Joel D Wynkoop.

Riot: Joel you are known as a high energy guy, what do you think or even what do you hope are people's first impressions of you?

WYNKOOP: Well I hope they like my performances. There are some that just flat out say "He yells too much!" I even had an actress tell me "Stop yelling at me, you're always yelling at me" but what she didn't get is that was the idea in the movie, the Sheriff(Played by me was yelling) but she got her feelings hurt and asked me not to yell at her. "But....I'm supposed too." I told her...anyway the director pulled her aside and explained to her "...this is not real life and we were pretending" and she still didn't get it, so the director told me "don't yell at her too much." Aside from the yelling and the out of control antics of a lot of my characters, I also want to be known as the actor that can do serious stuff too. I have done parts that when they were done or in the middle of where the audience was crying because I was going for that emotional touch. I have done things that scare the audience, not to mention my co stars. My wife, before I knew her, we had just met and we did a very emotional scene when I was in her face yelling at her, later the director said to her "You were great you really looked scared." and she said "I was scared, he is a scary guy when he yells... I thought he was going to hit me." But I can also do comedy where people may say "Man Wynkoop was so funny in that" or "Mannnn Wynkoop was so annoying in that" in each case that is what I was going for. In my latest movie "THE CRAIGLON INCIDENT" I think people are going to say the latter because the character I do is annoying....but funny...I hope. If they don't like me right away or there's someone out there going "Wynkoop sucks, his movie's suck" I hope people make their own decisions if they like me or not.

Riot: Let's look back at your early break into low budget films. Which character do you relate to the most, Steve Nekoda the religious, confused martial arts man of action from Lost Faith or do you deep down feel a little more fucked up like Dan Hess from Wicked Games or maybe even worse the officer in Dirty Cop No Donut? Or is that just crazy ? If you don't feel you personally relate to them, who was your favorite character to play?

WYNKOOP: Just doing Steve Nekoda, Dan Hess or Gus Kimble I think I am a little of all of them in real life. One time... well more then once in my life...real life...I have had to step in and protect someone like Steve Nekoda would, other times I have been the smart ass like Gus Kimble and his brand of justice where I have said things like (When someone is too close to me, I mean right on my ass) I turn to them and say "Are you gonna propose?" and they say "No" then I say "Then get off my ass!" More than once I have stood up for somebody... one time I told two guys to leave the premises because the girl inside the store was scared of them. The one guy then said to me. "You got a problem with me?" I said "No, I don't have a problem with you, but you're gonna have a problem with me if you don't leave now!" He started to move towards me. I went into a striking stance and his buddy grabbed him and said "Let's go man." and they left. The cops told me later "Don't be the hero just call us next time, we have guns." Dan Hess pushed in his Truth or Dare world, is me when I get annoyed in traffic. Someone cut me off I exploded in rage, he saw me in his mirror cursing him, he stopped his car and jumped out and came after me, I jumped out of my car and yelled at the top of my lungs "Don't FUCK with me man!!" He got back in his car and left and I did the same. Hey, I'm not perfect!

Again Steve Nekoda. I am a Christian yes, I swear, I'm sorry, were all human. I will stop and pray with someone at the drop of a hat. I have ran charity events for people struggling with medical bills. I will offer you some money if they are hard up...not scammers! So I guess I am a little of all of my characters. Nick Hazzard, Dan Hess, Steve Nekoda, Parsons Cooper, Angus Lynch, Tie-Ree, Cope Ransom and a lot more. Favorite character? I think all of them. I loved Steve Nekoda cause he is like a superhero, Parsons Cooper is turned into a sci-fi superhero. Dan Hess is fun because he is an average guy with a messed up life. Angus Lynch was fun to play because he was just psycho! Same with Gus Kimble from the Dirty Cop movies. They are all fun to play, I just can't lock one particular one down. They're all fun...CLOWNADO? I loved playing that character "HAWK" for Todd Sheets!! It was a fun role to play and Todd really let me run with it. Little easter eggs too in one line almost under my breath you here my character HAWK say "I'm just about to watch a Todd Sheets Joel Wynkoop double feature, those guys kill me." Yeah I love them all!

Riot: I am honestly imagining you doing a remake of Falling Down (the Micheal Douglas movie) just so I can see you super red faced getting angry in your car and flipping out at the traffic. You have like a dozen, if not more projects on the go at any time. How's Covid treating you? Are you going stir crazy or getting some stuff done on the side? I hope the conventions come back and people can get copies of all these movies as well.

WYNKOOP: Covid? We are dealing with it. If the law, Government or whatever wants you to wear masks just wear the mask. It's not that big a deal. Yes it annoys me but I wear it because it is the law and you're keeping people and yourself safe. You know what? I knew a guy that was a nudist and he told me "Joe, I don't know why we have to wear these, these clothes, I should be able to walk around unencumbered and free, there's nothing wrong with my body, I should be allowed to walk around nude, go into the store, go to the movies, I feel like I am being persecuted against because I cannot be free and naked." Well guess what? That is what everyone is saying about wearing their masks...are you comfortable with people walking around naked in your grocery store, pet store, church, movie theater, everywhere you go? I'm not. I think if we are told to wear masks then wear them. It's "NOT" being sheep, you're being smart. If you don't believe in it... go up to a stranger and say (With your mask on) "Please hack up all over me because I don't believe in the Corona Virus... try and let spit come out of your mouth too cause I don't believe in it so I won't get it!" Then pull your mask down so you can inhale all that virus you think is "NOT" there. People say more people die from the flu then Corona? Really? Personally I don't know any of my friends that have died from the flu...BUT I Have had at least 10 friends die of the CoronaVirus in the last two months. As of writing this tonight I just found out two more of my friends caught the Corona Virus because they let someone in their home and now they have it. If you don't believe in it then you don't believe the Earth is round. Stir Crazy? Nah! If we need to get out it is because of the news. The world is really messed up now and it is all the same stories over and over again. The riots were terrible!!!!!! Anyway when it gets too much we go for a ride in the van. I just want to make movies. I can't change anything, I'm not magic. I'll just continue to make movies. Also I am editing my new movie now called THE CRAIGLON INCIDENT which never would have happened if it were NOT for the Corona Virus, I started this movie cause everyone was told to stay home, it was mandatory here! Curfew was enforced. So I asked my wife Cathy, "Hey just shoot me talking to the camera." Now spin it around so it looks like I am talking to myself as my counterpart and THAT is how The Craiglon Incident originated. It is now like two hours long in my timeline waiting to be completed. If there was no virus there would have been no CRAIGLON INCIDENT". But just editing the movie keeps me plenty busy! PLUS I ask people if they are interested in being a producer or executive producer of either or both my movies "THE CRAIGLON INCIDENT" or "BEAST MODE"(A movie we started with Debbie Rochon and Lloyd Kaufman but was shut down because of Covid) people can contact me and become producers and executive producers just by purchasing some of my movies...It's a great way to get some entertainment and build your IMDB!!!! Conventions YES!!! Me too. So many have been shut down at the last moment. We even had Tampa Bay Screams here that was slated in August but it has been moved to March 2021 and we don't even know if that will happen. Yes I miss it!! More than selling the flicks I like meeting everyone that comes to the shows. That's why I continue to do things on Facebook and make movies and sell online to keep my name out there so folks don't forget about me. I don't think I would be comfortable doing a show right now anyway, not the way things are. I have had two shoots lately, one a TV show and one a rap video and I was nervous the whole time hoping I didn't get anything from anyone. But yes it would be nice to get the world back to normal, well, not even normal... BETTER THAN NORMAL...hey that's a good name for a TV show..."Hey brother what are you doing next Wednesday night?" "Me, oh not much I'm gonna check out that new TV show...what's it called, oh yeah...BETTER THAN NORMAL".

Riot: Let this be a reminder to my regular Canadian viewers and readers of just how freaking lucky we are up here. I love America for many things but for my health situation I wouldn't trade places with you Joel for the world. Thanks for being so open with us. Ok, How do you feel your films have dated over the years? The projects you've done with Tim Ritter seem to have just as strong a twisted fan base as always if not more these days.

WYNKOOP: I think they hold up fine. You have to remember when Tim Ritter and I started there was no CGI in indie movies. It was all practical effects, if you wanted blood you made it and threw it on the actor you couldn't say "Hey put a blood splat there and make it look real with your CGI effects." Nothing wrong with CGI it is just we didn't have that then. Also editing wasn't on your home computer with Movie Maker and Premiere... (They didn't exist when Tim and I broke into this, in fact some places have credited Tim and I have been credited with the whole direct to video happening.)... it was rent an edit bay with big 3/4 machines and shuttle the tape back and forth... In the beginning for Tim and myself, Tim and I use to edit on cutting boards with splicing tape. You scratched your effects into the actual film. I remember putting "The Eight Million Dollar Boy Meets The Invisible Transport Boy" together, splicing it all together, it was an hourlong and it was hard to do that 50 feet at a time. But yeah a lot of people are like "Yeah I remember TRUTH OR DARE man that was cool!" Even Elijah Wood on all the late night shows was talking about how much he loved "TRUTH OR DARE"! "LOST FAITH" has got that same kind of attention, a lot of people really love it. BUT like all our movies... some hate them, some love them. I'll take the love over the hate... but you have to accept it all. Believe it or not I learned this philosophy from Marvel Team Up. Spiderman had just stopped the Basilik and was handing him over to the cops and Spidey said "Here you go officer, although I don't know why you would want him?" and the cop said "All part of the job wall crawler, you take the bad with the good." And that is how I take everything, especially reviews. You take the bad with the good. So yeah I think they hold up...I had a friend when STAR TREK THE NEXT GENERATION came out and he was like "Oh the original sucked the effects are much better in NEXT GENERATION" Well "No Duh" I told him... it's like 30 some years later but STAR TREK is still a classic show!! It still holds up today, the stories are great and I love the effects... yes the upgrades are awesome but always classic "Star Trek". There is always gonna be a better format... pretty soon movies will be like holograms and we'll be being punched in the face by the characters in the movies. Technology changes everything so you have to give them credit for the era they were made. The people that love Twisted Illusions movies and my movies are AWESOME. I divide the two because Tim and I have done alot together as Twisted Illusions and I in turn have done a lot under Wynkoop Productions and joined the two over the years. I am still a part of Twisted Illusions with Tim and he with me in Wynkoop Productions it is two small companies just trying to entertain people. We are BOTH very fortunate to have the nice people we do enjoying all of our movies and we will never forget that. I get Facebook requests all the time and I ask them "What made you want me as a friend?" and they 90% always say "I saw your movies in High School" or "I saw you in Truth Or Dare"or "I loved you in Dirty Cop No Donut" and they all say "What are you doing now?". In fact every time I think I am going to quit I get a Facebook from someone saying "I love your movies please don't stop making them." and I never will until GOD calls me home. Even then when I am gone, I hope people keep watching all my movies I have done with Tim and the ones I have done and the ones we have collaborated on. To the ones out there that watch our stuff I hope we are entertaining you because that is all we want to do, 'cause we sure arn't getting rich from it.

Joel Getting Tough in The Other Side

Riot: You do the whole package, acting, directing, producing. What makes low budget filmmaking still a passion for you and what are some of the things these days that frustrate you the most?

WYNKOOP: Frustrate me the most? Editing. I will have a whole scene in my timeline and the power goes out, I hit the wrong key and delete stuff, lightning hit the house and fries it, lightning turns out our power and I lose it. It freezes up as I am editing and I have to wait an hour for it to fix itself. When it says "SAVE" I hit no. I make mistakes when I am tired while I am editing and boom I do something wrong and it is gone and I have to start all over again. There have been problems when I was editing my TV show I was putting in the last minute touches and lost the whole thing and had to start over from the beginning again. Frustrating! I keep working at it no matter what. I like to act in all I can. When I don't have anything that is when I say it's time to make my own movie, although in this case of "THE CRAIGLON INCIDENT" it was because of Covid 19. I'd like to make more money at it but doesn't everyone?

So as you can tell I sneak more then one question in at a time and I'm glad you took the time to shoot the shit with us. I hope 2021 means we get to go crazy and make all the weirdest and wildest movies we all can think of and I look forward to seeing what you got to throw at us. Thanks again. Stay Awesome.

Also Check out Joel in Lycanimator made by our Ontario buddy Seb Godin (also of Dinogore), get the vhs horror boobs made for Wild Eye Releasing , its better then the dvd.

WYNKOOP: Thank you all for taking the time and showing some interest in this old guy!!!! It is appreciated, thank you to everyone on your staff and everyone reading this article... thank you all so much and to see what I am doing please seek me out on Facebook under Joel D. Wynkoop. Thank you!

#joel d wynkoop #bmovies #lowbudget film making #wicked games #killingspree #lost faith #clownado #lycanimator #the other side #dirty cop no donut #wildman

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365daysofsasuhina · 4 years

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[ 365 Days of SasuHina || Day Three Hundred Twenty-One: Whispering ] [ Uchiha Sasuke, Hyūga Hinata, Uchiha Itachi ] [ SasuHina ] [ Verse: Divine Light ] [ AO3 Link ]

“Did you hear…?”

“They say the princess was kidnapped.”

“By her own servant, no less!”

“I knew it was unwise to have a mage so close to the royal family…”

“There will surely be a ransom!”

“Whatever will the king do?”

“He has another daughter, you know…”

“You don’t mean to suggest…?”

“Shh, you never know who might be listening…!”

Pretending to fiddle the cinch of his horse’s saddle, Sasuke listens to the whispering. Ever since the princess disappeared, there have been all shades of rumors, and there’s no truly knowing just how much is fact, and how much fiction.

But he has a plan…

“Ready to go?”

“Of course. Just sampling the latest gossip.”

“Anything new?”

“No, the same old stories...kidnapping, ransom, magic…”

“Well, if it’s been repeated so often, there may be grains of truth to it.”

“Here’s hoping - I don’t know about you, but I don’t feel like rescuing a princess just for the fun of it. I’d much rather have a sack of gold than a king’s good graces.”

Itachi can’t help a chuckle as he mounts his horse. “In an ideal world, we’ll have both.”

“I prefer to keep my expectations low as not to be disappointed. What about you? Any leads?”

“Potentially. Rumor has it they may be headed northeast. Vaguely-matched descriptions.”

“Hm...makes sense. It’s the nearest border. If the mage wants to drag her out of the country, that would be the way to go. And yet…”

“What?”

Sasuke gathers his reins, the pair of them slowed by city crowds as they head toward the north gate. “...that almost sounds less like a kidnapping, and more like…”

“A getaway?”

“Precisely.”

“My thoughts, as well. Something tells me we may find this tale to be deeper than the tales tell. But there’s only one way to find out: we’ll have to catch them.”

“Then we’ve no time to lose…!”

As soon as they clear the gate, the brothers urge their mounts to a swift lope, wanting to whittle down the miles before sunset.

It’s an odd situation. The eldest daughter of the king Hiashi has been - according to most - kidnapped by her lady-in-waiting. Hinata, the princess, was given a mage a few years her senior as a child to serve as her protector and servant. The elder girl had been a gift: a prize from the conquered lands Hiashi had recently obtained.

Sasuke had always found the notion repellent: the gifting of a human being like an object. It doesn’t help that he and his brother as mages as well, remnants of a kingdom long lost.

Hinata was, for most of her life, kept contained within the castle grounds. But any rare glimpse of her always showed the mage in her shadow, hovering in what did indeed appear to be a defensive, protective manner.

So why, after all this time, would a loyal servant suddenly turn on her mistress, kidnapping her for reasons yet unknown?

...it makes only partial sense. True, she was originally introduced to the princess as a thing, a prize, a slave. Perhaps resentment has only built throughout the years. But something in Sasuke’s gut tells him otherwise.

But for now...the truth doesn’t matter. What does is that the brothers are expert trackers, and like so many, are in pursuit of the pair in hopes of a reward in glory and gold.

“They have a few days on us,” Itachi then offers, breaking Sasuke’s thoughts. “But we can’t assume they have horses - if they’re so sought after, surely they wouldn’t be foolish enough to barter in the open.”

“But we don’t know what arts the mage is learned in - perhaps she can cast illusions as we can. Use that to steal what she needs.”

“It’s possible...but I doubt it. Even that would leave a trail. If she’s truly serious, and at all cunning, she won’t run that risk. We can neither over nor underestimate her.”

“A bit limited then, don’t you think?”

“Precisely. We’ll have to be just as cunning.”

“Did you speak to the ravens?”

“Of course. They’re scouring as we speak. But even then, word will take time to reach us. For now, we keep moving.”

“And if your lead is wrong and we’re headed in the wrong direction?”

“It’s a risk we’ll have to take. Either way, they’ll be getting further from us if we do nothing. And I trust my sources.”

“...very well.”

They ride until sundown, tethering their horses off the road and eating spare rations.

“So if this isn’t kidnapping...what do you think it is?”

“...I can’t afford to make assumptions. We’ll find the truth when we find them.”

“And if she lies?”

“The princess will surely tell us.”

“...unless she’s an accomplice.”

“A possibility, yes...but we’ll have to wait and see. I know patience isn’t always your foremost virtue, but we’re going to need it.”

The next morning, they leave at first light, coming across a simple mining town along the route. Itachi pauses to hear the gossip as Sasuke regathers their supplies.

“Have you had any women traveling alone? A pair of them, likely harried?”

Gathering his requested items, the shopkeep hums in thought. “...that does ring a distant bell, aye.”

“When?”

“Two days hence. Seemed rushed, hoods drawn. We see plenty a’ strange folk ‘round these parts, so I thought nothing of it. Friends of yours?”

“You could say that,” Sasuke mutters, handing over the proper coins with a nod. “My thanks.”

“Learn anything?” Itachi asks as they reunite.

“Sounds like they were here two days ago - the man at the general goods shop remembers a pair of suspicious women.”

“Well then, seems we’re on the right path. If that was only two days ago...they aren’t making good time. They must be on foot - or at least were when they arrived. I checked the livery - no horses have been sold.”

“Then we’ll soon catch them…!”

With a renewed vigor, the pair flee further north, pushing their horses as far as they dare. And then, midafternoon, a raven cries, swooping alongside them.

Sasuke’s heart leaps. “What news?”

“They’ve found them. Holed up in a cave...there’s a barrier at the fore.”

“A barrier…?”

“It’s not far - let’s go!”

Urging his mount, Sasuke keeps on his brother’s heels. They soon abandon the road heading toward a cliffside.

“See it?”

“...I think so. Dismount - we’ll go in on foot.”

They tether their horses, keeping weapons drawn - Itachi his sword, and Sasuke his bow. No matter their hypotheses, they can’t afford to assume anything.

“It’s just there...see it?”

A large crack in the cliff looks dark, but as Sasuke stares, he can see the faint glimmer of a barrier - otherwise unnoticeable. “...how are we going to get in?”

“By making another doorway...be ready. This is going to be loud, but they won’t have anywhere to flee.”

Nodding, Sasuke tightens his grip on the curve of his bow. An arrow rests, nocked and waiting to be drawn.

Sheathing his blade, Itachi presses a hand to the rock and soil near the barrier. Rather than dismantle it...he instead shifts the earth around it to make another entrance. And as promised, it’s loud. Stone grates and a faint rumbling builds.

...but no one comes.

Once there’s a slim but clear path, Itachi leads the way in, summoning a small lick of flame to his palm. The fire dances, casting shifting shadows against the walls of the cavern.

“Stay close…”

They creep forward, tense and ready for anything. It’s utterly silent save for their muted footsteps, leather boots quiet against the stone floor.

“...are you sure they’re here?”

“Yes, I’m s-”

With a flare of energy, another barrier blooms...and this time, it encases them both. Startled to a stop (and unable to flee), the brothers freeze.

Slowly, out of the darkness, comes a woman: hands raised and aglow with magic. Determination shapes her face. “...who are you?”

“I think the better question is who you are, rogue mage. Where is the princess?”

“She’s none of your concern. Did Hiashi send you?”

“No...we’re here of our own volition to get princess Hinata back.”

“She isn’t going anywhere...and certainly not back to that wretched man.”

The brothers exchange a look. “...you haven’t kidnapped her…?”

“No...she didn’t.”

Two pairs of dark eyes shift to look further back into the cave. Hinata emerges from the shadows, looking wary but calm. “...princess?”

“I wasn’t taken from my father. I was saved from him.”

“...well, isn’t that interesting…” Itachi muses.

“If you’re here to take me back...I won’t go. Not unless you force me…!”

“I won’t allow it, my lady,” the mage cuts in. Eyes narrowing, she in turn narrows the barriers around them. “We can’t trust them…”

“Wait! The king didn’t send us - we came seeking a reward!” Sasuke rebukes.

“Then you’re driven by greed rather than blind loyalty? Hardly better.”

“But so too are we guided by our morals,” Itachi offers, giving Sasuke a warning glance. “If you were indeed fleeing for your safety...we won’t usurp that. But that does beg the question of what really happened, my lady. Perhaps we could be of help. We’re trackers by trade...which means we also know how to evade them.”

Sasuke’s brows furrow. ...what are you up to, now…?

“We still have no reason to trust you.”

“Wait…” Hinata cuts in, placing a gentle hand on her companion’s arm. “...perhaps we should explain. If they are men of their word...it would only help us.”

The mage glances to her, clearly torn. “...yes, my lady. As you wish.” Her magic fades, and the barriers fall. “...but if they make one wrong move...I’ll crush them.”

“I know you want only to protect me...but we need allies. Perhaps we’ve found some.”

“As I said,” Itachi offers, gesturing politely to try and ease suspicion. “If returning you would endanger you further, we’ll not do so. We were under the assumption you were taken by force.”

“No...I fled. We both did.”

“But...why?”

“...to escape my father’s plot to have me murdered...and to place the blame on my closest friend.”

.oOo.

Welp, this is...super random, and also has a really evil cliffy, I'm sorry! But it's late and the piece was getting long ;;;;; I'll try to do more soon if y'all enjoy it! But actually, this is based on one of my very earliest RPs...which actually helped me in the early stages of developing my original fantasy verse! It's been...gosh...a looong time since that RP, and a lot has changed, but it was very nostalgic to revisit this old plot. It was VERY extensive, but this is (sorta) how it began! Anyway, I'd say more but I am EXHAUSTED. I DID get another prompt up earlier today since I skipped yesterday and had some time today. So I'm a lil wrote-out, lol - so I'm gonna call it a night. Thanks for reading~

#sasuhina #uchiha sasuke #hyūga hinata #uchiha itachi #divine light [ au ]#365daysofsasuhina

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