#also I like my newly (as of a few months ago) coloring style of adding fun colors in shading + lighting :3 | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

taking-over-his-life · 4 years

Text

The old shop

Written by my old friend Colt.

On a bright autumn day, when the low angle of the sun, the sudden warmth of Indian summer, and the riot of scarlet and yellow leaves all cast a spell over the Virginia countryside, I set off for a drive, with the car windows rolled down. Intense glare alternated with deep shadow, as the road wound through fields and woods. It led to a town called Hapsburg, where it became Main Street, nearly deserted on Saturday afternoon. I parked along the sidewalk, and got out to stretch my legs.

The buildings were of red brick or painted clapboard, one or two stories. Shop windows were empty, or contained faded posters, long out of date. I walked past a café, a drugstore, a lawyer's office, and a barbershop, all closed. Next came a shop that sold old furniture, chipped plates, sentimental pictures, obsolete farm tools—the debris of former households, past lives.

In the display window, draped over the back of a chair, as though the wearer left it there minutes ago, and would soon reclaim it, was a black leather jacket. Creased and scuffed, it had evidently seen hard use. So casually was it thrown on the wooden chair—was it also for sale? I tried the latch, and the ancient shop door opened. A bell jingled sharply overhead, as I stepped inside.

A pale, thin man seated behind a counter barely looked up from his newspaper. His eyes were watery blue or gray, and his hair was sparse, showing the scalp. I pretended to look at a dusty shelf of books, then wandered to the back of the shop, which seemed to have nothing of value. At last, I returned to the front. Except for the man at the counter, there was no one else.

The black leather jacket was compelling. I touched a sleeve—the leather was thick and heavy. I searched for a tag, a price, a label, but found nothing. On the shoulder, a red patch bore the legend: "Hapsburg Motor Patrol." "Go ahead," the man said. His voice was unexpectedly clear and strong, despite his age. "Try it on. You'll be the first, since it just came in. Who knows, this may be your lucky day."

I slipped my arms into the sleeves, shrugged the weight of the leather over my back, and tried the zipper, which worked smoothly.

"A perfect fit," the man said, "like it was custom-made for you. There's a mirror, if you don't believe me."

It was uncanny, but the old leather jacket did fit perfectly. Stiff yet pliable, it was already molded to my shape, broken in by the previous owner.

"Whoever wore it must have had exactly the same upper body size," the man said.

"So you don't know who owned it?" I asked. "Anything about him?"

"Not a clue."

"What about the patches? Will I be arrested for impersonating a police officer?"

"Oh, don't worry about that. The town police department disbanded years ago, when the county took over everything—schools, taxes, roads, jail. The county police wear a different uniform, not that red patch. As it stands now, that jacket is a collector's item, a genuine Hapsburg Motor Patrol issue. Quality leather—they don't make them like that any more. The badge is missing, of course. It went in that reinforced hole in the chest."

The leather creaked, as I flexed my arms and walked to and fro. I inhabited the jacket, inhaled the smell of leather, and felt slightly giddy.

"There's plenty of wear left in that jacket. It will keep you warm on the road, and protect you in case of a spill. When you're riding, that is. Yes, sir, it fits you like a glove."

"How much do you want for it?" I asked, trying not to sound desperate.

"That depends on how much you want it," he answered, suddenly shrewd. His pale eyes glittered in the shadowy interior.

Though I detest haggling, I was unable to take off the jacket. I named a price, a round number, which I hoped was low. To my surprise, the man instantly agreed.

"Sold!" he shouted, as though at an auction.

I reached for my wallet, anxious to complete the transaction before he changed his mind, or before I did.

"Like I said, that leather jacket was meant for you. What are the odds that someone would walk in here, exactly the right build, with an eye for police memorabilia?"

"So you don't know where it came from?"

"Sorry, my friend. It could have been someone cleaning out an attic, getting a house ready for sale, winding up an estate. Wait! Now that you mention it, some other things came in with the jacket. Here's a helmet, the standard police type."

He handed me a white helmet, and I lowered it over my head. Snug, but comfortable. I started to ask the price, but he cut in.

"At no additional cost—special today. And check out these beauties." He rummaged behind the counter, and produced a pair of black leather riding boots.

"Somewhat the worse for wear, but you can replace the heels, and shine them up like new. Here, try them on."

Hurriedly, I untied my shoes, and shoved my feet into the tall boots, folding my pants inside the cylindrical shaft. Amazingly, the boots fit. I wiggled my toes, rocked from side to side, and strode a few paces. Like the jacket, the boots felt eerily right, as though I had worn them for years. Looking in the mirror, I caught my breath.

Instead of the man who entered the shop, an ordinary citizen like millions of others, I saw a police officer, a motorcycle cop, a figure of speed and power, a member of an elite squad, albeit from decades before. The fantasy was exhilarating.

"Do you want a bag?"

Abruptly, I remembered where I was, in a dusty junk shop, in a forgotten country town. I took off the helmet.

"No bag, thanks. I'll wear it."

"What about your shoes?"

"Oh. . . yes."

I handed the man my shoes, which he dropped into a crumpled paper bag. He handed the bag back to me, with a wink of his gray eye.

Jacketed and booted, as though dressed for a costume ball, I exited the shop, and blinked in the dazzling sunlight. The air was growing cooler, and the sun would soon set. With the helmet under one leather sleeve, and clutching the paper bag, I strode to my car for the drive home, through the inflamed countryside.

In the following weeks, as the weather turned cold and windy, I sometimes wore the leather jacket. As promised, the thick, back skin kept me warm. It did not attract attention, other than a smile or nod of approval. The thrill I felt on first putting it on mellowed, and in a way, I grew into the jacket.

One day, it occurred to me to search the pockets. An inner zipper revealed a small black and white photograph of a man standing beside a motorcycle. He appeared to wear the same jacket and boots, with the same white helmet on his head. He also wore a police badge, a silver star on his chest. His posture was upright and confident. The photograph bore no identification, no name or date. It was impossible to tell the man's age, or where the photograph was taken. Still, I was convinced that this was the officer who owned the items I had bought.

His uniform included a pair of riding breeches, tailored snug at the calf and flared at the thigh, almost as though inflated. It was a picturesque style, something that went out of fashion long ago. I could not recall ever seeing such a uniform on the street. In color, the riding breeches were dark, with areas of sheen. Were they made of black leather, too? I placed the photograph in a dresser drawer.

Though out of sight, the image haunted me. Who was this man, in purely physical aspects so much like me? What were his tastes, his habits, his personality? What was the police officer's story?

With no conscious intention, I began to read classified ads for used motorcycles, and I looked more closely at those I passed in the street. I wondered what type of motorcycle my officer rode. What type would a small-town police department be likely to have? When a neighbor parked a motorcycle in his front yard, a machine much like the one in the photograph, with a "For Sale" sign attached to the seat, I did not hesitate.

The neighbor, an engineer who would soon move to another city to start a new job, taught me how to ride the motorcycle, and he gave me advice on maintenance and repair. My luck continued in the form of a mild winter, which allowed me to ride on weekends, gradually learning how to handle the motorcycle on narrow roads, and in traffic. Though not especially powerful, it was quick and responsive. I wore my leather jacket, boots and helmet, of course, and sturdy jeans. By spring, I had become a confident, if careful, motorcyclist.

One Saturday, as the trees were coming into leaf, and the air was newly fragrant, I set off to ride through the green landscape. I started with no destination, but the road became familiar, as it wound through fields and woods. Just as it did six months before, it led to Hapsburg. Slowly, I cruised Main Street, looking for the old shop where I had bought the leather jacket, the same one I was wearing. Not seeing it, I turned around, and rolled in the opposite direction, but still failed to find the dusty display window. I parked, pulled off my helmet, and stood in the middle of the street, baffled.

A place I did not remember, a combination art gallery and custom frame shop, hinted at economic revival. Clean, freshly painted, with a gleaming steel and glass door, it was open for business. I entered, and at once was greeted by a young man with black hair, dark brown eyes, and an eager smile. After browsing the drawings and paintings, all by local artists, I explained what I was looking for.

The young man grew solemn, and said he would be right back. He walked briskly to a storage room in back, and returned with a large envelope, which he handed to me. Scrawled on the envelope, as a kind of address, was the phrase:

"For the man in the leather jacket, when he returns."

I studied the envelope for a moment, then asked:

"How can you be sure that this is for me?"

"The junk shop you describe was here, this space. I cleaned it out, renovated, put in new lights, and so on. A lot of work, you can imagine. The previous tenant passed away, I was told, and he left the shop as you saw it. I never met him—a retired police officer. Nothing of the contents was worth saving, but I did save one thing. That envelope was lying on the counter."

I lifted the flap, and extracted something heavy and pliable, made of black leather.

"Looks like a pair of pants," said the young man, clearly interested.

"Yes," I said, "or riding breeches. I saw them in a photograph."

"Awesome! They match your jacket and boots. Want to try them on?"

"I don't need to. They're exactly my size. Don't ask how I know."

"Okay, I won't. Strange things happen, even in Hapsburg. But here's the really strange part. They told me that the old man passed away more than a year ago. So how could you have met him here last fall?"

I shrugged my shoulders, and the leather jacket creaked. I slid the breeches back in the envelope, and tucked it under my thick black sleeve.

"Thanks," I said, turning to leave. "And good luck with the shop."

#leather boots #uniform #leather gear #leather jacket

85 notes · View notes

coll2mitts · 3 years

Text

Super Mario Bros. (1993)

Thanks to the awesome people who donated to Extra Life (you still can, btw!) y'all will now be treated to a retrospective on the 1993 classic movie, Super Mario Bros. When I took on this milestone, the first (and only) person I messaged for ideas on terrible (but wonderful) films based on video games was my friend Max, who has a history of viewing and talking about bad movies. He suggested this, and while I was aware of this magnificent piece of cinema history, I had not had the pleasure of viewing it myself. He hooked me up with a copy, and to say this film lived up to my expectations would be an understatement.

I couldn’t help but be charmed by this movie. It is filled with so many questionable creative choices that were fucking ridiculous. Mario and Luigi not being blood related? Sure. Cheesy Italian accents replaced with a New York ones? Yeah, why not? Having all the enemies in Super Mario Bros. be canonically dinosaurs? I mean... It's a choice informed by the great media dino wave of 1993, but whatever. Yoshi is a dinosaur, if we want to extend that to goombas and Koopa for whatever reason, I'm down. Having these dinosaurs live underneath New York City in a parallel dimension? It's based on a video game, why the fuck not? Everything is so goddamn bonkers.

The opening credits roll, and we’re told that 65 million years ago, a meteor created said underground parallel universe dinosaur land. We witness a human-looking woman, who is really a dinosaur, leaving an egg baby on a church doorstep. Don’t think about it too hard, the logistics of a human giving birth to an egg that size are just... it’s gross to think about.

We’re then introduced to the titular characters, Mario Mario and Luigi Mario. Yes, their last names are Mario. Making them the Mario brothers. Because this movie is interested in answering the important questions. Mario is the owner of a failing plumbing business, while Luigi is a conspiracy theorist who would have really enjoyed modern-day YouTube.

While they’re out trying to find work, they run into Miss Amy March herself, Daisy, who is an archeologist in charge of digging up dinosaur bones from a New York City construction site. She’s being forced off the property by the mob, who apparently are annoyed that a blonde lady in cargo shorts is coming between them and whatever the fuck they’re building.

They try and intimidate her, she storms off to use a payphone to call for security, and is almost picked up by two inconspicuous bozos in a cab who apparently are stealing Brooklyn women off the street for no reason. Their plan is quickly thwarted by a random moving pane of glass.

Instead, Daisy runs right into Luigi, who forgets how to human once he sees her pretty face. He asks her on a date, where she reveals even more exposition. She believes the meteor that destroyed the dinosaurs landed in New York City. Oh, and also, she’s the abandoned egg baby. Luigi is also an orphan, and this shared trauma apparently gets them both hot and bothered. They wander off to the dig site, because an underground pit attached to a sewer is so romantic, and it is also where Daisy feels the most comfortable.

What if we made out at the bone pit?

Their touching moment is cut short when the mob sabotages the plumbing in the sewer and water starts flooding the area. They run to get Mario, because he is a plumber, to fix the pipes, which is so fucking clutch, I love it so much.

While the Mario brothers are distracted, Daisy is captured by the weirdo twins and dragged into the alternate dinosaur universe. Mario and Luigi follow, and we’re treated to the most fucking amazing transition scene of Bob Hoskins spinning wildly through colorful rocks.

youtube

Turns out, parallel dinosaur world, or Dinohattan, is fucking lit as hell. I am convinced that Futurama based their sewer city on this movie.

King Koopa, who is a dinosaur with badly bleached hair gelled back in an effort to look like Michael Douglas in Wall Street, has taken over Dinohattan. He is the one who asked the goons to kidnap Daisy, because of the tacky crystal necklace she wears. Apparently, it is a piece of the meteorite that crashed into earth, and once he puts the piece back into the original space rock, the dinosaur world will merge with the mammal world after 65 million years of his people being sequestered underground, and Koopa will have endless resources at his disposal. Also, Daisy is a princess, and her dad is a giant fungus taking over the city, so that’s totally normal and not at all weird.

Problem is, the two idiots he sent to grab her didn’t think to check if she was wearing the necklace. Turns out, Luigi has the necklace, or had the necklace, as they are quickly mugged by a granny, who is then robbed by a lady with a bright red spiky latex coat and springy robot feet. The brothers are then arrested by the dinocops and are grilled by Koopa for the whereabouts of the rock. When they play dumb he uh... reacts in a proportionate way.

I am not even going to attempt to explain the devo process... It is a combination of insane and fucking disgusting. Whoever in the costuming department looked at the cute fucking mushroom Goombas in the video game and decided to translate them into this scaly, jagged-teethed nightmare fuel deserves to be committed.

youtube

Also, there’s only one lizard king, and that’s Jim Morrison, so back off, buddy.

What is hilarious to me is this is the story the screenwriters came up with. Super Mario, as a video game, doesn’t have much lore, right? You slide down pipes, you jump on mushrooms, and you save the princess from a spiky turtle. They took that game and created... This. A parallel underground dinosaur universe that has a sentient fungus as a king, taken over by a human-like t-rex that devolves other lizards into tiny-headed night paralysis demons.

The middle of this movie alternates between a slog of expositional scenes about Daisy being a princess, and pretty entertaining action scenes of the Mario brothers running from Goombas while trying to find and save Daisy. Mario and Luigi steal a cop car and drive it off a cliff Thelma and Louise-style; They cosplay as Ketchup and Mustard to steal the necklace back from Big Burtha while asking her to stomp on them; They jump off a bridge into a garbage truck; They break the pipes in Koopa’s building to freeze everything, and get past an elevator full of Goombas by making them dance.

youtube

Watching Daisy damsel-in-distress-it in Koopa’s high rise office building and fend off advances by a long-tongued dude who devolved her father into a mushroom was pretty boring and disturbing. Alternatively, witnessing Bob Hoskins and John Leguizamo pretend to jump on giant sheets of fungus really sold this movie for me. It succeeds when it tries to be ridiculous and fun, and fall flat when it attempts to integrate any sort of drama that I’m assuming was added to make this story more appealing to adults.

Mario and Luigi eventually find Daisy, and she introduces them to her father - a giant dripping blob suspended from the ceiling. Luigi wants in her pants badly enough that he pretends this is a reasonable thing to do. Mario heads further into the building to free the other ladies kidnapped by tweedle dee and tweedle dum that they initially thought were Daisy, but weren’t. The newly assembled group are able to escape by sliding down the frozen pipes on a mattress before they are green-screen launched out of the pipe and back into the greater Dinohattan area.

youtube

The amount of times Mario and Luigi use their plumbing skills to overcome obstacles may be my favorite part of this movie. The plot goes out of its way to justify a really bizarre character trait for the original game.

Anyway, the end of this movie comes at you fast. First, the sentient fungus king gives Mario and Luigi a bomb, and they decide to wind it up and aim it at Koopa. This takes about 10 minutes of screen time to matter again.

Koopa’s second-in-command tries to merge Daisy’s stolen necklace with the meteor, and instead gets skeletoned to bits, prompting the best line delivery reaction from Daisy, a deadpan “Yikes”.

Because the necklace has now been returned to its resting place, the worlds start to merge Infinity War style.

“Mr. Koopa, I don’t feel so good.”

Koopa and Mario end up back in Manhattan, and Koopa just starts shooting his devo guns at human mobsters, turning them back into primates, and giving their wardrobe a whole new literal definition of monkey suit.

Luigi uses his super plumbing powers to drill the necklace back out of the meteor, separating the worlds again. The bomb finally goes off, they devo Koopa into slime, and the citizens celebrate by immediately painting over his ever-prevalent propaganda.

The king evolves back into a mushroom person or something, and Daisy stays in Dinohattan to get to know her father better. Mario and Luigi return to their lives in Brooklyn as plumbers, and their heroic acts make them conspiracy community famous, as they now refer to our heroes as the Super Mario Brothers. Roll Credits.

Except not, because Daisy returns to ask for the help of a couple of great plumbers, setting up a sequel that will never, ever happen because there is no god and we’re not allowed to feel joy.

Honestly, Super Mario Bros. is great. It owned every bold plot and visual choice it made, and I have to respect it. I could listen to John Leguizamo say Mario like 700 more times. Y’all are missing out if you think you’re too cool to watch this movie.

I’ll be back to musical reviews later this month. I have a few seasonally appropriate movies in my big red sack waiting to be placed under the tree... Yes, I meant to phrase it that way.

#unwarranted opinion

6 notes · View notes

talkfastromance4 · 5 years

Text

Cross Her (C.H) Part I

Yeah, so. I haven’t posted anything in a HOT minute. But this little Calum-and-Grace-world I’ve created is very near and dear to my heart. I’m not sure how many parts this will be, they’re kind of lengthy but I hope you like it.

Please let me know what you think so I can post more.

Summary: With a new album and tour soon to be on the rise, 5SOS’s management has decided to put Calum into a public relationship.

Warnings: none except cute fluff from Calum

Words: 5.5k

Masterlist

With the promise of a new album on the horizon, and with Luke and Sierra now engaged the band’s management and PR have come up with an idea for Calum to get a girlfriend. The four young men are sitting in a conference room listening intently to their management’s pitch.

In theory, it sounds great. The first single to be released is a love song and with three of the four members being married, engaged and happily committed, it will be seen as kind of tired. But if the song is tied to Calum and his new ‘love’ the sales will increase tenfold and will skyrocket on the charts.

Calum nods along but at the same time he doesn’t like the matters of his heart to be discussed like a business deal. His three best friends keep looking at him during the whole meeting, waiting for him to throw a tirade or silently walk out in a brooding cloud. Calum walks the line on both discreet and outlandish very easily, so who knew what he was going to do?

“We’ve got some ideas thrown around for who you should be paired up with—“

Calum snorts. ‘Paired up with’ sounds like he’s back in school being assigned a lab partner. In this case, there’s really no difference is there?

“Who’d you have in mind?” Ashton asks twiddling his thumbs together on the table.

“Taylor Swift, she’s been in the business for a long time. She knows the ropes, she can handle press and the fans really well—“

“No, she is great, musically and otherwise,” Calum says shaking his head, “but no. Not her.”

“All right,” Francesca huffs then looks at the next name on her list. “Then there’s Selena Gomez, she’s been out of the limelight since that whole Justin Bieber fiasco. She’s also been in the—“

“Why does it have to be someone so famous?” Michael asks, his glass green eyes darting from Calum to their team.

“It will draw the crowd and other people’s attention,” Dewey states.

“Who else?” Calum murmurs in defeat. He rests his chin in his palm, his voice muffled by his fingers in front of his lips.

“Uh, Sofia Carson, Camila Cabello. . . there’s also a young woman who has become famous over Instagram recently. She’s a uh. . .” Francesca peers at her tablet, “she’s an aspiring poet but her fanbase is huge. Almost 7 million followers, she posts a lot of content on all platforms.”

“What’s her name?” Calum asks suddenly intrigued.

“Grace Fallows, she’s 24, cute little thing,” Francesca nods.

On the outside Calum stays stoic, but on the inside he’s beaming. He already follows her on his own Instagram. He loves the poems she creates, they’re clever and beyond impactful with just a few choice words.

“Can we see if she’ll do it?” he asks. “She seems more up our style than the others, more genuine.”

“I’ll get in contact with her and see what happens,” Francesca nods.

Calum glances at his friends who grin encouragingly back.

»»»

The first time Calum and Grace meet is three weeks later in the same conference room where the discussion was first established. Francesca and Dewey had her flown in from Southern Wisconsin a few days ago with the promise of landing her a manager, a publisher and an editor all in one meeting. The three subjects were sitting alongside Francesca and Dewey while Calum and Grace were across from each other at the other end.

He smiles at her immediately when he walks in, which she returns happily but nervously. He’s never seen what she looks like because her Instagram page is all of her poems, she never posts a selfie.

But he knew he wouldn’t be disappointed. She has dark brown hair that waves around her round face, and has the biggest, dark blue eyes he’s ever seen. He notices her playing with the rings on her fingers, a habit he and the guys have been known to do when they’re feeling anxious.

“We’re so glad you could join us on such short notice Miss Fallows,” Francesca smiles warmly.

“Thank you for arranging everything,” Grace nods. Her voice is quiet and full of kindness, it piques Calum’s interest even more. He notices her eyes dart about the room and at the other five faces down the table, she inhales a shaky breath.

“Joining us today are Cordelia Fox, Gwen Gilbert and Alonso Lopez,” Francesca introduces.

“Nice to meet you,” Grace says politely.

“And I’m sure you know Calum Hood,” Dewey laughs heartily pointing to Calum.

Grace’s dark ocean eyes slide down to Calum who gives her a slight wave, she smiles impishly. A little flush of pink colors her cheeks and she fiddles with her rings a bit more quickly.

The meeting lasts for almost two hours, Cordelia, Gwen and Alonso chat with Grace about their plans for her to get a book published within the next 9 months. Grace listens intently, her eyes wide and appearing glossy a few times because her dreams are just within reach of coming true.

“So, what are your thoughts, Miss Fallows?” Cordelia smiles kindly.

“I mean . . . this is amazing. I’ve been wanting to be published since I started my Instagram page,” Grace begins. “I would love to work with all of you, but I’m just slightly confused with why C-Calum is here.”

She stutters over his name because she has been a fan of the band for yearss She’s amongst the other fans waiting aptly for the new album to drop. She wanted to come into this meeting being calm, cool and collected with a twinge of professionalism added in. But she’s never had a meeting with a probable manager or whole writing team before and to throw in a member of one of the biggest bands in the world?

Her stomach is doing cartwheels.

“Uh, that’s another matter we need to discuss,” Dewey says a bit uncomfortably in his chair.

Calum feels a bit smug at that, he was uncomfortable at the meeting about this three weeks ago. He doesn’t want to come off as smug because Grace is present. He doesn’t want her to think this was all his idea, a fake relationship and all the PR.

“With the band’s new album coming out, we thought to help up the ante would be if Calum had a girlfriend to help promote the single. It’s a love song. And with Michael already being married, Luke is newly engaged and Ashton’s relationship is stable, we thought a fresh, new relationship would reflect the song perfectly,” Francesca smiles.

“So . . . all of this—“Grace motions the table generally”—is just so I can be used as a fake girlfriend?”

Francesca and Dewey open and close their mouths like fish staring out of a fishbowl. Calum shakes his head, silently cursing his team. This was a fucking dumb idea and he hates the expression on Grace’s face, like she’s being used, like she’s just a small pawn in this big scheme.

“Grace,” Cordelia leans forward on the lacquered maple table, her blond hair falling in front of her face. “Whether you say yes or no to the fake relationship, Gwen, Alonso and I still want to be a part of your team. We aren’t the strings attached to this deal, you are the puppeteer. You call the shots, and I’m sure Mr. Hood agrees.” Cordelia’s powder blue eyes meet Calum’s.

He nods immediately looking to Grace. “Absolutely. I follow you on Instagram and love your poems. There’s absolutely no pressure for you to do this.”

Grace chews on her lower lip then sits up a bit straighter in her chair.

“Can I have a day or two to think about it? The relationship part.”

“Of course,” Cordelia smiles. “Right, Francesca?”

“Uh, y-yes, of course,” Francesca smiles tightly “The first single release isn’t for another three weeks, but if we could know by Friday that’d be wonderful. I’ll send over all of our contact information, including Cordelia—“

“Actually I’d like to talk to Cordelia on my own,” Grace states.

Calum grins. He likes her spunk and hopes she’ll agree to the deal. Even if it’s not real, he has a feeling she’d make it fun.

»»»

“So, how’d it go?” Ashton asks Calum while they’re out for iced coffee after a cardio workout.

“All right. Cordelia really liked her. I did, too,” Calum smiles. “She made Francesca and Dewey sweat in their seats though, she called them right out on the bullshit of it all.”

“Wish I could’ve seen that,” Ashton laughs. “So, did she agree to it?”

“She agreed to the book deal but wants a few days to think the fake relationship bit over,” Calum shrugs swirling his ice in his cup. “Which I respect. I don’t want her thinking it was my idea.”

“You crushin’ on her already, bro?” Ashton giggles taking his straw in his mouth.

“No, it’s just a big fuckin’ deal to be put in a relationship with someone for PR,” Calum’s voice comes out a little clipped.

“Right. Sorry,” Ashton apologizes quickly. “I’m sorry they’re forcing you into this as well.”

Calum shrugs. “Comes with the job I s’pose.”

“Do you think she’ll agree?”

“I—“ Calum’s cut off with his phone buzzing in his hand. He smiles when he sees the name on his phone. “That’s her now, she wants to meet for coffee tomorrow.”

“That’s a good sign,” Ashton raises his eyebrows.

»»»

Calum was actually really nervous to meet with Grace for coffee because the meeting could go either way. She’ll either yell at him for agreeing to this or she’ll tell him she’ll do it and they’ll set up their own boundaries outside of his team.

He taps his fingers waiting for her at a table in the back of the store, some fans came and said hello but otherwise he was left alone. He hoped no one would come up to him when Grace is with him, he didn’t want to freak her out too much.

The bells above the door jingle and he sees her small frame enter, the gust from the door causes her brown hair to fly in her face. She tucks the stray strands behind her ear as her eyes scour the place for the tall Maori-Australian man.

Calum stands from his chair waving to her and she catches sight of him easily; it’s a small shop and he’s a tall guy. She smiles then weaves her way through the tables and other patrons to him but accidentally bumps into one of the baristas.

He’s a young teen with a face full of acne and a lanky build. He apologizes profusely, his cheeks turning even redder when he sees he bumped into a pretty girl.

Grace smiles kindly and touches his shoulder in comfort. “You’re totally fine! Don’t worry about it.” She flashes him one more smile before continuing her way to Calum who is as much enamored by her as the teenage boy.

“Sorry I’m late,” she says briskly. “I totally forgot I could order an Uber instead of catching a bus which terrified me.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Calum smiles easily. “What can I get you to drink?”

“Um a vanilla cappuccino please,” she smiles.

“Be right back,” he touches her shoulder gently then heads to the counter.

Calum watches her from his vantage point. Her brown hair is pulled back halfway behind her head and she’s got on a white t-shirt with dark denim overalls. She has white converse on her feet and he really likes that considering he’s wearing his black pair.

Grace crosses her legs then begins to play with her rings while waiting for him to return. It makes him feel a little better she’s as nervous as he is. This actually feels like a first date but it’s so far from it it’s ridiculous. He sort of wishes it was a first date.

The same teenage boy hands Calum their drink order and Calum gives him a ten dollar tip hoping that will ease his embarrassment.

“One vanilla cappuccino,” Calum says sliding the mug in front of Grace then he sits across from her.

“Mmm, thank you,” she grins giddily holding the mug in both of her hands. “So, this whole relationship thing wasn’t your idea, right?”

Calum pauses his motions of bringing his own mug to his lips. “Wow, right to it, huh?” he half jokes setting his mug down but she doesn’t laugh. He clears his throat and shakes his head. “No, it was not. I’d never ask someone to fake date me, but apparently that’s what our team thinks is best for this album.”

She eyes him for a moment, Calum’s heart is beating hard in his chest. She stares at him as if analyzing him then lets out a breath.

“Okay, you’re telling the truth.”

Calum chuckles. “You got a super power of spotting lies?”

“Sort of,” she purses her lips and Calum is hypnotized at the pinkness of them for the moment. “My intuition is super strong, I can read people really well.”

“That’s good to know. What’d you pick up on about Francesca and Dewey?”

She purses her lips again forcing Calum not to stare at them again, she taps her chin for good measure and dramatics.

“They’re very analytical, they do want you guys to succeed but they think you do that with more of the public eye on you rather than your music. Their intent means well,” she shrugs taking a tentative sip of her drink.

“This might be a weird question,” Calum leans forward on the table lowering his head a little. He notices her eyebrows twitch in the cutest way. “Do you like our music?”

She visibly relaxes then giggles. “Oh thank God, I had no idea where you were going with that. But yeah, I do like your music. I got into you guys a little bit during the One Direction era but then I really got hooked when Youngblood came out.”

“You mean you weren’t around for our awkward Twitcams and YouTube lives?” he’s silently praying that she says no, those videos are so cringey now. They were ridiculous teenagers who thought they were badasses and clearly weren’t.

“Oh no, I definitely saw those,” she giggles again. “You were pretty raunchy back then.”

She’s teasing with him and it makes him smile and blush slightly. He groans at the memories of those videos, he’d always smack the guys’ asses for no reason and try to get naked on camera. Again for no reason.

“That’s embarrassing,” he shakes his head then looks up at her through his lashes.

“It was funny. My little nineteen year old heart swooned,” she presses her hand to her heart.

“I guess that counts for something. So, what are your thoughts on all this?” he asks. “Francesca and Dewey won’t have a say on how exactly we do this, we can set our own boundaries. I don’t want you to feel pressured at all and, if you do decide to do it, we’ll get to help you promote your book.”

“It’s a little crazy,” she laughs. “Twenty-four hours ago I was back home bingeing Pretty Little Liars and now I’m here with a book in the making and a fake rock star boyfriend.”

“Yeah, things move fast in LA—wait, are you saying you’ll do it?” he’s astounded.

“I was actually on the fence but when you said we could set our own boundaries . . . that made up my mind. I feel like I’ll be here for a while talking with Cordelia and I need friends so . . .”

“Wow, that’s amazing. You’re amazing. Thank you,” he says sincerely. “I promise you, I’ll be the best fake boyfriend ever.”

“I’ll hold you to that,” she giggles.

»»»

After the meeting with the team and the guys about Grace agreeing to the fake relationship, a contract is set for the relationship to last until her book is released. Calum wants to help her out as well even if it is in this weird, twisted way. Nine months of fake dating, hopefully he won’t actually catch feelings.

Grace was a little nervous meeting the rest of the band, especially Luke because he’s so tall and towered over her.

“You make me feel like an ant,” she giggles and the guys laughed. Calum really enjoyed when she giggled, it caused her nose to scrunch up and her cheeks got really round.

“Would you want to catch dinner with us tonight?” Ashton asks. “We can all get to know each other better

“Yeah, that sounds great,” she smiles. “Text me the address—“

“No, no. I’ll pick you up,” Calum shakes his head. “I won’t have you spending money on an Uber all the time.”

“Okay,” she blushes.

»»»

Calum knocks on her hotel room door at promptly 6:45 p.m, the exact time he said he’d be there. When Grace opens the door he’s welcomed with her perfume, lilies and ocean water. She’s wearing a pretty black dress with a silver belt and her hair is straightened.

“Hi! Wow, you’re right on time. Um, I just need to get my purse.” She disappears and Calum catches the door before it slams in his face.

He peers in her room, it already smells like her and he notices a big gray fuzzy blanket on the hotel bed. Clearly it makes her think of home, he notices the curtains are shut and her suitcase is zipped shut on the opposite bed.

“Okay, ready,” she beams in front of him.

»»»

The first five minutes of the car ride are silent but it’s comfortable. Calum doesn’t know what to say first, his mouth goes dry every time he tries but when he looks over at her he sees her bare legs.

“Does everyone in LA eat dinner this late?” she asks.

“Uh . . . this is late?”

“I had to order myself an appetizer at 5 in my room cause I was so hungry,” she snickers, “but I’m always hungry anyway.”

Calum frowns. Not only is she far from home in a hotel by herself, but her habits and lifestyle have completely changed. And she’ll be here for nine months being viewed as his ‘new girlfriend’ while also having a deadline for her first book.

“I’m sorry, we should’ve asked when you normally—“

“Oh, no! It’s fine! I was just curious, it’ll probably help me in the long run anyway, and it’ll help me lose a few pounds,” she shrugs nonchalantly and stares out the window.

Calum gives her an exasperated look which makes her laugh.

“What?”

“You don’t need to lose a few pounds, you look fantastic, Grace,” he tells her and turns smoothly into a large parking lot.

When he looks at her he’s pleased to see she’s blushing and he’s not lying. She’s petite but her curves are out of this world, and her legs. Her legs! He never knew he had a thing for calves but hers seem muscular and he wonders if she danced when she was younger.

“Well, thank you,” she says quietly and he notices her playing with her fingers.

Calum pulls into a parking spot near the front and thankfully there aren’t any photographers or fans waiting outside. He doesn’t want her to get freaked out by the chaos of his life with flashes and screams from fans quite yet. He wants to make sure she’s comfortable with him so she can trust that he’ll keep her safe.

“Ooh, is this Italian?” she asks peering up at the sign out of her window.

“Yep, best Italian restaurant in LA.”

“I love Italian.”

She snatches her purse and practically leaps from the car and Calum hurries to her side so he can walk alongside her. He locks the car then shoves his hands in his pockets. The doorman opens the door for them and Grace thanks him kindly with her warm smile and Calum lets her walk ahead of him.

Once inside she tucks against his side while he weaves to the back of the restaurant where he knows their table is. The guys asked if their significant others could join them but Calum thought that would be a bit overwhelming for her in one night. They all exchanged a knowing look but Calum had no idea what it meant.

“The guest of honor has arrived!” Ashton shouts raising his beer glass, his eyes are already a little glazed over and Grace giggles.

She hugs them all quickly before sitting at the head of the table where Ashton told her to sit. Calum sat next to her silently wishing he was a bit closer.

When the waiter came by to ask for her and Calum’s drink order, she denied the house wine and ordered a mint mojito instead. Calum ordered a beer and asked for a rush order on the breadsticks throwing a wink at Grace as he did.

“Thank you,” she murmurs quietly then takes a sip of her water.

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen a girl deny wine,” Luke says incredulously.

Calum shoots him a glare and smacks his best friend in the chest.

“OW! What was that for?”

“Don’t be rude,” Calum shakes his head disapprovingly.

Grace laughs into her water at the altercation. “Don’t worry about it, I don’t really like wine. Whenever I drink it I get a headache and I forget what I’m trying to say. I’m more of a rum girl.”

“Ah, there we go!” Ashton hollers. “Rum’s a good choice.”

“What’s your signature drink?” Calum asks.

“Malibu and pineapple juice,” she smiles with her tongue between her teeth.

Calum has the desirable need to kiss her smile but he refrains. None of this is real as them being in a relationship, he has to get that in his head.

Throughout the dinner they ask her questions about her home and how she got into writing but that was a fleeting topic. Calum made a mental note to ask about that later when it’s just them, he loves talking creativity. Grace gushes about the food and asks them all questions about themselves.

Soon their table is filled with laughter and more drinks as funny stories come about. Many of them are about Calum because his best friends want to embarrass him in front of his ‘girlfriend.’ She enjoys herself, she truly does.

She really feels like she belongs and that they’re all slowly moving towards friendship. Throughout the evening, Grace notices Calum looking at her a lot, it makes her face feel warm. She’s not sure if it’s from the alcohol or his deep brown eyes gazing at her.

The guys order another bottle of wine, Calum is all about having another glass when he notices Grace has gone quiet and she’s playing with her fingers again. He knows the sign of anxiety and she’s doing it right now, whether it’s from the amount of alcohol or just the night in general, he’s not sure.

“You guys enjoy that last bottle, I’ve had enough,” Calum says throwing his napkin on the table and he looks at Grace. “How about you, Grace? Ready to go?” he figures he’d give her an out and if she refuses then he’ll stay.

“Yeah, I’m ready if you are,” she sighs and the twiddling stops.

“Oh sure, leave us with the bill!” Michael hollers and Luke barks out a laugh.

“Oh, get off. I caught the bill at Poison,” Calum shakes his head standing up. He pulls out his wallet anyway and tosses a few twenties on the table. “That should cover me and Grace.”

“Oh, I can put in some—“Grace says reaching for her purse but Calum’s large hands stop her.

“My treat,” he grins rubbing his thumb over her knuckle gently.

“At least let me pay for my drinks—“she shakes her head trying to unzip her purse under his long fingers.

“Man, you’re sweet,” Ashton smiles then glances to Calum. “but it isn’t necessary, don’t worry sweetheart. We’ve got it covered.”

Grace slumps in her seat but finally gave up. “Okay,” she sighs. Calum removes his fingers and helps her out of her chair. “Thank you guys, so much. I really appreciate it.”

“Our pleasure,” Michael smiles. “You kids get home safe now.”

She waves goodbye and Calum nods at them ignoring their eyebrow waggles and winks and follows Grace to the front of the restaurant. The tables are still packed with people and Grace gasps stopping in her tracks causing Calum to nearly knock her over.

“What is it?” he asks in alarm.

“That’s Leonardo Di Caprio!” she whispers excitedly.

Calum looks in the direction she’s subtly pointing in and sure enough, he’s there with a glass of wine and a table full of models and other friends.

“Want to go say hi?” Calum asks enjoying the size of her star struck eyes.

“What?” she squeaks, “are you crazy? I would literally die! Let’s go.”She grabs his wrist pulling him out of the restaurant.

He’s laughing at her as she has her actual freak out in the parking lot. He notices her fingers are still latched around his wrist, he likes the feeling.

“I’m guessing he’s a crush?” he asks once they’re in his car again. It’s nearing midnight and he really doesn’t want to say goodbye yet, even if the drive is fifteen minutes to her hotel.

“Ugh, yes,” she rubs her temples. “He’s so much older than me but I’d marry him in a heartbeat.”

Calum chortles as he peels out of the parking spot and gets onto the main road to go on the highway.

“I’m sorry, that’s really weird to say,” she shakes her head staring at him.

“No it’s not. This is all new to you, I kind of like seeing you experience it all. It’s adorable,” he admits. He inhales through his nose, was that the wrong thing to say?

“You think I’m adorable?”

“Yeah,” he chuckles looking her way to see she’s pointing to herself, “is that a bad thing?”

“No, it’s just . . . have you seen you? You’re the most adorable thing on the planet.”

“I think that’s the mojito in you talking.”

“No, it’s the me in me talking.”

Calum laughs at her verbiage.

“Okay, that made you ten times more adorable now.”

“Your smile makes you fifteen times more adorable,” she insists and it causes him to smile once more. “So you’re in the lead by five, you win. That’s math.”

“Your brain earns you another fifteen.”

“My brain?!” she shrieks in laughter.

“And your laugh, so that’s another ten and your giggle is pretty damn cute so that’s another . . . fifty, I’d say. So no you’re 65 points ahead, you win.”

She huffs in her seat.

“That earned you another five, make it 70 points,” Calum adds smugly.

“You can’t just keep adding! A person can’t be that adorable.”

“You are,” he grins.

“Okay, so I’m at 70 and you’re only at . . .” she thinks back on the numbers they’ve been throwing about “twenty-five?! That’s not fair. Can I give you some of my points?”

“Nope, you keep the points I give you, those are the rules, sorry.”

“Okay then bucko,” she folds her arms angling her body to him in her seat, “you get another twenty because of your laugh, and you get fifteen more for the cute faces you make.”

“What cute faces?”

“There! That’s one of them! You’re doing one right now, ha! So now you’re at 60 and I’m at 70.”

“Can’t even give me an extra ten so we’re tied? Wow, Grace, I thought you were nicer than that,” he shakes his head in mock sadness.

“Okay fine, you get a solid ten for your hair. It’s very Disney-Prince-like.”

“What does that mean?” he laughs making another face.

“It’s so curly and perfectly styled, like a Disney Prince.”

At the stoplight he gives her a sidelong glance. “That earned you another five points.”

“Are you kidding me?!” she throws her hands up in defeat.

“You’re more adorable than me, Grace, just accept the facts. That’s math remember?” he’s leaning across the console giving her a smug look.

“Using my own words against me,” she grumbles and pushes on his forehead lightly so he’s looking at the lights.

He knows it’s an innocent gesture, but his skin is on fire from her touch and it was only on his goddamned forehead.

“Okay Mr. Math Wiz, let’s test your skills.”

“How?”

“Have you ever played War?”

»»»

They’re sitting in the middle of her bed with a deck of cards playing War. High card wins and you keep going until one person has all of the cards. Grace changed into leggings and a large long sleeved shirt as soon as they were in her room, Calum was comfortable enough in his black slacks and black t-shirt.

“Y’know, this isn’t really a math skills game,” he says as they flip their cards. He’s got a 9 and she has 10 so she takes the cards.

“It is a skills game,” she retorts.

“Can I ask you something?”

“Sure.”

“How do you come up with your poems?”

“Um, different things give me inspiration. Usually it’s a word or phrase and it just sparks something in me. Sometimes a song will give me a feeling and I’ll go off on that. I love when word vomit happens, it just keeps coming out, it’s not always good but it’s better than writer’s block,” she explains.

“What do you do when you have writer’s block?”

“Listen to music, read other poetry and go crazy,” she laughs. She snatches two more cards. “I hate writer’s block, especially when I really want to write something good but nothing is flowing. It’s the worst.”

“Do you write them all on your phone?” Calum takes the two cards this time.

“Sometimes,” she nods biting her lip. “but I prefer writing them in a notebook. If you saw my process you’d laugh, it’s so crazy. There’s so many scribbles and circled words, question marks, you name it. It doesn’t look like it makes sense but it makes sense to me.”

“That’s not crazy, that’s your writing process. Mine is pretty similar actually.”

“Really? How so?”

“I like writing songs down in a notebook, too. Makes them more real, I think. I like to know I can physically change it instead of deleting it, cause then I can go back to the first idea if I wanted to,” he explains taking another set.

“That’s how I think, too,” she smiles then abruptly shouts, “I DECLARE WAR!”

“What the hell does that even mean?” he asks with his eyebrows raised.

“We both have the same card, so we draw until one of us has the higher card. Go, go, go!”

Their three cards deep until she has an ace and he has a 5. She laughs a ‘mwahahaha’ as she takes the cards. Calum can’t even be mad.

“That laugh earned you another ten,” he comments putting his card down.

“You’re ridiculous,” she shakes her head.

They stay up playing War until 2:30 in the morning when Grace finally wins it all. She yawns as she pulls together all the cards.

“I should get going so you can get some sleep,” he says rolling off the bed.

“You can’t drive in your condition.”

“My condition?”

“You’re sleepy! That’s just as dangerous as drunk driving, Calum,” she says sternly.

“I promise, I’m fine. I live five minutes away, Grace.”

She stares at him for a beat then gives in, her eyes are heavy. “Fine, but text me when you’re home safe?”

“I promise. Did you have fun tonight?” he asks by the door.

“I did have a lot of fun, thanks for it all.”

“You’re welcome.”

“When um, when exactly does this whole thing . . . start, exactly?” she motions between them.

“Uhh, I think Francesca said on Monday they want us to be seen out in public together. We’ll be releasing the new single in two weeks, so.”

“Right, right,” she nods looking at her toes in the carpet.

“Hey,” Calum says softly so she’ll look up at him. “it’ll be okay, yeah? We’ll come up with our own rules, remember?” he smiles tiredly.

“Yeah, okay,” she sighs bouncing one foot on the floor. “It’s just so weird, you know?”

“I know, but we’ll make it work. We’ll make it be like how tonight was, easy and fun.”

“Easy and fun,” she mutters, “I can handle that.”

“Good. I’m gonna go cause you’re about to fall asleep standing up,” he chuckles. “Sleep well, Grace.”

“I will when you text me you’re home.”

They bid goodbye and he walks down the hallway to the elevator. In the time it takes for Grace to brush her teeth, wipe off her make-up and change into her pajamas, Calum is already home and has texted her.

She shuts the lights off and snuggles into her bed smiling at her phone.

Grace: ‘I’m glad you got home safe (:’

Calum:‘thanks for being concerned. Another ten points ;)’

Grace: ‘calum. I’m almost at 100 points! That’s insane’

Calum: ‘that’s accurate. Now go to sleep and dream sweet dreams.’

Grace:‘I’ll try. You have good dreams, too’

Calum: ‘doubtful, I don’t remember any of my dreams’

Grace: ‘really? That’s sad. I once had a dream I was best friends with Ariana Grande and we were just walking around saying hi to fans. It was so cool’

Calum: ‘Grace.’

Grace: ‘yes?’

Calum: ‘go to sleep lol’

Grace: ‘okay fine’

Calum: ‘goodnight, grace (:’

Grace: ‘goodnight calum, goodnight moon . . .’

#calum hood #calum 5sos #calum hood fanfiction #calum fluff #5sos #5sos imagines #5sos writings #calum imagines #calum hood writings

148 notes · View notes

branlovestowrite · 5 years

Text

CSJJ Day 15: Catching Snowflakes

Catching Snowflakes

Rating: T until the last section and then M because @kmomof4 bullied me into including some smut :-)

Words: ~5,000

Summary: Emma and Henry have just moved to Storybrooke from Tallahassee, and Emma is having a harder time adjusting than her son. She’d feel better about the cold weather if she could just see some friggin’ snow. She’d also feel better if she wasn’t so attracted to her neighbor, best friend, and local barman, Killian Jones.

Notes: This is my story for @csjanuaryjoy and was based on the prompt I’m walking home from the bar and it’s snowing and you see me trying to catch snowflakes on my tongue. As a resident of North Florida, I still remember the first time I saw snow falling and how magical it looked. I thought that magic would be perfect for our favorite couple.

Thanks to @shireness-says and @kmomof4 for being my betas. I love you both!

Also on AO3

Emma walked into the Rabbit Hole and settled on a barstool in the far corner. Placing her clutch on the counter, she pulled off her coat and laid it next to her. By the time she looked up, her savior had arrived.

"Swan," he said with a smile, the lines around his eyes crinkling adorably.

"Jones," she responded, flashing him a small smile of her own.

"Rum and coke?" he asked, already turning to grab the bottle of her preferred spirit.

"No soda tonight. Just the rum, on the rocks."

"Rough night?" He finished preparing the drink and set it down in front of her.

"You have no idea."

"Do you want to talk about it?" he asked, leaning over and resting his hands against the bar. In doing so he gave her a tantalizing view of the thatch of chest hair peeking out from above the deep vee of his t-shirt. She picked up her drink and took a fortifying sip to distract herself from that line of thought. Killian Jones was off limits.

They'd met six months ago when she and her son Henry had moved into the apartment above his, after coming to Storybrooke, Maine, so Henry could be close to his newly discovered father. Before that, they'd lived in Tallahassee, Florida for the entirety of Henry's life.

Growing up in the foster system, Emma had never had anyone to rely on. When she met Neal, Henry's father, she'd fallen hard and fast. On a silly whim, they'd picked Tallahassee as the place they were going to settle down, which made her giddy with joy. She was a bright-eyed, naive seventeen year-old who'd thought she'd finally found her family.

Two days later she learned just how naive she'd truly been, when Neal set her up to take the fall for some jewelry he'd stolen. Because she had a piece of the stolen goods on her person (which he'd said was her engagement ring), she was arrested and charged with grand theft. Her sentence was six months jail time. They charitably released her just one month before Henry was to be born. Neal had disappeared in the wind. Emma had a faint hope that it had all been some big misunderstanding and that Neal was out there, somewhere, waiting for her. So, she scraped together enough money to get to Tallahassee, hoping one day he would find them.

Despite the unfavorable beginning, she'd been happy in Florida. After Henry was born, she met some truly good people who helped her get her life in order. These people became their support system. They helped her get a job, which led her to a career. She began as a secretary at the police department and worked her way up to deputy. She was able to cobble together a good life for herself and her son.

But their nice little bubble had begun to crack two years ago, when Neal made a reappearance in their lives. He was living in Maine, in a small town called Storybrooke where he'd apparently grown up, and found Emma on Facebook.

"How could you never have told me I had a son, Emma?!"

"YOU left me, Neal! You abandoned me to serve time for a crime YOU committed. How was I supposed to find you when I was fresh out of jail with a newborn?!"

Neal was chastened by her words. He backed off, but still insisted on being a part of their lives. He wanted them to move to Storybrooke to be closer, but Emma had refused. Their life was in Tallahassee. She couldn't just pick up and move.

That excuse had worked for about six months, but Neal kept pestering her. Then he convinced her to let Henry spend Christmas with him. Henry immediately fell in love with the town, but seeing snow had been what sealed the deal for him. He came home and talked about nothing other than how badly he wanted to live in Storybrooke.

Emma still insisted they stay put until she could find a job there. She refused to take any handouts from Neal. It took another year before she was able to secure a job as a deputy with the Storybrooke PD. The offer had come in the middle of a heat wave and the idea of moving to a cooler climate was extremely appealing. Emma still had reservations, but she decided to take a chance and accepted the job.

She was able to find an apartment - a large, industrial style open space with a loft area for Henry's bedroom. The place was owned by her new boss, the sheriff, David Nolan and his wife Mary Margaret. They'd lived there for several years before buying a large farm on the outskirts of town to accommodate their growing family. The building was an old warehouse Mary Margaret's family had owned which had been converted into a four-unit apartment building. The only other occupant currently was Emma's downstairs neighbor, Killian.

On they day they were moving in, she'd run into Jones - literally run into him, while she was carrying a box full of kitchen equipment. The bottom obviously hadn't been taped up very well, and the collision had not only knocked them both the ground, but had broken the box, scattering her utensils and tupperware all over the entryway to the building.

"Oh shit!" she yelled, already exhausted from the long drive and just ready to get the move over with.

"Are you alright, love?" he'd asked, his smooth, crisp, accented voice sending chills up her spine. She'd looked up and almost had her breath taken away. He was a gorgeous man, with inky black hair, striking blue eyes, and a chiseled jawline. His facial hair was a few days old, not quite long enough to be a beard, but still an extremely attractive look for him. The light coming through the door caught on his face, highlighting his stubble and revealing more than a few ginger-colored hairs.

"Oh… yes" she'd replied, finally coming back to herself.

"Mom! What happened?" Henry had asked, coming through the door with a box of his own things.

"Nothing dire, I assure you," her new neighbor had replied as he stood and offered her his hand. "Killian Jones, pleased to meet you. I assume you must be moving into the apartment upstairs. Emma and Henry, right?"

"Yes," Emma had responded, suddenly wary. How did he know their names?

"Killian! There you are," Mary Margaret had called out as she stepped through the door. "Whoa," she added as she took in the scene, "what happened here?"

"I bumped into him, I think."

"Okay, well, let's get this stuff picked up." Her new landlord bent over and began collecting the various items that had gone flying. "I see you've met Killian," she added, placing a few utensils into the now overturned box. "I stopped by yesterday and let him know you guys were moving in."

Mary Margaret, after unknowingly calming Emma's anxiety, convinced Killian to help them complete the move-in.

Almost immediately, Emma and Killian struck up a good friendship. He worked at a nearby bar, The Rabbit Hole, which he co-owned with his brother. Emma often found herself visiting Killian there on nights where Henry was sleeping over at his dad's house. That was where she met the other Jones brother, Liam, and his wife, Elsa. Emma took an instant liking to Elsa, and they became fast friends. As a natural result, she ended up spending a lot of time at Liam and Elsa's house, thereby seeing Killian even more frequently.

Over the last six months, she'd become close to Killian and had come to think of him as one of the best friends she'd ever had. There were more than a few romantic thoughts about him, but Emma refused to act on them. She didn't want to mess up their friendship, and she especially didn't want to get involved with a neighbor.

"Emma?" Killian asked, bringing her back to herself. She looked down and saw that she'd finished her rum while lost in thought.

"Can I have another?"

Killian smiled and grabbed the bottle to refill her glass. "Was tonight so bad that you lost yourself in thought while trying to figure out what to tell me?"

She chuckled nervously, afraid to tell him that her thoughts were actually about how she'd rather have been with him than anywhere else. Straightening her shoulders, she met his gaze, determined to be the master of her feelings. "No, nothing like that. It's just… well, I finally agreed to let Walsh take me on a date."

§§§§§§§§§§

Killian felt his heart stop at her words. She'd been on a date? Although the context led him to believe she hadn't had the best time out, he couldn't stop the jealous streak that coursed through his veins. What he wouldn't give to go on a date with Emma Swan, the woman of his dreams.

He'd been stunned by her from the moment they met, when she crashed into him in the entryway of their building. The way the morning sunshine illuminated her golden hair made her appear like an angel, but what truly did him in was the way she looked at him when their gazes met. He was mesmerized by her shining green eyes, creamy skin, and high cheekbones, but her expression was guarded, showing him a strong woman who would broker no bullshit. And few things were more attractive to Killian Jones than a strong woman.

As he got to know Emma and Henry better, he found himself falling hopelessly in love with them both. Henry was a wonderful child: curious, friendly, and smart as a whip. And Emma, once he got past her tough exterior, was one of the kindest and most genuine people he'd ever met. Emma cared deeply for the wellbeing of others, sometimes to the detriment of her own health, and Killian found his life's purpose lately was helping to make her life easier.

Despite the fact that she'd been set up on a few dates, he had sincerely hoped he and Emma could begin explore what he was certain was a mutual attraction. He wasn't oblivious; he saw how she looked at him when she thought no one was watching. But Killian also knew that Emma had to be the one to make the first move. For the last six months he'd been waiting for her to do so, but nothing had happened yet.

And now she was letting that simpering simian Walsh take her out. It was almost too much to bear.

He coughed to clear his throat. "I take it the date didn't go so well?"

"I mean… it wasn't the worst date I've ever been on, but definitely in the top five."

"What made it so terrible?"

"Well, for starters, he took me to Granny's."

"You love Granny's," Killian countered, remembering fondly the meal there he'd shared with her and Henry not even a week ago.

"I do, but not for a date. Granny's is where you go for family dinners. The place doesn't exactly scream romance."

"Don't let the Lady Lucas hear you criticizing her establishment," he admonished, while mentally filed away that little tidbit for future reference. "What else made the date bad?"

"He was just boring," Emma bemoaned. "He spent the majority of the time talking about his store and why he decided to start a furniture business, and how it was booming and how he made so much money on Etsy and blah, blah blah, blah blah. He and I have nothing in common." She drained her glass as if she were trying to wash away the very mention of him.

"Why did you agree to the date?" Killian refilled her glass as he spoke, refusing to make eye contact.

"I don't know… because he kept pestering me. And because he's so different from guys I usually go for. I thought maybe I'd have better luck with someone I normally wouldn't look at twice. And also this town is desperately lacking eligible men."

Killian couldn't help himself. "There's really no one more eligible than Mr. Ozman the furniture maker?" He lifted his eyebrows and threw her a wry smile.

"Well… yeah," she said, looking away as she took another sip. "I mean, there are maybe men in town that are more eligible, but they're not options for me."

"No one?"

"No!" she said, slamming her fist on the counter next to her nearly empty drink. "Pour me another, please."

"You're knocking those back rather fast, Swan. Are you sure you don't want some water?"

"Nope. I'm good with my rum. Fill 'er up barkeep!" She gave him a flirty smile, and, god help him, he couldn't deny her anything. The bar was empty, and entertaining Emma made the time pass by faster. He poured her another measure and set the bottle on the counter behind him.

By the time she finished her fourth glass, she was quite inebriated, as evidenced by her constant talking. Emma Swan was normally very stoic, but get a few drinks in her and she became a chatterbox. Killian surmised that she must have had a few beers at Granny's before she made her way to the bar.

"I mean, what even is this town?" she asked as she waved her hand in the air. "There are less than 3,000 people living here! That's so tiny! You know how many people Tallahassee has? 191,000! That's like six… sixty… you know, it's just a fuck ton more people, that's what it is!"

"Alright Swan," he said, walking around the bar to join her at her side, "I believe you've had enough. Why don't you come sit in my office while I wrap a few things up and then I'll walk you home?"

She stood and didn't protest as he grabbed her things and escorted her toward the back, but she also continued talking. "And the weather… what the hell is up with this weather? I've been here six months, and it's been cold as balls, but there's no fucking snow! That's not right! I haven't seen a good snowfall in more than a decade. If I have to deal with this cold weather, I at least deserve to see some damned snow, right?"

"Couldn't agree with you more, love." He settled her in his office chair and leaned over her slightly to grab the keys from their hook on the wall.

Emma smiled and blushed when he did so, but mercifully her mouth remained closed. He departed the office and went about closing up the few remainings items in the bar before returning.

"Ready love?" he asked as he stepped over the threshold twenty minutes later. He paused as he looked down and saw that she was fast asleep, her head pillowed on her arms as she leaned over his desk. Smiling, he stepped over to her and placed a hand on her shoulder. "Emma? Love? It's time to go home."

She awoke with a groan. "Tired…" she mumbled into her bicep.

"I know darling. But we are only a few steps from home. You will be glad in the morning when you wake up in your bed rather than with a sore neck from sleeping on my desk."

"You're right," she said, sitting up. "Besides," she said with a yawn, "there are other bedroom things I'd like to do on this desk." She seemed to realize what she said a moment too late and looked up at him in shock, her faced flushing a deep red.

Ever the gentleman, Killian chose to ignore her words. He picked up her coat and motioned for her to stand up. She did so reluctantly, but he was able to help her into the garment and get it buttoned up. He looked warily at her shoes. There may not be snow on the ground, but there was still ice and he wasn't sure how he felt about her walking on slippery roads in four-inch heels.

Emma recognized where he was looking and stomped her foot defiantly. "I'll be fine, Jones," she said, reading his mind. "Let's go."

Killian set the alarm and locked up the building. Once everything was secure, he turned to see Emma leaning against the brick wall and staring at him unevenly. He smiled and grabbed her hand, threading it through his arm. They proceeded to walk the two blocks it would take to get to their apartment building.

As they walked along, he looked up at the sky and had to do a double take. Sure enough, flakes were starting to fall. Emma seemed oblivious, so he shook her hand a bit. "Look up."

She turned her head skyward and her face broke out in a grin so radiant it could outshine the moon. "Snow!" she squealed, pulling away from him and spinning in a circle. "I haven't seen snow since I was a kid!" She tilted her head further back and opened her mouth wide to catch a few flakes. Her pure, childlike joy warmed his heart.

"Finally!" she cried out, spinning once more. She stopped suddenly, dropping her chin and giving him a sultry look. Sauntering over, she grabbed onto the lapels of his jacket. "Aren't you happy for the snow?" she whispered, her mouth mere inches from his own.

"I'm happy to see you so happy, love," he replied, beaming down at her.

Emma stared into his eyes a moment longer before she surged forward and captured his lips with her own. The kiss caught him off guard, but he'd wanted it too long to push her away now. He returned the embrace, capturing her upper lip between his own and sucking gently. She moaned and opened her mouth wider, moving her hands to grab the back of his head and deepen the kiss. Time stopped in that moment, the only sound being their short breaths as they desperately tried to keep going.

Finally it became too much and she pulled away, once more holding onto his lapels and resting her forehead against his. They both gulped in deep breaths of air, the cold stinging their lungs.

Killian came back to himself and abruptly reared his head back as he recalled her drunken state. "Emma… I shouldn't have-"

"Don't," she interrupted, pressing a finger to his lips. "Don't apologize for what was the greatest kiss of my life. I may be drunk, but not drunk enough to kiss you against my will. I fully and totally consented to it, and I'd gladly do it again."

"Truly, you don't know how much of a relief it is to hear that." She smiled and lifted up on her toes to kiss him again, but he dodged her. "I'd still rather we waited for a repeat performance until after you've slept it off."

"Fine," she grunted, releasing him and stomping ahead a few paces. "Killian Jones, the gentleman, everyone!" She swung her arms around to gesture at him Vanna White-style. "Step right up and see it for yourself! A man who doesn't want to take advantage of a drunk woman who is dying to jump his bones! Truly a marvel!"

She was hurt, he could see that clear as day, but he would not relent. He quickened his pace and caught up just as her feet slipped out from underneath and she went tumbling to the ground. "Damnit!" she yelled as she struggled to pick herself up. "I'm such a klutz. No wonder you don't want me."

"Now wait a damn minute!" He raised his voice to stop her drunken spiral. "I never said that." Effortlessly he lifted her back to her feet, steadying her with his hands on her shoulders. "I've wanted you since the moment I met you." His eyes pleaded with her as he spoke. "I just don't want you to have any chance to regret things between us."

Emma looked down with a huff. "You are such a… a…" she lifted her eyes once more and her gaze suddenly softened. "You're a good guy, Killian Jones."

He smirked at her. "Come on, let's go home." He pulled her into his side and continued their trek.

§§§§§§§§§§

The sunlight pouring through the window was blinding and Emma groaned, pulling her pillow over her face. She tried in vain to will her blistering headache to go away, thanking the fates that Henry was staying with Neal one more night, and she could stay at home and nurse her hangover while avoiding the world in the process.

She snuggled deeper into the plush bedding as her awareness slowly returned. Her eyes were still firmly closed, but she began to recognize the smell of the bedding. There was the distinct scent of man surrounding her. She ran a hand along the sheets and could feel they were made of a very tight weave, much nicer than her own. And the comforter was infinitely warmer. She'd have to make note of the brand so she could buy a proper one, rather than the light quilt she'd been using that only worked in Florida winters.

Taking another deep inhale, Emma realized she knew that scent. It was Killian's smell. Making a quick check, she found that, rather wearing her own clothes, she was dressed in a men's t-shirt and boxers. She groaned again and threw her arm over her pillow-covered head. What had they done last night?

"Good morning love," Killian said as he stepped into the room. There was the sound of a thunk, followed by the aroma of coffee, indicating that he'd brought her a mug of the amazing brew he liked to make in his french press. "How do you feel?"

"Lower your voice!" she hissed. His volume was not loud, but in light of her pounding headache, he may as well have been yelling. Taking a deep breath, she slowly peeled the pillow away from her face, keeping her eyes squinted while they adjusted to the light. Once she sat up Killian offered her a bottle of water and two ibuprofen. She smiled at him gratefully and took the painkillers, downing half the water with them.

"I'm sorry I was so drunk you couldn't even get me up the stairs."

"You were nearly asleep by the time we made it to building. I figured it would be easier to have you rest here."

"What happened? What did I do?"

He grimaced. "Do you remember any of it?"

She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, trying hard to clear her mind and recall what happened just a few hours ago. It all came back in a flash. "I kissed you."

"Aye," he responded, reaching over and handing her the coffee mug.

Emma took a fortifying sip, enjoying the taste of the rich brew doctored with cream and sugar just how she liked it. They sat in silence for a moment, Killian watching Emma while she watched her cup of coffee.

"Do you regret it?" he asked, finally breaking the tension.

She took another deep breath before peering up to meet his eyes. "No. I don't."

"Is it something you'd like to do again?"

She looked pensive for a moment longer before cracking a smile. "Yes, I want to kiss you again, Killian." He began to lean forward, but she stopped him with a hand on his chest. "Not yet, though. I'd like to shower and brush my teeth first."

He smirked in response. "I think you'll find, Swan, that I am an infinitely patient man."

Their flirty banter, along with the water, painkillers, and coffee, had Emma feeling ten times better than when she'd woken up only moments ago. She tilted her head and looked at him coquettishly. "I think you'll find, Jones, that I am not a patient woman. Give me thirty minutes to get cleaned up, and then I'm gonna come back down here and rock your world."

"Oh, there will be coming, alright."

Emma broke into a full cackle at his words. "Seriously? I know you have better game than that, Jones."

"Go get cleaned up, darling, and then you can find out."

Emma practically leapt out of the bed, grabbing her clutch and racing upstairs. She showered quickly, but made sure to take a few moments for some body hair removal. The shower helped to shake off the last vestiges of her hangover. Standing in front of her closet, wrapped in only her plush navy blue bathrobe, she contemplated what the wear when there was a knock on the front door. She groaned at the intrusion, mourning the potential loss of time alone with Killian, before tightening her robe and moving to answer the knock.

She opened the door to find Killian standing there, looking sinfully sexy in a pair of low-slung jeans and a loose t-shirt. He stared down at her preditorially. "Swan," he breathed before stepping into her space and capturing her mouth with his own.

Emma stepped back and he followed, slamming the door and locking it behind them. He then spun their bodies, pinning her to the wall as his lips traveled down her jaw. "Not that I'm complaining," she said, pausing to moan wantonly, "but I thought we were going to do this at your place."

"I guess I'm not as patient as I claim to be," he replied, tracing her collarbone with his tongue. "Take this off," he commanded, tugging at her robe, and she hurried to comply. Her hands fumbled with the belt for a moment before it fell open, revealing her naked body. He stepped back and admired her as she squirmed under his scrutiny. "Gorgeous," he breathed before pushing the robe off her shoulders.

The cold air on her heated skin was a shock. Emma silently thanked herself for deciding not to wash her hair this morning. She could only imagine how much colder she'd feel with wet hair dripping down her back.

His hands warmed her body as they roamed over her breasts, across her stomach, and around to her rear before encouraging her to spread her legs and wrap them around his hips. With her core pressed to his own, he ground their bodies together while his mouth dove down to take a hardened pink nipple between his lips. Emma hissed at the sensation of his warm mouth on the stiffened peak, speeding up the motions of her pelvis. She could feel the erection underneath his jeans, and the combination of it and the ridge of his fly gave her just the right amount of pressure on her clit. She'd been so worked up thinking about him in the shower that it only took a few more minutes until she felt the first blush of her orgasm wash over her body.

"Oh my god… Killian… I'm gonna… I'm… ahhh!" she moaned, throwing her head back and crying out in ecstacy.

"You are so bloody beautiful, Swan," he said, gently kissing her as she came down from her high.

"Your turn," she said in a rush, placing her legs back down on the ground. She took a moment to steady herself before putting her hands on his shoulders and making to turn them.

"No, Emma," he said, his voice commanding. "I'm in charge right now, and you will do as I say. Go sit on the bed, on your knees."

Emma shivered, and not from the cold air in the room. "Yes sir," she replied breathily before complying with his order. When she was positioned how he wanted, he walked over and stood at the foot of the bed, removing his shirt and jeans until he stood before her in all his naked glory. She bit her lip as she looked up at him.

"See something you like, darling?" he asked, wrapping his long fingers around his cock and pumping slowly.

"Mmmm… yes sir," she moaned.

He crawled on the bed, placing his knees on either side of her hips. His hand slid down and lightly grazed her outer lips before he slid two fingers inside her. "Bloody fuck you're wet," he groaned. He pumped his fingers two more times before removing them and spreading some of the moisture on his cock. "Where do you keep your condoms, love?"

"I don't have any," she breathed. "The ones I had were expired and I threw them out before the move."

"Then it's a good thing I came prepared," he replied with a chuckle. He stood up and grabbed his jeans, extracting a foil square. Quickly sheathing his length, he slid back onto the bed, this time behind her, and wrapped his hands around her waist. With a squeeze of his hips he encouraged her to lift herself so he could position his aching cock just below her entrance. After a torturously slow few seconds, she sank all the way down.

They both moaned when he bottomed out. The feeling of being full was almost too much. His hands wandered, one landing on her breast and the other slipping down to her clit. He rubbed it in ever tightening circles before pushing her body forward, changing their position to doggy style as he pumped his hips faster. Emma cried out at the quickened pace of his fingers, and she once again felt the tinglings of an orgasm. They continued for a moment longer before, all at once, she was hit with another flood of sensation. She cried out and squeezed him tight, her release triggering his own. The room was filled with their cries as they both took their pleasure.

They collapsed onto the bed, Killian pulling her to him so that her back lined up with his front. They both panted heavily as their heart rates slowed. Once they were each more composed, Emma sighed contentedly.

"I guess I should be grateful for rum and the snow finally giving me the courage I needed to make a move."

"If you aren't, then I will be grateful enough for the both of us."

She smiled and lightly slapped his arm before settling more into his embrace.

"I am curious about one thing," he said a moment later.

"Yeah?" she asked.

"If it took rum and snow for that to happen, what will it take for you to act on the urge to do those 'other bedroom things' in my office you mentioned last night?"

Emma blushed momentarily before smiling to herself. "You'll just need to wait to find out."

@artistic-writer @bleebug @cat-sophia @courtorderedcake @distant-rose @flslp87 @gingerchangeling @hollyethecurious @initiala @jonirobinson64 @kmomof4 @kymbersmith-90 @laschatzi @lassluna @lillpon @nerdyhuntress @resident-of-storybrooke @rouhn @searchingwardrobes @sherlockianwhovian @shireness-says @snidgetsafan @snowbellewells @teamhook @thejollyroger-writer @thislassishooked @winterbythesea @winterbaby89 @wingedlioness @wyntereyez @yayimallamaagain

#csjj #csjj 2019 #cs january joy #cs ff #cs smut #neighbors au #friends to lovers #bartender!killian #drunk!emma

94 notes · View notes

matrixaffiliate · 6 years

Text

Like the Storybooks

From the dynamic duo that brought you Glimpsing Happiness, PJ and I are proud to bring you another Blackinnon AU! Please enjoy, Like the Storybooks!

Marlene is the next in line to the throne, until her cousin James provides the kingdom with an heir. Being an eligible heiress attracts loathsome suitors. King James’s right hand man, Sir Sirius, could help her fend them off, but the knight of mysterious origins seems intent on becoming the next Sir Galahad.

We’ll update two chapters every Saturday, but you get four chapters today because I’m MIA next week. We’ll pick up again on Dec. 1st. <3

Co-written with @hufflepuffmarlenemckinnon

FFN and AO3

Chapter 1

It was unnerving, how quickly one's life could change. Half a year ago, Marlene had been far enough down the line of succession to be able to live her life more or less the way she wanted. Then the storm began. First, her Uncle and Aunt, Their Majesties King Fleamont and Queen Euphemia were taken by the plague, leaving her cousin James and his new wife Lily to reign over the kingdom of Phoenixordo, earlier than anyone had prepared for. Then, out of nowhere, her parents succumbed to the plague as well. Like the thunder after a strike of lightning, the newly anointed King James sent orders that Marlene was to live at the capital castle. As heiress presumptive to the throne, she needed protection. James’s letter, written to his cousin in his own hand stated, ‘I already have a Kingdom to manage, thus, I needn’t expend my energy fretting endlessly over my only family being kidnapped or murdered because she's too far away for me to keep an eye on her.’

Marlene resented the comment, but she had to admit, she had a bit of a reputation. Her father and mother had doted on her endlessly. She was their only child, and she was as bright as she was beautiful. Marlene was exactly what fairytales wrote about when they described princesses. Her blonde hair fell in gentle waves. The spark behind the vibrant blue of her eyes hinted at her spirited nature. She moved with such a grace that she’d become something of a distraction for the stable hands and serving boys. Her father had insisted that she was the most beautiful princess in the kingdom from the time she was 10. Her mother had constantly fussed over her, her hair, her clothes, and her posture. They'd given her the absolute best tutors and she'd excelled in her studies and was as sharp as a whip. Marlene was everything the world had expected of her. But after the course of the last month, the Princess was also very much alone.

At least with her cousin, King James, she might have some reprieve from feeling the constant weight of the loss of her parents. It hurt, and Marlene couldn't seem to move past the pain that ached in her chest. The thought that someone would use her as bargaining was troubling enough on its own, but added with everything else made her breathing labored. She welcomed the feeling of safety that came with living in the same fortress as his Majesty. It helped her to feel more secure than she had managed those few nights in her father's castle - her castle, she remembered - after James’ letter and guarded escort had arrived. She hadn't brought much, well, except her entire collection of dresses - which now included her mother's wardrobe - but those were essentials. At some point, she'd be able to put on her colorful dresses again without feeling a sense of wrongness within herself. Someday she wouldn't see her mother in every damned mirror. Someday.

Marlene had hated carriage rides since she was a child. They gave her headaches and made her spine rattle. She would have preferred to ride the whole way there on the back of her chestnut mare, Truda, but James’ guards advised her that it was completely out of the question. She missed the feeling of being a few very important places further down the line of succession. As a girl, and even as a maiden princess to some extent, she’d been permitted to do as she pleased; now she felt like someone’s gold chess piece.

Her ill temper was only increased by one of the courtiers of His Majesty's Court who decided his presence was necessary for her arrival. She stepped out of the carriage and tried to ignore the pounding in her very bones as the man stepped up to her. His features were not in and of themselves hideous. But it was somewhat disconcerting that it looked like he'd seen a portrait of her and then taken it upon him to recreate her image on himself. The way he styled and presented himself though was astoundingly garish. He wore an all lavender outfit, which he strutted about in with such flagrant pride that the color must have been intentional choice, rather than some aging tailor’s error. It made him resemble a decorative baked sweet. His curly blond hair was a bit of puffed cream topping and his blue eyes were some sort of garnish. That sort of thing never even tastes any good, in Marlene’s opinion. The overall image was hideous, and it would have perhaps been something to laugh to herself about later if it were not for the idiot believing that he was permitted to speak.

“Your Grace,” the man bowed and Marlene's upbringing and training kicked in and she nodded politely to acknowledge him before continuing to follow the escort to His Majesty’s office.

“I am Gilderoy Lockhart, Marquess of Occamy, heir to the Duchy of Oblivium, It’s an honor to make your acquaintance.” He followed after her and Marlene bit her tongue to keep from lashing out at him. He had no right to trouble her with his loathsome voice, let alone trail along after her like a spaniel.

“How lovely for you, my Lord.” She picked up the pace of her steps, in hopes of getting the point across.

“Not as lovely as you, dear Princess. You are everything that was rumored and more.”

“Yes, well,” Marlene focused on being a princess and controlling her tongue, “kind of you to listen to Court gossip about me and all but I have an appointment with his Majesty.”

“By all means, but do allow me the honor of escorting you to the door.” He moved to take her arm but she sidestepped him.

Marlene pursed her lips and let out a slow and even breath to steady her will. She knew there was no polite way to get rid of this clown, so she’d need to endure him for another hundred paces or so. She would just have to survive the pain of swallowing her more brazen insults.

“If you must.” She chose a lofty tone to try and push the issue that she was anything but interested in his company.

“I must. And I must confess that I have been longing to meet you since I saw your portrait. Never in my life have I seen a noble lady who looked quite so like myself. If we were to wed, our heirs would be so beautifully golden that the sun itself would look dull by comparison.”

Was this dunce truly out of his mind? Marlene smiled as her destination came into sight. “Right well… Best not give the sun any cause for anger. Good day, Lord Gilderoy.” With that, she let the door slam in Lockhart's face, taking pleasure in the moment of silence before she heard James chuckle.

“Little Marly is still slamming doors I see. Welcome to your new home, Cousin.” He stood and embraced her and Marlene took a moment to just be glad to be with family again, the last few months had been incredibly lonely. She and James had been great friends as young children, but it became dangerous to travel about a year before James started as a squire, Marlene’s parents put her visits to a halt. They kept her at home to protect her, and consequently, the cousin pair drifted apart. She took note of the small changes in what was Uncle Monty’s office while she was a child, with her only cousin's arms around her shoulders. Her only family now, she reminded herself. Whatever differences there were, the warm welcome of her cousin was a relief. She could finally start to fill in some of the emptiness that dwelt within her since they'd buried her parents.

“I only slam doors when someone has made themselves a pest.” She stepped out from his embrace and smirked up at him. He had gotten impossibly taller in the years she hadn't seen him.

“Who could possibly be pestering you?” James laughed and pulled a soft chair out for her. Marlene fell into it gladly.

“Some Lord Lockhart seems to be under the impression that I'd be his perfect bride,” Marlene drawled as James handed her a drink.

“Ah, that unfortunately,” James took a seat across from her and threw his feet onto the desk, “will be a problem in the foreseeable future. You’re my heiress presumptive. Even imbeciles like Lockhart know that marrying you is the best chance any other family has to ending up on the throne.”

“James, the absolute last thing I want is to end up on the throne. So would you mind doing your heiress presumptive a favor? Presume to go get an heir upon your wife! I’d be forever in your debt if you’d bestow upon me a little nephew or niece to dote on... and push all this ridiculous responsibility on to. Immediately would be preferable, but I’ll be kind and wait 9 moons.”

Marlene nearly jumped when a woman with beautiful red hair and piercing green eyes walked in laughing, accompanied by a tall man with jet black hair and pale skin. He could easily be the best looking man she'd ever seen, but Marlene reminded herself that after dealing with Lord Lockhart for five minutes she may very well have found something deeply appealing in anyone who was not him.

“Ah, my love,” James stood and the tall man smirked.

“Really your Majesty, not in front of the Queen! You’ll make her jealous.”

Marlene laughed, this man was dry, but there was something about the way he held himself that made Marlene feel like he was carrying a weight far greater than his humor could maintain.

James rolled his eyes and pulled the woman into his arms. “Lily this is the Princess Marlene, my cousin, and as she reminded me, the next in line until we produce an heir. She seems to think we ought to be putting more effort into that endeavor.” He nuzzled her neck and Queen Lily laughed.

Marlene curtsied low, with practiced elegance, “Your Majesty, it's so wonderful to meet you.”

Lily bowed her head, “Your Grace, I hope you'll find our castle to be a home to you now.”

Marlene chuckled, “Is that enough formality?”

“Heavens, yes!” Lily laughed and embraced Marlene. “I've heard so much about you from James and I've been so excited to get to meet you! He tells me you're quite the scholar. None of the Ladies here were properly educated and if I have to spend one more afternoon discussing the most popular color for fabrics this season, I'm going to scream.”

“Well, just respond to every comment on fabric colors with something philosophical or ask them about the fabric dye that most represents their mortal soul.” Marlene grinned wickedly and Lily laughed.

“I'm going to abscond with her,” she turned to James.

“Ah good,” the tall man drawled, “now my dearest King and I can profess our undying love and escape away unhindered.”

Lily rolled her eyes, “Marlene this is Sir Sirius. He's our cousin on his Majesty’s mother's side and his dearest friend. He’s let his reputation as the bravest knight in the kingdom go straight to his head. He thinks he can command an army and the heart of my own loving husband… the nerve” Lily smiled at her jest.

“One simply does one's best. Your Grace,” he nodded to her.

Marlene nodded politely and noted that he didn't immediately propose marriage, or really bother with her at all. That was what she wanted with these new courtiers, to be left alone.

“I regret that we must bid you farewell until dinner, dear Ladies.” James kissed Lily's hand and stared at her for a moment like a lovesick puppy before sighing and pulling away. “Sir Sirius and I have some work to hammer out.”

Lily linked her arm with Marlene's and pulled her through a different door that thankfully didn't have Lord Gilderoy Lockhart standing on the other side.

#blackinnon #blackinnon fanfiction #sirius black x marlene mckinnon #sirius x marlene #jily #medieval au #medieval fantasy au #trebuchets

4 notes · View notes

suckerforsoulmates · 6 years

Text

The Best Surprise (Camren)

"So, Camila! You've had quite the year, haven't you?" Kate, the interviewer asked the now Grammy nominated singer.

"It has been quite the ride, that's for sure. It's been incredible. Very surreal though." She said with a short laugh.

"I can't help but notice that you haven't met your soulmate yet."

"I haven't met her yet." Camila confirmed, even though her eyes told everyone all they needed to know.

Camila's right eye was a deep coffee brown, while her left eye was a fluctuating pale to emerald green, sometimes small gold flakes throughout.

"She certainly has incredible eyes." Kate commented.

"That she does. I can't wait to meet her, that way we can each have both of our eyes be their natural color. I want to be able to stare at her eyes all the time."

"You're so sweet, she's going to be lucky to have you."

"I think it'll be the other way around probably. I'm going to be lucky that she'll put up with me."

"Do you ever worry about her using you for your status?"

"I really don't. I did when I was first coming onto the scene, but I eventually realized that these are our soulmates for a reason, so whether she's famous or not, I'm hopeful we'll be able to figure it out."

"That's really insightful, thank you! I hope you have a great rest of your day and upcoming tour!"

"Thank you, I appreciate it!"

Lauren was currently lying in bed at 4am scrolling through her tumblr when she came across a message she was tagged in by a fan.

Lauren! Check out this video of Camila Cabello singing her new song acoustically! (But mainly just look at those eyes)

Lauren had come off of a tour 3 months ago, and since then had been pulling really obscure hours at her label, recording and writing songs, both by herself and with other people. She knew exactly who Camila was, having jammed out to her music many times, and had seen some full pictures of her red carpet outfits and thought that she was incredibly talented, but also gorgeous.

She quickly clicked on the video and was in awe of the girl's talent, especially on the acoustic version. She made it all the way to the end of the video when Camila has finished singing and was now telling a joke.

"So the other day I was doing an interview at this studio, but they were also apparently having like a clown convention or something. So when I walked up to the door, this clown in front of me stopped and held the door open for me." She paused for affect. "It was a really nice jester." She said with a stone face before she broke into hysterical laughter.

Lauren had to pause the video she was laughing so hard, partly enjoying the joke, and partly thinking the girl was beyond adorable. She played the video again, wanting to see how it would end.

"Get it? Get it? A jester! Like a gesture!" She managed to force out, still laughing wildly.

Lauren sat back and chuckled, still thinking about the joke and the younger girl's response. Once her eyes finished watering from laugher, she was able to refocus and properly admire the girl's beauty as it was her first time seeing the girl up close.

"Wow." Lauren muttered, enjoying the Latina's beauty. She was about to continue scrolling to another video when she caught glimpse of her eyes and realized that they looked suspiciously like Lauren's.

The raven-haired girl had become to accustomed to everyone having two different eye colors, that she hardly paid attention to the colors themselves.

However, it was harder to do that with Camila as she recognized both of the younger singer's eye colors, as they looked to be the same ones she looked at in the mirror every day.

"How have I not heard about this before now? I'm sure it's just a fluke though. She's probably got a normal soulmate out there somewhere. Like a teacher or something." She mumbled to herself.

She quickly clicked on a tag about Camila and began scrolling like crazy through both pictures and videos of the Cuban singer. She was attempting to determine if she thought the eye colors were a match or not.

"Well, guess we'll have to wait and see what happens when we meet each other." Lauren supposed as she finally decided to go to bed, sure that they would no doubt cross paths at some point.

"Camila! You need to get backstage and get ready to perform." Her assistant-and friend-said to her, from her spot next to the woman in the audience for the Grammy's.

"Right! I'll be back in a bit. Can you hold my stuff for me, please?" She asked as she gave her the clutch she was holding and then took off for the back while none of the cameras were on her.

The brunette was walking through the backstage area quickly, on the way to the room she had been in earlier for dress rehearsals. She turned a corner quickly and ran into an unsuspecting woman.

"Oh my gosh, I'm so sorry! I'm so clumsy, are you..." She paused for a few seconds, just staring at the woman in front of her. "Okay?" She managed to finish off with a mumble.

"Wow." The woman she ran into muttered, both of them taken aback as they realized that their eyes had become their normal colors.

"It's really nice to meet you, Lauren." Camila said softly, sticking her hand out to shake her newly found soulmate's hand.

"You know who I am?" Was the first thing out of the raven-haired woman's mouth as Camila just tilted her head adorably.

"Of course I do, I love your music. And your style, you look amazing." The younger singer said as she looked at Lauren's whole outfit-a stunning fitted, floor length black dress.

"Likewise. For everything you just said, Camila."

"Your eyes are incredible. I'm really lucky that I've gotten to look at one for the past 23 years of my life, but I think this view is way better." Camila said smoothly, internally applauding herself and trying to remember exactly what she'd said so she could tell Dinah later.

"Camila! Come on! You're on in 5 minutes, you need to change and get your mic on!" One of the stage managers said as he finally found the Cuban singer.

"Right, right. I'll be there in 30 seconds. Lauren, I'm really sorry, I've got to go."

"I get it! I'll be back here still when you're done if you wanted to talk or anything." She said, suddenly self-conscious.

"Of course! We'll have to exchange phone numbers if you'd like. And I'd love a picture of us together tonight." She said quickly as she was pulled away from the green-eyed beauty.

"Of course! Have fun, I'll be back here!"

"What? She did not. She met her soulmate backstage! I bet it was Lauren." Sarah, Camila's assistant mouthed to herself in the audience as she caught a glimpse of the singer's now both brown eyes as she performed on stage.

Sarah quickly stood up and rushed backstage, wanting to be there when she finished the performance to grill her friend on what happened.

"Sarah, hey!" Camila said, slightly out of breath as she walked off the stage.

"That's all you're going to say to me right now? You met your soulmate!" Sarah said, her voice and face showing complete joy as Camila beamed back at her.

"I know! She's beautiful, dude. Like stunning. It's Lauren Jauregui. How even." Camila said, at a loss for words. "I'm glad you're here though because you have my phone and we're going to exchange phone numbers and I wanted a picture of the two of us together tonight." She added as her assistant nodded back at her.

"Of course. Why don't you go change back into your normal dress and then we can find her?"

"Lauren! There you are!" Camila said, smiling as the raven-haired woman turned around with a huge smile on her face.

"Sorry, I just had to present an award, so I was onstage."

"No problem. This is my assistant and friend, Sarah. Sarah, this is Lauren."

"Nice to meet you." The blonde said, shaking Lauren's outstretched hand.

"Nice to meet you too. Camila, you did an incredible job!"

"Thank you, I appreciate it."

After exchanging phone numbers and effectively following each other on all social media, the two had to go back to their seats, which Sarah gave up her seat to let the two sit next to each other.

After the Grammy's were over, the two decided against going to any afterparties and instead went out to eat and spend some time together before Camila started her tour 2 days later.

The next morning, Lauren woke up to the greatest Instagram post.

Tonight, I received the greatest thing of all time. No, not the Grammy (that is amazing though), but I finally met my soulmate. Camila had written, complete with a picture of her and Lauren, with Camila holding her Grammy in her hand, her other arm wrapped around Lauren's waist.

Both girls were beaming and had agreed it was okay to tell the masses that they were soulmates since people would surely figure it out after seeing red carpet pictures of the two with their pre-soulmate eyes, and then seeing them again partway through the night with their normal eye color. Paired with them deciding to sit next to each other in the audience, it was basically a sure thing that they were found out.

Lauren smirked as she scrolled through her phone and found a cute picture of the two of them holding In'N'Out burgers while wearing their fancy dresses and quickly posted it.

Met this stunner of a soulmate last night. She brought the house down and then made me laugh for about an hour straight. So glad I met her last night-and you best believe that you'll be seeing me on her tour-whether I'm invited or not! She wrote, complete with a winking face emoji, knowing that Camila had already invited her to visit the tour, either to perform, or just hang out with Camila.

She smiled down at the picture one last time before she was alerted about a text from Camila.

Hey, gorgeous. Breakfast this morning?

#camren #soulmate #fanfic

46 notes · View notes

ittybittypbandj · 6 years

Text

The Internship - Chapter 1

Trying my hand at a multi-chapter Bittyparse fic! 5 chapters, weekly updates. Also on ao3. <3

Summary:

Eric Bittle arrived in New York two weeks ago, newly single and ready for a fresh start. This internship was just what he needed to jumpstart his life.

Kent Parson loved his life in New York. He was at the peak of his NHL career. He had friends, the world's greatest cat, and everything he thought he needed.

He never expected a small Southern blonde to burst into his life and turn everything on its head.

Bitty frowned hard at the red bowtie. He twisted away from the mirror, tugging it off as he reached for the lavender one. Lordy, lavender was just as bad. How had all his favorite ties had become gauche overnight?

His mama had reassured him over Skype last night, "Don't worry, Dicky. You'll do great. You'll charm the socks off 'em. Before you know it, they'll be movin' you over to that food magazine you love so much." And he was gonna prove her right. He just needed to put in a little time, show them what he could do.

But how could he do it in a tie that screamed I don't know what I'm doing and by the way I’m bad with animals?

Okay fine, maybe it wasn't the tie's fault. If this were Jack’s first game of the season, Bitty would be reminding him to breathe right about now. He would be alright. He was Eric Richard Bittle. He could land a double Axel with his eyes closed and bake a flourless chocolate cake in Georgia in July. He could do this.

Bitty had moved to Brooklyn two weeks ago, eager to start his new internship in Manhattan. For the next three months he would be a Social Media Associate for Fancy Feline cat food. The job paid a stipend - not much, but enough to finance his matchbook-sized bedroom and name-brand butter - and there was a possibility at the end to extend his contract. It wasn't exactly his dream job, but what was a boy supposed to do? A year out of college, a degree in American Studies, and no experience? Employers weren't exactly banging down his door with offers.

A year ago, Bitty thought Jack was his future. At graduation, he had plans of moving in with Jack, finding a job in Providence, and settling down into their shared life.

After Bitty moved to Providence, he’d sent resume after resume to employers but couldn’t find a job. Jack was out of town frequently and Bitty didn’t have any local friends – Lardo and Shitty and Holster and Ransom were all in Boston, which was just far enough away to be logistically difficult – and he found himself more isolated than he expected.

Bitty also realized that he’d only experienced Jack’s intensity and anxiety through the rosy lens of infatuation. They both struggled with the shift in their living situation, lord knows it was as hard on Jack as it was on him. In April when Jack’s playoff run ended abruptly from a wrist injury and an eight-week recovery, Bitty’d been ready to poke out his own eye rather than face another day of both of them at home, dancing around the fact that this just wasn’t working.

And so, after they’d finally talked and cried and shared a joint session with Jack’s therapist, Bitty and Jack called it quits and Bitty tearfully phoned Lardo to break the news. He’d stayed on her and Shitty’s lumpy couch in Boston for two months while Shitty called in a family favor and helped him land this internship.

Even after everything, Bitty was feeling hopeful. All he needed was a few months' experience and a job on his resume more substantial than ‘running a baking vlog’. He took a deep breath and released it, checked his hair one last time, queued up Queen Bey on his headphones, and headed for the subway.

_/_/_/ \_\_\_

Bitty’s first day at the office was a whirlwind of new faces and information. Meesha, Bitty’s fellow intern and apparently the person in charge, led him on a brisk tour through the office and he practically skip-jogged to keep up with her. While they walked, she peppered him with information about the department.

"You’ll coordinate the images and story for all the social media platforms, and you’ll directly manage the endorsement relationships." Meesha glanced over her shoulder to check that he was keeping up. "I do all the site and ad placement, and Tito runs the admin side. We're all a hot mess this week prepping for Kit, but don’t worry - we'll get you settled in just fine."

"Kit?" Bitty asked.

"Oh yeah, Kit Purrson. She's launching as the face of Fancy Feline in, like, three weeks. Totes adorbs and has a crazy-ass following. We've got, like, a zillion things to do to get ready. I'm sure you'll jump right in. You've used Visio, right?"

By lunch, Bitty’s head was swirling with acronyms and spreadsheets. It felt a little like in figure skating when he’d come out of a scratch spin too fast - the world was wobbly and the colors were spinning, but he was confident it would right itself if he grinned and skated through it.

"Heeeey, how's our new boy doin'?" someone yelled as they passed his and Meesha’s cubicle. Bitty spied styled black hair over the cubicle wall.

"Hey Tito!” Meesha called back. “He's great!"

Tito appeared from around the corner, eight coffees in two to-go containers balanced masterfully on one arm. He read the lids and carefully passed one to Meesha. "You guys ready for our guest today? I’m totally having him sign something.”

Meesha rolled her eyes as she inhaled the fragrant coffee. “You are seriously the lamest. Sports are a consumerist construct and the guy is basically, like, Kit’s chaperone. She’s the real star.”

Tito laughed and offered a cup to Bitty, “Hey Eric, I wasn’t sure what to get you. How’s a vanilla sugar oat milk latte? It’s the special across the street.”

Bitty grinned. “Thanks, hon!” His first day was turning out pretty great.

Meesha steered Bitty into a large conference room. Tito ran to his desk for a hat and marker before joining the people assembling around the conference table. Lordy, he hadn’t been lying about an autograph. Who was this guy?

A dozen folks chatted quietly around the table. Their guest was apparently running late, and Meesha took the opportunity to fill Bitty in on launch plans. As she was explaining the finer points of multi-platform synchronization, Bitty heard a man’s laughter down the hall. His ears perked up. Did he know that voice? Surely it couldn’t be –

Bitty’s head jerked up as an effortlessly well-dressed man in a royal blue snapback stepped into the room. Their eyes locked.

Oh lord. Kent Parson.

_/_/_/ \_\_\_

Kent scowled at Kit, his chin resting on his hands on the cold hardwood.

“C’mon, baby, you’ve got to eat it.”

Kit sniffed the dish daintily, nonplussed.

“I know, princess,” he wheedled, “but daddy’s going to make you the most famous li’l furbaby on the internet. You’ll pass grumpy cat like he forgot how to frown. All you have to do is eat the gross food.”

Kit mrowled in disapproval and Kent rearranged his awkward limbs. So this is what his adulthood had come to, he mused. Two condos, three sports cars, a slew of hockey awards, and apparently a cat too picky to eat the goddamn food she was paid a shitload of money to represent.

Tonight’s standoff had lasted an hour, and Kent would be damned if he let Kit win again.

He scratched his nose. He probably should be doing the prep work the Fancy Feline team needed before Kit’s photo shoot. At the meeting today, they’d given him a to-do list that rivaled his off-season training goals. He was supposed to check with Eric Bittle if he had any questions.

Speaking of which, why had Eric Blast-from-the-Past Bittle even been there today? Kent would have appreciated a goddamn heads-up, that’s for sure.

Eric looked good, he thought. A little taller and sharper than he remembered. His hair game was on point. Kent had only seen him a couple times in the four years since the Samwell party where they first met, and of course Eric had grown up, but seriously – he was hot now.

But why the hell was he in New York City? And was this related to the charming, old-man text messages Jack had started to send Kent out of the blue a month ago?

Kent debated texting Jack to ask, but it was a horrible idea. Either Jack and Eric were still together and Jack would send awkward Canadian nonsense about how great Eric was, or they weren’t together and Jack would get pissed and shut Kent out of his life again.

Kent sighed and climbed to his feet, heading to the refrigerator for Kit’s specialty wet food and a glass of white wine to wash down the bitter taste of defeat. He would fight the cat food battle another day. As Kit scarfed down hand-seared filet mignon, Kent sipped his wine and fiddled with his phone.

Kent: hey dude what’s up? I saw your boy today.

Jack: Hey Kent.

Jack: What?

Well shitballs, this was already turning out to be a terrible idea. No turning back now, Kent reasoned.

Kent: Eric was at a business meeting today. all suited up and shit.

Kent: what’s he doing in NYC? u guys ok?

Jack: Oh.

Jack: We broke up in April.

Kent: shit Zimms, that really blows. he seemed like a cool guy

Jack: Yeah.

Kent: sometimes it just doesn’t work out, y’know? i’m sure you’ll find somebody great

Jack: How was the meeting?

Kent: oh

Kent: it was good. boring as watching ice melt but productive I guess

Kent: eric looks good, I mean not in a weird creepy way but he looks like he’s doing ok?

[Jack is typing…]

[Last message received 8:54pm]

Kent: hey, did you see the new netflix show where ordinary people recreate fancy cakes and that crazy lady yells at everybody?

Kent: it’s the tits

Jack: No, but I’ll check it out.

Kent: dooo iiit

Jack: What’s the name?

Kent: fuck if I know. it’s the one with the previews of nasty looking cakes and ppl getting screamed at. you can’t miss it. it’s a goddamn gem.

Jack: Sounds like it.

Jack: And, thanks Parse. I’m glad he’s doing OK.

Kent: no problem man

Kent: any time

_/_/_/ \_\_\_

Bitty paced all eight feet of his bedroom, back and forth, back and forth.

He was supposed to be starting a new life! In a city of eight million people, how had he stumbled upon the one person connected to his life with Jack? And how was he supposed to be professional and work with said person, when everyone (well, maybe just Bitty) knew that he was secretly a manipulative asshole?

Good gracious, he might be freaking out just a little. He needed reassurance. Who could he talk to that knew the situation and would be supportive and not weird?

Bitty: LARDOOOOO

Lardo: BITTTYYYY

Lardo: Why the yelling, Bits?

Bitty: I am coordinating a photo shoot at Kent Parson’s house next week. KENT PARSON’S HOUSE

Lardo: That’s sick bro.

Lardo: They’re giving you a lot of responsibility right away. Nice.

Bitty: -_-;

Bitty: I think you’re missing the point

Bitty: KENT PARSON KENT PARSON KENT PARSON

Lardo: Lol Bitty cool your jets. He’s been pretty chill lately, hasn’t he?

Bitty: If you mean ‘not making my boyfriend have any more panic attacks’, then yes he’s been chill

Bitty: But I’d say that’s a VERY low bar to hurdle

Lardo: Have you met him yet? How was it?

Lardo: Does he know you and Jack broke up?

Bitty: I’m pretty sure he didn’t know who I WAS

Bitty: Period.

Lardo: No way, dude. You’ve meet him multiple times, right?

Bitty: twice, 3 times if you count the disaster at the Haus

Lardo: He totally remembers you, dude. You’re unforgettable.

Lardo: You’re like a delightful minor superhero.

Lardo: You’re Antman.

Bitty: Ugggghhh this is the worst

Bitty: and Antman, seriously? We are SO gonna talk about that later

Lardo: Bitty, bro of my heart, it’s truth time. You sitting down?

Bitty: *sits*

Lardo: Good.

Lardo: Here’s the thing. Kent Parson is just a dude. A dude with some fucked-up history respective to one JLZ, but still just a dude.

Bitty: I know, but…

Lardo: Hush, Padawan.

Bitty: -_- *hushes*

Lardo: He’s probs not an evil person. You’ve only ever seen him in relation to J, and they went thru some messed up shit as kids. When he’s not dealing with that, he’s probably a boring-ass adult with a job and a cat. You can’t judge him forever based on the 3 times you’ve met.

Lardo: Was he awful the other times?

Bitty: Well no, mostly just at Epikegster

Bitty: But he was Really Bad that time

Lardo: I get it Bits, but if that’s his only awful moment, then the dude already has like a 67% not-awful rate.

Bitty: So you’re saying I’m all worked up over nothin?

Lardo: Maybe? Give him a chance.

Lardo: You don’t have to be BFFs. Just be professional and friendly until he gives you a reason not to be. If it turns out he’s a dickhead, you have my blessing to fuck up his shit.

Bitty: Thanks Lards. Mind if I snap you outfit choices later?

Lardo: Do it. Matching polish?

Bitty: Yes’m but toes only. I miss your help with fingers. It gets all smudgy when I do it

Lardo: I miss you, bro.

Bitty: You too :-*

_/_/_/ \_\_\_

Kent pressed the center button on his phone again…8:51am. This was officially the longest morning in the history of time.

So far he’d gone for a run, made a smoothie, showered, arranged the throw pillows, hidden the dopey photo of him and his sis at Disneyland, brushed Kit. Now he was sitting on the couch, running shoes bouncing on the marble coffee table as he waited for the Fancy Feline team to arrive. Maybe he should make coffee? He hopped up, re-fluffed the pillows, and headed to the kitchen.

The crew arrived promptly at nine, accepting the hot mugs of coffee Kent passed around. Eric shook his hand and started up a pleasant and professional stream of small talk as the photographer set up tripods and the assistant unfolded white umbrellas.

Unfortunately, Kit decided this was her party and she could hide if she wanted to. She spent the first hour perched on the bookcase, refusing to budge for treats or catnip.

Kent couldn’t blame her. Usually it was just her and him in the apartment, and even when he had people over, she generally ignored them and slept in the bedroom on the Monsieur Taco pillow he won her at Coney Island. Having a half-dozen strangers in her space, hovering over her with cameras and lights? He’d probably peace out too, if he were her.

After thirty minutes and no success, Kent relinquished the catnip to the assistant and excused himself to start a fresh pot of coffee. From the kitchen counter, he found himself watching Eric.

Eric was frowning as the drama unfolded, his lean torso hunched in concentration. His right foot tapped impatiently on the rug. It wasn’t Eric’s job to get Kit to participate. Eric had explained this to Kent while they were setting up, that his role today was to make sure they got all the shots they needed for the campaign.

As Kent watched him now, Eric nodded to himself like he’d made a decision and marched over to the bookcase. He began talking animatedly with the photographer and gesturing rapidly, taking charge of the situation like a tiny major general. Kent was impressed. Hell, even Kit watched him with interest.

Kent felt a little like a jerk – he’d always thought Eric was childish and annoying, based on their past brief interactions and Eric’s animated Twitter feed (not that he’d internet stalked him, pssh). But maybe Kent had it wrong. This version of Eric seemed full-to-bursting with charisma and natural leadership. Hell, even Queen Kit respected it.

As Eric directed the strategy to coax Kit off her perch and over to the windowsill, Kent couldn’t help but stare. Eric glowed warm and golden, like Southern sunlight was radiating from his pores. He looked good in control.

Kent’s stomach did a pleasant swoop as he thought about Eric taking control in other ways. Or what it would take to convince Eric to give up that control, to go soft and pliant and let Kent – or someone, whatever – do the controlling.

His chest tingled warmly. This probably wasn’t the best train of thought for a professional gathering; nothing like sporting a quarter chub at ten a.m. with people here to photograph your cat. He sighed, rearranged his junk, and headed back into the living room with the coffee pot.

The rest of the shoot ran smoothly. Kit, once she felt comfortable, totally hammed it up for the camera. Eric took behind-the-scenes videos and sent the best ones to Kent. They all shared high-fives when a video Kent tweeted of himself ineptly juggling cat toys got retweeted by George Takei. In celebration of their good social media fortune, Kent poured everyone mimosas.

Before Kent knew it, it was late afternoon and the photographer’s assistant started to disassemble the equipment. Eric herded everyone to the sofa where he handed out packets of instructions and debriefed them on next steps, and then the crew shook hands and headed out one by one.

As Kent shut the door after the last person, he wandered into the kitchen to find Eric still in the apartment, loading the dishwasher.

“Dude, you really don’t need to do that. I can do it after you go.”

“Kent Parson,” Eric scolded, “my mama would never forgive me if I left a host with a mess to clean up. It’s nothin’, really.”

“Thanks, man,” Kent replied. It was cool of Eric to offer and, if Kent was being honest, he probably would have left it a mess until his housecleaner came tomorrow. He started to consolidate cardboard containers of Chinese food.

They worked in silence in the spacious kitchen, making quick work of the cleanup. Kent caught Eric humming to himself. He recognized the tune – All For You by Janet Jackson – and sang along to Eric’s humming.

Eric let out a surprised huff, his cheeks pink. “Oh lordy! Was I singing that out loud?”

Kent just laughed and pulled out his phone, and one of his favorite pop mixes began playing from hidden speakers. Eric bopped his head to Janelle Monae as he dried the glasses. Kent lip-synced into a bottle of soy sauce like it was a microphone.

As Kent reached around Eric’s shoulder to place the wine glasses on a high shelf, their eyes met and Kent winked. He’d enjoyed a few mimosas and Eric was cute, so sue him. He just thought it’d be fun to make Eric blush, and his efforts were thoroughly rewarded. Eric’s blush spread from his face down his neck, reddening the soft skin at the base of his throat.

Kent felt the warm tingly feelings in his chest again. Shit, Eric was cute.

Abruptly, Eric turned and said, “I really should get going. We’ve got the kitchen under control and I need to upload these videos before tomorrow.”

Kent felt oddly deflated, although of course Eric was going to leave when they finished cleaning. He should probably apologize in case his wink had made Eric uncomfortable. Kent spent his days around gross hockey players, maybe he’d just committed some corporate sexual harassment shit and he didn’t even know it. Kent fished around for something to say that didn’t make him sound like a creeper.

He smiled and tried, “Kit really enjoyed having you here today. You’re good with cats.”

“Ha, thanks.” Bitty twisted the dishtowel in his hands. “I’m not really a cat person, but Kit’s great. Y’all’ve got a really special bond.”

“Maybe you could come over and get some more candid shots sometime?” Kent made a face. For Christ’s sake, he sounded ridiculous. “I mean, the ones today were really good.”

Eric’s face did something complicated. Kent watched him bite his bottom lip.

“Thanks,” Eric replied finally, “but no. I should go.”

“Oh,” Kent exhaled, “Yeah, of course. Sure thing, man.”

Kent helped Eric retrieve his things and walked him to the entryway. As Kent shut the door behind him, he rolled his eyes to the ceiling.

He was so fucked.

#bittyparse #eric bittle #kent parson #kit purrson #omgcp #omgcp fanfic #omgcp fic #kent plays for the rangers #and kit purrson is queen of the world #well queen of my heart #hope you like it!#this is my first time posting tumblr fic #pls tell me if I'm doing it wrong!

7 notes · View notes

crystalnet · 6 years

Text

3 Writing Samples

Here are 3 writing samples that might be useful to have at the top of the pile.

1. Pacific Digital (Fiction, sample intro to long-form narrative)

Ryuki balanced on top of a fifty-foot skyscraper, poised as though ready to dive, he steadied himself, stiffened his stance and let himself fall backwards slowly into the urban abyss below him, free-fall style, arms crossed over his shoulders, suddenly picking up massive amounts of momentum as he hurdled to the ground, and then fluidly rolling in mid-air into a somersault, amassing exponential amounts of centrifugal force as he smashed a double drop-kick of a landing, he plowed himself against the helipad of a massive cement structure, collapsing it against itself, and then emerged from the haze of debris in an instant, leaping again, shooting through the air like a meteorite.

“The shock-absorption is fantastic. Lots of feedback but it isn’t obtrusive.” Ryuki said curtly as he butterfly jumped on the rebound of a kick-off from yet another cement sky-scraper, transitioning into a triple-axel, volleying his own mass up towards the gleaming artificial sun that hung high in a bright fully-rendered VR sky-box.

“That’s great Ryuki. Let’s run one more drill for today to test out your mobility,” a disembodied voice chimed in in the VR-helmet in-ear monitor as two drones suddenly appeared, circling Ryuki and moving in.

“Sounds good Professor Agassa, I’m ready for anything” Ryuki replied. A dazzling array of stats, internal analyses, and diagnostics flickered on the heads-up display projected on the screen of Ryuki’s VR module, as he brought his dynamic manouevering to a pause, perching menacingly on another structure in his bright orange test-model AR auto-suit, that resembled the giant robots of Saturday morning cartoon lore, readying his energy pole after detaching it from his rear-module.

Just minutes later, Ryuki blasted across the Palo Alto free-way in his blue Bugatti, a rental, the gleaming pacific ocean to his left, nearly seething with the reddish reflection of a blazing orange sun that hung low in the summer sky. He was headed back to the posh estate he was renting while he was here working with Agassa for the summer. He remembered the email from a few months that started all of this, coming out of the blue in the month of May. “Me and my collegues, among which are your esteemed sister, are working on something that I think you may be interested in. There is also a certain Miss Ayumi Ito who will be joinging us… ”

Agassa was putting them up in the luxurious Half-Moon Manse, named for it’s location near a prime beach in Palo Alto, it was a rare Californian plantation, practically on the shore; sporting a strange mixture of Roccocco and Spanish architechture, the house was said to have been built for a Spanish catholic-missionary turned gold-mining prospector to the stars. His family only lasted though until a string of grizzly murders near the end of 19th century and the palatial estate had since been rented out by wealthy investors and jet-setters year after year before being handed off to yet another recipient in the form of a certain Professor Agassa, who had a fetish for eccentric real-estate. The strangely vibrant Spanish roofing, the decadant banisters and parapets, the Art Decco flourishes that had been added by a wealthy oil tycoon nearly a century ago, and the gothic looking East Tower had a certain forboding and yet luxurious presence on the wind-blown strip of the white-sand beaches of Palo Alto.

Agassa wasn’t just being so generous as to rent the place just for Ryuki and Ayumi though, he also needed the estate to host a gala event for the Perseus Society, which he himself was an active board-member of. Agassa was greatly in need of their lucrative patronage but beyond just that Agassa actually felt very strongly about the society’s mission. In the years following the great environmental fall-out and the rise of AR technology, many mega-corporations had begun to amass power, all seeking to take control of a unstable global situation in various ways, some for capitalist ends and some for seemingly virtuous ones. Agassa seemed to believe strongly that Perseus actually had altruistic goals that were worth fighting for.

In the mean time until the big party, Ryuki and Ayumi were free to enjoy the impressively sized Manse to themselves after long 12 hour days working with Agassa in the lab on his new VR developments. When Ryuki arrived home though, tossing the keys and his Ray Ban shades on the marble counter-top, he wasn’t surprised at all to see Ayumi through the awning windows that let out to the tennis courts, hard at work practicing her base-line volleys against an automated ball-lobber in a teal velour Fila track jacket, white Lacoste tennis shorts, and a fluorescent green Commes des Garçons-brand visor over her brow that just happened to match the color of Ayumi’s test-model AR auto-suit from earlier that day at the lab.

The two of them, Ryuki’s esteemed older sister Aida, and Professor Agassa (as well as a formidable squad of lab-assistants) had been cooped up in Agassa’s private lab for about a month now working on various things that Agassa felt were going to be important moving forward.

The full-immersion function of his new VR-Tank allowed them to enter artificially-rendered VR settings at immersion rates exceeding 120% so that they could actually feel the very things they interacted with while in the tank’s VR module, and moved around by exerting and flexing their actual muscles. This demanded hours of strenuous training, both in the tank and out of it, working on various martial arts styles to master the use of their own bodies. They were running simulations that Agassa modeled after the giant-robot cartoons that Ayumi and Ryuki had grown up watching in order to help the pilots visualize their VR selves as armored shells which they themselves were piloting from a safe distance, even if it seemed to Ayumi and Ryuki at first that they really were in fact hurdling through the air or fending off drone-bombers in reality. Much of the work was separating the reality of their VR surroundings from their actual reality, mentally– easier said than done.

Ryuki, being just as fiercely motivated and unsatisfied in the same was Ayumi was, headed to the large sun-dappled drawing room on the basement landing to practice his Judo, instead of enjoying the myriad leisure options that the Manse offered, including an on-site tennis courts, regulation-sized pool, a lacrosse field and a pristine and thriving green-house, perfect for yoga and transcendental meditation sessions. The ornate Victorian book shelves that towered to the ceiling, and the marble flooring and Classical paintings, facilitated a meditative atmosphere, though several grim and gleaming suits of knight’s armor stood erect near the corners of the room and Ryuki couldn’t deny the slightly foreboding feeling he got when he caught sight of one in his peripheral as he transitioned out of a Harai Goshi wheel kick, feeling as though he was being watched by some predatory phantom.

Later that night Ryuki and Ayumi were relaxing pool-side looking out over the sloping dunes of white sand reflecting moonlight that illuminated the dark beach of Half-Moon bay. Ayumi sat on a pool-chair dangling a foot in the water, in her dark grey Z Cavaricci pants and a smart-looking vintage Vivienne Westwood jacket, while Ryuki, sat alongside her in a tweed sweater looking out at the now completely submerged sun, only showing slightly on the horizon below a newly revealed moon, glimmering behind dark clouds that were swelled with Pacific surf. [the later years of the 2010’s, US fashion saw a great return to the trends of the 1980’s, but unlike other trends which centered on the re-appropriating of misremembered nostalgia, this fad was actually mostly sincere. Somehow, in North America at least, people had come back around to the styles of the very decade which had seen the rise of so many brave new technological advancements, which in turn inspired fashions that would be just as eye-catching as the possibilities of the day were exciting and dreadful. Indeed, the pages of Vogue were filled with images and styles that evoked everything from Dallas and Dynasty to Espirit brand sweaters and Keith Harring graphic tees.]

“So…” Ayumi started to speak just to trail off again. “Have you gotten anywhere trying to figure out what exactly Agassa is preparing for?” She seemed distracted as she stared off in the distance toward the sickly moonlit glow as she held a flute of vintage sherry to her lips.

“Whatever it is, it definitely has a lot to do with Crystal Corp and the imminent funding grants he’ll be receiving from Perseus Society”. Ryuki offered. They had both been wondering what exactly Agassa wasn’t telling them. He had been reasonably fourthright, but it still wasn’t entirely apparent to the two of them why they had been gathered the way they were a month prior– he was hiding something.

The next day, the gala for the Perseus Society was to go off without a hitch, after a month of planning on Agassa’s part. The ballroom of the Manse was soon filled wall-to-wall with elegant and upwardly mobile entrepreneurs, scientists, philanthropists, and self-appointed philosophers of wealth and champions of the market. Veritable Robin Hoods who used their positions of power on Wall Street or Corporate boards of Silicon Valley tech companies to bring back their wealth to people of staggering intellectual ability like Agassa who sought to wrest the fate of the planet away from those who would watch it burn uncaring.

Ryuki and Ayumi were not sure they had ever seen that much Dior in their lives, as they sauntered around somewhat sheepishly in perfectly tailored outfits, making nice, small talk with the various benefactors, CEOs and wealthy eccentrics who would be directly funding their research with Agassa. After a keynote address on networks of airborne Geodesic-dome shaped super-structures as the new “city of tomorrow,” Agassa delivered his speech which included topics such as the rising need for global accountability by super corporations, some thinly-veiled attacks on Crystal Corp’s recent policies and controversies, and a loosely sketched plan for his research and Perseus’s unified research efforts moving forward, to a standing ovation that Ryuki could tell was a massive relief to the stressed but happy-to-be-there Agassa.

Late that night, after the party, after making small talk with strangers for hours, and after a heart-to-heart between Ayumi and Ryuki by the pool again (they had been having these more frequently lately), Ryuki had collapsed into a deep slumber in the master on the third-floor when he was suddenly awoken by some unseen force in the middle of the night.

“Ryuki”~

“Who’s that?” Ryuki shot out, rubbing his eyes groggily.

“It’s me Ryuki, your friend”. Ryuki was shocked to see a glowing blue teddy-bear, standing upright and kind of peeking around the door to his room from the hallway.

“Adomu-chan? What are you doing here”. Ryuki was partly relieved to see he was just dreaming as he looked out on at the ethereal blue teddy-bear thing that was now climbing onto the foot of his bed.

“I need you to come with me Ryuki. Let’s play a game”. Suddenly the living teddy-bear from Ryuki’s childhood turned on a dime and ran out the room into the cavernous hallways of the third-floor.

“Hey wait up!” Ryuki said, scrambling out of his sheets in satin red pajamas, then running through the East hall towards the tower, past gothic ornamentation, medieval suits of armor, and a collection of paintings that included everything from Gaugin and Pizzaro, to Francis Bacon and Damien Hirst originals, as he scurried after the glowing teddy-bear that was sprinting through the house.

The bear ran up the tower stairs into the hallway that connected to Ayumi’s room, dashing into Ayumi’s door which hung ajar when Ryuki lost sight of him.

“What’s going on in here?!” Ryuki said, burting through the door into the luxurious master bedroom. The living toy was suddenly no where to be found, but on the bed, perched over Ayumi’s resting body, was a dark figure who appeared to be readying a strike from an armed right-hand, poised to slash the throat of his victim. Just as Ryuki burst in the room, the assailant turned and saw him, and in an instant, jolted off of the bed, slinking rapidly towards the large windows which opened onto a veranda, and dashed through the already-open door out into the crisp moonlit night. Ayumi suddenly woke up at a start, and beginning to realize what happened, ran towards the window. Ryuki and Ayumi both walked out onto the veranda and stared down at the crashing waves far below them where the foundation of the house met the near shore. It was high-tide so it almost appeared as though the beach had completely flooded, and the shore was engulfing the foundation of the Manse itself and they looked out through the dark windblown night, searching for an assailant who wasn’t there.

All that remained of the most strange incident was a single pastel blue rose that lay on the deep maroon carpet in front of the veranda door, laying in shards of moonlight that spilled into the room, appearing as though it had been frozen in some treating solution so that it was stiff and glassy, as though it had been crystallized.~

2. My Favorite Anime Films (Editorial)

It might be worth mentioning that there is a precise moment when a millennial realizes that anime is more than just Pokemon. Weather it be through Pokemon’s rivalry with Digimon or the appearance of other also-rans like Monster Rancher and later Yu-Gi-Oh, or the monolithic DBZ airing on Toonami, or y'know, Toonami in general, it is guaranteed to be a profound experience when anime first becomes an option and life-style for a youngster. The pastures of eclecticism to your child-like near-autistic mind expand outward in all directions, electrified seizure-enducing color palettes and all, containing within their emerald acres untold secrets and state-of-the-art studio-driven capital-A Art presented for your liking, to devour a la carte as it were. For a select many, here in the west, that first exposure may be a Miyazaki film. Behold, Baby Otaku’s first anime movie.

Hayao’s after all is one of the most pervasive oeuvres within the genre here in the West if not globally, and here in the US thanks to Fox and then later good ‘ol Disney, we too, and I do mean a great many of us, pray at the church of Totoro-chan and Cat Bus-kun and live and die for this man’s work, and that isn’t by accident. I don’t profess to necessarily have good taste in anime films necessarily, mostly due to my somewhat limited exposure, but I have seen enough to know how severely good anime can make even good Hollywood seem like a sad, palsied and pathetic joke. Or like also just western animation also sucks comparatively which may be a more reasonable comparison. So without further ado, let’s get into my top 5 Anime films. Granted I haven’t seen enough… most of the essential mainstream films all entry-levels see and many films connected to long-running shows or shonen but not that much beyond the works of a handful of auteur-level directors are the extent. I am eager for more recommendations and experience, but I must admit these 5 films leave me petty damn satisfied on their own.

1. Totoro-

I led right into this one for a reason. It for me is probably the precise moment I realized that Pokemon and Digimon weren’t the only things that had that specific, distinct style that seemed so haughtily removed from and superior to the gaudy animations of failed, broken western animators. And what better showcase for the style than a movie that focuses on and worships the Rustic. This film is a love-letter to all things bucolic, idyllic, sun-dappled and sylvan. The country, as it were, with all of its woodenness and unexplored reaches, is just asking to be documented by a genre such as this. If anime is the instinctual expression of child-like wonderment and verve, than the boundless outdoors are the ultimate locus with which to explore that unbridled joy which good anime is want to capture. If I sound artificially elevated it is only because it is a lofty task indeed to explain this films special place in so many people’s hearts without using words like “magic”. It is inescapable, because there is something harshly familiar about things as strange as a bus that is a cat, and a family of wood-dwelling genies. An infestation of soot spirits that don’t seem that badly put-out by having to abandon their old haunt because of a families’ emotionally buoyant spirit being just too unrelentingly positive for their dark constitutions to bare. Something about a satchel of magic seeds that grow into a towering forest during a single surreal night, only to re-appear as saplings the next day (was it all a dream?).

These things inspire one and are otherworldly, and yet they feel instantly familiar to the young viewer. Satsuke and May become the viewer, and the film becomes a time-capsule. It is escapist while also rooting itself in the common experience of actually growing up (a sick mother, a lost little sister, a spooky old house). This film captures something so fiercely singular and yet feels at the same time like the most universal, archetypal of children’s films of all time. To simply list a few of the indescribably pleasant aspects of this film: Wind blowing through tree branches and tall grass, fields. The sheen and polish of certain acorns. Sunlight flaring and playing on a gurgling brooke. An old plastic watering can with a hole in the side (a viewing device). Gleaming, fresh vegetable life. The soundtrack, which buzzes and brims with delight, and threatens to take center-stage more than any other Hishaishi OST in the way it is unstoppabley effervescent throughout its run-time, is prodigious. Hisaishi-sempai is wildly brilliant here, and the plinking xylophones and playful 80’s synthesizing fit so wonderfully within the universe of this film. And then there are the numerous central arrangements which are some of the most anthemic and touching of all his compositions to this day. There is an enormous amount that could be said about this film. Nothing would be too much. I could talk about the way it seems to yearn for an agrarian lifestyle that was rapidly disappearing from Japan and the rest of the modernized world by the 1980s, and how there might easily be pre-war longing in its portrayal. A mother sick with something undisclosed and surrealistic dream-trees that are lovely even as they seem to evoke blooming mushroom clouds may point to a very subtle undercurrent that one does not think to look for until they are older. Life becomes more complicated than tadpoles and imaginary creatures after all. And in this way we can tack the resonance of this film to something as intellectually rich as it is emotional, if one were to want to. But unlike its contemporary Grave of the Fire Flies, this movie doesn’t dwell on the harder things. It just honors them respectfully, not turning away from them even as it relishes in showing the simple joys that are also abound, especially in a rustic wonderland like the Japanese countryside. All I can really say, at the end of a day, about the staggering achievement for the whole planet that is My Neighbor Totoro is thank you Mr. Hayao, from the bottom of my heart~

2. Pom Poko-

Whew okay that was hard to sustain. Good movie but like damn. I’m glad this is my second one because it gives me close to as many feels as Totoro without even all that much childhood nostalgia involved, directly that is, and yet also features raccoon balls out the wazoo, so it makes my job easier in a way. I didn’t see this until I was older, and there’s probably a reason. It’s a bit shame that many of the testicles of the sometimes-anthropomorphic Raccoons in this film are visible so often as a reference to an odd detail of long-standing traditional Japanese folklore because otherwise it’d be a fabulous children’s film in the west. As it stand, I’m not sure what kind of disclaimer one would have to devise if they happened to be an otaku parent, finding themselves wanting to show this masterpiece to a tyke just as one might the rest of the Ghibli movies. But alas every rose has its thorns, and if you err on the side being a certain type of furry or like being open to that then hey maybe you’ll like this a lot, but beyond all the raccoon nuts in this one, its still an amazing film. Like it presents you with the nuts as a way of taunting you that it can still transcend the nuttiness of that quirk, and goes on for all of its run-time not failing to wow and delight at every turn.

Seriously, this movie is just a gem and its a bit hard to describe because it is part mockumentary on a new suburban development outside of Japan (actual), part allegory for suburban sprawl, environmental politics, and modernization, and part racoon nation-founding epic a la Mrs. Frisbee and the Rats of Nihm meets ancient Greek city-founding narratives, all with a light but acutely satirical surrealist approach. And yet so much humanity in these racoons! Or tanuki, I should say– raccoon dogs that is. These are the beast that Mario disguised himself as at times for the power of flight, and yet they themselves are shape-shifters. Tricksters. Threatened by a rival group of Racoons and then much more seriously the new developments of Tama-Town, these Racoons turn to phantasmagorical displays of hallucinatory manifestation of their collective angst, in the form of tengu, ghosts and kaiju alike roaming the streets of a sleepy little new neighborhood on the outskirts of Tokyo. The effect of seeing the tanuki rendered in a realistic and naturalistic way, roaming their woods silently one minute and then the next minute watching a scene in which they are rendered in a more cartoonish, anthropomorphize way is quite a unique gesture, and along with the narration that happens a lot early on, cuing-in the viewer to the film’s own strange and satirical nature, make this film unique even beyond balls. And then despite all this technical, thematic and conceptual wizardry it somehow still manages to make you feel something– and for odd little raccoon people at that. It’s all a very interesting and moving experience, bolstered most by a beautiful color palette, and animations that are intensely well-rendered. Raccoons and humans alike all have a great amount of expressiveness in their movement, and the sheer quality of the animation, along with a playful but moving script is what makes every second of this film work so well, expanding nut-sack parachutes and all. 3. Paprika-

If the scenes where the raccoons are haunting Tama-town are some of the most fun and imaginative moments in that film, then this movie– one which is about dreams much more than Pom Poko is about ghosts– outpaces even the brilliance of those scenes by a long-shot by featuring some of the most inhumanly colorful and creative visuals I’ve ever scene. Satoshi Kon’s style, and overall art direction is absolutely stunning, with everything from characters’ expressions to their movements to the warm intensity of the colors to the dream sequences themselves all displaying superb craft. While Pom Poko is fun and light while still making me feel something, this movie is largely all about the visuals, the concepts and the soundtrack. Hirasawa’s OST is punchy, energetic, and slightly batty in just the right way. Its one of the most unique I’ve ever heard, featuring lush electronic arrangements alongside strange, almost traditional-sounding vocal performances that help accent the poppy, bright and kind of bonkers feeling of this movie. And yet the script itself is somewhat reserved and restrained right up until the dream-detective enters into the boundless dream-worlds of various characters. The movie remains grounded on a basic level, while at its wildest it seems as unhinged as the strangest of dreams. This movie works very well as a gestalt– from the moments the OP-sequence plays I am strapped in and ready for the audio-visual splendour that then unfolds. All of Satoshi Kon’s work is inspiring and singularly excellent, but this one just might be my favorite.

3. Another Green World (fiction, short-story)

“And how was Professor McLuhan’s lecture today, Ovidius?” Beatrice asked, as she walked with the young child down the township’s sparkling side-walk, across the intersection from the Academy and on along the lane to Delfino Café in the breezy mid-afternoon weather. Beatrice was practically the archetypical image of a care-giver, for she exuded a nurturing aura, always smiling calmly as she addressed her young charge; today she wore a wide-brimmed sun-hat that flapped just slightly as a cool breeze wavered through the cobbled courtyard outside of Ovidius’ day-school. The leaves would be changing soon, but for now everything outside was the bright greens of palm tree fronds and cool blue vistas of the horizon.

“The lecture was fascinating! Media theory is more complex than I ever would have guessed,” Ovidius beams. He is wearing a hat with a little helicopter propeller on it; he has dark hair and sea-foam green skin (his choice).

“I’m so glad you liked it! I think you’ll like Dr. Einstein’s lesson just as well. You know, him and Agassa get along just famously with Dr. McLuhan.” Beatrice said warmly.

“Oh I just can’t wait; our lesson with Dr. Einstein last week was simply superb!” the precocious artificial youth replied, “I’m sure we’ll have another great time!”

And they did. Ovidius had long been friends with Albert Einstein, but today hisgenerous mentor was bringing along his new friend Ada Lovelace for a picnic on the beach, and of course she was absolutely delighted by the inquisitive young scholar, for Ovidius was living proof against her initial conception of the Analytical Machine, or at least, they had all hoped he would be one day, and she was pleased to oblige them, tossing a beach ball around with Albert and the child as Beatrice relaxed on a beach-towel nearby, resting her eyes behind a pair of Foster-Grants as the mid-day sun became slightly obscured by big puffy cumuli, which reminded Ovidius of the gelato they had been enjoying moments before. They would play for now, but Ovidius knew that somehow the surprisingly-athletic-for-his-age scientist would tie this game with the beach-ball in with his lesson on Relativity somehow. For now Ovidius was enjoying the refreshing surf of the shore on his bare feet, still reflecting on Dr. McLuhan’s excellent lecture on Global Villages and thoroughly enjoying the company of the lively and brilliant scientists, as Madame Lovelace prepared a kite that they were to fly on the gentle sea breeze– it was shaping up to be another fantastic day inside of a sparkling Artificial World.

When Ovidius and Beatrice finally return to their bungalow for the day, after parting ways with the brilliant mathematicians (who surely had their own private plans for the rest of the evening), Pablo and Salvador will come over for Arts-and-Crafts while Beatrice cooks fish mousselines. The rambunctious painters always have an infectious energy when they come over, and usually in the middle of collaging with Ovidius or discussing German Expressionism in easily-graspable terms over Scrabble, they would be known to break into a game of surrealist cops-and-robbers with the child, who could still appreciate that sort of thing (though the young prodigy would surely be growing out of it soon). Next week, they were sure to tell Ovidius that their friend Frida would be joining them to teach Ovid the art of self-portraiture.

Soon the surrealists are on their way though and Ovidius will have his late-night Language lesson with Beatrice before she tucks you in for the night (Latin this week, Greek next week, JavaScript the next, etc.). Beatrice reminds Ovidius that Mr. Tesla will be visiting tomorrow after a guest-lecture from a certain Mr. Foucault at the Academy, and then she tucks him in for the night. Ovidius dozes off to strains of Mahler still playing on the gramophone in the den, and somewhere far, far away, beyond the digital look-glass, Dr. Agassa and his research assistants were examining a bevvy of diagnostic read-outs and progress reports, and an overall system-review, as Ovidius turned off his mind, so to speak, for the night, under the loving watch of Dr. Agassa’s crack-team, who had mapped-out, guided and molded every moment of Ovidius’ life heretofore, ever since they created it a couple months ago. Of course, they conformed some of their choices with expectations and preferences that Ovidius himself had so quickly developed in the short time he had existed, but at the end of the day, his life and experience was ultimately their vision, or more specifically, Dr. Agassa’s.

Beatrice had explained to Ovidius already that he was indeed the creation of a group of scientists, and that, yes, he was “artificial” in a sense, compared to the other intelligence that populated this world, but that he shouldn’t see this as any real difference between him and other people, and she herself, just like him, was in fact artificial. The young lad was kept very busy day-to-day with the artificial approximation of our planet’s recent visionaries’, of any given medium or field, and the ever-present aid of his care-taker Beatrice. He had friends, but he learned quickly that, they too were artificial, like him. Unlike him though, they would never grow and develop like he did. And unlike him, they would never receive their own Body.

That night, an artificial sun would set on a similarly immaculate, and artificial, township, between a large slopping green hill and a yellow-sanded sea shore that was modeled on those of the Grecian isles which they discovered were featured prominently in Ovidius’ dreams after he first began absorbing images of the World. And tomorrow, after toast and jam, Beatrice would ferry the young scholar to class at the Academy, where he and his friends enjoyed the lectures of some of the world’s leading scholars and scientists, hand-picked by Agassa and his staff to impart the highest quality education possible on the lad. Many of their choices were intentionally as obvious as possible for they figured that by allowing the child to interact with the intellect of the most well-known thinkers of the 20th century, he would be better grounded in the reality that existed just outside of his virtual snow-globe. To wit, Freud and Jung were in charge of the Psychology department, Joseph Campbell led an elective class on Fiction and Mythology, Euler was put in charge of the Mathematics department with the help of none other than Einstein and Newton themselves, who were guest-lecturers (outside of Albert’s private sessions with the child on Wednesdays) while Turing led Computing Sciences and Sacks handled the Neurology dept.

Ovidius couldn’t have quite known then, but could have probably figured, that the research that culminated in his existence and development would in turn lead to major technological advancements in various fields, including everything from the Geo-forming of extraterrestrial bodies by AI-controlled vessels, the creating of safer self-driving cars and even the creation of fully prosthetic bodies. He did understand though the sheer gravity of his existence, and after his lessons everyday, at some point before bed, he’d look out into the yard behind his house, made to resemble an average suburban yard, with its own charm and it’s sacred promise of limitation and impermeable boundaries, and his mind would wander out above the green, wooden shed and the iron lattices agains the fence, and the Oak tree whos branches hung low over the 20-acre plot, towards the invisible reaches of his world, and he’d look out beyond his own world, towards the World which he spent everyday studying and learning from, which had created him, and which had promised to allow him physical access to, one day, when the prosthetic was finished.

4 Years Later

Ovidius grips the steering wheel, and eases down on the pedal, rounding the impressively sized canyon as he shot along interstate-40, preferring for the moment to drive himself, despite the self-driving feature that came standard, he sped along in the black Arizona night, hurdling towards his destination as though he were being spirited there against his will. He keeps replaying the voice-mail from Ayumi over and over. Dead? How could he be? The coroner’s report deemed the death accidental suicide but Ovidius knew not to believe that for a second. When they found Dr. Agassa collapsed in his room the day after the gala, Ovidius was able to surmise a lot of things, but the fact that he had been partly prepared for this for so long didn’t help to soften the blow much. One red-eye flight later, a teary open-wake, and a reunion with the only human friend he’s ever had and the 4 year old artificially-intelligent humanoid is now hurdling towards something that even he himself didn’t entirely understand. He's heading to a seedy motel-8 in the middle of no where somewhere outside of Havasu Canyon and mentally prepare himself for what he is about to do. When the bright, blaring morning light streams through the motel blinds, he will understand that his journey beckons.

Go back

He kept hearing those words over and over. And as he looked out on the vacuous mesa of canyon and dessert, he knew that he mustn’t hesitate. He has to go to the place where Earth’s magnetic-field had been disrupted, and joined, on a sub-atomic level with the very infrastructure of the digital world– like a seam in the universe, where the exterior met the interior; behold the earth’s existential navel. For Ovidius has come here to return to the very Net which had given birth to him.~

#writing samples #writing #fiction #editorial #portfolio #game writing

1 note · View note

authoressskr · 7 years

Text

Ugly Sweaters

Pairing: None ++ Word Count: 2352 ++ Warnings: Language, Questionable Knitting Skills (Disclaimer: I don’t knit.), Avoiding Finishing Things, Christmas Fluff, Group Hug

Note: Do NOT repost, copy and paste, post or share my works on any other platform without my EXPRESS PERMISSION. -+- REBLOGGING is fine! -+-

When Cas had suggested knitting to relax you, you’d scoffed but hadn’t totally shot down the idea.

Nearly five months later, looking at the knitted messes - to be hereafter referred to as “the Abominations” - adorning your bed...you should have known this would end up stressing you out. Relaxing my ass.

You’d been working hard on these stupid things and now that you were nearly eighty or maybe ninety percent done with these eight stupid Abominations, you wanted to throw them away. Or burn them. Now there’s an idea!

It was still early, you reasoned. You could absolutely find other things to give all the boys.

Mary’s Christmas gift you’d gotten nearly a month and a half ago when you were in Raleigh for a double poltergeist case. It was wrapped, labeled and sitting beside your desk.

But the boys, well that had been a different story…

The angels (that Chuck had hand-delivered to the Bunker nearly eight months ago...no warning, just “Here you go! This is their new home.” to you guys and “Don’t kill anyone in this room. Rest up and good luck.” to them. It had been a tense first week after that...) could snap up whatever they wanted. And now that Jack had begun learning that ability you’d nearly written the nephilim off the ‘To Buy’ list too.

Sam and Dean wouldn’t know Christmas or celebrate if it bit them in the ass. So, with firm knowledge about their holiday past (slim to none) and your own firsthand account of their attempts at birthdays (one would mutter ‘happy birthday’ to the other and usually get whatever take out the birthday boy wanted; if at home, this may include breakfast), you had decided against buying them anything for Christmas as well. They tended to replace things immediately, so this didn’t give you much chance to buy or even plan to buy for them.

Which had led to the happy, easy decision to make their gifts.

After all, you’d made scarves AND successfully made a pair of black mittens for Jack.

With a few months until Christmas, you had put your faith in your limited abilities - which in hindsight wasn’t the smartest thing you’d ever done - and began looking up simple sweater designs. After choosing the simplest one you could find, you’d made the 3-and-a-half-hour trek to both craft stores in Lawrence, gathering colored heavy-duty yarn like a hoarder.

Giving the Abominations a glare before swiping a tired hand down your face, you simply shoved the mostly finished things to the side and grabbed your laptop. Sure, you had missed Black Friday and Cyber Monday but there was still time to order them all something. It was, after all, only the second day of December.

---

Fucking stress.

Fucking knitting.

Fucking pair of rogue demons.

Leaving Jack, Samandriel, and Balthazar at the Bunker, you, Sam, Dean, and Gabriel had headed out December 5th to track down the demons and gank ‘em. Castiel was helping Mary with a nest of vampires in Montana, stating he’d join you all in Colorado in a day or two.

But by the time you got to Boulder, they’d fled up to Cheyenne, Wyoming. Black-eyed dicks.

Once you’d hauled ass to Cheyenne and tracked them down, you’d only managed to find some lower level peon who they’d convinced to run interference. He’s easily given up their next location. And was just as easily dispatched.

So, on December 17th, you’d finally cornered them in Portland fucking Oregon. By then you had added Balthazar and Gadreel to the roster, so they could pop in and lay the trap while you, Sam, Dean and Cas could kill the few demons on guard and, as your luck would have it, a pair of newly turned werewolves.

When you guys had returned home in the late evening hours of the 20th, you could have wept.

Or pull your hair out. It was five days until Christmas. Fuck.

---

After a few hours rest, Jack had come into your room practically vibrating with excitement.

You had, after all, promised him a Christmas tree when you returned from the hunt. And who could say no to that sweet little face? You’d shooed him from the room to dress, your eyes once again falling on the Abominations that lay in a haphazard pile on the top of your desk. Sighing, you knew what had to be done.

They’d have to be finished.

After the Christmas tree was found. And decorated. And you had a few shots of whatever was handy.

---

Christmas tree shopping was going surprisingly well. Considering.

When Jack had explained to his uncles where you two were headed, they’d all volunteered themselves to tag along. Not that you minded - they had behaved.

Well, they’d behaved as well as could be expected.

Then there had been a trip to a local Hallmark store so that you could get the angels proper ornaments.

“We just bought the colorful ones in town. Why are these different?” Jack queried, running a careful finger over a nutcracker ornament.

“Because we are doing Christmas how I grew up. That means that you get to choose one ornament that you like best. And when Christmas is over we will carefully put it back in the box, and tuck it away until next year. Then we’ll do this all over again.” He’s carefully studying every ornament when you reach past him and press the button on the Mickey Mouse ornament. His eyes light up as he begins searching for more buttons on the ornaments only to pause.

“Y/N?”

“Yeah?”

“Can we get this one for Dean?” He points up the little pie on a cutting board.

“Of course, sweetie. Let’s find the box then we’ll find one for you and Sam.”

“And you.” Jack supplies happily as he hands you the tiny pie ornament box.

---

After getting the tree and two big bags full of ornaments home, you’d coerced Dean and Sam out from their rooms to help with decorating the giant tree it had taken four hours for the angels to find and agree on.

Anything to keep the thoughts of your homemade sweaters away.

By the time you called it a night, the nearly eleven foot tree was dressed to the nines. Were the lights evenly spaced? No. Were the ornaments distributed evenly? God no. Was there more purple and silver garland on one side? Yes. Were there giant clumps of tinsel hanging in random places? Yes.

And it was one of the most beautiful things you’d seen in years.

Seeing that wonderful, off-kilter tree had filled you with the thought that maybe the sweaters weren’t perfect, but you’d spent lots of time on them for the boys...so, you guess, maybe, they deserved to be finished.

In the morning.

---

By Christmas eve, you only needed to finish Cas’s sweater. One sleeve end was simply refusing to work with you, making you unravel a couple inches to reknit it properly. You’d have to work on it before bed since you and Dean had been in the kitchen most of the evening prepping as much as you could for Christmas dinner.

You’d also been fighting off Gabriel, Jack and Dean who had all kept coming in to ‘help’ (to unabashedly steal cookies or the little pudding cups you’d made from the leftover lemon, chocolate and coconut cream fillings) you finish baking that afternoon.

Not that you were too upset about it. There was an easiness in the Bunker you hadn’t really experienced before.

You made them watch “Year Without a Santa Claus” and “A Charlie Brown Christmas” - your favorite Christmas cartoons - before bed, promising Jack you’d watch more tomorrow.

Scurrying back to your room, you grabbed your knitting needles and set to work.

---

At nearly two in the morning you had all eight sweaters nestled into their boxes, carefully setting the little journals you’d gotten each of them atop the not-so-terrible-now Abominations. After securing each boxes lid you prayed to Cas to distract Jack, if he was anywhere between your room and the tree which is in the main entryway between the library arch and the base of the stairs.

As stealthily as you could, you carried the first of your load to the tree, carefully arranging them on the dark red Christmas tree skirt that Sam had found in the Bunker storage room.

On your second trip, you ran into Balthazar, who simply raised a blonde eyebrow at the four boxes in your arms.

You prayed a big thank you to Cas before curling up in your bed, a happy tiredness dragging you down to sleep.

---

The doorknob hit the wall with a thud, jolting you awake.

Your heavy eyelids finally managed to open, revealing an excited Jack. Sam was leaning against the doorframe, chuckling.

“Y/N!” You notice he’s dressed in the pajamas you bought him a few weeks ago before you shove your face back into your pillow. “It’s Christmas!”

“Jack…”

“We got everything ready. Dean even let me make the toast. Are you gonna get up?” You groan into the pillow before Jack calls out for Gadreel, whose hands are suddenly under your covers, wrangling you from your bed. You groan out a sleepy Merry Christmas to appease Jack as you tuck your face against Gadreel’s chest, letting him carry you down the hall.

“I though,” *yawn* “We were gonna eat breakfast first…”

“We set it up in the library,” Sam informs as you struggle to wake up still.

By the time Gadreel carefully sets you down in a library chair, you’re more awake, but still yawning like it’s going out of style. You rub the sides of your finger against your eyes to chase the sleep away as Dean places a plate in front of you.

“Morning,” Mary says from across the table before taking a generous bite of bacon.

“Merry Christmas.” You mutter in reply before making grabby hands at the cup Dean is filling up with grape juice. He chuckles, shaking his head before handing you the cup.

‘Merry Christmas’ is said all around as the angels loiter around the room, Balthazar and Gabriel laughing at the fact humans celebrate Jesus’s birth in the winter when he was born in the summer. And at how pagan traditions are more prevalent in your ‘holy holiday’ than most people think.

“Says the pagan god,” Gabriel smirks at your words then shrugs.

“I’m not gonna argue with you when you aren’t running on all cylinders.”

“Bite me.”

“Finally! A gift I can really get behind!” His snarky comment just earns him a glare. Gabriel remains unfazed as he and Balthazar both wink at you.

“Eat.” Jack nudges your arm with his, happily shoving the majority of a piece of toast with jam into his mouth.

You obey, working through the mountain of food Dean gave you - pushing it away before you had even finished half.

Now that you’ve eaten, you are feeling much more awake. And as you help Sam gather the dishes and follow after him, a small tendril of anxiety and worry curl in your belly.

They’re going to hate your knitted Abominations. Oh god, what have you done? It’s far too late to take them back. Maybe later you could hold a giant bonfire out back and burn them?

“Hey.” Sam takes the plates from your hand, wrinkling his forehead. “You zoned out there. Still sleepy?” His tone is light and teasing, and you give a huff of forced laughter.

“Not anymore.” No, not at all now that that little thread of fear had wormed it’s way back into your thoughts. You follow him back to the Christmas tree, trying to push the niggling Abominations away.

There seem to be a lot more presents than you remembered from early this morning, sinking down into the comfortable loveseat beside Samandriel.

“Youngest to oldest,” you order cheerfully as you nod at Jack. In a moment of panic, you pray to Gabriel (since he’s doling out the presents) that your 8 identical boxes go last.

You watch in horror as he hands Jack the light blue wrapped box containing your gifts.

I know where the holy oil is AND the enochian handcuffs are! You snap out the prayer watching as he arches an eyebrow in your direction with a broad grin.

Kinky, sugar plum.

Jack pulls the dark leather covered notebook from the box and then grasps the dark green thing, holding it aloft with the biggest smile plastered on his bright innocent face.

Welp, this is it, you think. You’ll have to move out. Change your name. God, this was a terrible idea…

The nephilim eagerly tugs it on, his eyes falling on you as he holds his arms out, showing off the horrible sweater.

“Thank you!” He envelopes you in a tight hug before running a hand down the material. “It smells like you. Did you make it?” You manage a nod, not realizing that all the boys have opened their boxes.

You’re actually taken aback at how well every ugly sweater fits and how even Balthazar and Gabriel have shirked theirs on.

They have you on the edge of tears when you hear Mary.

“Hey, where’s mine?”

“What?”

“Well, they all got nice sweaters.”

“You think they’re nice?!” It comes out louder than you expected, confused. “They aren’t nice. They’re terrible, knitted Abominations.” You sigh, slumping down in your seat a little. “I severely overestimated my abilities and - and, this is where it got me.”

“But we like them.” Samandriel speaks up, the other boys nodding.

“And we are wearing them because you made them for us.” Gadreel confirms.

“It’s … comfy.” Dean supplies, the angels and Sam shooting him a look that clearly said ‘Shut up, you aren’t helping.’

“Really?” You ask hopefully.

“Really,” Cas affirms, his dark blue sweater visible under his ever-present trenchcoat as he pulls you in for a hug.

Then you’re suddenly surrounded by a circle of angelic bodies, each latched onto each other around you.

“Don’t expect us to do this all the time.” Balthazar mutters loudly.

“The group hugging or the sweater wearing?”

“Both.” He answers as you chuckle against Cas’s chest.

For reference: This is the ornament Jack picked for Dean.

@lucis-unicorn @chelsea072498 @clockworkmorningglory @sakurablossom4 @nobodys-baby-now @thewhiterabbit42 @unleashthemidnight @ourloveisforthelovely @sumara62

#supernatural christmas #supernatural reader insert #knitting nightmare #dean winchester #sam winchester #castiel #jack kline #gabriel #balthazar #gadreel #samandriel #mary winchester #chuck shurley #December 2nd #23 more to go #authoressskr writes #tis the season #ugly sweaters

35 notes · View notes

adriennescomingbacktolife · 4 years

Text

(II)

Gasping for air, Adrienne stared up at the lights. Her jaw was sore. She had a splitting headache. She’d been elbowed, kicked, and dropped on her face. Her shoulders were pinned to the mat for that all important three seconds. However, Adrienne couldn’t help smiling as the official, she hadn’t caught his name, checked in on her. Supermassive Black Hole echoed throughout the empty arena as Starburst celebrated in her peripheral vision.

Adrienne Levi had lost. But she certainly didn’t feel like a loser that night. And she wanted to tell Danny all about it. But he was so busy, and she didn’t want to be a bother. And besides, Magnificent Danny Levi didn’t believe in moral victories. So that evening as the show continued in the background, she opted not to. When he found out, Danny would surely bring it up and she’d cross that road then.

Her mother was another person that didn’t get it. Angie Straussler found the sport of professional wrestling to be barbaric. It was hard to argue with her when her first exposure to the industry was seeing her son-in-law take her daughter’s purse, covertly stuffed with a brick, and smash it into another man’s skull. And so, when she had picked up Adrienne from the St. Pete-Clearwater International Airport, she was less than enthusiastic after she found out why.

“And this isn’t a one-time thing? You’re going back? Ade, are you serious?”

Adrienne was.

She stared at her own reflection in the side mirror of her mother’s stuffy 1999 Oldsmobile Cutlass. There was a bruise coloring her right cheek, but she didn’t mind. Unlike previous ones, she’d wear this one proudly.

“Yes, mom…”

Adrienne’s mother had given birth to her daughter when she was real young. It was a sin to be so prideful but Straussler always enjoyed the compliment that Adrienne and her looked like sisters, sincere or not. Expectantly, that caused Angie to try to rectify her own shortcomings through her daughter’s life. And expectantly, Adrienne rebelled. In Angie’s opinion, Daniel Levi is and will always be the most perplexing decision that her usually smart daughter ever made.

“What about Kaplan? You’ve been there for a long time. Three months ago, you said you were going to be promoted to lead.”

Adrienne slumped in her seat.

“Katy got it.”

“Katy?” Angie scoffed, “Of course. I’m not one to spread gossip but she seems the type.”

Stopped at a red light, Adrienne watched as her mom checked her lipstick in the rearview mirror. She spoke next in a very hushed tone.

“Heard she went to Tampa for an abortion.”

“Mom.”

“I’m just saying.”

“Anyway, I quit.”

Angie did one of those exaggerated double takes with her mouth ajar. She was animated enough for the both of them. Her outcry was incredulous.

“Why!?”

“Wouldn’t let me take time off.”

“Who would? What you’re doing is silly.”

Adrienne shook her head slightly.

“I know you don’t like it but it's different. It's me now. Just me. I can’t explain the rush I felt.”

“No, and I don’t care to hear.”

“That’s fine but this company is going to pay me a thousand dollars per appearance. They pay for my airfare…”

“I saw it on the Youtube. You looked like you had two left feet. Not only that, these sorts of outfits always break promises. The one here would forget to pay you.”

No, they did, Adrienne answered internally. But Danny controlled the finances. He’s real smart like that.

“Like I said, it's different. I had my first ever match and now I have a spot on the next supershow. That’s more money. I think … I could be good at this.”

“There you go, sounding like Danny again, when are you going to—”

“I don’t want to talk about Danny.”

Quickly, she used her sleeve to wipe away at her eyes.

“Because … because it's not about him. I’m not there because of him. I’m there because … it’s something I’ve always had to watch and now I’m doing it. And up in Baltimore…”

From bell to bell, she felt human again.

“…it felt right. I don’t know what is going to come of it. There are some super serious people there. Lived lives I could never fathom. And I’m a nobody from here … but Carnage Wrestling put me against three people who have done something in this business and that must mean something.”

“It means you’ve drawn the short straw, Ade.”

Adrienne considered that. No one expected her to overcome Regina Dal Gato. She was faster, more experienced, and just wanted it more. But something unexpected happened. Adrienne walked backstage, head upright, and there was this feeling. Danny always said that being one of the boys was like a brotherhood. Adrienne couldn’t relate for the longest time. She always felt that she was on the outside looking in and maybe Danny wasn’t as influential as he claimed to be. But, possibly she could join up in due time.

“Probably, mom. But this is unchartered territory for the Levis. I intend to see this through.”

After that, Adrienne just tuned out the noise. Her mother always had an opinion and that opinion was always right. She loved her. She was a good mom but in this one instance, Angie didn’t understand the motives of her only child. Adrienne was that bird that just realized that the cage door was ajar. Flittering over to the edge, her head poked through. Outside, though, the world is so vast and dangerous that why would she leave? It was safe after all.

Borrowing from her limited knowledge of sports sayings, well, safe is death.

In the safety of her apartment, she mused over her next encounter. Three daunting, larger than life individuals she couldn’t even begin to surmise. But she had to try. At least make the effort. Danny never prepared. He’d take one look at whoever it was and he’d dress them down in vicious fashion.

Sitting on the couch, she concluded that wasn’t her style.

Adrienne had watched her previous effort a few times back. Her match, too. In both appearances, she seemed lost at the key moments. How does one defy who they are? Her goal wasn’t to go out there and lose. That’d be pointless. She felt accomplished but eventually, Danny’s sentiment that moral victories are worthless would hit home.

After consuming what info she could about Matt Knox, Jonathan Willis, and this enigma of a woman with half a dozen names to call her - well, One of These Things is Not Like the Other.

Well, that’s okay. She didn’t want to be like them.

But just who was Adrienne Levi?

On some internet forum, there was a thread discussing the biggest losers on the independent scene, Danny Levi was joked about heavily. However, it was agreed that Adrienne was a mildly attractive piece of ass and looked dumb as hell so that’s a plus. Comments like this were often accompanied by ringside pictures that should have hit the cutting room floor. One where she was bent over over the middle ring rope. She had a blue minidress that she’d wear only for Danny during his matches and the photographer thought it opportune to shoot up that dress. The image was captioned: Imagine the Smell.

In Adrienne's most recent review at Kaplan, it stated that she exhibited poor customer service skills and required coaching. Whatever the hell that meant because she still received a whole quarter raise.

On the broadcast, Johnny Vegas had quipped that Adrienne was Carnage Wrestling’s newest loser. Well, Johnny Vegas looked like a hairy orange scrotum. She stifled a giggle. That's too much. But whatever, that’s what happens when she drinks one ...one or two wine coolers.

She didn’t want to be a piece of ass, or a forgettable employee, or a loser.

Not being a loser wasn’t always about just winning. Broken clock’s right twice a day. She suspected that Regina would learn that the hard way. No, Adrienne had to make a shift. She had to be more than what was expected of her.

So she opted out of a third strawberry wine cooler. Hastily, she cleared out Danny’s corner. Adrienne would have to set it back to normal before he came back but this … this was about her. So she chose to display who she wanted to be now.

She printed out a picture of Carnage Wrestling’s logo. She grabbed a 8x10 that she took with the intention to autograph to paying fans. Unfortunately, there was a lack of those these days. It was the sort of ridiculous pose where she had fists raised up like she was ready to fight. Her ring gear was a pair of simple black tights, white boots, and a t-shirt, ironically the Doritos one. She also printed out a color photo of her dive from the top rope. It happened to be the only action shot that was taken that featured Adrienne on the offensive.

She found her newly acquired Carnage Wrestling shirt she may have pilfered from an open box backstage. She put on her cleanest pair of jeans and sneakers. Her eyes popped a little with a modest amount of blue eyeliner.

Moments later, she dusted off a selfie stick that had been collecting dust in the kitchen junk drawer. Resulting in a totally more professional presentation.

“Take two.”

Carefully, she framed herself into the picture. This time, she did her best to look directly at her future audience.

“Hello everyone, Adrienne here. I guess I want to start out by making a distinction. I’ve got one match under my belt and I didn’t get the winner’s purse. But I know this business. A lot more than some would give credit. And I know that my upcoming match at Underground is an absolute honor. Two former world champions. An internationally known multi-talented superstar. And then there’s me.”

Adrienne paused, she knew that she had to make the following statement emphatically.

“I’m not…”

She cleared her throat.

“I’m not just a piece of arm candy, Johnny Vegas. And I’m not just singling out that guy because I know what it looks like on the surface. I’m not here to redeem myself like Mr. Knox. He’s one of those former world champions and I bet he beats himself up because lots of folks only talk about the bad. But he did it and that’s what matters. And I may not be relentless like Mr. Willis. My trials and tribulations aren’t worth mentioning. I smoked a little weed during community college before I dropped out. I was a terrible student, too. My life wouldn’t fill out a pamphlet. I am … unremarkable. And so I could never be as outrageous and spectacular as Melificent Lasciel. I don’t have a lick of musical talent and I’m not very photogenic as you can see.”

She gave a little wry smile.

“But what I am is a professional wrestler. I know, duh, so are all of you. All of you have such lofty goals and aspirations. Jonathan has his eyes set on championship gold. I have a feeling that he may be there sooner than later. Matt looks to settle the score with that grumpy old guy. Mel? I don’t know what she wants but I bet it's something glamorous. There’s this mentality in this business that if you don’t want to be on top, then you don’t belong here. Despite all of that, only a few ever actually reach that pinnacle.”

Confidence floundering, she fought with making such a declaration.

“Maybe…”

Another pause.

“Maybe one day that could be me. Delusions of grandeur, I know. But one loss, or two losses, or losing every single time I step into that ring won’t detract me. And I’m sure you’ve all heard those words before. Recently, too.”

But this was the stark truth.

“Maybe reality will stop me cold in my tracks. However, this match won’t be my Last Ride, my Downfall, or my End of Days. There will be no Redemption off of my name. You’re all going to have to earn that some other time because win or lose, Underground is going to be the night where I show you just who I am.”

In a bit of post cut editing, the piece ended on that shot of Adrienne Levi jumping off the top turnbuckle. Her expression was different than any she had ever displayed. On the surface, it was just gritted teeth and eyes afire with concentration. But it was also pure determination, intensity, and a sense of belonging all rolled into a tidy package.

Was that lightning in a bottle, or could that become Adrienne Levi after all?

#carnage wrestling #fatal4way

0 notes

ryanmeft · 7 years

Text

Darkwing Duck is the best comic you aren’t reading

He is the terror that flaps in the night! He is the traffic light that never turns green even though there's no other cars for miles! He is Darkwing Duck! And he is, apparently, the best licensed comic that is having trouble finding an audience.

In the 1990's, there was a lot of dreck in cartoons; nostalgia-tinted glasses can make us forget how bad a lot of our precious memories really were. The Disney Afternoon, though, contained the kind of shows that hold up even today. That's why Disney is looking to mine the period for a modern audience. So far that effort has included a remake of Capcom's excellent NES Ducktales game, an upcoming collection of six of Capcom's Disney NES titles, a Ducktales reboot set to launch this year, and a Rescue Rangers movie currently in the works. There have also been comics of many properties, but Darkwing has by far been the standout. Now, I am learning that the series, which started in 2010, went on hiatus, and came back in January of 2016, is endangered. Having just read the collected edition of the first four issues of the returned book, I can safely say this is an injustice the like of which would whip the Duck Knight himself into action.

Simply put, the Boom Studios Darkwing comic, written by Aaron Sparrow with no lack of love for linguistic loquaciousness and illustrated with the boundless energy of the show by James Silvani, is among the best uses of a license ever, not just in comics but in all media. It started seven years ago with Drake Mallard having divested himself of the daring demands of his double life as Darkwing and dissolving the dynamics of the duo between himself and Launchpad, resigning himself to a restless reverie of daily red ink as another corporate drone. Sparrow and Silvani delivered the kind of return fans of most franchises can only dream about. It was funny. It was exciting. It was colorful. Perhaps most surprisingly of all, it gave the show, which was well-known for not having any kind of serious structure, actual continuity while never losing the madcap pace that made it so much fun.

That story was intended as a mini-series, but it spun off into an ongoing one, which saw Darkwing dealing with classic villains and new threats, and in which the stories hung together surprisingly well, considering the cartoon character had about four different origins and constantly contradicted himself. There was even a crossover with Ducktales that...didn't quite work out, despite their best efforts.

After this inauspicious "end" to the series, Sparrow, Silvani and crew battled hard to save Darkwing, and he eventually landed at Joe Books. When I picked up the first volume, "Orange is the New Purple", I was worried. I was actually very interested in where the previous series had left things, and I thought for sure that after such a long gap Sparrow would just be made to start over.

Fortunately, I found the new book picks up where the old one left off (which I daren't spoil), while still being accessible to newcomers. Darkwing and Gosalyn attend the opening of a new Arkham-style prison, and of course things go horribly wrong as some of his old enemies take the place over, lock them both inside and release the inmates. What follows is as funny as it can be without losing the plot, and as serious as it can be without losing the humor. This time around, it is a little harder to swallow the idea that Darkwing is in any real danger, as his "toonish" malleability is in full effect: from cars landing on him to being smushed by giant mallets, nothing sticks. It gives Silvani a chance to go whole hog, though, and his artwork resembles the cartoon even more closely than it did before. It's also great to see almost all of Darkwing's wacky Rogues Gallery in one place, including the new baddies introduced in the previous "Election" story. Every one is used creatively as Darkwing and Gosalyn play them off each other to affect their escape, and you can almost see the art moving in full animation in your mind.

Darkwing is, after Ducktales, perhaps the most in-demand show for a reboot from the Disney Afternoon. For now, the comic is as good as we're getting, and I would argue it is actually a better fit for D.W. With series creator Tad Stones's approval, Sparrow, Silvani and their team of clearly devoted fans have given us a deeply dedicated distillation of dreamy Darkwing delightfulness. As Liquidator would say, though, if you want to keep the webbed wonder around, act now! This book is a limited time offer! P.S. I’m adding this a few months later to thank everyone for supporting this book and for using my post to do so. The book is on hiatus again, but from what I can tell the creative team is always fighting for the character. In hopes I can be forgiven for being a little self-concerned, I’m also adding some links to some of my other columns you all might like. This blog essentially serves as my portfolio for writing work, so any followers, shares, comments or likes are very, very helpful to me. Thanks in advance. Now back to the Duck Knight! Captain America: White comic review: http://ryanmeft.tumblr.com/post/160374659772/captain-america-white-comic-book-review Some thoughts on the newly announced Assassin’s Creed: Origins: http://ryanmeft.tumblr.com/post/161731846962/assassins-creed-origins-thoughts-and-stuffs And my latest positive film review, for Wonder Woman: http://ryanmeft.tumblr.com/post/161360516982/wonder-woman-movie-review

727 notes · View notes

jonasjjackson · 5 years

Text

Prepping Your Holiday Guest Room

Yuni Min from Love Your Abode gets her guest room ready to entertain, and host guests this holiday season. Read through the post to find out more!

Getting the Guest Room Ready for the Holidays

When I think about the holidays, my favorite memories always center around spending time with the people I love. Since we host and have quite a few people stay in our home throughout the year including our foster children, I love creating a cozy space that welcomes all of our guests. Thanks to The Home Depot and their beautifully stylish and comfortable home line, I was able to make our guest room ready. I’m sharing a few simple tips on how to create a guest room that is both equally stylish and inviting.

Tip 1: Make a Comfortable Bed

A few touches can truly help make your guests feel special and pampered and I think the most important one is helping them get good sleep. Don’t you just want to jump into this bed?

The navy quilt and shams are wonderful quality and you could easily use it for warmer weather as well for layering during the colder season. I love that it is available in bunch of different colors and has amazing reviews. The quilting on it is classic and a great staple on your bed throughout the year.

Tip 2: Provide the essentials and something extra

First of all, do you just drool over this nightstand? I practically did when I saw it online and then when it arrived, it was even better! Campaign styled furniture can be pretty pricey but these are not only gorgeous and well made, they are a great price. The gold hardware on them adds a nice modern touch and it arrived fully assembled. I was completely blown away by the choices that The Home Depot now offers to decorate and furnish your home.

It’s always nice when you stay at someone’s house and you don’t have to constantly ask for another towel. I like that these nightstands have open shelves so guests can easily utilize whatever is there for them. A little basket of toiletries is also a nice gesture just in case your guests forgot their toothpaste, conditioner, etc. I added face masks, lavender essential oil and other items that will hopefully allows guests to fully relax and feel like they are on vacation.

I loved this canvas of the Rome city skyline that I discovered online at The Home Depot. It reminded me of my recent trip to Italy a couple of months ago. The colors go perfectly in here and they had so many different city skylines available. My home isn’t Italy but I still want guests to feel like they are away from home and can relax and unwind as if they were.

The sleek Safavieh white and gold rimmed lamp provides additional lighting for guests. It complements the nightstand perfectly.

Tip 3: Add a bowl or tray for catchall items

I adore this gilded sea glass bowl and think it is a perfect place for guests to throw their keys and jewelry into it. I like that it’s large enough to hold valuable items and keep them all in one place.

Tip 4: Add fresh flowers or faux greenery

I discovered some fabulous decorative items like this vase that actually comes in a trio set along with the mirrored tray with gold handles. I just added a candle and a faux pick to the vase to add some holiday cheer.

I also hung a simple faux wreath above the bed and put out flowers on the nightstand. Flowers and plants always add life to a space and help make a room feel even more lived in. A medium sized fig plant adds color and ambience to the bedroom.

Tip 5: Share your laundry room

When guests come over, we always ask if they want to use our washer and dryer. I found this braided laundry basket and placed it at the corner of the bed. This allows guests to put all their dirty laundry in one area. A benefit to letting guests do laundry is so that it’s one less thing they have to deal with when returning home. I think it’s a small gesture of hospitality that makes guests feel more comfortable.

Tip 6: Think of small details

Add extra reading materials and if there’s space for it, a place to sit.

An extra set of pillows and a throw blanket is also a nice touch to the room. This linen throw is beautiful at the foot of the bed but practical for guests to use as well.

A rug like this one grounds the space and pulls the room together. It adds that extra layer of coziness and makes the room feel warm and comfortable. The colors on it are absolutely beautiful.

Tip 7: Be available

My last tip has nothing to do with design but all about being available to your guests. You could have the most perfectly styled room that can still feel completely cold and uninviting. I believe it’s all about our hearts and how we welcome people into our homes. The cozy bedroom is just the cherry on top if we generously open our hearts to those who enter inside our homes.

I am so excited to share this newly decorated room with my sister’s family who will be our first guests during Christmas. The Home Depot recently partnered with me on gifting her family a Winter Wonderland in her home. Thank you to The Home Depot for creating an equally stylish and comfortable bedroom for all our future guests.

Be sure to follow along with me on Instagram where I share lots of decorating tips, recipes and DIY projects.

Find more holiday inspiration and bedroom ideas, on The Home Depot Blog.

The post Prepping Your Holiday Guest Room appeared first on The Home Depot Blog.

from Home https://blog.homedepot.com/holiday-guest-room/ via http://www.rssmix.com/

#construction

0 notes

yesterdaysdreams · 6 years

Text

Mandi’s Living Room Reveal

It was only a few short months ago that I posted a tour of this home and announced we were placing an offer. I had a couple of friends say they were surprised. It didn’t seem like a good fit. Not much character. Kind of weird in ways. But here we are, and I’m excited to finally share the outcome of my vision for this living room space! And I feel like it might make a lot more sense now.

We had missed out on a home with a sunken conversation pit in front of a lava rock fireplace, so every home I viewed after that one could never measure up. I realized I needed to get really creative about what could be done to a space, instead of trying to find another house with something as awesome as a conversation pit. (That one was probably a once-in-a-lifetime find for my budget!) Though our current home was built in the ’80s, I wanted to bring some mid-century flair to the living room (which is technically sunken, since you take a step down into the space), but not so much that it felt at odds with the rest of the home, or the home’s character. I was able to achieve the loungey vibe that I love about a conversation pit by transforming the brick fireplace into a tall stone feature element, and building out the hearth to extend the entire length of the wall.

You can read all about the process of making over the fireplace wall on my post from earlier this week, but I’ll sum it up for you here too. I actually didn’t do any demo on the fireplace wall (besides removing the mantle and carpet). Instead, I chose to cover up the brick with an affordable manufactured stone veneer product called Cultured Stone by Boral. I wanted a warm neutral stone with some variety in its mix, adding textural interest and even pattern to such a starkly bright white room. So I selected the Old Country Fieldstone in the Summit Peak colorway and hired my friend, mason Jeremy Miller, to install it for me. He installed a moisture barrier over the drywall above the fireplace, mounted metal lath to that, and then covered the whole area with mortar to make an even surface for mounting the cultured stone veneer. I think out of all the changes we’ve made to our home so far, this has been the best decision! Such a big bang for the buck.

On the newly extended hearth, I chose to use Ardex Feather Finish in white, which is a concrete material meant to be applied as a skim coat or floor underlayment. I chose not to use the manufactured stone material on the face of the hearth because it would stick out beyond the upper lip of the hearth, which I would then have to build out to maintain any kind of dimensional overhang, and that just seemed like too much work for something I wasn’t even sure was the best choice. So I decided on the white Ardex because it has a natural material vibe, but it wouldn’t add any visual or physical bulk like stone would. I’m glad I chose to make the hearth bright and white, as it looks streamlined and fades nicely into the floor and walls, allowing the stone wall to be the focal point of the room.

Of course another huge change for this space was the new wall color and flooring materials. Paint is the least expensive way to change a space, and while I do love a cozy darker color in the right application, I just wasn’t feeling it for in here. Because of the angles of the ceiling and soffits in here, choosing a color that contrasted with the ceiling was making the space feel angular and tense. Painting the walls with Benjamin Moore’s Super White now makes the ceiling feel like its soaring, and blurs the line between where the wall ends and the ceiling begins.

I do plan on using some moodier colors in other rooms of our house, like our entryway and study, but I definitely feel like our living room was made for white walls.

The bright space of the living room is enhanced by natural light coming from two skylights and a window I’ve visually enlarged with four stack-back curtain panels, but it also benefits from a lot of light pouring in from the adjacent sunroom. The sunroom is one of two ways we can access our back deck, but that door hasn’t gotten any play since we’ve moved into the house. Maybe one day it’ll see more action when we add a dog to our family, in which case I’ll probably add a large rug to the sunroom as well.

You can check out more of the sunroom details over at my blog, and see how I built the channel-tufted storage banquette on this post here at A Beautiful Mess. It’s a bright little space where my houseplants are really happy, and I love that the view into the sunroom contributes a touch of greenery to our living room. I’m considering moving my big ficus into the living room this spring, but we’ll see what my heart tells me!

It’s difficult for me to nail down a description of the decor style for our home, but if I could sum it up, I’d probably say our home is a mix of mid-century modern, ’70s boho, and ’80s transitional—with a touch of Bauhaus and Scandinavian influences. I steer towards earthy neutrals with lots of texture and bold style, but I like to add a pop of color where it counts— like with our gorgeous yellow Welles sectional from Joybird.

I’m actually in the process of swapping out this sofa for a larger L-shaped sectional from Joybird, but I’m either sticking with yellow or choosing an adobe orange velvet. We decided on the swap because we wanted more seating in here since we host a lot of parties, book groups, and movie nights in this space.

I love the mix of old/new and high/low that fills this space. I wanted our new home to feel sophisticated, but also cozy and inviting. Of course, as with any home, this space will always be a work in progress. But it feels good to finally be finished with the big projects in here and to be able to call this space “done” (for now)!

If you have any questions about my design process or about the materials or products, I’ll be checking into the comments below to reply to everyone. I did add a link list at the end of this post to help you track down any products, or to disappoint you in the event the piece you love is vintage! Ah, vintage. Such a heartbreaker, eh?

Thanks for taking a peek into my home! It’s a joy to finally be able to share it with you. – Mandi

Living Room Materials and Product Sources:

Wall paint: Benjamin Moore’s Super White Fireplace stone: Boral Cultured Stone Old Country Fieldstone in Summit Peak Flooring: Lumber Liquidators engineered bamboo White Ardex: eBay Large area rug: Lulu & Georgia Sofa: Welles sectional from Joybird Glass side table: All Modern Coffee Table: Chairish White chairs: 1st Dibs White side table between chairs: LexMod Credenza: vintage Broyhill Brasilia from Main St. Modern in Canton, Ohio Black swing-arm wall sconce: Hayneedle Curtain rods: IKEA Curtains: HomeGoods Hearth cushions: Deal Genius Sunroom wicker chair: vintage from Main St. Modern in Canton, Ohio Sunroom table: Lexmod Sunroom rug: Amazon Sunroom wall planters: West Elm Watercolor Louise Brooks portrait on credenza: original from German artist Galerie Minimal on Etsy Large neutral art created by my girls Decorative trays: Home Goods Vases, floor lamps, bar cart, photobooth panel, yellow op art, and little girl portrait are vintage.

Credits//Author and Photography: Mandi Johnson. Photos edited with A Color Story Desktop.

from RSSMix.com Mix ID 8265713 http://ift.tt/2lZzIzW via IFTTT

#IFTTT #RSSMix.com Mix ID 8265713

0 notes