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naoyas90dayfiance · 3 years

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Ghosthunting gone wrong | Naoya Zen'in

SFW but Spooky! (I think)

Naoya Zen'in & GN!Reader

Characters: Naoya Zen'in, Chad (whoever you want him to be), and you.

Summary: Naoya and his team go to a hospital looking for some scary footage for his YouTube channel but it quickly turns into a race for survival.

Word count: 4.3k

Author's note: this is a piece for ChaoticYuna's Summerween collab! I hope it spooks you ♥

Naoya abruptly closed his eyes as the shining white light of the camera hit his iris. The lens of the device adjusted itself to focus on his funny face with a wrinkled nose and eyes pressed shut.

"What a face, boss." Chad laughed at the microphone from his trailer. The image on his left monitor distracted him from focusing on the one in the center.

"Shut up, fuckface." Naoya replied to the discreet microphone attached to his earpiece. "Y/N, you almost made me fucking blind." Naoya turned his back to you while you kept adjusting the camera so it'll have a good take on Naoya's body. Chad couldn't help but giggle at the live video that got to his computer.

"Who the fuck thought it was funny to come to an abandoned hospital?" Naoya said when looking at the building that was in front of him.

"Haunted hospitals are trending right now. Chad's projections show we could get up to 100k subscribers with this video along."

"I hope he's fucking right or else-"

"Gotcha, boss," Chad replied; now, his gaze focused on the monitor at the center of the desk. The blue light washed off the color of his face, and the sounds of clicks filled the small cold office.

"Let's record the intro while he does his thing," Naoya walked around the hospital with you. He found a place that looked creepy enough and stood patiently in front of it. He waited for you to get a good angle of him and the infrastructure he had behind.

"And action." The red light beeped from the camera when you finished the sentence.

Naoya's face lit up. He showed his perfect teeth as his features gracefully expressed his acted cheerfulness; his hands articulated perfectly his introduction, on which he explained that he was in a haunted hospital to search for some evidence of paranormal activity.

"Cut." Naoya's face dramatically changed, his once-raised brows now lied flat, his hands went to his side, and his smile was gone. He turned around and faced the hospital that Chad had picked for his video. It was a significantly tall building.

"Make sure to change the building for the thumbnail. This one isn't scary at all." Naoya told his assistant through the discreet microphone.

"It looks exactly like my gradma's hospital," Naoya smirked at your remark.

"Roger that. Boss, did you read the history of the hospital that I sent you?" Chad asked him.

"I read it, and it was stupidly fake."

"It's what I found, boss. People here said that it happened."

"If you keep believing liars, I'll fire your ass."

"People will love it, boss. Don't worry."

"You're going to be the one worried if we don't get the 100k."

"Boss, it'll be cool if we record you walking around the building," you told Naoya.

Naoya agreed with your comment. He fixed his hair and let his face go numb and expressionless. He hid his hands on the pockets of his jeans.

The young man heard you giving him the sign that the camera was recording. And so, the crackling of the autumn leaves and dried branches under his feet sounded throughout the landscape of the abandoned proximity.

As the recording continued Naoya kept making surprised faces, which were composed of raised eyebrows and parted lips. He also pointed to random broken windows of the hospital with his black-manicured index finger.

"I don't know if Y/N can catch this for you guys," Naoya stopped and turned his whole body to face the camera. He pointed to his left side. "But this hospital is in the middle of nowhere. Behind all of those trees, there's nothing. It's all forest. This was supposed to be a hospital for local factories that are about 26 miles from here; but as you can see, it was abandoned." You slowly moved the camera to film the forest Naoya was talking about, but you only got dark shots, as the sun was almost gone.

"And I'm not sure if you noticed it while we were walking around this building," The camera focused on Naoya. "But there's only one entrance door and an exit door. Not the optimal architectural choice for an important hospital such as this one was meant to be."

"No wonder why this place was abandoned," you mocked behind the camera the poor architecture. Chad chuckled at your comment from his desk, but then went back to his task when you finished walking around to the old medical center.

"Done," Chad muttered to himself and changed windows on his main screen. The red light that filled his office turned green when he clicked on the main button.

"Boss, we're ready," Naoya heard Chad’s notice through his earpiece.

"Let's go inside," he told you.

Naoya stepped on the metal steps of the hospital. You remained two steps down as Naoya positioned himself in the middle of the shot with the entrance door behind him.

"Alright, guys. We're about to enter this haunted hospital. If you are enjoying the video thus far, make sure to press the like button, subscribe and ring the bell. The team and I appreciate it very much. Especially for this might be the video where we might not come out ali-"

As Naoya was speaking, the door behind him slightly opened. The sound of rusted metal against itself made Naoya visibly shake his body and almost bite his tongue. He felt an electric sharp going through his spine. The frontman turned around, and gave a brief look back to the camera, then bravely placed his hand on the door. He lightly pushed it to open further. This time Naoya established eye contact with the camera and winked at it.

"Let's go."

You went up two steps to catch up with Naoya, who held the door open for you after he had gone into the hospital first.

Before your right foot could take the final step, a hand with claw-like nails came out of the spider-web-filled space in-between of the steps; it took the seam of your jean and pulled it towards it. The front of your foot hit the metal staircase. You let out a sudden gasp as your skin got goosebumps for the unexpected move; you instinctively directed the camera to your sports shoes.

"Something grabbed me by the foot, boss," you said in a tense and low voice. Your camera was still exploring the vicinity of the staircase, but you only caught on tape leaves and branches, confirming that the area was clear.

"Better get out of that staircase then," Naoya smiled when you pointed the camera to him. He invited you into the hospital once again. He held the door opened wider so you could go inside. Once the both of you were in the building, Naoya let go of the door that hit with a loud bang the steel frame. Your nerves made you shake the camera when you heard the loud sound. But, in contrast, Naoya kept walking with an expressionless yet beautiful face into the main hallway that led to the reception.

You strolled three steps behind Naoya, catching his left side that showed so well his piercings and his lined eyes that were looking at the lack of decoration in the building. Naoya turned his face towards the reception desk, leaving you to record the back of his bleached hair.

You took the cue and moved the camera around to show how the hospital had two long hallways, one at the right and another at the left. Both of them met at the center, which was the reception center.

"Y/N, light over here," Naoya instructed you. He had gotten behind the reception desk. You rapidly moved towards where your employer was.

"It seems nothing's here," Naoya said to the camera once you were filming his long fingers opening the drawers of the desk.

"Probably the people that have visited this place," Naoya paused as he opened another screeching drawer, "took each document."

"By the way, if you didn't know, we chose this building for a particular reason," Naoya was fully facing the camera; his back was to the dirty white wall of the reception center. "It's said that on October 31st, 1991, this whole building was on fire. The victims of the incident: some patients, doctors, and other members of the staff said that they were being burned alive. And people outside of the building recall having called the firefighting department because everyone was screaming in agony, from little children to the grown men of the factories. Hell broke loose here," Naoya left his position behind the front desk and began walking towards the left hallway of the hospital. You followed his movements with the recording device.

"But, there's another side of the story,” Naoya kept talking to the camera as he was walking. “when the firefighters, ambulances, and the police arrived here they saw nothing. There was no fire, no people with crispy burned skin, not even cigarette smoke," Naoya paused. "A firefighter that we interviewed said that when they got inside, they only saw that everyone in the hospital had passed out," Naoya’s gaze set itself in an arc made of shiny letters that welcomed them to the kid’s area. He took his hand out of his pocket and pointed to it so you could film it.

"The people that were outside of the hospital when everything happened insisted they saw this place on fire. And when the police tried to calm them down and told them that there was no fire, they kept insisting that there was a fire. It seemed like they were the only ones that could see it," Naoya had passed three doors with children's paintings on them. "And when some of those people finally got reunited with their family member that was in the hospital, they broke down into tears," Naoya stopped. You circled with your camera around him and took a spot in front of him. "That day a woman was screaming at the paramedics that her kid was dead, that she couldn't see his face, it was all burned. The only thing remaining was a black goo that covered his bones," Naoya shuddered for the camera and stopped next to a door, which had pink foamy letters, and it read: Playro m, the second "o" was missing.

Naoya grabbed the golden handle covered with grey dust and turned it downwards. He opened the door that made a squeaky sound as Naoya opened it slowly. His eyes went from the camera to the entrance. "You can look it up if you don't believe me," Naoya finally said and pushed the door open; microscope spores of dust traveled through his nostrils and almost made him sneeze.

Naoya found inside the room a plastic blue table with many toys on it. The light of the camera was capable to catch on tape their worn-out state.

"It is said that her kid was here when the paramedics arrived," Naoya added, giving his back to the camera. He got near the table and took one of the toys, closely inspecting it.

"Witnesses said she was a crying mess. Her whines could be heard throughout the whole building and the outsides. She kept saying that her kid's body was decimated, but the paramedics saw that none of that was the truth," Naoya showed a dirty teddy bear to your camera. He put the toy down and kept talking to the device. He was browsing the room with his gaze, and you slowly followed it to catch nothing on the footage. "Her kid had fainted, but he was breathing and didn't have a single scratch on his body."

"Creepy, ain't it?" Naoya suddenly locked eyes with the camera and quirked his eyebrow; then he turned on his heels. You exited the room, but neither closed the door of the playroom. You kept your position in front of Naoya and walked backward as both walked to the next room.

"People don't know the motive of the group hallucination, some say it was some chemical in the wind, others are convinced that the victims were lying, and some of the people that knew the staff swear it was a curse the hospital has. As it was founded by a doctor that took ill people and offered them as sacrif-," Naoya's sentence was cut short. "FUCK," He shouted. He had bitten his tongue as a reaction to the loud bang that almost burst your eardrums. You jumped in fear and pointed your camera light to the room you had just visited.

"Don't leave me in the dark for fuck sake," Naoya's hand was in his mouth, trying to soothe his pain as he walked next to you.

"Boss, the door," you said in a whisper as you zoomed into the door of the kid's playroom. It was shut.

"I guess the rumor was true," Naoya removed his hand from his lips and played out a cheeky smile that you caught once you had taken the shot of the now-closed door.

"Everyone at home. It's 7.30 PM," Naoya gazed at his smart-watch. "We only have the moonlight coming from these windows," Naoya pointed to the windows on the opposite side from where the rooms were. They gave enough light to distinguish walls from nothingness; however, the details were left in the dark. "And we have found a haunted place to do our investigation," Naoya looked at the lens of the camera and winked at it.

"Let's go, love," Naoya commanded, and you followed your boss' steps deeper into the left hallway.

"It is said that the doctor had worshipped a God, but no one knows which one was. Maybe we can get some info about it if we go into his office," Naoya gave a brief look back to the camera and stopped his strolling next to a door with a golden plaque that read "Director". Naoya placed his hand on the handle and turned it. The metal door separated from its frame and let out a cloud of dust that had Naoya coughing. He pulled the neck of his black t-shirt to his nose.

He pushed the entrance open, but he only found a wooden desk in the middle of the room, with no chair behind it. There was graffiti with an unknown symbol for Naoya on the wall.

He entered the room, and so did you to get a 360 shot of the room, showing how the many shelves in there were empty. Naoya looked at the camera from his side angle when it focused on him again; his nose was still covered with his t-shirt. Dust was accumulating on the camera.

"People that leave nothing behind are more suspicious than those that do, don't you think? Was he trying to hide something?" Naoya's steps headed to the exit of the room, and you were in front of him once again, walking backward.

"You'll have to find out in the next part of this video series," Naoya was standing in the hallway now. "where we are going to go to the right hallway of the hospital," Naoya pointed to the hallway on his right. "It is said that the Emergency Room was there, and it was where the sightings of the fire started that day," The camera centered on the darkness of the unexplored hallway and closed its shot when it caught a small shadow standing in the middle of it. A few seconds of silence reigned in the hospital.

"Okay, I got it," you said.

"Boss, I'm still trying to synchronize the rest of the stunts. My computer is having issues connecting with them."

"How did I look in those scenes?"

"Wonderful job as always," you replied. Naoya winked at you.

"Sorry, boss. Did you say something?"

"I asked how I looked in those scenes," Naoya heard a sudden static sound on his earpiece. He immediately took it off. "That idiot, I almost lose my hearing," Naoya grunted between his teeth. He pocketed his device.

"What is it?"

"That fool lost connection with the earpiece; I bet he kicked the cable or some stupid shit like that."

"Don't worry, boss. When that little light there turns green," you pointed to an emergency light that had a weak beaming red light. Naoya had to squint his eyes to see it. "it means that everything is ready to go."

"What the fuck?" Naoya replied in a low tone. He shrugged off the technological nonsense and pulled out a handkerchief from his back pocket to wipe off the sweat on his face. "Whatever, that piece of trash better have it ready before I quit this shit. You talk to him. I can't stand this," Naoya handed you the earpiece.

"Hey, boss. Look we're ready to shoot," you turned on your camera and set it up to record the empty right hallway. Naoya squinted his eyes again when looking at the emergency light and noticed the green beam discretely coming from it.

The host of the show stepped forward, placing himself in the middle of the shot. He audibly cleared his throat and put his hands in front of him, ready to help him articulate the introduction of the new episode.

"Hey, guys. It's us again. We're here at the haunted Saint John's Hospital. You can check out its back-story on our first video, and watch what we just experienced in those rooms," Naoya pointed at the children's room on his right. You followed his movement with the camera before focusing on the fake blonde again. "This time, we're going to explore th-."

In less than a second, Naoya had lost his balance and loudly fell. The palm of his hands landed after his knees on the floor. His good reflex saved him from hitting his face against the dusty floor by less than an inch.

"WHAT THE FUCK WAS THAT?" Naoya shouted facing the floor. His eyes became watery for the dust had entered them, his inhalations became deeper, and the wings of his nose were flaring up. He prompted himself up with his feet and looked at the camera in front of him, his face was completely red, as were his eyes, and the tip of his nose had some visible dust on it.

"Boss, I don't know. Let me rewind the video," you nervously said.

"That piece of trash. He'll know what's good now," Naoya demanded the earpiece back from you. His grip on it made the soft plush on the sides mold to every line of his fingers.

"Chad, fucking son of a bitch," Naoya said on the mic after he put his piece back on. "I'll fucking show you what's funny after we're done filming," Naoya let out a loud shout of pain as he slammed the device on the floor. You tried to hide your neck with your shoulders as you also heard an insufferable screeching sound coming from the earpiece. Naoya walked towards the communication tool and stepped on it harshly until the sound stopped and the device was nothing but small pieces of broken plastic.

"Boss, check this out," you handed Naoya the camera, and he played the clip on the tactile screen. He saw himself standing in the middle of the shot, and how a hand with nasty long nails grabbed his shoulder. The next second of the film showed when it pushed him to the ground.

"What stupid stunt is that? It’s so fucking cliché. I look like a fool," Naoya said between his teeth. His jaw bone was visible through his skin.

Naoya's anger didn't last long, as he let out a loud yelp for he heard deafening bangs coming from every room of the hospital. He dropped the camera, which turned itself off and left you in the dark.

Naoya covered his ears with his hands and tried to adjust his eyes to the dim moonlight coming from the windows. He tried to look for the source of the sound, but it was too dark.

You quickly crouched down once the camera hit the floor and picked it up. You tried to cover your ears from the loud noise, but your right hand was occupied with turning on the device.

As the welcome ringtone played from the camera device and joined the bangs, a ear-piercing scream came from the right hallway. You dropped the camera once again while Naoya visibly shook his body. You firmly clenched your jaw and felt tears rolling down your face for the immense stress that the continuous screeching made your bodies felt.

Naoya sprinted towards the entrance door, and you followed his steps. The camera was far gone as it wasn’t your priority anymore.

When you got to the entrance, Naoya pushed and pulled the door repeatedly; you joined him in forcing the other door. The sounds of the maddening bangs and the ear-shattering scream almost made you start desperately screaming yourself.

"How the fuck did that bitch think this was funny?" Naoya grunted and kicked the door, but it didn't budge. He let out a loud shout in frustration that only made the screeching voice become louder and, somehow, closer to you.

"Boss, let's get out of here now," Naoya realized how now he could see every detail of the hospital thanks to a mysterious orange light. He turned around and saw how the building was being engulfed by flames. Both of you felt the overwhelming heat of the fire making your body’s temperature unbearably high.

You quickly ran into the nearest window, and with shaky hands tried to open it. As you both struggled to lift it, you heard how the nerve-wreacking screech was getting closer to you. And just before the window sprung open thanks to your forces combined, Naoya managed to see from his peripheral view an demonic creature standing next to him, reaching out to grab his shoulder with its familiar human-like hand.

Naoya pushed you out of the way, and he threw himself out of the window. He landed abruptly on the concrete floor of the entrance. His body shook at the impact; he could feel blood running down his face, which clouded his view with red.

“Boss! Help me!” Naoya heard your plea behind him. He turned his bloody face around and saw the tall creature taking the right side of your body to forbid you from leaving the place. Naoya made eye contact with the goat-like face of the force that was man-handling you, but before fear took over his body, he saw your crying and desperated face.

Naoya used his hands to prompt himself up. He grabbed your left hand that was reaching out towards him and violently pulled you outside. You hit your hip with the window frame but managed to free your right arm and jump out of the window.

Trying to look for a way out, Naoya looked at Chad's trailer but it was being devoured by fire. Then, he instinctively looked at the car that was parked near it and saw how Chad's moonlit body was running towards his vehicle.

Without giving a second look back to the creature that was now making its way out through the window, Naoya demanded that you follow him.

He jumped the steps of the staircase, and he loudly sprinted towards the car as Chad was trying to start it. The lights of the lamps guided his and your way towards it.

Naoya slammed his body against the door of the passenger seat. His hands touched the cold metal of the door until he found the handle. He pulled it, opened the door and launched himself into the seat, closing the door behind him. Chad was too focused on trying to start the car for the fifth time to acknowledge his employer's presence.

"Pump the accelerator" Naoya took Chad's hands out of the steering wheel. He put his right hand on the key, and he fidgeted it three times while Chad pumped the accelerator. In an instant, the car's engine started, and Chad placed his hands on the wheel.

As Chad looked up he saw how your bloody body was trying to get to the car. The creature was close behind you. He drove closer to you so you could open the back seat.

In a second, you managed to open the door and got into the car. Chad sped up and drove out of the inferno that was the hospital and the trailer.

Naoya's gaze traveled back to check on your body lying in the backseat, and he could also see how the out-of-this-world creature remained still and watched you leave.

The road to the main highway was a bumpy and silent one. Tears were still running down your face; Naoya had pulled out a few tissues from the compartment, and was cleaning the blood off his face.

He had gave you the whole box and some medical alcohol, which you used to treat your wounds and then clean the blood. As you were doing so, you couldn't help but noticed that your wounds didn't burn when you applied alcohol to them, and that the tissues were only came out with the brown dirt of your skin.

"Someone else has to drive. I can't do this," Chad interrupted your thoughts when he suddenly stopped the car. He started to sob and then desperately cry as the sight of the cuts on his hands was too much for the young man to handle. Naoya opened his passenger seat door and exchanged positions with his assistant. He was now driving his car.

"I had to break the fucking window with my hands. I thought I was going to die there," Chad whispered as he kept crying.

You gave Chad the bottle of medical alcohol and the box of tissue. Chad took it and started to wipe off the sweat and tears from his face, as well as treating his wounds. You saw how he hissed in pain, and noticed how his tissues came out red.

Then, a silly thought came to your head:

"Boss, I lost the camera back there."

"And I lost all the footage in the computer."

"The demon can keep them," you giggled at Naoya's comment, and Chad did the same.

#naoya zenin x reader #zenin naoya x reader #naoya #naoya zenin #zenin naoya

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ship-enthusiast · 3 years

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Prompt: Modern Destiel AU

Teacher!Castiel x Youtuber!Dean

3.2k words

TW: mild swearing

Castiel Novak was a socially inept introvert to those who personally knew him and just a quiet guy to those who didn’t. He never knew his mother and had an absent father throughout his childhood. Despite the terrible credentials, his father had adopted a boy before Castiel was born from Africa named Uriel. He also had an older half-sister named Anna whom he was closest to throughout his childhood.

Castiel and Uriel were terrible step-siblings with Uriel always bullying Cas into submission during their childhood. Since his home wasn’t a safe place, he would often find sanctuary at the local library and immersed himself in history and literature. He had a short-term girlfriend named Hester whom he dated for a few months as a teenager when he was under the pressure of his father to date girls. Not wanting to disappoint him further, Cas tried to court his dad’s business friend’s daughter but it ended up a mess since Cas was, well, gayer than a rainbow unicorn.

Due to his excellent grades, he was offered a full-ride scholarship to the University of Kansas. He accepted the offer because he wanted to get as far away from home as he could and got his bachelor’s degree in education before interning at a public school. Because he loved working at the high school so much, he decided to become a substitute teacher for the district.

While subbing for a variety of teachers, he worked for his master’s degree in American history and was offered a permanent teacher’s position when one of them retired. On the side of subbing for teachers, Castiel worked at a coffee shop in a neighboring city. Although he was still shy and reserved, he managed to make a friend named Meg who was a regular at the coffee shop. At that time he met a downcast Dean Winchester who had just lost his father. He would usually meet up with his brother, Sam, at Cas’s coffee shop since Sam attended the nearby university. Sometimes Dean would stay behind when his brother left and that’s when Castiel introduced himself and the two bonded over their love-hate relationships with their parental figures.

Dean always expressed how he felt like he was a failure for never going to college when Castiel encourages him to go for a job or start something he wants to do. Dean had a side hobby of making videos as a kid because his family would move around a lot so he liked to film entertaining short videos of him and Sam to stay in touch with old friends. The friendships never lasted and the hobby was discarded until he decided to take Castiel’s advice and began filming little videos and posting them on youtube under the name ‘Wayward Winchester.’

The two would introduce each other to their interests and new things like movies and/or music. One time Dean brought over his friend, Charlie Bradbury, and Castiel thought the two were dating. He was immediately confused because although the two hadn’t explicitly come out to each other, they knew in the short yet meaningful duration of their relationship. His worries were for nothing, though, when Charlie noticed the tension and just casually mentioned she was a lesbian.

Castiel was over the moon when Dean’s videos started gaining traction a few months later. He was scared at the same time because he didn’t know what Dean would do with the newfound fame but he wasn’t ready for him to leave his life forever, and neither was Dean. After one of Castiel’s midterm exams, Dean asked Cas to hang out with him at the coffee shop where they had met. By this time Castiel had almost graduated and had a position waiting for him at the public high school so things were finally going well for the two. Castiel was scared for the meeting, thinking it was goodbye, and almost had a panic attack before Dean asked him to be his boyfriend. Of course, Castiel then felt stupid, said yes, and Dean declared that day to be their first date. Two years later on the exact same date at the exact same spot, Dean Winchester got down on one knee and asked Castiel to marry him.

Dean was a bit surprised and flattered when his fans were thirsting over him in the comments of his newer youtube videos so he explicitly stated he was in a stable relationship with his fiancee. He never specified the gender or his sexuality which was a big topic about him because gay marriage was still only legalized the year before.

They were married in the summer of next year by Dean’s father figure, Bobby Singer. Uriel and Anna were both invited but only Anna came. Sam attended as the best man with his wife, Jessica, and their one-year-old daughter Mary. Cas had asked Charlie to be his maid of honor since the two had bonded immensely after their first initial meeting. The two’s dynamic was convenient since Charlie would talk to whoever approached them and since she was with a guy, she wouldn’t be harassed and sometimes he’d be her wingman when hooking up with other chicks.

As a teacher, he was everything a student could ask for. He assigned homework three times a week and one essay a month. He was also a bit lenient on the due dates because he knew life could get in the way and tried his best to accommodate all of his students’ needs into his lesson plans. Despite his awkward demeanor, new high schoolers feared him but they were easily quelled when they met him. It was cringy whenever an older teacher would try to talk in their generation slang but when Castiel did it it felt extra out of place since he was so awkward. He still continued to surprise students whenever he quoted or understood a popular meme to which he’d reply with a Mean Girls reference of “I’m not like other teachers, I’m a cool teacher.”

His students didn’t question his sexuality much because they were adamant he wasn’t straight. The man was stylish and had a million different sweater vests. His trenchcoat became his trademark since he always came to school wearing it and it was rarely seen not nearby him. His students liked to do their own gestures to let him know they were okay with his sexuality, whether it was speaking about social issues in class or wearing pride clothing.

Castiel would also incorporate a lot of modern issues into his lessons and made sure his students were all self-aware of the situations in the world in hopes that they could help those he could not. There was absolutely no Mr. Novak slander in the hallways—literally, every student loved him; even if they’ve never had him as a teacher. Sometimes he acted like a counselor to those who felt uncomfortable talking to their parents or guardians at home. Overall, he was the best teacher a student could ask for.

In the end, his students were still teenagers and would be caught watching youtube or Netflix in class so he would have to confiscate their phones for the rest of class. He always felt guilty if he kept it any longer so he would pass the phones to his co-worker, Jo Harvelle. Jo also happened to be the daughter of the principal and an avid fan of Wayward Winchester. Castiel would sometimes listen to her rant about how much she liked or disliked something in his husband’s videos during their breaks with minimum comments. If he liked anything she said, he would go home and tell Dean and the two would laugh over it.

It wasn’t until Jo began continuously talking about the theories regarding who Dean’s mystery lover could be and comments regarding his sexuality did Dean finally feel like he was ready to open up to his fans with his husband’s encouragement. Castiel was the one who filmed that video and it trended pretty quickly since only a small handful of popular YouTubers were in the LGBTQ+ community. The video did garner some hate but the reception, for the most part, was very positive. This finally led to Castiel revealing to his students that he had a husband whom he had been married to for eight years. He was only met with positive responses and felt like a weight had been lifted off his shoulders. A year later, Castiel started an elective class that taught about historical LGBTQ+ figures, monuments, timelines, and etc. It also doubled as a “therapy group” as the students liked to call it since it was a safe space.

Even if Castiel dearly loved his job, he wanted nothing more than to go home to his husband, curl up on the couch and have a western movie marathon. Summer break was finally coming up and Cas was more than ready to take a break from grading tests and papers. He had a love-hate relationship with the end of the term because, on one hand, he had a lot of stressed-out students, high piles of ungraded homework, and barely any sleep. But on the other hand, he had the next three months just for him and Dean. Their 10th year anniversary was also coming up and he was fretting about what he should get his husband.

Castiel was snapped out of his thoughts as he heard faint giggling from the back of the classroom. He glances at the clock from the corner of his eye to see that there were still fifteen minutes left of class and students weren’t allowed on their phones until the last five minutes. Sighing, he stands up and walks to the back of the classroom where he sees a small group of girls huddled around a single phone. He walks behind them without any of them noticing, raising an eyebrow when he sees what they’re watching. Most of the time it’s that god-awful show called Riverdale but this time, it was one of Dean’s videos. His husband’s video.

He was a bit taken aback as he recognized the video being on Dean uploaded last week about this game he played with Sam and Jessica called “Never Have I Ever.” The part they were on was “never have I ever gotten a speeding ticket.” Castiel snorts to himself when Dean puts up the sign “I have.” On one of their dates, they were almost late to a musical Castiel had been waiting months to see so Dean was speeding and they were pulled over.

“I wonder what kind of car he drives,” the girl on the right whispers to the others.

“Do not ever get Dean Winchester started on his car,” Castiel finally spoke up, causing a few of the girls to jump in surprise. “He will never shut up.”

“I—” one of the girls blinks in confusion.

“Do you…?”

Before they could ask any questions, Castiel confiscates the phone and walks back to his desk with a smug smile. If only Dean could see him now. The two had decided on keeping Cas’s identity a secret because Dean was the one in the relationship who wanted attention and Cas was content in staying in the background. Dean had also progressively become even more famous throughout the years and Cas knew the fame was not for him. It also made it harder to go on dates without someone recognizing Dean.

There were a few times when they were grocery shopping where a fan spotted them and Cas introduced himself as Dean’s cousin. The two had spoken about whether or not to introduce Castiel to Dean’s channel except Cas was afraid if any of his students saw and began viewing him differently. That is if any of his students even watched Wayward Winchester which apparently, they did.

When the bell rang, Castiel promptly returned the student’s phone before joining Jo in the teacher’s lounge for lunch. After the video where Dean came out, Castiel felt it was time to tell Jo that he was Dean’s husband. Jo was extremely embarrassed and kept apologizing for talking about Dean that way but then was offended she wasn’t told sooner. She forgave him pretty quickly when Cas let her talk to him on the phone one day after school and gave her a signed t-shirt.

“You won’t believe what some students were watching in class today,” Castiel began as he sat down at their designated table.

“What?” Jo asks as she sets down her phone. “Also, I have a favor to ask.”

“What is it?” Cas asks as he opens his lunch bag.

“I have a date later this week so I was hoping you could help me find an outfit…?”

“Why don’t you ask your mom for help?”

“Ugh, you know how she is,” Jo groans into her sandwich. “She’ll shoot down everything and suggest I go in a turtleneck or something.”

“Turtlenecks are fashionable.”

“Not for this type of weather.”

“All right, I’ll help. Do you mean shopping or raiding your closet?”

“Maybe both if you can’t find anything suitable in my mess of a wardrobe.”

“I’m sure it’s not that bad.”

“Oh, it is. It looks like it belongs to a thirteen-year-old Amish girl.”

“Poor thirteen-year-old Amish girls.”

“Oh, shut up. Anyways, what were you talking about earlier?”

“Hm? Oh! I caught some girls watching Dean’s video in class today.”

“And?”

“What do you mean ‘and’?”

“You didn’t know students watched your husband’s videos?” Jo shoves her face into her sandwich to keep from laughing. “You do know...that kids have worn his merchandise to school before, right?”

“Really?!”

“Yeah,” Jo lets out a chuckle. “For a while now. He became really popular after his coming out video.”

“How did I not know this…” Castiel sighs and rests his face in his hands.

“Why? What’s wrong with them knowing?”

“It just makes everything so much more complicated.”

Jo decided not to press any further and continued to eat her sandwich.

“So, who’s the poor chap?”

School ended that day painfully and Castiel was more than happy to come home to hear the shower running, guessing Dean just got back from the gym. He set his bag down and took his coat off before face-planting onto his bed. He stayed in the position for a few minutes before turning his body around as he heard the bathroom door open.

“Hey, huggy bear,” Dean smiles as he leans down to kiss Cas’s forehead. “How was work?”

“Turns out the whole school watches your videos.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah,” Castiel says as he sits up. “But maybe I’m worrying over nothing. Maybe they won’t even care that I’m married to a famous YouTuber.”

“I wouldn’t say famous.”

“Dean.”

“Yeah, yeah, I know.”

Dean wraps an arm around Cas’s shoulder and pulls him close. “We’ll figure it out.”

Castiel snuggles further into his husband’s embrace. “You’re still wet.”

“Just the way you like me.”

“And the moment’s ruined,” Castiel playfully pushes Dean away and stands up. “I’ll go get dinner started.”

“I love you!” Dean calls out.

“Yeah, I know,” Cas replies as he closes the door.

Castiel’s alarm clock blared loudly as he hit the off button and rubbed his eyes open. He sighed as he tapped Dean’s hands around his waist, trying to loosen his arms. Dean protested by whining and holding him closer. Castiel sighs and stays in the position for a few moments, basking in the peaceful quietness as he traced shapes on Dean’s left arm. His eyes began drooping when he looked back at his alarm clock to check how much time he had when he suddenly bolted out of bed.

“Come back to bed,” Dean whines sleepily as he makes grabby motions towards Cas’s side of the bed.

“I can’t,” Castiel says breathlessly as he began pulling on a shirt and pants. “I’m going to be late!”

“Hm?” Dean groans as he finally opens his eyes and glares at the alarm clock as Castiel rushes out of their bedroom. “This is your fault.”

He slumps his head back onto the pillow when he hears the front door shut and lies there for a few more minutes before finally sitting up and stretching. He looks around sleepily to see a few of Castiel’s shirts lying carelessly on the floor. Dean picks them up and throws them on the bed so Cas can hang them up later before putting on pants and heading to the kitchen. He’s about to make his coffee when he notices Castiel’s lunch bag lying on the counter.

“Oh, Cas. What am I going to do with you?”

After his first three cups of coffee and an hour of sitting and staring at the wall, Dean looks into the bag to see it still empty and decides to make a sandwich and pack some of the stuff he’s seen Cas put in it before checking the time. Cas’s second period would start in fifteen minutes so he had some time to give him his lunch. Dean shrugs on a jacket and starts the impala, careful to make sure the water bottle is secured tightly in Cas’s bag.

When he makes it to the school parking lot, he puts on a cap and sunglasses to hide his face before grabbing Castiel’s lunch bag and heading to the front office. He signs in at the front office and walks through the hallways, thinking back to the time when he was in high school which felt like eons ago. He had no idea why Castiel wanted to make a career out of teaching high school students—they were usually the moodiest bunch of kids but Castiel loved them.

A student is walking past him when he stops and gasps when he looks up at Dean.

“Oh my God, are you Dean Winchester?!”

“Yes I am, kid,” Dean says, not wanting to disappoint him.

“Oh, wow!” The kid’s eyes widened. “I’m a huge fan of your videos. Can I...maybe get a photo?”

“Sure, why not?” Dean takes off his sunglasses and leans down for a quick selfie when the bell rings and streams of children begin pouring out of their classes.

“Ah, shit,” Dean groans to himself.

Sure enough, a crowd accumulates around Dean as multiple students ask for photos and for him to sign their folders or homework assignments with sharpies and mechanical pencils. Dean chuckles at the students enthusiastic response to his presence that he forgets the reason why he was there in the first place until he felt eyes drill into the back of his head.

Dean straightens his posture and turns around, making eye contact with Castiel over the crowd of students. He strides over to his husband with a bright smile before planting a little kiss on his cheek, causing their audience to gasp and some students begin to scream.

“What are you doing here?” Castiel asks in confusion.

It seemed like the whole school was holding its breath.

“You forgot your lunch,” Dean says as he hands the bag over.

A few girls collectively sigh in the background.

“MR. NOVAK IS DATING THE DEAN WINCHESTER?!”

The students begin screaming again.

“Actually,” Dean clears his throat as the screaming subsides. “Mr. Novak is married to Dean Winchester.”

Castiel covers his bright red face with his hand as Dean grins at the chaos he had created.

“See you at home, angel,” he plants a chaste kiss on Cas’s lips before doing a salute and exiting the school, grinning the whole way back to the impala.

#destiel #deancas #supernatural #fluff #prompt #modern au #wholesome #fanfic #domestic fluff #i want them to be happy dammit #castiel #dean is bi #dean winchester

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myhockeyworld87 · 4 years

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Not So Dangerous Liaison - Sidney Crosby - Part 3

Word Count: 2,340

POV: Reader than switches to Sid

Warnings: Language

Notes: I had planned on this being a bit longer but with everything that happened I didn’t get to write as much as I want. Also this was kind of unplanned, but since everyone wanted a prank included I decided to write it in. Hope you guys enjoy!

Not So Dangerous Liaison Masterlist

You stood there wracking your brain trying to figure out what you had done or said that first night you met Sidney Crosby. He'd done a full one-eighty in twenty-four hours on you. When you'd left the party you actually thought, that there was quite possibly something between the two of you, but since then it was painfully obvious that he'd changed his mind. It was never more evident than in this moment right now when he clearly could've cared less about the snacks and extras that you'd had delivered to his room, let alone the book you'd left. His simple, 'oh yeah, thanks,' made it evident that he just tolerated you and your job with the team.

You knew it was going to be hard with him. It was part of the reason why you added the book on Egyptian history for him, hoping that it would sort of be a peace offering, or at least some common ground for you both. If he didn't appreciate that, he was surely going to hate the one on ancient Rome that would be waiting for him in D.C. It was too late now, you weren't going to not send it. If anything it only strengthened your resolve to somehow get yourself and Sid to at least be friends, since there would obviously never be anything more.

The following morning you headed on the bus with the team to the arena for morning skate, where everything went great. You began to see why the guys took naps in the afternoon, as their schedule was super demanding. As you headed back on the bus, for the game, you didn't expect Tanger, to grab the seat next to you. "So, how are things going so far?"

"Really good I think." It was true all the guys had been super nice and so receptive to all that you'd been doing for the team, well everyone except Sid. You chose not to get into that with Tanger though, so instead, you added. "Unless you've heard something different?" It seemed like a smart way to see about Sid's indifference, without flat out asking him how Sidney felt about your new role.

"God, no. Everyone loves you. You really outdid yourself with the little care packages. We all appreciated them." Well, not everyone.

"Just trying to do my part and make the trip a little easier for you guys."

"Speaking of that. I was wondering if I could ask a favor." He ran a hand through his hair as if he was nervous, which seemed silly since you'd known Tanger for a while now.

"Sure, that's my job you know. I'm here to be helpful."

"Well, this is kind of personal. Alex's birthday is coming up and…well Catherine always does the shopping and comes up with something over the top for him. I was hoping that this time, maybe I'd have some great suggestion to give her. Obviously, I suck though, because I can't think of a damn thing."

"Oh, I can totally help with that." You took out your phone as the bus pulled into the arena, everyone filing out to get ready for the game. "Let me see what I can come up with and I'll get back to you."

"Yeah, that would be great." You followed Tanger off the bus, then went about a few odds and ends that you started helping the staff with. It was probably about forty-five minutes later that he found you again.

"Hey (Y/N), I had this awesome idea about Alex's birthday present."

"Oh yeah, what were you thinking." You asked as you made your way over to the locker room where Tanger was standing. He opened the door for you to come in. You tended to avoid going into the room unless it was necessary, not that you couldn't. Social media was in there all the time filming things, so it wouldn't be like you were the only female in there. It just seemed like a line you weren't ready to cross yet; though at the moment you had no choice but to follow him.

As you gazed around the room, you had to appreciate the way Dana Heinze and his guys made the locker room feel more like home. Each stall had a nameplate on it, and the Pens emblem was placed throughout the room. Most of the guys were in there, prepping for the game. They didn't even take notice that you were there. "Tanger, you're up." Hollered Chris, one of the team trainers.

"Shit, can you grab my phone out of my bag. I saved it in there." You wandered over to where his bag sat. It still amazed you how they lugged all this equipment around. You had a feeling it was going to be a challenge to find a cell phone in the damn thing with how big it was. Crouching down, you pulled the zipper back the whole way to shed some light into the black piece of luggage. That's when Marc-Andre popped out with a loud roar.

"Jesus Christ!" You screamed stumbling back, as your heel caught on some random piece of equipment on the floor. You would've landed flat on your ass if it hadn't been for someone grabbing you around the waist and holding you tight against their body. Even though you'd literally just been scared half to death, you somehow felt safe in this person's arms; like nothing bad could happen to you as long as he was around. It was a bad feeling to have considering this was a new job, and you didn't need to be developing feelings for a player. You took another minute to just absorb the feeling of being in this person's arms, as well as catch your breath.

He must have heard or felt your deep intake of breath, for the next thing you knew he was saying. "It's ok. I got you." You knew that voice, well you honestly knew all the guys' voices; you just weren't used to be held in their embrace. When you looked back, Sid's brown eyes were staring into yours. They were filled with concern, and well something else, desire. You could see it in his eyes as much as you were sure that yours reflected the same. It was dangerous territory and there was no exploring it as the whole team had their eyes on you.

"Thanks," you said righting yourself. You turned your full attention to Flower than. "What the hell, Flower! You just scared the crap out of me." You were laughing along with the rest of the room now, and Marc-Andre had the biggest smile on his face.

"Welcome to the team." He said coming over and giving you a big hug. "You're not an official member until we prank you."

"Oh my god, you should've seen your face." Horny came up and embraced you as well. "It was priceless."

"I got it all on video too," Tanger said holding his phone up, that you were suppose to be looking for.

"Wait…you guys were all in on this?" You looked around the room and about half the guys were nodding their head.

"We do it to all the new guys. Couldn't leave you out." Most of the guys came over and gave you a hug, saying that you were a good sport about things.

"You do realize I know where all of you sleep right? And I will get you back." You shot back with a little laugh before exiting the locker room. "Now get your asses ready or we'll see who scared of who." The moment you shut the door, you leaned against it heavily to stop your racing heart. To anyone else, it would look as though you were still recovering from having the wits scared out of you, but what you couldn't get over was the feeling of being held in Sidney's arms and the look in his eyes.

All this time you thought he was indifferent to you, but that look told you otherwise. You could still feel his hands wrapped around; it was like an imprint that couldn't be wiped away. There were so many things going through your brain at the moment, and yet this wasn't the place or time to think about it. You pushed away from the door, just as it opened; startling you once again.

"Hey (Y/N)," thankfully it was Tanger's voice and not the man who was at the forefront of your mind. "I don't need that present for Alex, Catherine has it covered." You rolled your eyes at him, you should've known that was part of the prank. He just shrugged his shoulders at you. "I had to sell it, didn't I?" You took a towel and threw in his face before, heading down the hallway to get back to work.

SID'S POV

What the hell had just happened? No one had told him they were going to prank (Y/N), for if they had he would've advised against it, but damn had the timing been right for her to literally fall in your arms. When she'd walked into the locker room, you couldn't breathe. It seemed like every time there was a game, the woman dressed in something to tantalize your dreams. There was nothing left to do but walk out of the locker room and get some air. That's when you had the misfortune or fortune as it were, to be in the perfect spot to catch her as Marc-Andre scared her.

Her body fit perfectly to yours, as your arms came around her mid-section to steady her. Your forearm had brushed the underside of her breast and just that small contact alone had you yearning for more. There was an undeniable spark between the two of you at that moment, and when she turned to look at you; you knew she felt it too. At least she had the sense to recover because right now you didn't give a damn that there was a game to be played in an hour. You wanted nothing more than to haul her off to some dark secluded corner and kiss her senseless.

The thoughts running through your head were pure madness. You shouldn't be thinking about the things you wanted to do to her body or how you wanted to know what she felt like under those layers of clothing. You needed to pull yourself together, you had sixty minutes of hockey and a team that needed your attention. So, when Rusty called out to see if you were playing soccer that's what you decided you needed to do to get your mind off of (Y/N).

Three hits into the warmup ritual, you were still thinking about her. Only this time it was about the last game and how she'd touched your hat and brought you good luck. That superstitious side of yours, kept an eye out for her so that you could do it again. However, this time she was nowhere to be found. Frustrated, with both yourself and your irrational tendencies, you headed into the locker room and tried to focus on the game ahead.

The first period you played like shit and Ottawa was up one to nothing. You were beginning to wish that you would have just asked (Y/N) to touch your hat, for it felt like you were now being cursed or maybe that was happening because you'd held her a little too close to your body earlier and your bad game was some form of punishment. By the middle of the second, you were sure it was the latter, for the Senators were up, three zip. Thankfully Horny was at least able to get you on the board with one goal shortly thereafter. You'd just spent a particularly long shift out on the ice and were skating back to the bench when you saw her on the ramp, nervously watching the game with such intensity as if by sheer will alone, she would have one of you to score a goal.

As you sat on the bench, something in you shifted and you stopped thinking about your silly superstitions and decided that if (Y/N) seemed to have that much faith in the team so were you. As you skated out on your next shift, the puck somehow found your stick on a pass from Horny. A spin to the left and a fake on your opponent and you tapped the puck into the back of the net, cutting the other teams lead to only one. As your teammates crowded you, it wasn't words of celebration you shared but ones of motivation. And when you made your way back to the bench, there she was smiling brighter than the sun. It was contagious and you could help but smile back when she caught your eye.

When the third period started the team was on fire, Carl Hagelin scoring shortly into the period to tie the game. There was a feeling deep in your chest that you were going to win this one, and somewhere in your mind, you acknowledged you want to do it for (Y/N). Things changed though, when Beau went down, after a bad hit from Zibanejad. The medical staff was on top of things as they took him back to the locker room and you saw (Y/N) disappear with them. She missed the rest of the game, and also the empty netter you put in sealing your victory. By the time the buzzer sounded, and you headed down the ramp; you could just make out (Y/N) and Beau heading out of the arena. Beau's arm wrapped around her as she helped him out. The rational part of you, told you she was just doing her job and helping him; though it was the irrational one that told you it looked more like a girlfriend tending to her injured man. Unfortunately for you this time, the illogical part of you won out as you found yourself jealous of your teammate the first time in your life.

#Not So Dangerous Liaison Series #Sidney Crosby #sidney crosby imagine #Sidney Crosby Imagines #hockey imagines #hockey imagine #hockey fanfiction #nhl imagines #nhl imagine #nhl fanfic

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wehavethoughts · 3 years

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Zack Snyder's Justice League Review!

Zack Snyder's Justice League dir. Zack Snyder (2021) Warner Bros. Pictures, DC Films, Atlas Entertainment and The Stone Quarry Science Fiction, Action, Superhero Movie

Rating: 3.5 Waves

Summary: Tormented by visions of a dark future, Bruce Wayne aka The Batman attempts to gather a team of superheroes to defend the planet. When alien tyrant Steppenwolf arrives on Earth seeking a long forgotten technology, this group of heroes must do everything in their power to keep him from locating all three Mother Boxes and destroying the world.

Content warnings: Violence, Death, Body Horror, Gore

This review DOES NOT contain spoilers for Zack Snyder's Justice League

A bit of background for those of you thinking “Didn’t Justice League come out years ago?” You are exactly right! Justice League was released in theaters in 2017 and is the fifth movie in the DCEU (DC Extended Universe). The same company that produced Justice League then funded Zack Snyder's Justice League (2021) which is a different version of the story that was released in 2017. Zack Snyder was actually the original director of Justice League (2017), but he stepped away from the project during post production and the film was handed over to director Joss Whedon. Whedon’s creative decisions led to rewrites, heavy editing and a notorious reshoot that required removal of Henry Cavill’s mustache via CGI. Therefore, Justice League as it premiered in theaters in 2017 was Joss Whedon’s vision of the story. As some of you might remember, Justice League (2017) was considered a “flop” as it lost the studio ~$60 million overall and was received by fans with mixed to negative reviews (6.2/10 IMDB, 40% Rotten Tomatoes). But since Zack Snyder had left so late in the project, there were rumors that his version of the film had been nearly finished and there was hope that the movie Snyder filmed was actually better than what Whedon had created. Fans took to social media to demand that Warner Bros release the “Snyder Cut'' of Justice League and in a move I personally find baffling, Warner Bros actually gave Zack Snyder another $70 million to finish his version. Zack Snyder's Justice League (2021) which was released on HBO Max is the final product.

While understanding the context of how this movie came about is neat and honestly pretty hilarious, I never got around to see Justice League (2017) so I cannot give any commentary on whether this new film is any better. For those who are curious, my fiancée who has seen both says that the movies are extremely similar in plot, but there are significant changes to characterization and pacing. This review will solely be on the merits and shortfalls of Zack Snyder's Justice League (2021) in a spoiler free context since the movie was released just over a week ago (if you want to talk spoilers DM me I have So Many Thoughts).

Honestly, I was surprised how much I enjoyed this movie. My expectations were quite low considering what I heard about the original 2017 version and the fact that I’m more of a Marvel fan. The most surprising thing for me was that I sat through the entire 4 hr and 2 min runtime (for reference the runtime for Justice League (2017) is 2 hrs). Aside from Lord of the Rings (Return of the King runtime 4 hr 11min), I usually don’t indulge in movies that require me to block off an entire day, but I was curious and I love bandwagons.

The highlight of this movie are the characters. Each of our main characters had a deep, solid backstory that drew me in and made me invested in what was happening in this world. One thing lacking in a lot of ensemble superhero movies is balanced screen time between the main cast, but Zack Snyder's Justice League (2021) uses its time wisely to give each character depth and critical purpose in the narrative. Even the villain had compelling motivation as to why he is on earth doing dastardly deeds, and while I wasn’t rooting for him, I respected his motivations. I also appreciated that the writers of this movie made the characters intelligent. Sure, some decisions were driven more by emotion than logic, but the way defenses are set up and how our heroes use their unique powers left me incredibly impressed.

The characters’ interactions with each other was also very enjoyable. Snyder took the time to include scenes centered around the team chilling with each other in ways that were refreshingly low stakes and mundane. The story was interspersed with scenes like Wonder Woman and Alfred making tea, Aquaman and Wonder Woman musing over cultural differences, and Cyborg and Flash digging up a body where you could really see the characters grow from strangers to teammates to friends. These scenes also peppered in some light humor that kept the movie from becoming too dark without distracting from the tone.

Since Zack Snyder's Justice League (2021) is technically an action movie and it is rated R, I feel like I should touch on the action sequences. Overall, the action was incredibly fun to watch! It was made for the big screen so watching the epic battles for the first time on my TV at home was a bit underwhelming, but the well choreographed, high stakes fights were still visually pleasing. For a rated R movie there was not as much gore as there could have been, which I appreciated and the level of violence was pretty much what I expected from a comic book movie.

The action scenes also do a fantastic job with power escalation. By that I mean the action illustrates the limits of one character’s power clearly in relation to other characters’ powers. This way you are aware of exactly how impressive the characters and their powers are on their own and so when someone or something stronger shows up we have context for how big of a threat we are dealing with. The clean way the story shows us everyone’s respective powers and their limits makes it so the stakes feel more tangible and it's not just unfathomably strong characters beating the shit out of each other with the winner decided by chance.

There are a few reasons the movie didn’t get a full five waves from me. First was that the Amazon’s outfits were very clearly made by horny men based on how much skin they were showing. I, a bisexual, personally love to see superheroes in less then full coverage, but when the Amazon warriors have their entire stomachs and cleavage out of their armor for no reason it exhausts me. What happened to the tasteful and stylish armor from Wonder Woman (2017)? This feels like a step in the wrong direction.

The next concern I have that has kept me from recommending this movie to people is the overall pacing and length. While there were some great uses of the extended run time like the action sequences and team bonding I mention above, there were so many scenes that were way too slow for me to stay engaged. I found myself editing the movie in my head, like did we really need 2 full minutes of Bruce Wayne and his horse climbing a dreary mountain? I don’t think so. This was a narrative where I needed to pay attention lest I miss critical pieces of the story, but the random scenes that dragged on too long had me going to get snacks and checking my phone throughout. If I could rate the movie by halves the first half would get 2.5 Waves because of how it dragged and the second half would get closer to 4.5 Waves since the story really picks up and fun things start to happen.

The final part of this movie that kept it from getting a higher rating was how closely it was tied to Batman v Superman: Dawn of Justice. In fact, the first scene of Zack Snyder's Justice League is the final scene of Batman v Superman. There were many plot critical tie-ins to previous movies that left me feeling confused until I googled my questions during the slow scenes. If you have never seen Batman v Superman or Man of Steel then you will miss a lot of this movie, which I thought was unfair because other DCEU movies came out before the first iteration of Justice League like Wonder Woman and Suicide Squad and while events in those movies are mentioned in passing they are not nearly as important as the Batman and Superman-centric films. If the DCEU is going to pick favorites, the least it can do is pick movies I actually like (Wonder Woman (2017) remains my favorite DCEU movie to date). In general, superhero movies seem to be trending toward sagas and I prefer movies that you can just watch and enjoy without needing to see a bunch of other movies first.

Overall, I did very much enjoy this movie, but based on the run time alone it is not going to be for everyone. Measuring movie success during the pandemic is trickier than looking at box office numbers and labeling it a success or a flop, but it does appear that Zack Snyder's Justice League (2021) is doing well as far as critical reception and viewership. I hope that this success will allow the DCEU to explore all of the fun nooks and crannies of the universe Snyder pulled together. In fact, half of the epilogue of this movie felt like set up for future movies. I hope they come to fruition because there were some pretty compelling teasers at the end that I would love to see played out on the big screen.

As I mentioned before, I’ve never seen the original cut of Justice League, but Snyder’s version left me fulfilled and satisfied with the narrative, so I am happy to have seen this newest cut first. This is a movie for people who love DC, love superhero movies or are just really invested in the hype.

~TideMod

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cilldaracailin · 4 years

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Don’t Stop Me Now

Hell my beautiful Tumblr lovely’s!

I am back with another part and this one is for my bestest tumblr buddies @fuseburner and @hitmeonmytspot who have been the most amazing support of my story :)

“If anything, the overriding emotion is gonna just be excitement.”

“You nervous? Taron? Taron? Hey Taron!”

When he felt a hand on his, Taron looked up. “Sorry did you say something?”

“Ok spill it. Where have you been all day because it has not been here with David and I.”

Sighing Taron put his fork down. “I am sorry Elton. Just a lot on my mind.”

“About the performance? Taron, I have told you we don’t have to do it. I don’t want to push you too hard.”

“I am actually looking forward to that.”

“Then what has you as quiet as the calm before a storm.”

Exhaling Taron picked his fork up again and moved his steak around the plate. “Just thought there would be someone else here with me and I am feeling a bit sorry for myself right now.” Taron felt Elton take his hand again. “Sorry I am being a right old fart, aren’t I?”

Elton laughed. “Absolutely not. I can understand how much you were looking forward to seeing her and I know her presence here tonight meant a lot to you. It is natural to be feeling a bit like an old fart Taron.”

“Thanks Elton.” Taron put the fork down again. “Actually, would you mind if I excused myself for a while. I am not great company at the moment.”

“Staying here and talking with your friends is a good way to help lift your mood.” Suggested David as he looked to his husband and then to their guest, both noticing how their young friend hadn’t been his normal boisterous and lively self since he had arrived that morning.

“Yeah I know that David but I really would just like some time by myself. I was counting perhaps a bit too much on Robyn being here beside me to keep my nerves at bay and I hadn’t actually taken the time to consider if she wouldn’t be here. I need some time to compose myself before this evening and I might even try to take a bit of a nap.”

“Maybe give your Robyn a call?” Proposed Elton.

A small smile half-filled Taron’s face. “I can try. She has training all day today so might be busy. Excuse me.” Taron pushed his chair back and stood up. “Thank you for the lovely meal. I am so sorry that my mood doesn’t reflect my pleasure of being here for the auction. I am honoured to be invited Elton and to get the chance to sing with you again.”

Elton took Taron’s hand in two of his. “You don’t have to explain that to me. I know it already.”

Taron nodded and excused himself once more and made his way to the room Elton had given him for the night, the room with the large king size bed and views of the garden with the beautiful marble en suite. He sighed as he closed the door, taking in the silence around him. He walked further into the room and looked to his duffle which sat in front of the wardrobe. His suit hung on the closet door, one Stella had helped him pick, pressed and ready for him to change into in four hours time for the reception drinks Elton and David had organised for very close friends before they made their way for the obligatory photo call. Taron had arrived in London on Tuesday, giving him time to clean up his home in the city and prepare for his move back to New York to finish filming and Stella had come to visit him that afternoon with a selection of suits. He had asked her what Robyn had chosen to wear so he could perhaps maybe try and match with her because he knew it would annoy her and make her roll her eyes at him before she gave him one of the beautiful smiles that filled her whole face, but his stylist held tight lipped and he groaned in frustration when nothing would make her tell him.

He looked through the suits Stella had chosen for him with her guidance and thoughts. After holding each jacket up to his chest in the mirror, he picked one in a wonderful midnight blue colour. The trousers had a gold narrow stripe that ran down the side of the legs and it matched the gold colour of the fine thread embroidery on the suit jacket. The cuffs and lapel of the jacket were decorated with a lace design and Stella had given him a shirt of matching colour to wear underneath with gold buttons. Along with the suit came a midnight blue bow tie and a gold cummerbund, the complete outfit giving Taron a little extra flare of style that he liked to lead with at his appearances sometimes, especially when this particular one was the auction Elton was hosting. He was very happy with his choice, knowing it was perfect for the evening.

He sighed as he sat down on the bed, running his hands down his face. He had been utterly disappointed when Robyn had called him to tell him that she wouldn’t be able to join him and he did his best to try and support her because he could hear in her voice how upset she was over the fact that she couldn’t be with him. As much as it was an important reunion for him, it meant just as much to Robyn too. He knew it was a huge ask of her to come to Elton’s auction and to be photographed with him and he honestly thought she was going to say no, but she had accepted the invite graciously and as they spoke about it, he could hear how much she was looking forward to it but more so, looking forward to seeing him and getting a squishy hug. Taron couldn’t explain how much he appreciated how Robyn was clearly stepping out of her world and into his and he understood how daunting it was for her but they would get through it together, agreeing to stick by each others side throughout the whole night.

Taron then had to resign himself to the fact she wouldn’t be with him and it had upset him and it wasn’t because he wanted her on the red carpet with him but because he needed her when the media started to ask him questions about what had happened in the 7/11. It was the first time he was going to make a public appearance and with Robyn by his side holding his hand, he knew the experience would be a little easier. He was ready to take advantage of her eloquent way with words and ability to talk her way out of sticky situations, hoping she might tackle the questions thrown their way from the media, if he found himself tongue tied. Now without her, he was trembling with nerves and his stomach was in bits. He had spent so much time thinking about how they were going to face the red carpet together, it had never registered with him that he would have to walk it alone.

He lay back on the bed and closed his eyes. He had really depended on Robyn’s company so much for the weekend and was so excited to meet her outside the airport and bring her to Elton’s house and have a long catch up. He was also a little eager to see which dress she had picked to wear. He had enjoyed describing to his stylist what he thought Robyn would like, Stella frowning at him when he told her Robyn was a converse girl. He had one image of Robyn in his head and he had relayed it to Stella – V-neck top tucked into a pants suit and his trusty stylist, had delivered a perfect dress but she had kept her silence with regards to what dress Robyn had picked and nothing Taron offered would break her. He knew the suit he had picked, matched the dress he had suggested for Robyn but he wouldn’t know if his little ploy had worked until he saw his friend dressed up. Taron’s butterflies found a way of fluttering back to his stomach when he thought of Robyn in a fancy fancy dress but now, they were quickly deflated. He had spoken to Stella after he found out Robyn wasn’t coming to the auction but she still wouldn’t tell him about the dress and now he would never know, though he had planned on pestering Robyn the next day until she caved and told him, hopefully getting a picture too.

He rolled over onto his right side, and curled up, snuggling into the pillow. He liked how he could lie on both sides of his body now that he was finally pain free. Closing his eyes, he figured a nap would help to clear his head a little and lift the woozy headache he could feel coming on. Elton and David had insisted they still had the meal they had planned for himself and Robyn but Taron had barely an appetite and ate very little of the wonderful food they had prepared for him. He had tried to stay upbeat and positive as he arrived that morning and greeted Elton in a long hug and kiss to his cheek but as the afternoon wore on, he could feel his façade slipping, happy to retreat the quiet and comfort of his room for a while before he had to pull himself together and find his best jovial face, even if he didn’t feel it. He was straight back into filming next weekend in New York and whatever chance Robyn had of coming to see him in Wales and London, Taron knew deep down that even though she had mentioned it, Robyn would never make it to America to see him and with the schedule Matthew had sent him, it was going to be a gruelling shoot to finish the movie that had been held in limbo while he recovered.

He had recovered and recuperated well and quickly. He had followed everyone’s advice and spent his time resting, sleeping and not doing much else and his patience had paid off. His side was almost clear of bruises, a faint yellowing tinting his skin and he could bend, jump and run and was already back in training for the movie. He was still taking his time with it, easing himself slowly into his routine with his trainer and he had found it demanding at first and he was exhausted but once his body got accustomed to the regime, he found it easier, though he knew the training had been altered for him so while he still completed numerous drills, they were designed to slowly build his strength back up before his regular workout resumed. However, he was going to be straight back into the early wake ups and long days and it pained him to think it but he would have no time for Robyn, even if she did manage to come and see him. This weekend was really was their last chance to see each other before the New Year for them and it just wasn’t meant to be.

He groaned as his phone rang, disturbing his silence. It hadn’t stopped all week. Phone calls from Matthew about resuming the filming, calls from Lyndsey about the press for the event at Elton’s, calls from his family about making sure he was ready to get back to work, calls from everyone and anyone and he was near ready to throw his damn phone out the window. As his life quickly caught up with him, he realised he didn’t take advantage enough of the peace Robyn’s home gave to him and as the ringing phone pierced through his head, he really felt like throwing it across the room.

He answered it without even looking at the screen. “Hello?” He grumpily said.

“Well hello to you too.”

Taron’s eyes opened when he heard the one voice he couldn’t be disappointed to hear. “Hello my chicken. Sorry Robyn. Been a long morning.”

“You don’t have to apologise to me. I can only imagine how stressed you have been.”

“Always know me so well.”

“And I know my not being there has made this harder for you.”

“Robyn, we have already talked about this. You know I don’t take it to heart that fact that you can’t be here. Though you did miss a wonderful dinner that Elton had prepared for us.”

“Well maybe we can have some left overs later.”

“Somehow I don’t think… Wait. Left overs?” Taron sat up on the bed. “What do you mean, left overs and have them later?”

“So I might be sitting in the airport right now, waiting for a gate number to appear, so I can board a plane that will bring me to London so I can attend this boring and completely overrated auction and maybe spend some time with this man I know who has a terrible habit of snooping.”

“Robyn, please don’t be lying to me.”

“I am not lying to you Taron. I am at the airport waiting for my flight to be called to come and see you.”

“Robyn!” He called excitedly. “But your training?”

“Don’t even get me fucking started Taron. I am ready to throw some coke and mentos at another office in the near future. Basically, it was a massive fuck up and but I am on my way.” Taron couldn’t even begin to describe how he felt or even string a sentence together. “I take your silence as a good thing?”

“I just… I can’t… Really? You are coming?”

“I am coming Taron. I will be making a fashionably late entrance but I am coming.”

Relief spread through every part of Taron and that building headache had suddenly gone and his stomach grumbled with hunger that had evaded him all morning. “You are actually and really coming Robyn.” He asked again wanting to make sure and he pinched leg to be certain he wasn’t asleep and dreaming.

“I promise you roctetman, I am coming to see you.”

Taron’s whole face lit up and his felt the butterflies come back. “Robyn, I cannot explain to you how happy it makes me to hear you are coming. Tell me what time your flight gets in and I can meet you as we planned. I will wait in the car for you outside Heathrow. Robyn I can’t believe it. You are really coming?”

“I will see you in about six hours and you won’t have time to meet me Taron.”

“What? Why?”

“Taron, I know your timetable for the day. You need to be dressed and ready for five thirty.”

“I am going to meet you as we planned outside the airport.”

“Taron, there isn’t going to be enough time for you to meet me and be ready for photo call. By the time I get off the plane and out into the terminal it is going to be near five.”

“Elton will understand.”

“Yes, he will and as much as it fucking pisses me off to say it, this appearance for you is about more than going to support Elton. It is your first one since Florida and you need to follow with the plan that Lyndsey has made for you. You can’t be seen arriving late, with me because it will just give those papers something to gossip about. We have escaped a lot of bad press Taron and I plan to keep it that way. You need to keep to your schedule.”

“But you were coming here to get ready.” Taron didn’t want to argue about the press because he knew Robyn was right. He had to make face on the red carpet as planned and he didn’t want to provoke the media with any reason to print a story that hurt them in anyway.

“I have it all sorted Taron.”

“You do.”

“I have booked a hotel room to change in.”

“A hotel room? Jesus Robyn, just come here to Elton’s. He has given us this beautiful room to stay in. You can get ready here.”

“And arrive when all the cameras are there in my jeans and t-shirt? Absolutely not. I do plan to make an entrance but I will do in my own way.”

“Should I expect any less of you?”

“Never. Look Taron the way I see it is, I am coming and will be late but better late than never right? And I am kind of hoping that most of the press might have filtered away by the time I get there.”

“What is your plan Robyn?” Taron had learnt a long time ago that he had to pick his battles with his fiery Irish friend and this was one he knew he wasn’t going to win. He was so thankful that she had agreed to come to the auction in the first place and now that she had figured out a way to still join him, he just wanted her there.

“Off the plane and onto the Heathrow Express and straight to Paddington. I am going to take the tube to Holborn and I have a room booked at the Premier Inn there.”

“Holborn? Are you serious?”

“What’s wrong with Holborn?” She questioned. “I have stayed there before and it was fine.”

Taron realised that Robyn didn’t pick up on the fact the Eggsy, the character he was going to New York to film for next weekend was from Holborn so moved the conversation on. “What time will you get to the hotel at?”

“All going well should be around six. I just need some time to get ready and then I can grab a taxi out to you.”

“Robyn I will send a car to you at the hotel. Just like what we were going to do at the airport and the driver will pick you up and bring you to Elton’s. You can text me and I will meet you out front. Do you think you could even get here for seven thirty? We can still walk a bit of the carpet together and be there for Elton’s welcome speech.”

“I am quick at getting ready Taron, but not that quick. This isn’t dinner with my parents or with you. This is a star-studded celebrity event. I am going to need a bit more time to pull myself together.”

“I can send Stella to you.”

“I don’t need Stella Taron. I can do this all by myself. You and Stella have already done enough for me with the dress.” Robyn looked down to the black bag she held onto very closely. She had kept the dress in her hands the whole time and wasn’t letting it go. “I will just be late Taron. Will you be able to send a car my way?” She asked. “It would be so much easier for me to get to you.”

“Of course I will. It makes more sense than for you to try and get a taxi and at least I know you will be safe. It takes about an hour to get from Holborn to Windsor and Elton’s home.”

“Ok well I can text you an hour before I am ready to leave and the driver can be waiting.”

“That is a perfect plan. I will get the driver to tell you when you are ten minutes from Elton’s, you call me and I will be waiting for you outside.”

“Look at us compromising with each other.” Robyn was worried she was going to have to fight her case about using the hotel room to change and get ready but Taron agreed to her idea and helped take some of her worries about getting to Elton’s away with his own suggestions.

“I have no words to explain how I feel to hear that you are coming Robyn, I will do anything to get you to me in one piece. Thank you so much for working it out for me.”

“You can thank Emma. She organised it all for me. Even called the lady teaching the course a bitch, she was that mad at how it had all worked out and I am sorry I won’t be there for red carpet.”

“Robyn I could care less about the red carpet. I am going to float down that carpet now. I can’t wait to see you, to get my squishy hug in.”

She could hear the smile on his voice. “I am dying for one too.”

“I am building up these IOU’s quickly. Here is another one.”

“No need for an IOU, just promise to stick as close to my side as you can during the whole night.”

“I will not let you out of my sight.”

“That is all I can ask for.”

“I know you are nervous but I will be right there with you. I feel another one of those movie scenes being played out between us again because I can’t promise I won’t run to you when I see you and pick you up and spin you around.” He laughed.

“Well that will be a picture for the wall!” Chuckled Robyn. “Just don’t step on my dress. Someone paid an absurd amount of money for it and I don’t want it ripped!”

Their call ended on a wonderfully jolly tone and Taron literally skipped back to the dining room to where Elton and David were still sitting having a conversation with each other. Taron sat back down in his previously vacated chair.

“She is coming.” Was all he said and Elton was off his feet, giving him a huge hug and a kiss on his cheek.

“This calls for dessert I think.” David grinned.

“Always leave room for dessert.” Smiled Taron. “A wise woman told me that once.”

“I am very excited to meet this wise woman of yours Taron. Especially when she can make your face smile like that.” Elton sat back on his chair and took Taron’s hand in his. “Very excited.”

While his heart raced and his stomach churned with nervous energy, Taron happily tucked into the chocolate treat placed in front of him. How quickly his mood lifted with one simple phone call and he willed the time to go faster but he knew the next five hours were going to move at a snail’s pace.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

“Thank you very much for looking after this for me.” Robyn said to the air hostess as she was handed back her precious dress.

“No problem at all. I think it was better hanging up in first class then being creased in an overhead storage box.”

Robyn nodded. “Thanks again.”

“Have a great day.”

Returning the well wishes, Robyn then made her way down the aircraft’s gangway and out into the terminal. She had made this journey so many times, she knew exactly where to go and how to get where she needed to get to. The flight had made it on time and it was just after four forty-five when she pulled her case from luggage carousal three. It was slightly awkward for her with a bag and a dress but in order to carry everything she needed to get ready, Robyn needed to check in a bag. She had packed things she probably wouldn’t even need but she had never needed to get so dressed up before so her case was overloaded with extra make up and even a curling iron even though she never could curl her hair. When she got home that morning, she literally had ten minutes to pull her stuff together and thankfully she hadn’t unpacked the case and only needed to throw a few extra items in to cover herself for the weekend. She didn’t even bother to change and was still wearing Taron’s shirt and it was amazing how a patterned shirt could give her the confidence she needed to muster up to keep walking because although she was shit scared about the whole auction, she was on her way to see Taron and when it came down to it, that was why she was taking the huge step out of her comfort zone. To see him. As she walked towards the self-service ticket desk for the Heathrow Express, she could feel her nerves bubbling low on her stomach. She knew Taron’s reaction wouldn’t let her down and he was so excited to hear that she was on her way and as usual his giddiness was infectious and it had quickly spread to her. She bought a one-way ticket for the Heathrow Express and headed towards the track for the train. She was a little concerned about her dress getting damaged and was tempted to hail a taxi from Paddington station to her hotel in Holborn but deciding it would just be quicker to get the tube, then sitting in London traffic, once off the train, made her way down to the underground, keeping a tight grip on the precious garment in her hands.

She was checked in and sitting on the bed in the hotel room texting Taron just after six to let him know that she was about to get ready, asking him for a picture of his suit but his reply came back with a smiley face and a zip along with a love heart. She immediately called him.

“Not even a peak?”

“Absolutely not. Tit for tat chicken.”

“Oh, I see how it is.” Laughed Robyn. “So how are you feeling?” She asked him.

“Shitting myself to be honest. My heart feels like it’s going to beat out of my chest but Elton, David and Lyndsey have been so kind to me and keep talking me out of making a run for it. You know I don’t mind if you turn up in jeans and converse and walk the carpet with me.”

“You put me through the torture of trying on dresses Taron, I am going to wear this dress or nothing at all.”

“I am good with the nothing at all.” He chuckled.

“And moving back to the subject at hand. Honestly how are you feeling?” She asked again.

“Incredibly nervous but if there was any event where I can change the subject and questions asked of me, it is this one. I can easily turn the conversation back around to Elton’s charity and why we are here. I am glad my first public appearance is for Elton and at home, well my London home and that you are going to be here. Still expected to arrive around eight thirty?”

“Yeah that’s the plan. I mean I can pull a red carpet look together in over an hour, right?”

Taron chuckled. “I have seen you in a towel Robyn. Whatever you turn up in, will be beautiful to me.”

“Well that would help me arrive on time but no. You were right about my inner girl and she is ready to get dolled up.”

“I can’t wait to see you.”

“Not long to go now rocketman.”

“I had better let you go then and actually David has just walked into the room. Time for me to go.”

“Remember to breathe ok? And just tell the truth. It’s gotten us this far without too much hassle.”

“Get out of my head chicken.”

Robyn laughed. “I like it in there. Go and be your usual happy go lucky self.”

“The car will be outside at seven-thirty for you and call me when you are near.”

“I will. Now you go and be your wonderful articulated self.”

With another quick goodbye Robyn ended the call. “Right time to sort your shit out Robyn.” She stood up and pulled her case up onto the bed and took ten minutes to sort through all the crap she brought, lining her make up along the desk in front of the mirror, leaving her little bag with her hair bobbins and clips beside her make up brushes. Robyn had a rough idea of what she wanted her make-up and hair to look like, and took a quick shower to wash all the travelling off, taking extra time to rub some of her most expensive body moisturiser in when she had dried off. It matched the same brand of perfume she had brought, the one she used for specials occasions. Packed in her case was her comfy blue dressing gown and she pulled it on and tied it tight, taking a seat in front of the mirror. She had under an hour to pull herself together and starting with her hair and Robyn was going to use her trademark plaits combined with somewhat of a messy bun which she hoped would look elegant and classy. Making sure the split in her hair was in the middle, she made two quick plaits one third of the way back on either side of her hair, keeping some strands loose at the front and edged pieces of the plaits out, messing them up a little. She moved the plaits to the front of her hair and pulled the rest into a midway ponytail at the back of her head, teasing some of the hair out at the crown of her head so it wasn’t too perfect. She then created four smaller plaits in the pony tail and made quick work of rolling sections of her hair up and pinning it around the bobbin, not worrying if it was even or neat, pinning the smaller plaits around last so they were more on show. She even teased more of the hair out so it purposely looked messy. Robyn had a lot of hair to work with but once she pinned the two plaits in front in a crisscross design at the back of the bun, tucking the ends in so they couldn’t be seen, she was happy enough with what she had hoped was a decent hair style. She wasn’t a stranger to fixing her hair herself and having to pull something together quickly. She sprayed it all over with a strong hairspray keeping each strand in its place.

She checked her phone for the time and had forty minutes left before the car would arrive for her.

“Right make-up.”

Subtly was always Robyn’s way but she had already chosen a much more dramatic look for her make up. She wanted to make a serious impression but also, she secretly wanted to make Taron’s jaw drop. He had seen her complete casual look and wanted to bring everything she could for her fancy fancy look and show him that just because she was laid back and low maintenance didn’t mean she couldn’t pull out all the stops when she needed too.

Her gold and navy smoky eyes made her own blue eyes stand out and as she added one last layer of mascara, she was glad to see she managed to get her eye liner even on both sides too. With twenty minutes before she needed to be out the door, it gave her enough time to add some bronzer and blush as well as a highlight and quickly line her lips in a deep plum liner that matched her chosen lipstick. Going bold with her choices, Robyn had asked Claire her advice first and her friend had ended their call with a suggestion of leaving a lipstick stain on the collar of Taron’s shirt.

Robyn had already pre-packed the gold shoulder bag she had bought and she just needed to add some of her make up products and lipstick. With ten minutes to go, she used the bathroom once more, starting to feel her nerves building. She took her dressing gown off and sprayed her perfume, before slipping into her dress, being very careful of her hair. Sitting on the bed, she put on her shoes, open toe gold heels as suggested by Stella and quickly added a diamond bracelet her parents had given her from her graduation two years ago and pair of gold hoop ear rings. She added her mood ring to her left thumb and walked over to the full-length mirror in the room and grinned. The dress sparkled in the lights of the room and as she titled her head, even if she felt a ball of nerves, she had achieved her desired look – fierce and ready to face whatever the night threw her way.

She plugged her phone out from its charge and a text arrived from Taron.

‘Car is outside waiting. Cannot wait to see you xx’

She quickly texted him back.

‘Heading to the car now. Hope you make it down the carpet in one piece xx’

‘Surviving it. I just kept breathing xx’

Robyn smiled a little sadly as she read his message. ‘I am sure you’ve been amazing xx’

‘Can’t wait for a hug xx’

‘I don’t know if you can crease this dress… xx’

Taron sent back a smiley face with his tongue sticking out. ‘It’s my dress, I will crease it if I want. Just get your fancy fancy self here xx’

Laughing, Robyn did one last check around the room, making sure she had everything she needed, including her little gift for Taron and with one last look in the mirror, a genuine smile appeared on her face. It was a very rare occasion that she was able to dress up and she felt good in what she was wearing and liked what she saw in the mirror, especially more so that Taron had chosen her dress. She pulled the room key from the slot and closed the door behind her. She waited for the lift and stepped in alongside two other people who were already in it. She gave them a small smile and turned around, feeling a little foolish for being so dressed up but felt a bigger smile fill her lips when she heard them whisper behind her back. Once the door of the lift opened, she confidently walked out and through reception where she saw some heads look her way towards the door. She was glad to see the blacked-out car waiting along with the driver as outside the hotel stool four men who looked her way with a wink.

“Robyn?” Asked the driver.

“That’s me.” She answered and she stepped closer.

“I am Anthony.”

“Nice to meet you.” Robyn held her hand out for a handshake but the driver stalled a little.

“Taron wanted me to give these to you.” From around his back he pulled out a bunch of pink and yellow roses. “And these.” A red packet appeared in his other hand, Anthony giving Robyn some chocolate turtles.

Robyn couldn’t help the full-face grin that filled her face as she accepted the two gifts from Taron that the driver held. “Thank you.”

“So…” Anthony opened the door for her. “Shall we go?”

“Yes please.” Robyn had to google how to get into a car in the most lady like fashion possible as she knew she was going to be judged for every move she made once she arrived at Elton’s and thankfully the slit in her dress made it easy for her to slide into the car before tucking her legs in after. The door closed and she looked at the flowers in her hands, her face still held in a large smile. The driver got into his seat and the noise from the closing his own door, made Robyn look up.

“We will be there within the hour Robyn. I will tell you when we are ten minutes out so you can call Taron.”

“Thank you, Anthony.”

“There are some refreshments in the arm rest beside you, help yourself and just let me know if you want the heat turned up or down.”

“I will.”

Robyn looked to the flowers again and noticed a little card inside them. She pulled it out and read it to herself.

‘Yellow for friendship, pink for appreciation and turtles for nerves Taron xxx’

Robyn had a feeling her grin was going to be permanently fixed on her face for the evening and she pulled out her phone.

‘I think these might be my ever first bunch of flowers that did not come from a parent in work. They are beautiful. Thank you so much xx’

It took a few minutes before a reply came back her way.

‘And the turtles? xx’

‘I am willing to share xx’

‘That’s my girl xx’

Any doubts she had when she posted the invite, which made her want to go into the post office and ask the teller could she get her letter back, had glided away. It was now excited energy that flowed through her blood and as she sat in the leather seats in the back of the car, she opened her phone and flicked through the photos she still had of herself and Taron together. She was ready to add some more to her growing collection, for once enjoying the butterflies that were floating her stomach as he was brought closer to the man who had been in her thoughts constantly since he left her.

#Taron Egerton #Taron Egerton Fanfiction #Taron Egerton Fanfic #Taron Fanfic #Best Friends #Love #Excitment #Fancy Fancy Dress #Flowers

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blu-joons · 5 years

Text

Married To Jimin ~ BTS Headcanon

Your Wedding

The whole day of your wedding was something you could have only dreamed of as a little girl

After a lot of planning, everything came together perfectly to create the dream day that you both had in mind when you first got engaged

You were traditional, you married in a church, before moving on to a gorgeous reception held nearby the studio

Even the wedding was enough to break Jimin into tears at the whole occasion

“I can’t believe this is our wedding day, it feels like I’m living a dream.”

Every single person who meant the most to you was there to celebrate your love

Throughout his whole speech Jimin struggled to hold back the tears, turning to the boys to pull him through with a joke or a nudge

He never left your side for the whole day, desperate to be with the most beautiful girl

All your photos were stunning too, as handy reminders of your day you already couldn’t wait to look back over them

The boys were his best men, the encouragement he needed when he got nervous

“We put an extra inch on his heel just to make sure he felt extra confident for you Y/N.”

Hobi had helped choreograph your first dance, Jimin made sure it was showing you off, twirling you around, swaying from side to side

It was a day you hoped never ended, it was the perfect celebration of you and Jimin

No day would top this for Jimin, nothing compared to his wedding

The future was an exciting prospect for you both, knowing you’d take on whatever came your way together

Being Married To Each Other

It took quite a while for the two of you to adjust to married life, continually pinching yourselves that it had actually happened

Your hands would always be playing with the ring on his finger and vice versa

Everyone sent you their photos off their phones knowing how desperate you were to look through everything and reminisce about the day

“I can’t believe these are from our wedding, I look at them and just think they’re beautiful, and then remember their ours.”

“It was the most perfect day, everything fell into place as we’d hoped.”

It was the biggest relief for you knowing nothing went wrong

Jimin had spent countless nights staying up into the early hours making sure that everything was as you wanted

You came home on the night of your wedding because there was nowhere else in the world you wanted to be

The next day you flew off on your honeymoon after Jimin booked the time away from the studio to celebrate

“I don’t know what excites me more, spending the week with you, or just getting a week away from the studio.”

He was desperate to give you a honeymoon straight after the wedding, not wanting to make you wait for some time together

It took you by great surprise how many things you needed to do once you’d got married, the list of jobs was endless

From changing your name on your paperwork, sorting through gifts, thank you notes, it was a never-ending chore for you both

Your weekly date nights were still a heavy feature in your relationship, giving you both a chance to forget about the world

His suit and your dress were hung up in your wardrobe to show future generations

He possessed a beaming smile whenever he introduced you to people as his wife

It was inevitable you were going to get married, the way you looked at each other was enough to see how happy you made each other

You spent endless nights making memories of your wedding, albums, scrapbooks, scattering a few decorations around your home

Jimin loved to create little spots of the day around your house, knowing you loved sitting by them when he was on tour

“I’ve put a photo of you and I here, by the fire, it will keep you warm when you think of me.”

“That’s so romantic, thank you Jimin, what a lovely idea.”

You were very much in marital bliss, both of you were always smiling, recalling memories and good things about the day

His mind quickly thought about the next step, he was still young, but there was so much that he wanted to achieve

Work was still a priority, but he wanted to focus more on being a good husband to you

He spent less time at the studio and more time with you to keep your marriage happy, other things were important these days, not just the band

A lot of time was spent on your wedding gifts, with fans sending you stuff too, there was a lot to sort through

Lots of fans got in touch, respectfully, wishing you the happiest days, commenting on all your social medias

Aside from being married, the two of you never changed, your friends were still important, keeping your social lives active

Introducing yourself as a Park took a little while, but Jimin was always on hand to correct you

Your families spent more time with you too, wondering when their first grandchild would be arriving

For the time being, you wanted to enjoy being newlyweds, there was no rush to start a family, Jimin wasn’t going anywhere, and neither were you

If anything, he was around more, bringing you with him on his travels, having you at the studio, just so he could see your face

Your dream was unfolding into the perfect reality, you had the best husband in the world, and an incredible life

Being married to each other only made you stronger and deepened the love you shared

Your Honeymoon

Your honeymoon was the perfect escape you needed from the outside world for a while, just to enjoy and celebrate each other

You honeymooned on a small island Jimin had been to with the boys filming a summer escape, he knew as soon as he went there, you’d love it

And you did, you couldn’t believe he’d found somewhere so perfect, as soon as you walked out the airport terminal you knew you never wanted to leave

Most of your days were spent doing fun activities, Jimin took you to all the places he loved before, including the sting rays

“Last time we came here Jin lost his mind, it was the funniest thing I’ve ever seen!”

Your evenings were spent enjoying beautiful dinners overlooking the sea, sitting on your balcony under the sun

The two of you were out and about all the time, finding places where no one else was, treating them as your own hideaways

He loved to take pictures of you, especially when you didn’t know, saving them to look back on when he was on tour

The sheer volume of time you got to spend together meant the world to him, he couldn’t recall when he last got to spend a full week with you

It was a chance too, to think back to the wedding and all the things that happened

“Honestly, you looked stunning, I had to stop myself crying when you walked down the aisle.”

The boys were incredibly jealous that Jimin had taken you there without inviting them, despite the fact it was your honeymoon

It was also private, which meant you had a huge amount of privacy away from fans who inevitably liked to take a picture or two

You still kept them up to date by posting photos, Jimin loved to share all the snaps he’d taken of you, bragging that you were his

It was a trip you could have only dreamed of, Jimin had exceeded your explanations

Considering you were sceptical when he told you he’d arrange it all, you gave him credit for creating the best holiday ever

When the time came, neither of you wanted to go back home

Yet, the six boys who remained at the studio were desperate to have you back

“It’s so weird not having you both around making out, weirdly, we actually quite miss it.”

Marital Issues

The two of you very rarely argued, neither of you were the type to cause an argument, but of course, from time to time, they happened

Usually the two of you would dispute over small things, arguments never really blew up for you both, they were kept small and lowkey

The one thing that stopped them blowing was the reminder you were married, and that you loved each other too much to shout

Internally sometimes, he would get frustrated, but he’d never take that out on you

Arguments were the worst, and he would always make a grand gesture when he needed to apologise for something he said or did

The reminders around your house were what kept you both from arguing, days like your wedding were the times you reflected on, not the bad times

Talking was a strong point between you both, you could confide in each other about anything you needed to

Neither of you slept on an argument, it was the worst thing in the world, the one time it happened

The next few days after a row would be spent making happy memories to forget about the bad ones

He never raised his voice at you, not once, not ever, there was no way he would

His determination to keep your marriage happy was what always kept him biting his tongue, keeping himself calm

“Arguing sucks, we don’t need to do it, we’re too happy to argue.”

Forgiveness was very important, you could never hold a grudge, as an error was made and apologised for, it was forgotten

The two of you were still learning about each other, despite being married, finding new things out about each other

Looking To The Future

From the second your wedding ended, Jimin was looking to the future, thinking about how the rest of your lives would unfold

Having a child was incredibly important to him, within the next few years, he wanted to hear the pitter patter of tiny feet

He felt much more secure in your relationship once he was married, there was no one to judge him or doubt the two of you anymore

“I just feel like we’ve proven to the world we’ve made it work, despite their attempts to bring us down

You also moved out of the dorms, Jimin wanted to leave somewhere that you could make a home for a family

He was the best husband in the world, he stuck to his vows like a saint, you couldn’t fault him

Marriage made him feel incredibly grown up, he was no younger a junior idol, but a grown man, with responsibilities

Knowing that you were his until death did you both part; was the best feeling in the world

The thought of having a family with you, and experiencing life with you was his favourite thing

The Boys Take On Your Marriage

All the boys adored you, you were like a sister to them all, being on hand to look after them and give them advice

Jungkook definitely loved to tease him over the fact your hands were bigger, begging you to press them together to make himself laugh

“That’s the most emasculating thing I’ve seen, yet it’s so adorable at the same time.”

Namjoon was there when the two of you needed time off to give Jimin the days off, knowing how important you were to him

Between them Taehyung and Jin wrote a song that they performed at your wedding; all the lyrics circled perfectly back to you

Both of them loved to joke with you too that you’d stolen their brother and made them very lonely

Hobi was in charge of your first dance, naturally, and also keeping the boys in check so everything went perfectly for you both

“We can’t mess this up, this is Y/N and Jimin’s special day, let’s try not to forget that when we do our speech.”

Yoongi brought you the best gift, a big canvas of lots of photos that the two of you could hang up in your living room

You adored all the boys, they did a lot for you both, more than you could imagine, taking the best care of you

They couldn’t have dreamt for a better girl for Jimin to find

---

Masterlist

319 notes · View notes

noona-clock · 5 years

Text

Untitled - Part 9

Genre: AU/Fluff

Pairing: Junmyeon x You (Female!Reader)

Warnings: None

Part 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10 | Word Count: 3,003

Trish and Jongdae had decided to get married fairly quickly. Not for any particular reason but just because they didn’t feel like waiting.

And that was totally fine with you.

You would much rather focus on fulfilling your duties as maid of honor than focus on when or if Junmeyon would propose. There was absolutely no evidence that he was going to ask you to marry him anytime soon, so why even worry about it?

Besides. If you really wanted to get married in the very near future, you could always ask him.

But, like I said, there was no need to think about it right now. You had a wedding vlog to film! And a bridal shower to plan! And a bachelorette weekend to attend! And a dress to find and buy and get altered!

Since Junmyeon was Jongdae’s best man, he was busy with his own duties, as well. And on top of that, he was still traveling and uploading to Instagram and YouTube like he normally did.

Suffice it to say, what little time the two of you did have together was spent working on the wedding vlog.

In about five months, you and Junmyeon had vlogged picking out Trish’s dress, visiting a few venues, the cake tasting, the bridal shower, both the bachelor and bachelorette parties and finally, the rehearsal dinner.

Each of you had also sat down to film a confessional segment, talking to the camera about your relationship with the bride and groom. You had also filmed one together because the two of you wouldn’t be together if it weren’t for them.

The night before the wedding, Junmyeon stayed up until almost two in the morning adding the rehearsal dinner footage and putting on the finishing touches. You tried to stay awake to help him and keep him motivated, but you (pretty typically) fell asleep just after midnight.

Since you were due to be at the venue fairly early, you woke up and got ready before Junmyeon. You tried to be as quiet as possible to let him sleep for as long as he could, but you also couldn’t resist sitting on the edge of your bed and leaning over to press a goodbye kiss to his forehead.

Junmyeon let out a soft groan, stirring slightly as his eyes fluttered open. “Y’leavin’?” he asked sleepily.

“Yeah,” you whispered. “I’ll see you there in a few hours.”

“’Kay,” he sighed. He pursed his lips for a kiss, and you happily obliged.

“You uploaded the video and everything? It’s all good to go?”

Junmyeon nodded, humming positively in response to your question, and your lips curved into a grin as you bent down to kiss his forehead once more.

“All right, I’ll see you later,” you whispered.

Junmyeon’s smile was sleepy but radiant, your heart fluttering and skipping a few beats at the sight of it. “I love you,” he murmured. “I can’t wait to walk down the aisle with you.”

While you knew he meant to walk down the aisle as best man and maid of honor, you wondered if-- actually, you were quite certain -- he was also referring to walking down the aisle... at your own wedding.

Whenever that may be.

Again, you weren’t worrying about that right now.

“I love you, too,” you replied. “Text me when you get there.”

“Am I supposed to see you before the ceremony?” he asked curiously.

A quick laugh bubbled up in your throat, and you rolled your eyes at his innocent question. “That’s only for the bride and groom,” you pointed out with amusement.

“But we’ll be getting married one day, too,” he replied with a gently furrowed brow.

“Oh, we will?” you asked teasingly. You held up your bare left hand and tilted your head. “I don’t see any evidence of that.”

A very soft, almost unnoticeable flush overtook Junmyeon’s cheeks, and he moved one hand to pat your thigh. “All right, get going. I’ll text you when I get there.”

You chuckled lightly before pushing yourself off the bed and heading for the stairs. You grabbed your dress which had been hanging in a garment bag on your coat rack, and with one final call of ‘I love you!’ you exited through the door.

The rest of the morning went by in a blur. You spent most of it with Trish in the bridal suite getting your hair and makeup done (and also reminiscing and trying not to cry), but when Junmeyon’s arrival message came through on your phone, you hurried out to meet him.

You were already dressed and ready by this point, and when you spotted your boyfriend in the lobby, a smile immediately curved on your dark purple lips.

Junmyeon, who had been heading toward the groom’s suite with his suit draped over his arm, froze when he saw you.

“Hey,” you greeted, beaming at him as you approached.

“Wow,” he breathed. He opened his arms to accept your hug, though he embraced you carefully and delicately. “You look... amazing.”

“Thanks,” you blushed. “I bet you will, too, in that suit.”

Junmyeon simply lifted a hand to cradle your cheek, though he just barely touched you so he wouldn’t disturb your makeup. He gazed at you, his eyes searching your face as a soft smile pulled at his lips.

“What?” you whispered.

“I just... I feel like it’s our first date all over again,” he admitted with a bashful chuckle.

“What do you mean?”

“You’re making me nervous.”

“Why am I making you nervous?” you giggled, standing on your toes and rubbing the tip of your nose lightly against his.

“Because you’re so beautiful,” he said softly, his voice filled with a sense of awe and wonder. “But it might be even worse now because I know you’re just as beautiful on the inside as you are on the outside.”

“Oh, come on,” you blushed. “You know how dorky I am.”

“Exactly. That’s exactly what I’m talking about.”

A soft chuckle escaped your lips, and you couldn’t hold back from kissing him any longer. You quickly pecked his lips, pulling away to make sure your lipstick hadn’t ended up on him.

“I love you,” you told him before kissing him again, letting your lips linger a bit this time.

“And I am so grateful you do,” he murmured back. “I love you more than I ever thought --”

“Come on, Lovebirds!” Jongdae called out from the doorway of the groom’s suite. “It’s not your wedding day!”

Junmyeon’s cheeks flushed, and his typical embarrassed smile spread across his lips. “Yeah, yeah, I’m coming,” he replied to his friend.

“Go put your suit on,” you whispered before stepping away just a tad. “Don’t outshine the groom, though. Try not to look better than him.”

“That’s going to be tough,” Junmyeon replied with a furrowed brow and a frown.

“I know, but you have to try.”

Junmyeon took hold of one of your hands, bringing it up to his lips and saying in quite the dramatic tone, “I will do anything you request of me, my lady.”

“Junmyeon!” Jongdae whined, and you reached out to gently push your boyfriend away.

You returned back to Trish’s bridal suite, and apparently, the look on your face was too obvious to ignore because Trish immediately began teasing you.

And you let her just this once because it was her wedding day. What are friends for?

When the time finally came for the bridal party to make their way out to the ceremony, your heart began to race. You grabbed your bouquet and let out a deep sigh as you turned to face Trish.

“How nervous are you?” you asked in a shaky voice.

A smirk appeared on Trish’s red lips, and she lifted her shoulders into a shrug. “I’m not.”

“What?! I’m nervous! How are you not?!”

“Because I’m just happy!” she chuckled. “I’m about to marry the man of my dreams. But I’m sure on your wedding day, I’ll be nervous.”

“You have got to stop,” you laughed, shaking your head. “I give you full permission to bug me about a wedding after today.”

“Okay, okay,” Trish relented. You held out her own bouquet, and she took it gingerly before picking up one side of her dress and following you out of the room.

Since Jongdae was already waiting at the end of the aisle, only his groomsmen were there to greet the bridal party.

And when you saw Junmyeon...

You suddenly related to the way he reacted to you earlier this morning.

You froze, your eyes widening and your mouth opening to form a small ‘oh.’

Because damn.

Wow.

Wowowowowowowowowow. Wow.

“I clean up nice, huh?” he murmured once you got close enough.

“I told you not to outshine the groom!” you hissed, looking very distressed. And he most definitely did! He looked more handsome than anyone you’d ever seen before!

Junmyeon simply beamed, looking very pleased with your comment.

You honestly had to gather yourself before the two of you slowly strolled down the aisle behind the other bridesmaids and groomsmen, and you also had to stop yourself from letting out a whine of despair when you had to separate at the end of it.

All throughout the ceremony, you kept leaning over just a tad and making eye contact with Junmyeon. You paid attention to what was happening, of course, and your eyes filled with tears as Trish and Jongdae were saying their vows.

You let out a very watery cheer when they kissed, and before you knew it, you met up with Junmyeon to walk back down the aisle and get started on taking pictures.

But now that the ceremony was over, your nerves transferred from that to the reception.

Namely the toast.

Junmyeon tried to ease your worries as the bridal party took all sorts of pictures in various locations around the venue, but you knew you wouldn’t be able to truly relax until after the video toast had ended.

Thankfully, once the whole bridal party had joined the other guests in the reception hall and got settled, Junmyeon took action and tapped his fork against his champagne glass.

You stood with him, reaching for his free hand and grasping his fingers for dear life.

“Ladies and gentlemen, if I could have your attention for just a few minutes,” he called out. And when the room had gone silent, he continued. “My name is Junmyeon, I’m the best man, and this is Y/N, the maid of honor. In lieu of giving our own separate toasts, we decided to do something a bit different. Trish and Jongdae mean so much to us, and we knew we wouldn’t be able to express that simply using words. So, if you’ll direct your attention to that screen over there...”

He nodded to the DJ, and the lights dimmed before the video began.

Your face popped up on the screen, and you almost covered your eyes because you were so embarrassed. But the delightful, uplifting music Junmyeon had added in the background made you smile instead.

You watched as you and Trish picked out her dress, as the four of you toured a venue, as Trish and Jongdae tasted some cake. And then Junmyeon came up on the screen and started talking about how he’d met Jongdae. He inserted some old pictures of them together, eliciting some laughs from the guests.

His face reappeared, and you noticed his cheeks had turned a bit pink as he smiled. “Jongdae also introduced me to my girlfriend, so... I definitely owe you big for that one, buddy.”

You squeezed Junmyeon’s hand as the guests responded with a collective “awwwwwww,” and you felt some eyes turn toward the two of you.

It was your segment next, so you hid half of your face behind Junmyeon’s shoulder since you knew you were going to start crying as you spoke. You’d filmed this part over and over and over again, but you’d eventually had to just accept the fact that you were going to cry. Trish just meant that much to you.

And, guess what? You cried again as you listened to yourself.

Junmyeon turned and placed a kiss on your wet cheek before reaching up to wipe away as many tears as he could while the video continued on in the background.

You heard both of your voices, then, and you knew the video was almost over. Junmyeon had added in the footage of both of you talking about Trish and Jongdae near the end, so in just a couple of minutes, you would be able to breathe easy.

When the ending music faded and the lights came back on, the whole room erupted in applause and cheers. Junmyeon held up his glass and called out, “To Trish and Jongdae!”

You lifted your own glass, clinking it with his and taking a sip of your champagne.

And now you could relax and actually enjoy yourself.

If you hadn’t already known before, seeing Junmyeon at Trish and Jongdae’s wedding would’ve made you realize that you needed to see him at your own wedding, too. As the groom.

But you had already known it before, so it’s not like you had experienced some huge aha moment or anything.

The fact that you wanted to marry him just became more cemented in your brain, if anything.

But the two of you had just spent quite a few months dealing with all sorts of wedding stuff, so it felt like you would be going overboard if you brought anything else up to Junmyeon. You could imagine him saying, “I’ve had enough of weddings for a while, let’s wait and get engaged later.”

So, you pushed back all of your marital thoughts, letting them simmer on the back burner for the time being.

Junmyeon didn’t bring anything up either, so you simply assumed he was on the same wavelength. Truly, you weren’t expecting a proposal from him anytime soon.

But then. One afternoon just a couple of weeks after the wedding... You received this text message:

Your brow furrowed in confusion... but you still grabbed your purse and headed out to the nearest subway station.

You caught the next train downtown, getting off at the museum stop and looking around when you arrived at the entrance. You didn’t see anyone you knew, including Junmyeon, so you simply went inside.

The two of you had purchased membership passes not too long ago, so you simply showed your card to the attendant and headed to the first exhibit.

You walked quickly through, examining each painting briefly as you tried to find the one in the picture. It wasn’t one you recognized instantly, so you weren’t even sure where it might be.

After about ten minutes of looking, you finally stumbled upon the piece. But before you could even look at the plaque next to it...

Trish appeared at your side.

“These are for you,” she said with a beaming grin, holding out a pair of headphones for you.

“Wha -- Trish, what are you --”

“Check your phone,” she added.

“What in the --”

Another message from Junmyeon popped up on your screen, and when you opened it to see what it said... It was a link. To a YouTube video.

You took the headphones then, plugging them into your phone and placing each earbud in carefully. After taking a deep breath, you clicked the link.

The video started out with the very first vlog footage from yours and Junmyeon’s first vacation together.

“Junmyeon and Y/N! Hello!”

And then multiple clips from that trip played in quick succession, all of the two of you together. A version of the song “Fools Rush In” you’d never heard before began playing in the background, and you found your brow had furrowed without you even realizing it.

Junmyeon had edited just about every single video clip of the two of you together into one video, including clips from Trish and Jongdae’s wedding vlog, all set to that beautiful song. Your eyes were filled with tears by the time the music was fading away, and then Junmyeon’s face popped up on the screen.

“Look up,” he said in the video.

Your head jerked back a little, and you slowly looked up, incredibly confused and extremely emotional.

Junmyeon -- the real one -- was now standing in front of you, and you quickly pulled the headphones out of your ears.

“What’s going --” you began, your voice choked with too many emotions.

“I swear to you, I’m not going to get nervous and panic and run away this time,” he began, standing close to you so he could speak softly.

A watery chuckle bubbled up in your throat, and you nodded, pressing your lips together to keep from crying.

“Do you remember this painting?” he asked, turning around to glance at it. “It’s the one that finally broke your resolve and made you admit how annoyed you were with all of the untitled pieces.”

Oh, my goodness, he was right. You hadn’t even remembered!

“You’ve been a lot of things to me,” he continued. “But you’ve never been untitled. You’ve been the girl I had a huge crush on. You’ve been my girlfriend. You’ve been my traveling partner. You’ve been my letter-writer. You’ve been my Instagram Wife... And now, I’m hoping... you’ll be my actual wife.”

Your heart began to pound, and a tear slipped through, rolling down your cheek slowly. You watched as Junmyeon reached into his pocket and revealed a sparkling, beautiful ring.

An engagement ring.

“Will you marry me?” he asked with the most adorable, hopeful smile on his lips.

“Of course,” you answered immediately. You nodded quickly, lifting your hand up and letting him slide the ring on.

You heard someone clapping in the background, and then Trish and Jongdae appeared, huddling together in a group hug.

Well. So much for not expecting a proposal anytime soon!

Part 10

268 notes · View notes

winterisakillerwrites · 4 years

Text

Brave Face - Part One

Title: Brave Face

One Shot: 1/3

Character: Tom Hiddleston/OFC

Genre: Angst

Rating: M

Summary: A wedding is one of the happiest days of one’s life. It is the beginning of the future and for Amelia Evans this was no different. Tom HIddleston stood watching her as she walked down the aisle while considering every choice that had brought him here. For better or worse, his life was fundamentally changed.

Authors Notes/Warnings: So full disclosure this story came about completely by accident. I had this vague idea in my head and it probably would have stayed that way had I not been talking to @redfoxwritesstuff and said “So I have this idea…”. This literally grew from a ‘huh, this should be straight forward’ to ‘holy fuck what have I gotten myself into?!’. All in all this is a 13,000 word one shot that has been split into three parts to make for easier posting/reading. Hope you all enjoy.

The room was filled with the bright, potent scent of flowers. Everywhere he turned, Tom Hiddleston found garlands of wildflowers in pinks, and blues and yellows lining the walls, the windows, and the aisle. It was beautiful and so perfectly her. She had always loved wildflowers, had always had them spread in bunches throughout her tiny flat. Their scent always seemed to cling to her skin. It was one of the many things he could now admit openly to always loving about her. She was calm and open and gentle in her care. Such a wonderful contrast to his own ambitious and vibrating nature. They had always been such a contrast. Two people who on first glance didn’t seem right at all but on further inspection just seemed to click.

His head rose as he heard the door slowly creak open and the swell of violins filling the room. She stood, arm in arm with her father, smile blinding and wide. He felt his knees go weak at the sight of her; blonde hair piled elegantly at the nape of her neck, green eyes filled with warmth and happiness covered ever so slightly a veil of white lace, the soft and shimmering white of her dress with its floral overlay and cream ribbon cinching her waist. She was a vision. He could hear the murmurs of the people surrounding him and could see the faint blush that stained her cheeks.

Tom fought the tears that were threatening to spill as she continued her slow walk down the aisle. He could see the shimmer in her eyes as her father leaned over to whisper in her ear. She was truly stunning; regal and graceful and absolutely perfect. Each step she took echoed the beating of his heart. And suddenly she was before him, a bright smile on her face, another step and she passed him.

He could feel the lump in his throat growing as her father paused at the end of the aisle and, with a kiss to her cheek, turned and offered her hand to the man beaming before her. Tom wanted to hate him, wanted to scream and curse and beg her to change her mind. To pick him. But he held his tongue. That choice, that desire, was something he had absolutely no right to. And the bitter knowledge of that burned.

Try as he might, Tom couldn’t make himself focus on the words the minister spoke. He could see the man’s lips moving, knew enough to get the gist of what was happening, but none of it seemed real. The only thing his mind could grasp was that Amelia, his dear, sweet Amy, was standing before him pledging her life to someone else. And he had no one to blame other than himself.

He had met Amelia Evans what felt like a lifetime ago. They had been in the same circles at Cambridge; interacting but never quite connecting until the summer before their final year. He’d always thought she was a beautiful woman; bright and intelligent and not afraid to show it. She kept him on his toes and while they argued over points of philosophy and belief, Tom found himself captivated.

By graduation they were nearly thick as thieves, with family and friends alike asking when they would finally settle down and make things official. Tom had always brushed them off; Amy was special to him, that he could not deny, but he was young and there was so much of life he’d yet to experience, to explore. Marriage and commitment were wonderful ideas, but not something he was even remotely ready to contemplate. She seemed to understand and accept his resistance; agreeing they were still young and this was not the right time for them to entertain such notions.

They’d taken things how they’d come. Amy had been one of his largest supporters when he’d been accepted into RADA. She had gone to as many of his productions as she could between her work and the other commitments that consumed her days. Her support had meant everything and when he’d been approached by an agent and given the opportunity to really, truly do what he loved on a potentially wider scale, Amy had been right beside him encouraging him.

It hadn’t been an easy path; he was frequently away filming, auditioning, getting his face and name out there. There wasn’t an opportunity he didn’t take or a part he didn’t try for. All the while he’d been secure in the notion that Amy would always be there, in the background offering her love and her support.

And then seemingly out of nowhere it happened.

Suddenly his name was on everyone’s lips, he was sought after for roles, wanted at parties, his face was on billboards and buses. He’d done it and Amy had been there, the pride and happiness radiating from her in waves. Tom had thrown himself into the melee completely; there were so many chances he had to take, so many people he couldn’t not meet. This boom wouldn’t last, he knew that, and he could not let himself miss any chance, any moment. And she was there, quietly cheering him on from the sidelines. A gentle word of comfort when he needed it. His voice of reason and encouragement.

But along with opportunity came an attention that Tom was equally baffled and fascinated by. Suddenly, he was the one women approached at parties, the one they stopped in the streets, the one they talked of and fantasized about online. It had seemed so surreal at first. He couldn’t understand what had changed, what was so different about him that caused the heads of admittedly stunning women to turn and give him a second glance. It was immensely flattering and he’d flirted shamelessly with him. What was the harm in enjoying the attention they lavished on him?

He hadn’t truly acted on any of it. Not at first. A whispered word here, a touch there, a brush of lips against a cheek that lingered just a fraction too long. It was almost a test, how are would they let him push? How far would he let himself? How much could he get away with? Hollywood was such a long cry from the life he’d known in London. And what was truly the harm if Amy would never know?

So he continued to dance along that line of flirting and seduction until he’d found himself pressing the warm and willing body of a gorgeous woman who’s name escaped him into the soft mattress of his hotel room. Her nails in his back, her breathless cries in his ear and they chased release in each other. And the next morning it was easy to convince himself that it had been just a momentary lapse in judgement. It was done and over with, though he’d kept the number she’d left on the pillow beside him, why he couldn’t truly say. It wouldn’t happen again and there was no reason at all that Amy had to know about it. They were happy and this would be a complication that neither of them honestly needed.

Tom could still so clearly picture her face the day Amy had confronted him. The day everything had changed. Her flat had been his first stop, save for dropping his luggage off, since landing at Heathrow that morning. It had been far too long and he’d missed her. He hadn’t been prepared for the quiet, cool reception she’d given him. He’d found her sitting in the living room, staring at the opened magazine in her lap. Amy had raised her head up as she heard him enter the flat; pain, confusion, and a desperate sort of hope shining in her bright eyes. Wordlessly, she’d stood and held out the magazine to him. Colorful photographs greeted him; images of himself and…Holly? Hannah? Heather? (God, he couldn’t remember her name) kissing and grinding against one another in the backseat of a cab. Followed by images of them kissing and heading into an elevator at his hotel. Fuck, Luke was going to murder him.

“Is this true?” Her voice was steady but quiet, her eyes pleading with him to tell her that these pictures were false, that he hadn’t done exactly what she feared he had.

Tom swallowed thickly, casting his eyes quickly downward. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. He tried to gather his thoughts, tried to figure out what he was going to say.

“Thomas, please tell me you didn’t do this…” She only ever called him Thomas when she was cross with him.

“Amy, you have to understand…” he pleaded, needing to keep her calm. He tried desperately to think of a way to explain. Amy would understand, she always understood. Hell, she had seen firsthand just how much his life had changed in the last year. These things happened. And it wasn’t as if he and the girl (…God, what was her name?) were serious. “It was just one night…”

Clearly, that had been the absolute wrong thing to say. Amy paled; he watched in horror as all the color drained from her face. He reached out to her but she backed away as if she’d been burned. She shook her head, eyes filling with tears. “You son of a bitch,” she hissed. “You fucking, FUCKING bastard.”

“Amy, please…” He took several steps towards her, his hands raised in supplication. She had to understand. It hadn’t meant anything. He had to make her understand.

“No,” she bellowed. “No! Fuck you, Hiddleston!” She shook her head in angry disbelief. “To think I even thought that you…” Her voice trailed off and after several moments she let out a quiet, mirthless laugh. When she raised her head again and locked her eyes with his, Tom was taken aback by the anger and fury in them. This wasn’t the gentle, understanding Amy he knew. “We are finished,” she hissed. “I want you gone and I never want to see you darken my doorway again. Get your shit and get out.”

And with that she turned on her heel and left. He winced as he heard the door slam behind her.

Tom found himself standing in the now empty living room, wondering just what the fuck had happened; just how all of this had spiraled so far out of his control. He’d never seen Amy like that. Never. She was the calm one, the rational one. She was the one he had always turned to when he needed a voice of reason. This wasn’t his Amy.

She now was gone.

The idea didn’t want to compute. She would have to come back, Amy always came back. They’d had their fair share of arguments throughout the years and even when he knew she was so angry she was fit to burst, even when she left to clear her mind, she’d always, always, always came back. But as the minutes crept by his conviction began to waiver.

Tom swallowed thickly. Surely she hadn’t meant it. She was angry, clearly, and had needed to scream at him. To vent. And once she had calmed she would come back and they could talk about all of this rationally.

But soon an hour had passed. And then another.

Nothing. No sound of her feet on the stairs, no jingle of keys in the front lock. Just nothing.

He pulled out his mobile and cursed. He’d completely forgotten that he had placed it on silent mode while he’d been on the train earlier that day and hadn’t yet switched it off. He hadn’t been quite sure what he had expected when he turned on the screen. But it certainly hadn’t been this. Nearly a hundred texts and far too many missed calls glared back at him from the tiny screen. All from Luke.

Shit. Shit. Shit.

Bracing himself he cued up his voicemail and worked through the waiting missives. Each message grew steadily more frantic until finally ending in: “If you do not get your sorry ass into my office yesterday I will drop you, so help me God.”

With a weary sigh of resignation, Tom made his way out of Amy’s small flat, making sure to text Luke that he was indeed on his way. He needed the man in his life; his career depended on him having someone he could trust to keep his name, his face, in the right circles. And as far as he was concerned, Luke was it.

The meeting had been more or less what he had expected; nearly an hour of both Luke and his agent giving him a sound and thorough bollocking about his carelessness. Yes, he admitted, he’d been stupid and reckless. Yes, he would make sure he was more discreet in his extracurricular activities from this point onward. Yes, Amy knew. No, she’s currently not speaking to him. No, he doesn’t think she will say anything to the press. Yes, he trusts her.

He tried to ignore the way Luke was looking at him; both in weary frustration and resigned yet seething bewilderment. He’d known that Luke and Amy had gotten on well on the occasions they’d had the chance to interact. Just as he was well aware that Luke, his friend, did not approve at all of what he’d done. But Luke, his publicist, would do all he could to make the worst of it go away. To spin whatever the fallout was in Tom’s favor. That was what he was paying him for. But he couldn’t shake the unease he felt at Luke’s silent disapproval. At his quiet condemnation.

Looking back it was easy to see just how far off track he’d let himself go. How easily he’d let the flattery and unexpected praise of his peers, the fans, the press go to his head. How easily he’d let himself be led by his desires and not by his head. All he had seen was the warm smiles and the willing bodies. God, he’d been a complete and utter ass.

But as he’d left Luke’s office that day, Tom had been so convinced that he had everything in hand. That this would eventually blow over and Amy would come back to him. He didn’t let it worry him when she hadn’t called by the next morning. Nor the following afternoon. She was angry and she needed time to calm, time to think things through. But by that evening, the unease had slowly started to creep in. And when the boxes arrived the following morning that unease began to blossom into a full blown, disbelieving fear. He’d signed for the boxes in confusion and carried them into his living room.

Inside he’d found various books, pieces of clothing, and several other small bits and bobs that he hadn’t realized had found their way into Amy’s flat over the several years they had been together. And sitting on top of the final box of clothing was the key he had given her to his own flat along with several pictures and various things he had given her over the years. He shook his head in disbelief. No, this had to be some sort of mistake.

Without thinking, he grabbed his phone and his keys and hurried across town to hers. There had to be some other explanation for this. There simply had to be. But only as he tried his key in the lock only to find it wouldn’t budge, did it start to dawn on him that maybe he had been terribly wrong in his belief that everything would be alright. He tried the key again. Nothing. A white hot panic surged through him. This couldn’t actually be happening. He knocked on the door. No answer. He tried again. Nothing.

Maybe she wasn’t home. That must be it. Okay. He pulled his phone out. He would call her and she would clear all of this up. He dialed the number quickly, shoving the phone against his ear. “We’ve sorry this call cannot be completed as dialed. Please check that the number you have dialed is correct and try again.”

Tom pulled the phone from his ear and stared in stunned disbelief. Wordlessly, he hung up and dialed again. The same message greeted him. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. He didn’t know what to do. Couldn’t seem to think straight. This wasn’t happening. He couldn’t say for sure how long he stood there, staring at her locked door. All he knew was this wasn’t how things were supposed to be. They were Tom and Amy, no matter what happened they were always Tom and Amy.

When his mobile rang sometime later, he’d half convinced himself that it was Amy calling to explain, to forgive. But his mother’s name was what greeted him as he pulled the phone from his pocket. He let out a resigned sigh and answered. “Hey mum.”

“Tom, darling, are you alright?” Diana’s voice was as warm and soothing as it had ever been. For that brief moment he was a little boy again and sure in the knowledge that everything would be alright because his mum was there. “…I’ve not heard from you in several days.”

He leaned back against the wall, rubbing the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger. “I’ve been a bit busy as of late, mum. Nothing to fret over. Are you alright?”

She chuckled softly. “I’m well, dear. Quite well. Looking forward to tomorrow afternoon.”

“Oh? What’s happening?” Something was niggling at the back of his mind but he couldn’t quite seem to catch hold.

He heard the exasperation clearly in his mother’s tone. “Seriously, Thomas, don’t tell me you’ve forgotten.” He didn’t speak for several moments as the realization dawned. He cursed at himself, yet another disaster to add to the ever growing list. After it became clear he wasn’t going to speak, Diana let out a sigh of her own. “You and Amelia are supposed to be coming by. Sarah is here and Emma plans on trying to stop by sometime in the late morning. It’s been ages since I’ve had all of my children together under my roof. Please tell me you’re still coming.”

“I…I should be able to mum,” he hoped she hadn’t caught the uncertainty in his words. “But I don’t know about Amy…Somethings come up…” He didn’t know what to say to her, how to even begin to explain what was becoming startlingly clear; Amy was gone and he wasn’t completely certain any more that she would be coming back. But she will, he told himself fiercely. She has to. “But um…I’ll be there, mum. Alright? I can’t not see my mum.”

“Good lad.”

He set out early the next day, hoping to avoid as much of the commuter traffic that always seemed to clog the roadways as possible. He was acutely aware of the silence in the car and found himself missing the way Amy would hum along with the radio or spout random facts about the places they passed. He shook his head, trying to clear those thoughts away. This would all blow over, it had to, and if not…He tried not to think on it. But if not…Then he would move on. It wasn’t as if she was the only woman in the world. There were others. Yes, she was important but she wasn’t where the world started and ended. He was still young, he had plenty of time to figure it out. And in the end either she would be there or she would not. But it wouldn’t come to that. He was certain.

The house was much the same as it had been the last time he’d been there…God, how long ago was that? Christmas maybe? Yes, Christmas. Now it was heading into late August. He shook his head as he killed the engine. He couldn’t help the smile that spread across his face as the front door opened and Diana jogged out onto the drive towards him. Tom quickly climbed out of the car and pulled her tightly into his arms. God, he’d missed this. Missed his family.

“Oh my darling boy,” she whispered into his chest as she returned his tight hug with equal fervor. “It’s so wonderful to have you home.”

“It’s good to be home,” he breathed into her short, white hair. He hadn’t realized just how much he’d missed this, missed home, until that moment. “Are Sarah and Emma here?”

He felt her nod into his chest, “They’re inside.” She pulled back and watched him with a quiet, but no less intense, scrutiny. Her brows slowly rose in concern. “Tom,” she started, her tone soft and light. “What’s happened? And don’t you dare tell me nothing. I’ve known you all of your life, don’t you go thinking you can lie to me.”

Tom let out a soft sigh. This was certainly not the place he wanted to have the conversation he knew his mother sought. “Let’s get in the house shall we?”

Diana narrowed her eyes at him, staring for several moments before quietly nodding. “Alright. But then, young man, you are going to talk. Something’s happened and it’s clearly got you out of sorts.”

He nodded and allowed her to lead him into the house. There was something about coming back to the home you’d grown up in. It was comforting in a way that Tom couldn’t quite put into words. He could hear the soft rumble of his sisters’ voices echoing from the kitchen. Diana, who was several paces ahead of him, made her way into the kitchen he heard her call out, “Look who I’ve just found in the front drive.”

“Tom!” his elder sister yelled, jumping up to embrace him as he made his way into the brightly lit room. A laugh of surprise fell from his lips as he gratefully returned her embrace. “Glad to see that fame hasn’t gotten you forgetting your family, little brother,” she teased with affection. Sarah pulled back and he saw her looking behind him in expectation. “Where’s Amy? It’s been ages since I’ve seen her…”

A sharp jolt of unease threaded through him. “She um…She couldn’t make it,” he finally answered, offering what he hoped was an apologetic smile. He could see the confusion in Sarah’s eyes. Amy was as much a part of the family as he was, as far as his elder sister was concerned. She never missed a chance to visit, especially not when Sarah and Emma were sure to be there. He cleared his throat and tried to think of a way to explain. “Things…Things haven’t been going too well as of late and we’re rather on…on a bit of a break.” He rubbed the back of his neck with his left hand, not knowing quite what else to say.

“You’re unbelievable!” Emma hissed at him as she jumped up from her seat opposite, her light eyes narrowing as she brought her hands down on the counter with surprising force causing everyone to jump at the sudden noise.

Diana blinked in confusion. “Emma! What on earth…?”

Tom watched as his younger sister gathered herself before she turned towards their mother. He could see the disbelief and ire burning in her eyes. “Tom’s become quite the liar as of late.” Her words were matter of fact and felt like a slap in the face.

“Now wait just a minute…” Tom started, taking several steps towards Emma, his own eyes narrowing in anger.

But Emma stood her ground, arms crossed at her chest, staring her elder brother down. “You are not on a break, Tom. You went off and fucked around and she left you and you bloody well know it.” She took a deep breath, marshalling her thoughts. “And what I can’t begin to fathom is why the fuck you did it. What were you thinking? Were you even thinking? My God, this whole mess has seriously gotten to your head, hasn’t it? Because the Tom I know…My big, dork of a brother…That Tom wouldn’t do this.”

The words felt like a blow to the stomach, knocking the wind from his lungs, and he stood gaping at her. Around him, he could hear the confused and agitated voices of his mother and Sarah, firing questions at both him and Emma. He couldn’t make sense of any of it. “You don’t understand,” he finally managed to choke out. “This is between Amy and me, it’s none of your business!” The anger was coming back in full force. How dare Emma say such a thing! He was still her brother…That hadn’t changed. He had simply needed to adapt to the changing world around him. That didn’t make him a bad person. That didn’t change who he was fundamentally. Why couldn’t she see that? And just what did she think gave her the right to stick her nose into a situation that clearly did not concern her?

“She told me, Tom,” Emma hissed, ire warring with disappointment in her eyes. “I’d stopped by her flat to return a book she’d lent me and I watched her nearly fall to pieces in front of me. My god, she was near hysterical! I’ve never in all the years I’ve known her, ever heard nor seen Amy so bloody shattered! She loved you and you threw that away! How could you?”

“It was a fucking mistake!” The words flew from him in panicked anger. “Things just got completely out of hand! It’s not like I sought out to fucking hurt her!” He finished, his chest heaving with the effort and with the anger coursing through him.

“Thomas.” He froze at the sound of his name and found himself turning slowly towards his mother. Diana’s voice had taken on the quiet, disappointed tone that he’d only ever heard when he’d well and truly messed up. He could see the disappointment clear in her eyes and it cut him near to the bone. “What have you done?”

He couldn’t stand the look on her face and hadn’t been able to meet her eyes as he’d stumbled through his explanations. His reasons. But he could feel her eyes, along with Sarah and Emma’s on him, and wanted nothing more than to disappear. For the floor to swallow him whole. Anything to make it stop.

It was with a weary exhaustion that Tom finally pulled himself from the car later that evening. His head was spinning and he felt far older than his thirty-one years allowed. Cursing, he fumbled with his keys the front door lock and once it gave way, pushed his way inside the darkened hallway. He could still so clearly see the disappointment in his mother’s eyes and the judgement and anger in both of his sisters’. How things had gotten so far off track, he didn’t know. Yes, he’s made a mistake and he could and would own that. He’d been stupid and careless, but even so…He ran his fingers through his hair. He didn’t know what else to do. It’s not like he could take any of it back. And unless Amy talked to him, he couldn’t work with her to move past it. If she would let them. No, she had to. She’d always been there, always had his back. She couldn’t just walk away now.

And though he knew it was futile, he checked his mobile once more; the stubborn hope that she had called refused to let him be.

Nothing.

He felt the tightening in his chest grow as he fought to control his breathing. She would come back and everything would be fine. He had to believe that. He simply had to. But the weeks passed and nothing. Her number still refused to connect no matter how many times he tried to call, her work refused to accept his calls, and she never answered her door when he knocked; it was as if she’d disappeared.

Sooner than he would have liked, the world came calling and was once more he descended into the hum and rush of what his life had become. Promotions, interviews, meetings about possible projects and charity events. The next several months of his life passed in a blur. But every night, without fail he would try to call. And every night he would receive the same “this call cannot be completed” message when he’d dial her number.

Until everything came crashing down.

Tom was utterly exhausted. He’d been awake for more hours now than he even cared to count and he knew in all honesty that he should have long since been sleeping. He had tried desperately to sleep. But sleep was ever elusive and, try as he might, it steadfast refused to come. So he’d found himself pacing around his hotel room instead; another basic, boring room in a hotel whose name he couldn’t even recall let alone its actual location. He’d been running around so much as of late that he’d begun to feel a constant and distressing sense of disconnect with the world around him.

He’d been pacing for the better part of an hour before stopping and grabbing his distressingly silent mobile from the desk. Clutching it tightly in his hand, he took a deep breath and dialed the number he knew by heart. He held his breath as he waited…For it to ring, for Amy to answer. Please, please answer, he pleaded. Please.

“We’re sorry but the number you have dialed is no longer in service.” An oddly cheering pre-recorded voice answered.

The line clicked off.

Tom pulled the phone from his ear to stare blankly at its screen. Disconnected? No, that couldn’t be right. He refused to accept that. Absolutely refused. He took a deep breath and dialed again.

“We’re sorry but the number you have dialed is no longer in service.”

Click.

Without conscious thought, he pulled back his arm and threw the phone at the far wall with all the force he could muster. A giddy wave of hysterical laughter rushed out of him at the sound of the glass screen cracking on impact. It sounded hollow and so very wrong to his own ears. But he couldn’t seem to halt it now that he’d begun. It was as if someone had flipped a switch in him and all he could see was a violent shade of red. Books, pillows, clothing, anything his fingers touched ended up thrown across the room, heedless of the mess or noise they made as he did so. And just as suddenly as he’d snapped, he came back to himself, eyes widening as he took in the destruction around him.

Tom staggered backwards, nearly tripping over his feet, and sat wordlessly on the edge of the bed. His mind racing along with his heart and the world still felt alarmingly off balance, leaving him gripping the edge of the mattress in a vain effort to steady himself. Panic roiled through him as the realization began to sink in. Amy was gone and she wasn’t coming back. Oh god, she wasn’t coming back.

#Tom Hiddleston #Tom Hiddleston RPF #Tom Hiddleston x oc #Tom Hiddleston x ofc #Tom Hiddleston x original character #tom hiddleston x original female character #Brave Face

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winterisakiller · 5 years

Text

Brave Face - Part One

Title: Brave Face

One Shot: 1/3

Character: Tom Hiddleston/OFC

Genre: Angst

Rating: M

Summary: A wedding is one of the happiest days of one's life. It is the beginning of the future and for Amelia Evans this was no different. Tom HIddleston stood watching her as she walked down the aisle while considering every choice that had brought him here. For better or worse, his life was fundamentally changed.

Authors Notes/Warnings: So full disclosure this story came about completely by accident. I had this vague idea in my head and it probably would have stayed that way had I not been talking to @redfoxwritesstuff and said “So I have this idea...”. This literally grew from a ‘huh, this should be straight forward’ to ‘holy fuck what have I gotten myself into?!’. All in all this is a 13,000 word one shot that has been split into three parts to make for easier posting/reading. Hope you all enjoy.

So this is normally slotted for Thursday updates but as I’m a moron who hit ‘post’ instead of ‘save as draft’ part one is going up early.

Tag List: @tinchentitri @noplacelikehome77 @theheartofpenelope @blacksuitofdoom

And then seemingly out of nowhere it happened.

“Is this true?” Her voice was steady but quiet, her eyes pleading with him to tell her that these pictures were false, that he hadn’t done exactly what she feared he had.

Tom swallowed thickly, casting his eyes quickly downward. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. He tried to gather his thoughts, tried to figure out what he was going to say.

“Thomas, please tell me you didn’t do this…” She only ever called him Thomas when she was cross with him.

“Amy, please…” He took several steps towards her, his hands raised in supplication. She had to understand. It hadn’t meant anything. He had to make her understand.

And with that she turned on her heel and left. He winced as he heard the door slam behind her.

She now was gone.

But soon an hour had passed. And then another.

Nothing. No sound of her feet on the stairs, no jingle of keys in the front lock. Just nothing.

Shit. Shit. Shit.

He leaned back against the wall, rubbing the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger. “I’ve been a bit busy as of late, mum. Nothing to fret over. Are you alright?”

She chuckled softly. “I’m well, dear. Quite well. Looking forward to tomorrow afternoon.”

“Oh? What’s happening?” Something was niggling at the back of his mind but he couldn’t quite seem to catch hold.

“Good lad.”

“Oh my darling boy,” she whispered into his chest as she returned his tight hug with equal fervor. “It’s so wonderful to have you home.”

“It’s good to be home,” he breathed into her short, white hair. He hadn’t realized just how much he’d missed this, missed home, until that moment. “Are Sarah and Emma here?”

Tom let out a soft sigh. This was certainly not the place he wanted to have the conversation he knew his mother sought. “Let’s get in the house shall we?”

Diana blinked in confusion. “Emma! What on earth…?”

“Now wait just a minute…” Tom started, taking several steps towards Emma, his own eyes narrowing in anger.

And though he knew it was futile, he checked his mobile once more; the stubborn hope that she had called refused to let him be.

Nothing.

Until everything came crashing down.

“We’re sorry but the number you have dialed is no longer in service.” An oddly cheering pre-recorded voice answered.

The line clicked off.

Tom pulled the phone from his ear to stare blankly at its screen. Disconnected? No, that couldn’t be right. He refused to accept that. Absolutely refused. He took a deep breath and dialed again.

“We’re sorry but the number you have dialed is no longer in service.”

Click.

Next Part

#tom hiddleston #tom hiddleston x ofc #tom hiddleston x oc #tom hiddleston x original female character #tom hiddleston rpf #fanfic #Brave Face

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ganzeer-reviews · 5 years

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POPISM: THE WARHOL 60′s by Andy Warhol and Pat Hackett o-o-o-o-o

In most of his interviews, Andy Warhol wasn't very talkative and came off as hella awkward while simultaneously being kinda snarky, often dicking interviewers around. So it's quite refreshing to be getting his take on things in his own voice. 300 pages of it, no less. Sure, you can bet the actual writing was done by Pat Hacket, but you can be equally sure that the voice behind the writing belongs to no one but Andy Warhol.

"Very few people on the [West] Coast knew or cared about contemporary art, and the press for my show wasn't too good. I always have a laugh, though, when I think of how Hollywood called Pop Art a put-on! Hollywood?? I mean, when you look at the kind of movies they were making then--those were supposed to be real??"

It's also nice to see him recount his transition from his commercial art practice to his early beginning within the gallery circuit-- when he was still not quite sure of himself-- before he became a superstar and way before his studio became the go-to place for every major counter-cultural figure in America.

"By the time Ivan [Karp] (who worked at Leo Castelli Gallery) introduced me to Henry [Geldzahler] (who at the time was a new young 'curatorial-assistant-with-no-specific-duties' at the Met) I was keeping my commercial drawings absolutely buried in another part of the house because one of the people Ivan had brought by before had remembered me from my commercial art days and asked to see some drawings. As soon as I showed them to him, his whole attitude toward me changed. I could actually see him changing his mind about my paintings, so from then on I decided to have a firm no-show policy about the drawings. Even with Henry, it was a couple of months before I was secure enough about his mentality to show them to him."

But if it's the explosive Factory years you're interested in, rest assured there's plenty of that as well. One of the best things about this book though is Warhol's observations about the times. Because that is very much what the book is: a window onto the 1960's through they eyes and words of Andy Warhol. It starts off in 1960 and ends in 1969. By all accounts the 60's was a very special decade in America, and Warhol's retelling definitely drives the point home

"Everything went young in '64. The kids were throwing out all the preppy outfits and the dress-up clothes that made them look like their mothers and fathers, and suddenly everything was reversed--the mothers and fathers were trying to look like their kids."

It gets better:

"Generally speaking, girls were still pretty chubby, but with the new slim clothes coming in, they all went on diets. This was the first year I can remember seeing loads of people drink low-calorie sodas."

And then later:

"Since diet pills are made out of amphetamine, that was one reason speed was as popular with Society as it was with street people. And these Society women would pass out the pills to the whole family, too--to their sons and daughters to help them lose weight, and to their husbands to help them work harder and stay out later. There were so many people from every level on amphetamine, and although it sounds strange, I think a lot of it was because of the new fashions."

So you get interesting anecdotes like that, with associations and theories only someone like Warhol would come up with; Fashion made Speed popular.

He does go on tangents throughout the book, recounting other people's stories instead of his own--which I s'pose you can say is a very Warholian thing to do, isn't it? I can imagine some people getting tired of these long tangents, but I find them to be wonderful additions to Warhol's montage of the decade.

"'I gave Bob Dylan a book of my poems a couple of years ago,' Taylor [Mead] said, 'right after the first time I saw him perform. I thought he was a great poet and I told him so... And now', Taylor started to laugh, 'now when he's a big sensation and everything, he asked me for a free copy of my second book. I said 'but you're rich now--you can afford to buy it!' And he said, 'But I only get paid quarterly.'"

These asides cover a huge roster of characters, from Dylan to Jackson Pollock to Robert Rauschenberg to Jonas Mekas to Dennis Hopper to Edie Sedgwick to Jim Morrison to Lou Reed to Nico to Mick Jagger and on and on. The tone is very conversational and often gosspiy, but it isn't all mere gossip. You learn, for example, how Warhol introduced Henry Geldzahler to a young British painter by the name of David Hockney. This was before Geldzahler became curator of American Art at the Met and way before he became Commissioner of Cultural Affairs for New York City. And it was really before Andy Warhol himself became anything close to a cult figure, which he would start to become only 1-2 years later.

Hard to imagine the transition when you take into account the initial reception towards his work:

"When Ivan brought Leo Castelli up to my studio, the place was a mass, with the big canvases strewn around the living room--painting was a lot messier than drawing. Leo looked my stuff over, the Dick Tracys and the Nose Jobs in particular, and then said, 'Well, it's unfortunate, the timing, because I just took on Roy Lichtenstein, and the two of you in the same gallery would collide."

And then later:

"Henry Geldzahler was also pounding the pavements for me. He offered me to Sidney Janis, who refused. He begged Robert Elkon. He approached Eleanor Ward, who seemed interested but said she didn't have room. Nobody, but nobody, would take me."

Amidst the stories, the gossip, and observations, there's also the occasional tip.

"To be successful as an artist, you have to have your work shown in a good gallery for the same reason that, say, Dior never sold his originals from a counter in Woolworth's. It's a matter of marketing, among other things. If a guy has, say, a few thousand dollars to spend on a painting, he doesn't wander along the street till he sees something lying around that 'amuses' him. He wants to buy something that's going to go up and up in value, and the only way that can happen is with a good gallery, one that looks out for the artist, promotes him, and sees to it that his work is shown in the right way to the right people."

He finally got his first New York show in the fall of '62 at Eleanor Ward's Stable Gallery (only 3 years before announcing his retirement from painting). By early '63 he'd moved his work studio from his home to an old firehouse on East 87th st, and soon thereafter he hired Gerard Malanga as his assistant, who was also instrumental in keeping Andy plugged into all the cultural happenings.

"Gerard kept up with every arty event and movement in the city--all the things that sent out fliers or advertised in the Voice. He took me to a lot of dank, musty basements where plays were put on, movies screened, poetry read--he was an influence on me in that way."

The more things Warhol was exposed to, the more he soaked up stuff like a sponge, not just for his art, but for his very persona.

"In those days I didn't have a real fashion look yet... Eventually I picked up some style from Wynn [Chamberlain] , who was one of the first to go in for the S & M leather look."

Perhaps some of the most interesting parts in the book is when Warhol recounts some of his efforts in film, which indeed took up the majority of the 60's despite not "bringing home the bacon" in the same way the paintings did. Even today Andy's films have yet to occupy the same place his paintings have, but in reading his retelling it's hard to think that even the most skeptical of skeptics wouldn't be able to see that there's at least a bit of genius in them. In one bit, Warhol even talks about "slow cinema" something that seems to be regaining popularity in recent years.

"That had always fascinated me, the way people could sit by a window or on a porch all day and look out and never be bored, but then if they went to a movie or a play, they suddenly objected to being bored. I always felt that a very slow film could be just as interesting as a porch-sit if you thought about it the same way."

But all in all the greatest thing about the book is that it's such a perceptive account of some of the most interesting aspects of 60's New York. There's lots on Jonas Mekas' Cinematheque, plenty on the changing neighborhoods, how the East Village was becoming all Bohemian, when the Beatles became all the rage and the Stones were having publicity issues, how fashions were quickly evolving year after year ("The masses wanted to look non-conformist, so that meant the non-conformity had to be mass-manufactured").

I find it quite odd that in the wide array of art-related books recommended to me over the years, Andy Warhol's Popism was never mentioned once. In fact, I never even knew of the book's existence, and just happened upon it by sheer coincidence. It strikes me as essential reading to anyone interested in not just Andy Warhol, but New York's art scene in the 60's more generally, arguably the most important decade in American art and culture at large. And actually, art aside, it's an incredible telling account of the decade more generally, with Warhol's keen observations on things like fashion, music, and media. Even with Warhol's shortcomings--his obsessions with things like glamour, fame, and money, all things that come across in this here book--he still manages to do what he's always done best: hold up a mirror right in America's face.

Highly recommended.

[Available on Amazon]

#book #prose #review #andy warhol #warhol #new york #1960s

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vmheadquarters · 6 years

Text

Happy Birthday @spookykinney!

For your birthday, surfer-Logan and FBI-Veronica are teaming up in this delightful remake of Point Break as told by our very own @cheshirecatstrut! We hope you have a great birthday and that you enjoy this first chapter of Taking the Drop.

It’s not like Veronica thought, while fighting tooth-and-nail to win a job at the FBI, that a law enforcement career would be glamorous. She assumed ‘high-risk’ and ‘life-consuming’ went without saying… but jumped in with both feet because everyone assumed she’d fail. Throughout those years she waged battles with a stacked system, though, to earn her gun and badge—she never once imagined the work would be BORING.

She’s currently reading email nine-thousand-three of more than forty-six thousand, however, so she can catalog contents to make a searchable database; and the sheer tedium has her reconsidering her position. Because sure, she MIGHT find the smoking gun in this stash, and put an international fraudster behind bars. But since right now she’s transcribing vet bills for a Pomeranian’s impacted anal glands, she has her doubts.

Voices filter back to her small and grimy cubicle, her reward for graduating Cum Laude from Columbia Law; she perks up as she hears the words, “…see if an agent’s available.” Since she’s fresh out of the Academy, and most junior on staff, Agent in Charge of Random Bullshit is usually her.

Approaching footsteps bolster this theory, so Veronica pitches her gum, straightens her somewhat-wilted blazer. Turns expectantly towards the entrance, alert-and-professional expression in place, just as Logan Echolls lounges against the frame.

He looks GOOD, she thinks illogically, even as she wilts like her sport coat. Tanned and buff and fifty times healthier than he should, considering those six years of tabloid-chronicled hedonism since she dumped him. He’s in old jeans and flip-flops, his ‘Live Fast, Die Young’ t-shirt both worn and snug; faint sun-wrinkles at the corners of his eyes deepen when he notes her disappointment. Darla from reception waves and OH-MY-GOD’s behind him as he says, “Why am I not surprised you turned a felony kidnapping investigation into a job?”

“Why am I not surprised you’re still wasting your potential at the beach?” She gestures up-and-down at his ensemble. “And what on Earth are you doing in the San Diego field office, Logan? Are you planning to make another romantic drunken speech? Maybe you saw a joke flyer advertising kegs, and the metal detectors failed to deter you?”

“You wound me, Veronica,” he says, clearly not wounded, as she shoos away Darla. “You know full well I’m always the host. Like I’d deign to turn up at some random loser’s party.”

She snorts, and his grin faintly manifests. “Tragically, though, there’s a distinct lack of revelry and booze at this locale, so how about I cut to the chase? Can I interest you in a theory regarding bank robberies?”

Her eyes widen and she sits back, gesturing towards the uncomfortable guest chair. He unfolds from his lean and slouches into it, stretching out his long legs and making the cube feel minuscule.

“Now what would a boy like you know about felony theft?” She taps her lower lip while he crosses his arms, entertained. “I’m guessing very little, unless you learned on a film set—but I’ll admit you’ve disappointed me before.”

“I’m talking, specifically, about high-yield local jobs—the ones you guys have bungled like Keystone Cops for three years?” He bobs his brows, tone ever-so-slightly-patronizing. “The robbers wear Ninja Turtle masks, and collect massive hauls with a crew of four?”

“I may have heard a mention,” V says, with irony, because this case is the local Holy Grail. “As has every cable-news watcher in America.”

“Any lovers of partisan coverage realized yet the jobs only take place in the summer?”

She rolls her eyes. “Give us a little credit. We’re the FBI over here, not credulous guest stars on Scooby Doo.”

“And has it further occurred to you,” he leans forward intently, elbows on knees, “that these are the prime surfing months in So-Cal? For the rest of the year, surfers travel to the best waves…which costs more than people other than me can afford.”

He’s close enough now for her to smell his cologne, the sun-baked scent of his skin. Her voice, when she speaks, is husky. “Logan, what have you heard?”

Shrugging, he reclines against the wall, satisfied he’s piqued her curiosity. “Rumors,” he says, with a hand wave. “Nothing substantial. You know how it goes, when we reprobates toast marshmallows and gossip. High-denomination bills are turning up among locals, lately…and I’m the only guy who hasn’t spent his trust fund.”

“Rumors,” she repeats flatly, disappointment washing over her. Decides he looks and smells too lickable for pointless conversation to continue. “Well if that’s all you’ve got, no need to prolong the awkwardness. Thanks for stopping by--we’ll look into your allegations and touch base if necessary. Appreciate the good citizenship, blah-blah, God bless America.”

She finger-waves, and he stares for a moment, disbelief fading into cynicism. “Fine,” he says at last, pushing up out of the chair. “Your loss. I’ve had fun exchanging insults again, Veronica—it’s been a while since my last creative tongue-lashing. Good luck with the glamorous new career. Oh, and…excellent choice, reverting to shorter hair. There’ll be less to tear out when ignoring my clue gets you nowhere.”

He winks and strides away. She runs a palm self-consciously along one side of her sleek bob, and watches his back muscles shift as he goes.

XXXXX

Veronica submits a form detailing the interaction, per procedure, then tries to re-focus on the mind-numbing emails. The memory of Logan’s disappointed expression nags…but what did he expect, showing up out of the blue with no evidence? She WANTED to believe him; just like she wanted, once upon a time, to have faith he’d give up reckless self-endangerment. But leaping without looking is Logan’s thing--and the best way to protect him is to NOT inquire into crimes of his nearest and dearest.

She’s a professional, though, and the bigwigs want their database yesterday. So she dutifully enters emails till it’s eleven and she’s wiped. V then drags herself home to run on the treadmill, eat a frozen dinner, and feel both sad and glad she’s got no hungry dog waiting.

When her alarm goes off (too early) the next morning, she staggers into the kitchen to grab a bottled coffee; slumps half-awake at the breakfast table to chug. Mac’s gone for the day, probably practicing Tai Chi in the park, but the San Diego Union-Tribune’s on the table, neatly folded to show the front page. Veronica’s bleary gaze passes over it…then swings back, focuses. She grabs it in both hands, cursing.

The headline reads, ‘Wild in the Banks? Surf Wax Found at Multiple Robbery Sites, Source Claims’. The article beneath, written by some pompous windbag named Julian Grac, details the theory Logan laid out yesterday…along with several bits of evidence she’s sure were kept from the press.

“That asshole talked to the PAPER,” she mutters, crumpling newsprint in her fists. “When I kicked him to the curb, I should have kicked HARDER!”

Her rage sustains her all the way through her shower and commute. But when she gets inside the forbidding white-stone-blue-glass building, and finds a summons from Agent Morris waiting? Anger gives way to foreboding.

Morris still holds a teeny-tiny grudge about the whole getting-outsmarted-IN-RE-Duncan thing. And continues to view Veronica with unreasonable suspicion--which is troublesome because right now she’s V’s boss.

Her fearless leader’s planted on the desktop when Veronica enters, legs crossed casually, arms folded. The ‘lazy housecat, circling’ routine Morris uses to intimidate is getting old; so V goes full can-do chipper in response. “You asked to see me, ma’am?”

“Mars, am I right in assuming we work for the same department?” Morris arches one eyebrow, and Veronica has to bite her tongue to contain sarcasm. “It’s not something I hallucinated, due to lack of sleep from investigating bank heists?”

“Last time I checked, ma’am,” V replies breezily. “Unless there was a re-org this morning while I was stuck in traffic.”

“And when a potential witness for said case appears in said department…” Morris pauses, for dramatic effect, Veronica assumes. “Shouldn’t the interviewing agent, who’s incidentally my subordinate, notify me ASAP?”

“I passed the information up the chain as per FBI rules,” Veronica says. “And you must have received it, or I wouldn’t be standing here.”

“Yes, but if you had walked Mr...” Morris consults a sheet of paper on the desk by her hip, “Echolls upstairs personally, instead of sending him on his way and writing a bare-bones report, I would’ve received the information YESTERDAY. BEFORE he ran to the paper, and spilled critical intel to perps. I might’ve even convinced him silence is golden, since you didn’t find it worthwhile to try. Here’s a hint—fake sympathy and charm work wonders.”

Veronica finds this claim dubious, but all she says is, “Ma’am, he was passing along rumors. He didn’t give names or offer proof. And I doubt he’s a witness to anything but his own moral decline.”

“Be that as it may,” Morris says. “He HAS made the acquaintance of this pain-in-my-ass Julian Grac. Who somehow knows about the beeswax residue at six of nine robbery sites--the chemical composition of which matches a well-known surf product. Mr. Zog’s Sex Wax, to be precise. Bubblegum scent.”

Veronica contains an eye-roll. “A detail which was kept out of the press.”

“Right.” Morris levers herself up to standing. “My question is, HOW does Grac know? Did he learn this tidbit from Echolls? And if so, where’d Echolls hear?”

“Logan parties a lot.” Veronica shrugs, hoping she comes off unaffected. “And snoops. Probably he stumbled into the wrong crowd and overheard a conversation. It wouldn’t be the first time.”

“Yes, I was interested to learn you and Echolls share a history.” Morris consults the paper again; Veronica wonders whether it’s a car-wash receipt or actual research. “He was your boyfriend after Duncan Kane fled the country, correct? It’s great you didn’t disappear him, too, because we can use that relationship to get close to his sources.”

“Logan Echolls isn’t big on being used,” Veronica says, lightly. “You might not find him accommodating.”

Morris sighs. “Look, Mars, we’ve been praying for a break on this case for years. And, as I’m sure you’ll be shocked to learn, none of our agents surf. He does, though—Echolls—I understand he’s pretty good. He also trusts you enough to hand you dirt on guys he knows. It might be…” she trails a finger along the edge of her desk, slants V a sly look, “…advantageous to your career to demonstrate team loyalty, Mars. Convince the guy to be our confidential informant. Get an introduction to some surfers, find out who’s flashing mystery cash. His social circle’s no doubt heard about your turbulent former romance. He could help us infiltrate the locals-only crowd, none of whom like talking to Feds.”

“But if I go undercover,” Veronica tries to conceal her mounting excitement, “who will log the last thirty-thousand Sanderson emails?”

“Let me put it this way, Mars.” Morris smirks. “If you DON’T go undercover? I got a server in today from Atlanta containing another hundred-k.”

“You know I’m a professional, ma’am.” Veronica folds her hands behind her back to conceal the involuntary fist. “Whatever my task may be, I’ll work hard to exceed expectations.”

“So you say.” Morris lays the paper, gently, down. “I’d rather you prove ‘my task’ means ‘anything the FBI asks’. Not ‘whatever I feel is right, even if it’s against the law’.”

Veronica nods, giving away nothing. Morris contemplates her in silence. “We’re working on an alternate post-Hearst background for you,” her boss continues, after a tense thirty seconds. “You’ll have it by the end of the day. I’ve also called in a favor from the owner of Neptune’s Net, a local surf hangout—congratulations, you’re waiting tables. You’ve got a month to produce actionable evidence, plus I want weekly reports, in person. And Mars…from now on, don’t leave ANYTHING out.”

“I would NEVER.” Veronica presses a palm to her heart. Morris narrows her eyes, then waves a dismissive hand.

XXXXX

Once back at her desk, V pulls up tools that make Prying Eyez look like a toy and researches Logan. Within two minutes she’s got a list of his petty crimes, including one drunk-and-disorderly sophomore year and two expunged charges…destruction of a police vehicle, and assault of Mercer Hayes. But since junior year at Hearst, Logan’s flown under the radar. He earned a political science degree, with honors, followed by a Masters in English from YALE; and then…he bought a house in San Diego by the water, and a dog from the SPCA. She copies down the innocuous address, cracks her knuckles and considers.

High-tech’s getting her nowhere, so Veronica decides to Google; finds a ‘What happened to Logan Echolls?’ article which reveals precisely nothing. Next she turns her attention to Julian Grac, which at least has the benefit of novelty. It yields links to crime stories in the Union-Tribune, and an article about ‘ten great authors you’ve never read’.

Frowning, she clicks through, only to realize it’s name confusion. But the phrase ‘a writer who prefers obscurity’ catches her attention, so she speed-reads the autobiography of one Julien Gracq; a turn-of-the-century novelist who rejected awards, refused to do book tours, and lived as a hermit. His masterpiece, ‘Chateau D’Argol’, was about a rich man whose best friend brings a poor girl into their social circle. After which the girl seduces, then ruins, them both.

At this point Veronica throws her pencil holder across the room. Because this is EXACTLY the kind of pseudonym Logan Echolls would adopt, and smirk about regularly, knowing few had the insight to penetrate his ruse.

She doesn’t need to use the search tools on Grac, at this point; but doing so reveals his paychecks languish in a shell account. Suspicions confirmed, she picks up the phone. Adopts the sugariest Southern accent she can muster, just because, and spins a tale to the Trib’s receptionist about the tip of a lifetime for ‘Monsieur Grac’. The voicemail box she’s transferred to boasts an inspirational quote (‘All news, as it is called, is gossip, and they who edit it are old women over tea’), recited in a drawl she recognizes. She hangs up, high on triumph, and decides a long-distance chewing-out won’t serve.

XXXXX

Veronica leans against a lamp post across the street to wait; within half an hour, Logan bounces out of the brown skyscraper housing the Union-Tribune. He loosens his tie as he walks, laughingly calling goodbyes to co-workers. He’s in designer flat-front slacks and a white oxford, hair mussed like he’s been running his hands through it--his impersonation of clean-cut and trustworthy is so cute she has to grit her teeth not to smile.

The street is packed with cabs, so it takes him a minute to notice her. When he does, he pulls a theatrical double-take before jaywalking, hands in pockets, smiling wryly.

“So,” she says, as soon as he clears the road, “Can I interest YOU in a theory about people who lie to FBI agents?”

“I didn’t lie, per se,” he counters, rocking back on his heels as his grin grows Grinch-like. “I just wore my weekend clothes and kept my mouth shut. The Veronica Mars Express Train to Paranoia-ville did the rest.”

“This is a serious federal investigation, Logan,” she chides, folding her arms. “Bringing evidence to the authorities isn’t a game for personal amusement.”

“What, exactly, are you mad about?” He lifts his brows. “That I gave you a hint instead of handing over story notes? That I failed to shout my job history from the rooftops? Or maybe you’re just pissed I’m not an alcoholic loser, since it makes you ditching me seem…selfish?”

“I could’ve had you subpoena’d and interrogated under oath,” she says, faux-thoughtfully. “But browbeating you in person seemed much more fun.”

He laughs. “THERE’s the Veronica who ran afoul of the Russian mob. So what convinced you my theory was worth pursuing, sugarplum? Not my charm, surely. Some fact in the article your colleagues missed, perhaps?”

“Like I’d discuss cases with a reporter,” she scoffs. “Why’d you go with ‘robberies only happen in summer’ when you had physical evidence in reserve?”

“Like I’d reveal my sources.” He grins. “Gosh, Veronica, seems like we’re at an impasse.”

“My supervisor wants to use your connections.” She goes sardonic in response to his glee. “I’d ask if you have experience undercover…”

“…But you know first-hand my skills are professional-grade?”

She narrows her eyes. He cocks his head, amusement warring with calculation. “If I help you, what do I get?” he asks.

“First crack at the story immediately following arrests,” she says. “With our full cooperation. And any information you gather solo you can use…unless, of course, it’s classified.”

He removes car keys from his pocket; stares, considering, into the distance as he flips them around one finger. Returns his gaze to hers and locks on, Logan-style. “I assume my role is to introduce you to suspicious surfers? Since I further assume you won’t let me handle this and report back?”

“You know what they say about assumptions,” she says, by way of answer. “Of course, you’re an ass already, so maybe you don’t care.”

“I should warn you, a lot of our high-school classmates have stuck around.” He holds his tie down with one palm as a breeze shifts it sideways. “This may suck for you, but you’ll have to pretend we’ve reconciled.”

She nods, and he extends the non-key-containing hand. “Give me your phone.”

V shouldn’t violate protocol; but Logan’s trustworthy, within limits, so she types in the code and does. He enters his number in the contacts and gives it back. “There’s a party tonight at Black’s Beach—should be locals-only, very exclusive. Text me an address, I’ll pick you up at eight. Oh, and dress like a surf bunny, even if doing so offends your sensibilities. Not all these people are stupid, you’ll need to blend.”

“Gee, I was hoping you’d refuse to cooperate,” she says wistfully, pocketing her cell. “Then do something worse than jaywalking, then flee, so I could knock you down and cuff you.”

“Maybe later, if you’re REALLY nice,” he says, leaning confidentially towards her ear. Then walks off, whistling, while she tries to purge the image from her brain.

XXXXX

Veronica’s sitting on the porch of her rented condo when Logan pulls up at 7:55—in a dusty black vintage Range Rover, not the shiny orange Porsche she envisioned. She considers, as she stands, whether she also makes too many assumptions. But his appreciative whistle while he opens her door is distracting.

“Guess it slipped my mind how much you love playing dress-up,” he murmurs. She doesn’t miss the quick once-over he gives her as he releases the brake. “You look great, Veronica, love the sarong. And friendship bracelets are a nice touch.”

“This is actually a tablecloth.” She strokes the fringed white linen, embroidered with red roses, she tied over one hip so she’d feel less naked in her green bikini. “I favor a no-nonsense black wardrobe these days, because Cup ‘o Soup stains don’t show.”

“Wise,” he says, and clears his throat. He’s in linen too, a short-sleeved, half-buttoned summer shirt over cargo shorts; she notes with amusement the shark’s tooth necklace has reappeared. “I figured we’d start at the top of the food chain and work our way down, since most surf crews around here are big on punching but short on brains. Brains being a prerequisite for smoothly-planned bank jobs.”

“Sounds fair,” she agrees, watching his arm muscles shift as he changes gears. “This party is where we’ll find apex predators?”

“Black’s has the most challenging waves in the area—ten, twelve footers courtesy of an offshore trench. It takes stamina to swim out and ride, so this spot attracts real athletes…the ranked surfers that compete on TV. And Zen masters, who just want to be one with the ocean.”

She makes a face, and he says, serious, “It’s not a joking matter to these people, Veronica. They don’t welcome posers in their midst. I vividly recall you disapproving of fistfights and vandalism, so be warned; the elite surfing community makes me, way back when, look like a piker. Crews are similar to those biker gangs you inexplicably love, although these are black sheep from MIDDLE-class homes--plus more ethnically diverse. This particular group is Mother Nature mystical in a way you’ll loathe and mock; so expect pot and hallucinogens, free love interspersed with showdowns. Stick close to me or you’ll be propositioned…and whipping out a taser would break your cover.”

“Understood.” She studies his face, surprised to see concern there. Gentles her tone in response. “I’ve gone undercover before, Logan. And agents are extensively trained in hand-to-hand combat. I can handle myself in a fight now.”

“Like you couldn’t before?” A smile plays across his lips; a street lamp illuminates his face as they pass beneath, then he’s cast again in shadow. He turns into a parking lot at the edge of a cliff and kills the engine. “I’m not worried about your moxie, Veronica. I just don’t want you to mouth off and find yourself surrounded. Out here, surfers make the rules.”

“I have full faith in your ability to fight dirty defending me,” she says softly. He laughs, gaze tracing her face, and she’s reminded of previous evenings with him in a parked car.

“Nice to see some things don’t change,” he murmurs, then climbs out to help her down. His hands linger on her waist as he lifts her from the seat, skin-to-skin.

They pass, in the moonlight, a brown sign that reads ‘stairway unstable due to rains’. He walks behind her down a narrow path with a rotting rail, hand on her shoulder like he’ll catch her if she falls. It’s nice, this unwavering focus, his concern for her well-being despite angry words. She used to take it for granted, the way she drew male eyes. But she’s grown up, post-Hearst; and she realizes now most men don’t pay attention as completely as Logan did.

At the base of the cliff, past a saucer-shaped observation tower, a bonfire sends smoke spiraling into the sky; loud music blasts, Dick Dale with the bass maxed. Seventy-ish people cluster near the crackling flames--on either side, a ribbon of sand stretches off into the dark. The water looks black, boasting military-formation-regular waves, and the rock wall at her back is smooth, forbidding.

The crowd’s uninhibited as advertised, drinking and making out, smoking and laughing. A few guys dance in a circle with much hilarity, like they’re having some Lord of the Flies moment or praying for rain. A knot of humanity encircles loose boulders at what’s clearly the party’s center.

It’s obvious Logan’s no stranger, despite his current respectability. He greets people with grins and backslaps, jerks of his chin, less unaffected than he seemed addressing work colleagues. Almost, he slides back into his high-school persona—the 09’er general who dictated popularity, who slashed tires and started shit when his judgments were questioned. But there’s a watchful tension to the set of his shoulders, and he glances left frequently to make sure she’s beside him. That, more than words, convinces her there’s danger.

They take an indirect path to the cluster by the boulders; Logan accepts a shot en route, which he tosses back, unhesitating. Cracking his neck, he meditatively surveys the throng, then coughs to get her attention as a gap opens.

“Guy holding court at the center,” he murmurs, indicating a ropily-buff Asian man with longish hair and ratty swim trunks. “That’s Bodie Chang, he was a year ahead of us at Neptune High. You remember?”

Veronica nods, watching Bodie gesture lazily from his semi-reclined position. Watching the crowd guffaw when he speaks, soak up his every word. “He’s come a long way since I interviewed him for the school paper. I remember Chang being shy.”

“He’s one of the top twenty-five surfers in the world, now.” Logan shoulders aside a drunk dude-bro to attain the inner sanctum. “In this place, he’s King.”

She opens her mouth to reply; but Dick Casablancas erupts from a log like the Ghost of Shitty Memories past, and drapes a wasted arm around her partner-in-crime. “Lo-GAN!” he shouts, like Logan’s not next to him. “Mr. Echolls in the house, now the party can START!”

“Enticing ladies again with the scents of puke and Jagermeister, I see.” Logan shoves Dick off, not without affection. “I thought you weren’t coming tonight, dude. Something about college cheerleaders and a hot tub?”

“They had emergency PRACTICE.” Dick accompanies a raspberry with a thumbs-down. “Seriously, how much do you need to rehearse waving pom-poms? It’s not like anybody looks at the props. Hey, who’s the wahine?” He squints, attempting focus. “Nice boobs, looks sort of familiar. Maybe I’ve seen her in a por…oh, holy SHIT! Dude, why the FUCK did you bring V…”

“Hey ECHOLLS!” a voice calls, mercifully drowning out Dick’s fit. Logan spreads a palm across V’s back to steer her--towards Bodie Chang, his summoner, and the makeshift royal throne. The King of Black’sBeach looks them both over impassively. “Thought you were too busy for our modest shindigs these days, man.”

Logan shrugs, nonchalant, but shakes the proffered hand. “You know how it goes,” he says, easily. ”All that money to spend, all those waves to ride. Plus too much temptation here to drink to excess. My body’s a fine-tuned machine.”

“I can respect that,” Bodie says, with a faint smile that reminds Veronica forcefully of Agent Morris. “Looks like maybe you’ve had other distractions lately, too. Who’s your date?”

“This,” Logan says, pairing a smile with a warning glance, “Is Veronica Mars.”

Then he snakes an arm unexpectedly around her waist. His hand finds the gap in her makeshift sarong, cups her hip; he pulls her flush against his side and adds, “My girlfriend.”

#veronica mars #veronica mars fanfic #vmhq birthday club #spookykinney #vm fanfic

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paracosmcentral · 5 years

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DGRM

is a 12-member girl group under AWOL Entertainment. The group has a Chinese zodiac concept where each member represents an animal on the zodiac wheel. Its members are:

Moya (Akamatsu Momoe) - Rat

Leader, Subvocalist

Jung-ah (Kim Jung-ah) - Ox

Main Rapper, Lead Dancer

Duanphen (Duanphen Anuwat) - Tiger

Lead Vocalist, Lead Dancer

JD Fang (Xie Fang) - Rabbit

Lead Rapper, Subvocalist

Xiulan (Wang Xiulan) - Dragon

Main Vocalist, Visual

DaO (Đào Hương) - Snake

Vocalist

Aika (Ito Aika) - Horse

Visual, Vocalist

Doyeon (Jung Doyeon) - Goat

Lead Dancer, Lead Vocalist

Yifei (Tang Yifei) - Monkey

Lead Vocalist

RJ (Luo Juan) - Rooster

Lead Rapper

Hoa (Nguyễn Tuyệt) - Dog

Main Dancer, Subvocalist, Face

Yuyan (Chen Yuyan) - Pig

Lead Vocalist, Maknae

DGRM debuted (or will debut, I guess) on January 25, 2020, and AWOL introduced the group saying that they would start off their musical career with a “vignette” concept. Each music video would contain a story, but each story would be unconnected to the others. However, many fans were skeptical, believing that an overarching story would reveal itself.

The first couple of vignette stories followed as such:

(Each song is listed as its title track name, not as the name of the release per se.)

1. New Now (single): It’s the lunar new year. DaO is counting down the days to… something, something big, but her friends convince her to let go for be time being and just enjoy the festivities. There are plenty of fireworks, they get caught out in the rain, it’s all real sweet. The video is shot at night, mostly filmed to look like a normal person’s video recording, but with a few cinematic shots. The song is uplifting electro-pop-rock, like if LOONA yyxy’s Frozen were a Taeyeon song.

2. Midnight Girl (single): The girls are together at a slumber party, and after Hoa falls asleep, the rest stay up to play “horror games” like Light as a Feather, Catscratch, Bunshinsaba, etc. Things take a dark turn when Yuyan gets involved, and as Hoa discovers, all the others have been put into a nightmarish trance state by Yuyan. The video is shot in high-contrast black and white, with occasional scribble animation and one shot in color. The song is something like a tropical house/electro swing version of Sunmi’s Noir.

3. Found (EP): The girls are castaways on some remote island. At first, they’re looking for rescue, but they later find that there’s way more to the island than they thought (with references to the TV show Lost), and by the time rescue comes, they’ve found ways to thrive there. The video is bright and saturated, with lots of drone shots. The song is tropical house with emotional chords and a pounding beat, like Key’s I Wanna Be but at a faster tempo.

4. What? (single): All the girls are happily in love, but Moya suspects that her boyfriend is seeing other people. Going full detective mode, she finds out that indeed, he’s dating several of the other members on the side, and Moya helps them find this out. The video tells the story in a comical way, with brightly-colored sets and exaggerated acting. The song has a fun and cute jazz-ish feel, similar to Key’s The Duty of Love or SNSD’s Lion Heart.

Midnight Girl soon becomes DGRM’s most popular song. Fans are attempting to connect the dots between the stories, but there aren’t many dots to connect.

The series continues:

5. At Your Door (single): Jung-ah attempts to meet her boyfriend and apologize for some conflict between the two of them. She ends up lost and even more distraught, as the neighborhood he lives in has turned into an surreal suburban dreamscape (of her own making? When her tears dry, she starts to see clearly.) The video is light but dull in color, with lots of fog and quick flashing shots of things like roses and flames. The song is a slow ballad, not unlike LOONA’s Sonatine.

6. For Love (EP): Aika is a rich woman, and JD Fang is her bodyguard. The two are secretly lovers, and have to keep their relationship on the down-low, but eventually decide to forego that and to be out and proud about their being in love. The video is shot alternatively in a mansion set, with some pretty cool pets, and a purple box set with odd lighting for the choreography. The song is bright and sassy, similar to Brown Eyed Girls’ Brave New World and SNSD’s Paradise, but with more of a punch to it.

Critical reception of For Love gets DGRM more popular in the US. During a fanmeet after the release of the EP, RJ comes out as lesbian.

Meanwhile, #letdgrmhaveanalbum starts trending on Twitter.

The series continues:

7. 5,4,3,2 (EP): The girls are on two competing lacrosse teams, an underdog team and a team that remains undefeated. Doyeon is on the underdog side, and rallies the rest of her team to train even harder, to where they defeat the other team for the first time. The video is shot on constructed sets rather than real-life settings for the aesthetic, with bold lighting and plenty of dance footage. The song is pop with a lot of spoken word and chopped-up samples, like Leikeli47’s Post That or Little Mix’s Strip.

8. Remade (single): Aika has been kept inside a stained-glass church/prison, with a microchip inside her. Other people often visit the “church” and think it’s a beautiful place, but never really notice Aika and her suffering—until Yifei does and attempts to help her escape. When she finally does, the world still appears like stained glass to Aika. The video is shot almost entirely within the stained-glass set, and utilizes bright colors and glowy lighting to contrast the dark story, as well as the Deep Dream Generator to achieve the final stained glass shot. The song is a consistent 80’s-ish pop song, like new by Yves.

9. Sky High (EP): RJ and her friends go rollerblading together in the city. One day, while taking a detour through an alleyway, they find something unexpected—a small, blue alien with wheel-like feet. They “adopt” the alien as a part of their crew, teaching them rollerblading tricks, and they go on to become even more stellar than before. The video is bright and a bit flashy, and implements different frame and exposure rates either to slow down portions or speed them up in a choppy way. The song is energetic hip-hop with a focus on the drums, much like LOONA’s favOriTe but with more rap.

Due to the consistent release of singles and EPs, #letdgrmhaveanalbum and #letdgrmtakeabreak become competing tags on Twitter. AWOL announces that DGRM will release an album after the vignette series is over.

The series continues:

10. You Want, I Need (single): Duanphen is in an unhealthy relationship with someone else. The two have on animal masks (a tiger and lion respectively), and the music video shows them fighting in different scenarios, before Duanphen takes hers off, being her authentic self, and beats the shit out of the lion guy. The other members are background characters with masks of their Chinese zodiac animal. The video is on a dark set and all done in one shot, with choreo interspersed throughout the story as if it were a musical. The song is a bold jazz-pop piece, like Lee Hi’s 1, 2, 3, 4, or Ailee’s Mind Your Own Business.

11. Strange (EP): Hoa goes to the aquarium and, while inside the tunnel exhibit, sees a few human-like figures inside the tank. They are sirens, and she warms up to them quickly; it seems that only she can see them. When she arrives another day to release them from the aquarium, they start to cause havoc, and Hoa wonders if she was just being used. The video is shot in a cool-colored tone and with slow narrative shots, interspersed with the individual members singing. The song has a chill house/hip-hop vibe, like Olivia Hye’s Rosy or Tinashe’s 2 On.

On a V-Live, fans overhear Doyeon ask RJ “Does Track 19 have a title yet?” The fanbase starts hyping up this potential album, and theorists note that 12 vignettes would make the most sense.

The series continues:

12. Beautiful Danger (single): The story takes place sometime in the past, where Xiulan is mostly-happily married to one man and secretly in love with another. She internally decides to stay with her husband, but her other lover murders the husband so that he and Xiulan can be together. The video is dark in color and cinematic in style. The song is a ballad in ¾ time with an older feel, like Haseul’s Let Me In or Reol’s fall glow (without the trap drums).

After some time, DGRM releases their 24-track album, Lookout.

13. Look Out (LP): One member from the previous vignettes have woken up in a bright and colorful world that is definitely not their own. They encounter each other, and shenanigans ensue. The video implements techniques from the previous videos as well: shots at weird sweeping angles, drone shots, scribble animation, flashing montages, etc. The song has a fun and funky vibe, like if Feel It Still were a Red Velvet track.

New Now - DaO

Midnight Girl - Yuyan

Found - Yifei

What? - Moya

At Your Door - Jung-ah

For Love - JD Fang

5,4,3,2 - Doyeon

Remade - Aika

Sky High - RJ

You Want, I Need - Duanphen

Strange - Hoa

Beautiful Danger - Xiulan

The theorists are like “I KNEW IT”

Track 19 (aka. Geddit) gets the love it deserves.

And DGRM takes a nice long break.

#k.pop.paracosm #submission

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brilliantorinsane · 7 years

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The Speckled Band on Stage: Yep, Still Gay

Note: I tagged those who reblogged the first part of this series. Please let me know if you would prefer not to be tagged in future posts.

This is the second installment in my series on obscure Sherlock Holmes film adaptations and their depiction of Holmes and Watson both individually and in relation to each other. (For a discussion of the 1921-23 silent films starring Eille Norwood, which appears to have been Doyle’s favorite adaptation, see here.)

I really didn’t mean to write a post about this one, seeing as it doesn’t strictly fit the theme of this series. It is a play, not a film, and it is only sort of an adaptation—although a retelling of The Speckled Band, it is written by Doyle himself. But while researching a very gay and very terrible 1931 film, I discovered that it was loosely adapted from this play. Naturally I read it as part of my research, telling myself that I wouldn’t get sidetracked writing a post about it. The failure of my self-control now lays before you.

In my defense, this play really is … well it really is Something. All sorts of wonderful and all sorts of tragic. If you’d prefer to read it for yourself before encountering the spoilers in this post, hop on over here and scroll to the second half of the webpage. And if you’ve got your subtext glasses so much as perched lightly on the end of your nose, be ready to be sent reeling by what you find.

(Spoilers below the cut)

Production and Reception

Doyle’s decision to adapt The Speckled Band for the stage was rather spur-of-the-moment. He had leased a theater for six months in order to showcase The House of Temperley, an adaptation of his novel Rodney Stone, but the play was largely unsuccessful (x, x). Threatened with considerable financial loss, Doyle set to work and within a week had written The Speckled Band. Despite its rushed composition the play was decidedly successful, and Doyle seems to have been quite pleased with it (x).

The play alters the original short story considerably. Some changes are so inconsequential as to be puzzling—the villain’s name is changed from Roylott to Rylott, the names of the stepdaughters are switched, etc—but other alterations are structural and make a significant difference. In particular, instead of following Watson’s pov, the audience’s perspective revolves primarily around the Rylott house. The scenes introducing Holmes and Watson are also considerably altered and expanded for potentially unfamiliar audiences, and a good deal more shouting and action is introduced throughout.

Oh, and Watson is engaged to Mary Morstan. Yeah. More on that later.

I have two complaints: First there is an uncomfortable dash of orientalism (i.e., western depictions of the east which cast it as mysterious, dangerous, and Other, and which played a largely unintentional but nonetheless significant role in justifying British imperialism), which is present in the original story but rather more prevalent in the stage play. Second, the female protagonist, although commendably brave, loses what little agency she had in the original story. But aside from these elements, I loved this play. The pacing is good and kept me engaged even when neither Sherlock or Watson are present, Dr. Rylott is genuinely frightening and I was really rather tense at times despite knowing the ending, and the occasional humor is on point—I actually laughed aloud once or twice. Further, ACD’s allegiance with the oppressed is out in full force, and there’s some genuinely touching commentary on the debilitating effects of abuse. And then, of course, there is Sherlock Holmes and Doctor John Watson …

Sherlock Holmes on Stage

Guys. This is, pure and undiluted, Sherlock Holmes at his best. If you ever start to fear that Sherlock really might be the cold and detached reasoning machine some folk have fixated on, just read the way Arthur Conan Doyle writes him in this play. You will never doubt again that he is anything besides a snarky ahead-of-his-time genius with a heart of literal gay gold. We’ll get to the ‘gay’ part in later section, so we’ll set aside his interactions with Watson for the moment. There is plenty else to discuss.

You see, this Holmes does spout a variation of that much abused line from A Scandal in Belgravia, saying: “[love] would disturb my reason, unbalance my faculties. Love is like a flaw in the crystal, sand in the clockwork, iron near the magnet.” I understand that the statement, here and in Scandle, refers specifically to romantic love. Yet I cannot think it’s an accident that nearly the very next moment Holmes is flatly refusing to find the wife of a clearly abusive husband, asking only enough questions to ensure that she has found a safe refuge, even though the law is on the husband’s side and the man offers a whopping fee of 500 pounds. As if Doyle wants to drive home that Holmes accepts cases purely on the basis of empathy for the downtrodden and not finances, Holmes then remarks: “I’m afraid I shall never be a rich man, Watson.” Added to this, the manner in which he listens to, comforts, and puts himself in danger for Roylott’s step-daughter Enid is genuinely touching. As many of us have asserted for years, Sherlock Holmes is the champion of justice, ally of the oppressed, and altogether a beautiful smol man. ‘Love is a flaw in the crystal,’ indeed.

There is also a pleasing dash of Holmes the psychologist. It appears most obviously in an early analysis of Dr. Roylott, but most touchingly toward Rylott’s mercilessly abused servant Rodgers. The man is essentially good-hearted but entirely incapacitated by fear of his master, and this leads to his betraying Enid’s attempts to contact Sherlock. It was obviously a shitty move, but Holmes, who earlier expressed understanding of the thoroughgoing damage caused by the man’s long, forced dependence on a maniac for his basic needs, responds compassionately: “He is not to be blamed. His master controls him.”

Added to this we have Holmes in disguises, bamf!Holmes, Holmes calling people idiots and taking far too much delight in dancing circles around them, and of course utterly brilliant Holmes (though that’s a given), so it seems almost an embarrassment of riches that we also get peak sassy Holmes. He makes a number of delightful appearances, although my favorite is the following, which occurs after he has agreed to protect Enid from Rylott:

RYLOTT: What I ask you to do — what I order you to do is to leave my affairs alone. Alone, sir — do you hear me? HOLMES: You are perfectly audible.

As utterly delightful as all of this is, Holmes’s darker side is not entirely absent, at least in his personal habits—the cocaine does make its appearance. But more on that later.

John Watson on Stage

To be honest, I found myself rather anxious about how Doyle would depict Watson. We fans have been in the habit of discovering Watson between the lines of the cannon stories—as the man is far more interested in talking about Holmes than himself, it takes a bit of digging to discover Watson’s outstanding qualities. But what if the Watson we love so dearly is our own invention, and Doyle himself was simply uninterested in the man except as a conduit to portraying Holmes?

I really shouldn’t have worried.

It is true that Watson rather disappears into the background once Holmes is working. But that is not to say he becomes at all useless. In fact, the Watson in this play is quite simply our Watson—kind, steady, intelligent, dangerous, and with something of a temper hidden beneath the steady veneer.

In the play, Watson is the doctor who examines the body of the first murdered sister (who is here called Violet) two years before Holmes becomes involved in protecting the remaining sister, Enid. Watson, bright fellow that he is, clearly suspects that something is off. Ultimately there is nothing he can do at the time, but his involvement allows for one my favorite moments: Watson employing Holmes’s deductive skills. True, it is for a single, relatively inconsequential matter; but he does it and he’s right and he impresses the whole room and guys! Watson! is! an! intelligent! man! I mean, we’ve all known that for forever, but its rather nice to get such a clear nod of agreement from Dyole.

In addition to his intelligence, Watson exhibits a empathy and compassion that in this story will be matched (not surpassed) only by that of Holmes. As an old friend of Rylott’s now-dead wife, Watson acts as comforter to the surviving girl. We are told that he came immediately and probably well in opposition to his own convenience when first he heard of the tragedy, and his treatment of Enid is gentle without being patronizing. Unsettled by the Rylott household and clearly wishing he could do more, he also repeatedly urges Enid to contact him if she has any suspicion of danger. All of this prompts Enid to declare: “Your kindness has been the one gleam of light in these dark days.” It is a lovely description of the man who has been a light in the dark for at least one other—the sort of testament we would have been unlikely to hear of if this story were reported through Watson’s own narration.

Again, I’ll leave the majority of his interactions with Holmes for the next section, but it is worth mentioning that there is no objection from him when Holmes turns down an easy 500 pounds. Watson is intelligent and he is good—he saw the signs of abuse and he would not have his friend benefit on those terms. These scenes also provide a wonderful dose of protective Watson. And while Holmes is of course at the head of the investigation, he and Watson are wonderfully in sync, and Watson proves his worth.

When it comes down to it, the Holmes and Watson in this play are transparently the two deeply compatible men we seek to dig out of cannon: mutually sharp and compassionate, courageous and quick to protect, with Holmes giving Watson stimulation and purpose and the means to aid others, and Watson providing Holmes with a firm right hand and a ready ear and a steadiness that counteracts the extremities that drive Holmes to cocaine. Watson and Holmes as Doyle portrayed them—as no other adaptation would portray them for far too many years—are just kinda perfect for each other.

But Watson is engaged.

So … What About Johnlock?

*buries head in hands* *giggles* *sobs* … Yeah. Yeah, it’s here. Yeah.

I really wasn’t sure what to expect from this play. I thought that perhaps the stage would strike Doyle as too exposed and vulnerable, or that perhaps he wouldn’t trust the actors, or that he would feel unsafe without the veneer of Watson’s narration—that, one way or another, he’d be persuaded to leave the gay subtext out of this one. But, um, Doyle? Buddy? Don’t get me wrong, I’m absolutely chuffed that you managed to avoid allegations a la Oscar Wilde. But also … how?

Honestly, I’ve always wondered whether Doyle was aware that he was writing a love story or whether that’s what wound up on paper regardless of his intent. This play just might be my answer.

a.) Sherlock Holmes: The Work as a disguise

The most blaring subtext is concentrated in Act II Scene II, where Holmes first enters the stage and his primary interactions with Watson occur. This play takes place during one of the dark times when Watson isn’t living at Baker Street, and when he visits Holmes to present him with Enid’s case, Holmes comes out disguised as a workman. (Before this Watson comments with dismay on the evidence of Holmes’s continued cocaine habits—this will be significant later). The disguised Holmes pokes fun at Watson, who doesn’t recognize him, accusing him of being responsible for Holmes’s untidy habits. There may be a rather tragic subtextual undertone to the whole conversation, but there’s too much else to discuss. So I’ll leave that aside and instead highlight the exchange that occurs when Holmes drops his disguise:

WATSON: Good Heavens Holmes! I should never have recognized you. HOLMES: My dear Watson, when you begin to recognize me it will indeed be the beginning of the end. When your eagle eye penetrates my disguise I shall retire to an eligible poultry farm.

Now, this could be innocent enough—just a fun way to introduce the clever detective. But if one is at all alert to the mere possibility of subtext, alarum bells should be ringing full force at the fact that the first on-stage interaction between these two characters consists of Holme demonstrating his ability to hide his true identity from Watson, and then saying that if he was unable to deceive Watson it would literally be the end of his life as he knows it. And it’s worth taking note of his phrasing: not “when you begin to recognize my disguises,” but rather “when you begin to recognize me.” Is this just a matter of professional pride, or is there something deeper that Holmes is afraid of having discovered?

But you know, maybe I’m just reading into this. This is a story about preventing Enid’s murder, its got nothing to do with romance or love, that would be thematically inconsistent and out of place—

HOLMES: Well, Watson, what is your news? WATSON: Well, Holmes, I came here to tell you what I’m sure will please you. HOLMES: Engaged, Watson, engaged! … The successful suitor shines from you all over.

Oh. Okay then.

Now, it is important to understand that Watson’s marriage has literally nothing to do with the Rylott plot. The engagement in no way affects Watson’s movements, and Mary never appears on stage. No; the first half of this scene is devoted entirely to introducing us to Holmes—the few clients he sees in this section are clearly selected to give us a sense of his character, methods, and values. That means that for some reason Doyle thought that a proper understanding of Holmes requires a discussion of love and marriage—specifically, Watson’s marriage.

Watson, being an imbecile as well as an intelligent man, thinks Holmes will be pleased with his news. Holmes rises to the occasion as best he can, calling the news “better and better” when he discovers Mary Morstan is the woman Watson has chosen, but not before he lets slip the sentence: “What I had heard of you, or perhaps what I had not heard of you, had already excited my worst suspicions.” Worst suspicions, Holmes? I thought this was supposed to be giving you pleasure? Well, perhaps he’s merely being facetious.

But next moment he slips again, saying, “You lucky fellow! I envy you.” When Watson suggests that Holmes might find a woman of his own one day, Holmes cryptically replies: “No marriage without love, Watson.” This might have been the first line that really floored me—the bare fact of Holmes’s conviction that he will never love a woman (‘woman,’ of course, being implied in the concept of marriage at the time). But when Watson asks why, Holmes falls back on the “[love] would disturb my reason” nonsense.

Now to be clear, I understand that Holmes is specifically discussing romantic love here, and that there is no connection between a lack of romantic attachment and a lack of sentiment and care for others generally. But here’s the thing: Holmes’s self descriptor doesn’t depict him as aromantic—i.e., ‘I just don’t feel romantic stuff.’ It depicts him as a reasoning machine—‘strong emotions disrupt my process.’ And in context of literally every friggin thing he does in this entire play, that’s nonsense. It is abundantly clear that reason is his tool, but compassion and sentiment are his motives.

One might argue that this is slightly sloppy writing (it was composed in a hurry, after all), or that Holmes simply doesn’t have the words to describe his aromanticism. Yet just moments before he said he envied Watson’s relationship, and moments before that revealed himself to be a consummate actor whose very existence as he knows it depends on disguise …

The already unwieldy length of this analysis requires that I speed a bit through the goldmine that follows: through Holmes punting aside requests from a royal family and the actual Pope because Watson has a case in which he has a personal interest—and I can’t resist pointing out that Holmes says he will of course take the case if Watson has “any personal interest in it.” It’s not ‘I’ll make time in my busy schedule if this is really very important to you,’ it’s ‘oh, you have a thing that you at least kinda sorta care about? The Pope can wait.’ I must gloss over Holmes transparently wanting to get as much of Watson’s company as he can, declaring that he has always seen Watson as his partner, and wishing for a plaque with his and Watson’s names on it, despite heavy implications that Watson has been almost entirely absent from Holmes’s work for some time. I’ll just mention in passing the truly remarkable number of “my dear fellows” and “my dear Watsons" Holmes manages to drop in a brief space of time, his clear desire to protect Watson from the dangers of the case despite later informing Enid that he is “a useful companion on such an occasion,” and his cry of “No, Watson, no!” when his friend leaps up to protect him from the poker Rylott is threatening him with.

I will not, however, pass over what occurs when Watson leaves Holmes, intending to meet him at the train station later that day. Watson’s final words on his way out are: “Good bye—I’ll see you at the station,” to which Holmes replies, “Perhaps you will,” adding to himself: “Perhaps you will! Perhaps you won’t!” Ah, what’s that? On about disguising yourself from your best friend again, eh Holmes? But then, within the play this refers to the fact that Holmes intends to actually disguise himself at the train station, so it has a literal meaning and not a metaphorical one, it has nothing to do with a deeper hiddeness, certainly nothing to do with love—

HOLMES: Ever been in love Billy? BILLY: Not of late years, sir. HOLMES: Too busy, eh? BILLY: Yes, Mr. Holmes. HOLMES: Same here. Got my bag there, Billy? BILLY: Yes, sir. HOLMES: Put in that revolver. BILLY: Yes, sir. HOLMES: And the pipe and pouch. BILLY: Yes, sir. HOLMES: The lens and the tape? BILLY: Yes, sir. HOLMES: Plaster of Paris, for prints? BILLY: Yes, sir. HOLMES: Oh, and the cocaine.

Oh … oh. Shit.

Please understand that this exchange—consisting of Holmes again raising the topic of love immediately after returning to the subject of his disguise, both of which he addresses as soon as Watson has left, as if he could not discuss them in front of his friend—comes apropos of nothing except Watson’s announcement of his engagement far back at the beginning of the scene. And I don’t see how the way he raises the subject and dismisses it can be seen as anything but the covering of some deep emotion—there is longing in the way he immediately brings it up, showing that it has stuck in his mind the whole while, and something tragic in the way he next-moment dismisses the clear preoccupation with the claim of being ‘too busy,’ clearly echoing the ‘I envy you … love is not for me’ progression of his earlier exchange with Watson.

And I get that in theory this longing for but dismissal of love could be read in a number of ways besides a socially forbidden love for his recently engaged partner. One might argue, for example, that he is aromantic but lonely and longing for the consistency of attachment others find in romantic love, or that he’s bursting with all sorts of hetero affections that he has chosen to sacrifice for the sake of The Work.

I would simply ask any inclined towards those arguments to consider the framing of this scene. I would ask them to question why ACD chose to introduce and conclude the scene which functions as an introduction to Holmes with the detective’s ability and need to disguise himself from Watson specifically, immediately juxtaposed with discussions of romantic love and Holmes’s desire for it which is clearly present but immediately veiled—disguised?—by his commitment to the work, with the cocaine hovering ominously behind. Then consider that between these mirrored book-ends we watch Holmes allow the man from whom he must disguise himself to disrupt the flow of the work which he claimed was supreme, making clear his wish that Watson be drawn into that work—a desire counteracted only by the transparent fact that he would prefer to risk his own bodily injury rather than put his friend in harm’s way. Add to all of this that Doyle works in a mention of the Milverton case and thus allows Holmes to comment on how his ruse to undermine Milverton involves courting and being courted by a woman and how distasteful he finds the experience and—well, you much reach your own conclusions. I have reached mine.

b.) Watson: Substitutionary desire

I began by speaking of Holmes because the subtext is monumentally more apparent on his part, and unlike Holmes it would be easy and even (though I cringe to say it) reasonable to read Watson as a comfortable heterosexual in this play. Does this mean that Doyle wrote one of those dreadful adaptations in which Holmes is pining away with an unrequited love for a Watson who is incapable of returning his romantic affections?

Not necessarily. As far as I can tell, without the clear implication of Sherlock’s affections one would be on shaky ground arguing that Watson was intended as anything besides a Hetero Bro. However, the clear coding of Holmes as in love with Watson causes one to wonder whether the affection might not be returned, and the results of investigation are inconclusive but intriguing.

Although he doesn’t make an appearance until the second act, Holme is mentioned by Watson in the first scene. Assuring Enid that she can turn to him if she is in any need, he admits that there is little he can do on his own. But he then adds: “I have a singular friend—a man with strange powers and a very masterful personality. We used to live together, and I came to know him well. Holmes is his name—Mr. Sherlock Holmes. It is to him I should turn if things looked black for you. If any man in England could help it is he.”

To be fair, it is not unusual in stories for someone to describe the hero in grandiose terms before he is seen directly by the reader/audience. Still, that’s quite a way to describe one’s friend. I find myself particularly fixating on “strange powers and a very masterful personality.” You do realize that you could have just said he’s smart, right Watson? I mean, maybe things were different back then, but if I described my friend as having a ‘masterful personality’ and then tried to claim they were my platonic bestie, I’m pretty sure I’d get my fair share of dubious glances.

Watson mentions his friend once more when his application of Holmes’s methods to clear up a detail of the investigation prompts an impressed exclamation from the coroner, to which Watson responds: “I have a friend, sir, who trained me in such matters.”

So at the very least, we have a Watson who idolizes, respects, relies on, and emulates his friend—all of which makes the fact that he is no longer living with Holmes something of a puzzle.

You see, the play never gives us a reason for Watson having moved out. The comment to Enid in which he mentions that they “used to live together” occurs two years before Sherlock becomes involved with the case and Watson becomes engaged to Mary, so it clearly has nothing to do with her. Yet not only has he moved out, his involvement in the cases is implied to have dwindled significantly or even stopped altogether—in one of the saddest lines of the play, Holmes comments that of course Watson wouldn’t remember Milverton because: “it was after your time.”

But why these degrees of separation? At no point are there signs of any ill-will between the friends. The danger certainly wasn’t an issue for Watson: when Rylott threatens Holmes Watson literally “jumps” to protect him, and he insists on sharing the danger of the Rylott house. Nor does it seem viable to speculate that Baker Street’s location became inconvenient for Watson—the speed with which Rylott makes his way to Watson’s home and from there to Baker Street demonstrates that they still live quite close. One might more plausibly theorize that Watson was becoming more invested in his medical practice and involvement in Holmes’s work was interfering, but why would ACD make an alteration so irrelevant to the story and then not even explain it? After all, the friends were still living together in the short story from which this is adapted. What could be the point of such a change?

Well, the fact is, while their bond is undeniable and remarkably strong, there are hints of something … off between the friends. Despite claiming to see Watson as his equal partner, Holmes fails to communicate with him about how they will be involved in the Rylott case, telling Watson to come on the 11:15pm train but neglecting to mention that he will be going to the house in disguise some hours earlier. The motive behind this omission is unclear—he previously tried to dissuade Watson from joining the case on account of the danger, so perhaps Holmes intends for Watson to give up and stay away when Holmes does’t appear. (Watson, of course, comes anyhow). Or perhaps Holmes wished to be apart from Watson for a time in the wake of hearing of his engagement (Holmes calling for the cocaine comes unsettlingly to mind here) but knew Watson wouldn’t allow him to go to Rylott’s alone. But whatever Holmes’s motive, Watson knows only that he has been excluded and cut out. Similarly, if in the past he has sensed that Holmes was on some level disguising himself from him would he would not have been likely to imagine a flattering cause. One cannot help but wonder whether it is these exclusions that cause Watson, despite inserting himself determinately when Holmes’s safety is at stake, to feel that he must offer to remove himself from the room when Holmes calls in clients. Certainly Watson has no inkling that Holmes might be in love with him—no kind friend who suspected as much would introduce his engagement by saying: “I came here to tell you what I am sure will please you.”

This then, is what we have: two men who deeply admire each other, long for one another’s company, and would clearly die for one another, and yet one of them is hiding and the other running first from the house and then into marriage. We have good reason to believe the one is hiding because he fears revealing his love; is it unreasonable to suppose the other is running for the same reason? Is it strange to think that Watson, feeling unable to trust to his powers of disguise in the way Holmes can, feeling the continual sting of Holmes hiding from him and cutting him off and unable to interpret those actions as anything besides distrust or indifference, would have sought safety in distance and ultimately comfort in binding himself to another?

A final note: we know nothing about Mary in this play. Despite having come in part to announce his engagement, Watson has no rhapsodies to offer on behalf of his fiancee—he seems far more interested in Holmes’s propensity for love, and, failing that, in Holmes’s work. Although Holmes’s (admittedly not impartial) deductions imply that Watson is genuinely pleased with his engagement, we learn precisely two details about Mary, both from Holmes: first that she has red hair, and second that Watson chose a woman who Holmes “met and admired.” Despite their seemingly limited contact over the past two years, Watson still seems unable to be married without at least some reference to Sherlock Holmes.

c.) Sorry … have some petty ACD as recompense

I feel I owe you an apology. I am aware that if you had the patience to read my ridiculously long ramble and are convinced by my interpretation of the Holmes and Watson’s relationship in the play, your ‘reward’ is having a dark but ultimately triumphant detective story transformed into a fucking tragedy that ends with two broken hearts. All I can offer is the comfort of knowing that for 130 years neither marriage nor death nor the near erasure of Watson from the first forty years of stage and film adaptations have been able to keep these two apart. They will find their way back to one another.

Oh, and you also might enjoy hearing that this play is totally ACD’s revenge on heteronormativity.

Okay, I can’t prove that. But it really looks like it. You may be aware of the 1988 play Sherlock Holmes, written by Doyle and William Gillette. If you’re like me a week ago, you may not know that Doyle wrote the original script himself, and Gillette became involved only when Doyle’s script was rejected and the producer urged him to bring Gillette on to rewrite it. I like to imagine that the rejection letter went something like: “Look, buddy, you can’t have Holmes staring forlornly after Watson while instigating a wistful conversation about love with Billy. You just can’t,” but realistically we don’t know why the first draft was rejected. But we do know that Doyle specifically requested that Gillette not give Holmes a (female) love interest, and that Gillette sent Holmes off into the sunset with a woman anyway (x).

Then, eleven years later with a failing theater on his hands, Doyle locks himself away in a room and says, “Fuck it. Imma write a Holmes play, and when I introduce him the first thing everyone is going to know is that he’ll never marry a woman, and the last thing the introduction will tell them is that he’ll never marry a woman and—you know what, I’ll take that Milverton story where Holmes groans about needing to date a woman and throw that in the middle.” And that’s true of the play even if you don’t buy the queer reading. But also, its super gay.

And frankly I just love that not only did Doyle refuse to give in to society’s attempt to fit his story into their heteronormative mold, it actually worked and Doyle made up all the money he was poised to lose and more by shoving a gay love story into his audience’s face.

Well done, ACD, well done.

Conclusion: Should You Read It?

I mean, I think my answer is fairly obvious by now. If you’re interested and have the time, it is 100% worth it. And I hope it doesn’t feel like I’ve spoiled all the good parts. There are reams of gems I didn’t even allude to—and that’s not counting everything I doubtless missed.

I just have one request: if you do read the play and end up posting about it on tumblr, would you tag me in your comments? Hearing someone else’s thoughts on this hidden treasure would be a delight.

@thespiritualmultinerd @a-candle-for-sherlock @missallainyus @steadymentalityengineer @iant0jones @devoursjohnlock @disregardedletters

#ACD cannon #Holmes adaptations #the adventure of the speckled band #the speckled band play #Arthur conan doyle #stage adaptation #johnlock #meta #sherlock holmes #John watson

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travisapel · 4 years

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Interview with artist, Allegra Hangen

Last year my family and I saw the Frida Kahlo: Letters and Photographs exhibition at El Museo Latino in Omaha, Nebraska. That is when I met Allegra Hangen, the museum’s Education and Exhibitions Coordinator. We sat down at a craft table and she demonstrated for us how to make a miniature weaving with scrap yarn on cardboard. During our brief conversation at the table I learned that she is also an artist. Soon I looked into her work.

Allegra Hangen is a multidisciplinary artist whose work is highly influenced by her background in photography. Through the use of found footage and images from the archive, she addresses concepts around memory, family and their representations in mediated images, linking them to other issues including visual culture’s role in politics, the power of visibility, and language. Her video installations tend to include found and mass-produced materials that refer to repetition, fragmentation, the home, and the screen.

Allegra received her BFA in Photography from the Art Institute of Boston (now Lesley University Art and Design) in 2014 and her MFA in Visual Art from the Universidad Nacional Autónoma de México (UNAM) in Mexico City in 2019. She was selected as a recipient of the Stephen D. Paine Scholarship in 2014. Her work has been shown in various places in the United States, Mexico, Argentina, and Canada. In 2018, she had two solo shows in Mexico City: Weightless, exhibited at Salón Silicón and Visibilities: Iconicity and Intimacy on the Screen at Pandeo. She is currently a 2020 fellow at the Union for Contemporary Art in Omaha, NE.

Allegra agreed to join me in discussing her work in a meaningful way. Here is our conversation:

Travis Apel

This situation that we are in with COVID-19 is difficult to make sense of when and where things will get back to the way we remember them. How has this pandemic changed or affected you?

Allegra Hangen

It’s affected me in so many ways, as I think it has for almost everyone in the world. It’s flipped around previous priorities in different areas of my life, it’s given me some really amazing alone time, it’s allowed me to completely convert my living room into my studio and to consider where—or into what—I want to pour my attention. (Unfortunately social media has proven to be a huge time and energy suck but I’m working on that, as I imagine many others are at this point, too). Of course it isn’t always so idyllic as I’m making it sound, but I have definitely been enjoying much of it.

I don’t think we’ll really get back to things the way we remember them and honestly I hope we don’t. I think all of this has made very visible the toxic and unsustainable structures which have been widely accepted as “normal” but that desperately need to be uprooted. Lately I’ve been thinking critically about how I can react to this on a personal level, how I can remove myself and my ways of thinking and being in the world from these oppressive structures, whether that be from under them or from perpetuating them. I think this can be a huge opportunity for us to really critically look at ourselves and our complacency toward so many things happening in and to this world, and to search for innovative ways to construct something new.

Yeah, I totally get your point about this being a critical time to reflect on how precarious this whole situation has been for way too long. This is a sobering moment when we think that it may eventually come to an end and the power brokers will try and pull us back. It’s happening now. But on a positive note, you got a show coming up.

In about a week you and co-curator will present a virtual exhibition in A Memory Held in You, sponsored by Amplify Arts Generator Grant. How will that event look for viewers who will be keeping a safe distance?

Yeah it will probably be a tough process coming out of this but the most important thing is to just take care of ourselves and our communities right now, I think.

And yeah! Alex Jacobsen and I are opening (launching?) our exhibit A Memory Held in You both online as well as in the physical Generator Space. We’ll be utilizing FB, IG, and Amplify Art’s new virtual gallery space on their website to post and share things over the six weeks that the exhibit will be up.

The initial idea was to perform in the physical space with two dancers and an installation around which the audience could walk. But in light of the pandemic, we’ve had to really rethink “space” and how we share it. This is one of the reasons why we decided on utilizing various virtual sites to upload different aspects of the show: so the viewer has the ability to hop from platform to platform, constructing their own virtual, but still somehow spatial, experience of the installation. We’ll be uploading content every week on these platforms throughout the course of the show, and the first week of May we’ll kick off the exhibition with a livestream performance on FB/IG.

That being said, we’re still going to install in the gallery, but as a kind of “window display” that uses the whole space. People are encouraged to walk by the gallery on one of their daily walks (or bike or drive) to look through the window and get a glimpse of the videos and sounds that are playing in the locked space—held in the space.

That’s interesting how you and your group will provide new content every week and using many virtual platforms. It sounds like the exhibition will be “living,” which spans over a period of weeks, rather than the single moment in time like a reception that we’re used to attending.

I love thinking of it as living! Thanks for that word. It will definitely be more immediate than a physical gallery exhibit at least, anyone can access it from their bed, probably on the same device they’re using to read this. I think moving forward many more things will be virtual, especially arts-related, and I’m so excited to see how platforms will be utilized, or new ones established, to accommodate for “real experiences” online.

Yeah, it will be new seeing how things move forward.

At what age did you become interested in collecting archival footage for creating your content?

It was when I learned about the technique of found footage in my experimental film class in undergrad. I was already attracted to archival images and my family’s VHS tapes, but learning about its history made me understand that it was a viable way to make art (whatever that means…) and not just another hoarding pattern of mine, ha! Maybe it all still comes from a hoarding tendency, but at least I can justify it better now under the concept of found footage. It actually really started with one specific tape that contains material from converted 16mm and 8mm films that one of my family members filmed roughly between the 1930s and late 1950s in Iowa and Nebraska. Someone compiled all of the film footage onto the VHS tape to show it at a family reunion many years ago, but when I found it again during college I was really impacted by it both personally and for formal and conceptual reasons. I still react very strongly to these images and continue to work with the tape.

Our condition of completing repetitive duties in the workforce often for years can bury past experiences into dormancy. What is it about your practice that can bring an audience to recall memories that were once forgotten? Why does that matter?

I don’t know about making anyone recall a forgotten memory, I can’t even do that for myself! But I tend to look at the political and cultural patterns that show up in this found footage: in the way it’s shot, what the person actually decided to film, and the various objects and behavioral patterns that appear in the scenes. This inherently makes the images seem familiar to a wide range of people in this country. Friends, professors, or other people who have watched these videos but who aren’t from the U.S. have mentioned a familiarity with these images too, although this is a very different sensation of familiarity because it’s a mediated one that comes from (and references back to) American cinema from Hollywood. There’s something really interesting, as well, in that kind of mediated memory, or a distanced familiarity with media messages…

I’m not sure if any of this matters in the grand scheme of things but it’s something that I’m still very much interested in and continue to go back to in my work, in terms of looking critically at my identity as an American from a Midwestern family, in terms of trying to understand my country’s propaganda, and looking at how national patterns become integrated in our own intimate ways of being. (I’m thinking more specifically here about things that came up in work that I made while in my MFA program at UNAM in Mexico).

Invitation to Ceremony was compelling to me. I am curious about the collaborative nature of the work. Did the performers create their choreography around Alex Jacobsen’s Baptism, or independent of it? Can you explain the process how these layers came together?

Everything happened (and is still happening) really fluidly and naturally with this collaboration. Invitation to Ceremony isn’t necessarily a standalone video, I was always thinking of it as a documentation of/for a potential performance (which, if we were able to commune in a space, A Memory Held In You would have been that performance). The dancers, Gayle and Isabella, created all their own choreography but in a very intuitive and maybe even minimal or deconstructed way (I wonder if they would describe it that way…). They had a few repeating choreographed gestures based on some concepts we had talked about but they also played around with other techniques, responding to each other through movement. They improvised for a couple hours to a few different tracks of Alex’s and I just kept recording.

While editing the video, I was thinking about overlapping memories, the many memories held in a body or in a space, and recalling a memory through a bodily, physical gesture.

Your PIP editing of Invitation to Ceremony presents a balance between the simultaneity of double footage and context for place. What did you enjoy most about putting this project together?

Yeah, I saw this as a pretty literal tool to talk about that idea of overlapping or simultaneous memories. I also saw it as a way to combine all the different elements that would be present in an installation: movement, sound, and found footage/video. Because as an installation they would all be experienced at the same time in a physical space, I wanted to collapse that space in the video as well.

I enjoyed really just being able to play around with this project and to create again after a year of many transitions, long-distance moves, job changes, etc. This project really jumpstarted a bunch of new ideas around different ways to make and show work, and it kind of kicked me back into the routine of making again.

Let’s switch gears a little and talk about your photography. Your black and white series titled, Vista is an interesting exploration with capturing a nude figure in a forest carrying a mirror. At first I was deceived by the mirror thinking the images were collaged. What was the intent of those photographs?

I feel pretty distant from this particular project now, but I still see it as having marked the coming to light of lots of theoretical concepts and visual tendencies that I’m still working with now. What I was mainly concerned with at the time was questioning our trust in the photographic image and distorting human figures.

Deception was definitely a sensation I wanted to provoke with these. They’re manipulated images but the photos are not; I’m always drawn back to this fine line that exists between the falsity and the truth of photography (thinking of images used for propaganda, for example).

These are large format photos (4x5), so the details are pretty sharp when printed and the black borders of the film sheet (and the silver-gelatin print itself) try to reinforce the idea that this is a “straight” photograph on film, printed in the darkroom and without any post-production manipulation. This “photographic proof” confirms the truth of the photograph as an object, but the subject matter (the image) remains distorted. A lot of my work tends to play with the tension in the perception of images in a similar way.

I am really impressed by your Mirror + Light Studies. These works like your videos carry a consistent theme of play between opacity and transparency, and overlapping layers in space. I love how you set up an environment with variance with light sources, reflection and refraction on glass edges. The overlapping of projected light through fabrics and onto wood grain creates beautifully graphic images. Some of the photos play tricks on me with disorienting perspectives. Will you tell me about the evolution of these photographic studies?

I took the majority of these photos in college when I started really getting into experimenting with projections and materials instead of just printed photographs. These materials are still main elements in my installations: mirrors, glass, wood, light, video projections, fog. At that point I was really inspired by the work of Sara VanDerBeek (and forever will be), and I remember one image of hers that utilized a yoga mat, a few other 3D elements, and light to create an abstract composition. At the time it really made me consider the formal elements of found objects and I started experimenting with building and shooting within my own “environments,” thinking a lot about fragmentation, abstraction, and flattening especially through the use of mirrors. These photographs were sort of by-products of other video projects I was developing, but just as it happens so many times, I ended up liking these studies more than the final videos of these environments.

Back to your videos for a moment. The experimental work, Paperdrip could be a suspense flick in five minutes. Do you see yourself making more collaborative works like this one in the near future?

Haha! Thank you. This video is mainly about the sound; it was the first project where I really worked with recording and editing sound (it really needs to be mixed though, yikes). As a video it’s a pretty banal split-screen video of a paper towel and black ink but the sound really overwhelms and makes it feel suspenseful. I remember showing it at a pop up show in my school right after I made it and someone had to take the headphones off because it was too intense, but watching the images alone seemed somehow playful (at best, but more like boring and slow). Before making this piece, I was pretty naive to the power of sound.

I tend to err on the side of eery with a lot of my videos and I gravitate toward deep and intense sounds, so something like this will definitely come out again in the near future—and I think a few of the more recent things I’ve been making already do exhibit this suspenseful or dark vibe, I don’t know. I kind of have to check in with myself and ask “Ok, is this just off-putting now?,” but at the same time I’m learning to embrace that and even lean into it.

I agree, sound can be so powerful. It can be as soothing as a lullaby, or harsh as a weapon. Anyway, I’ll be looking forward to your application of sound in new works.

Because your experimental videos focuses on memory I think that your use of archival footage playing on a loop and/or in reverse is an effective way to address memory retention. More than an art form, your videos have a relevant function. It simulates the rumination and rehearsals that occupy our minds at times. Given the profound disruption that we are still dealing with, have you imagined works that are specific to this moment and if so, will you elaborate?

I’m definitely thinking about works specific to this moment. Alex and I are talking about that for a few of the videos that we’ll release during A Memory Held in You over the next few weeks. We’ve been talking about our devices and sort of rhetorically questioning whether they can be better at holding our memories (and tastes and interests and…) than we are. I’m also thinking about all the new possibilities (and limitations) that technology and social media are really offering us in this time—in so many aspects—but especially creatively. The computer has been my main tool and medium since I started working principally with video, but now I’m thinking about my phone and social media both as potential mediums for creation as well as tools for editing, sharing, and collaborating in a completely new way.

I think interacting in a solely mediated way (through our phones, computers, or whatever other device) is going to really change our perception of memory in the long run, in a similar way that our perception of time has already quickly begun to change (disintegrate?) while in quarantine. I’m not sure exactly how this will play out but there’s something beautiful about it being such a collective and virtual experience.

* * *

For more information about A Memory Held In You, visit

https://www.amplifyarts.org/virtual-generator-space-1

A Memory Held In You: Opening Virtual Performance on Friday, May 8; 8-9pm

Facebook Live: https://www.facebook.com/amplifyarts1/ Instagram Live: https://www.instagram.com/amplify_arts/

To see more work of Allegra Hangen, check her out at

allegrahangen.com

vimeo.com/allegrahangen

Instagram @allegrahangen

Facebook facebook.com/allegra.hangen

#artist #local artist #photography #videography #experimental videographer #visual artist #omaha #nebraska #archival footage #memory #politics #society #identity #screen #filter #mirror #light #sound artist #performance

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ahnmin · 6 years

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12 Favorite Films of 2017

12. mother!

One of the things I admire most in filmmakers is a fearless commitment to realize their vision, no matter how deranged. During this movie’s apeshit third act, I kept wondering how the hell Aronofsky pulled it off. It becomes more and more unhinged, continually toppling my expectations. And all in service of a singular message howling across the movie theatre. Some people love it, others loathe it, but the reason why reactions have been so strong is because the filmmaker straight up went for it.

11. War for the Planet of the Apes A striking portrait of a leader during crisis and how the surrounding conflicts and responsibilities shape them. I love how it’s a journeying western that flows into a prison break. The fact that Caesar is fully CGI is worth noting for how invisible it is. For once, CGI is not concealer, it is the brush stroke.

10. On the Beach at Night Alone Is it possible to be nakedly brave and selfishly vain at the same time? Hong Sang-soo and Kim Min-hee decide to go so far and so deep into their personal lives as to be wildly radical both in Korea’s lynch mob celebrity culture and in the boundaries of traditional storytelling.

9. Graduation Moral quandaries are to Cristian Mungiu as salmon is to a master sushi chef. He slices the morality into perfect slabs, cutting against the grain to release maximum ambiguity and dissecting them into their smallest possible components. Here, he sharpens his knife against parenting, governing systems, and the rules involved. Many long unbroken takes of two people verbally jousting along with well-paced editing tell a story of how rules, though meant to maintain order, cannot be blindly followed.

8. Get Out This movie is not just an intellectual exercise aimed to impale the fraudulent do-gooder majority. Though as proven by now, it is magnificently that. I think what makes it so successful in its execution and atomic bomb reception is that it is a haphazard napalm strike straight from the gut of Jordan Peele. Of course it is encased in a genius strategy, but I believe the emotional battle cry is what drives it all the way into the skulls and sternums of people everywhere who need to wake the fuck up.

7. Dunkirk Yes, I saw this in IMAX 70mm. Twice. The sheer size of the image was all engulfing. But that conceit alone isn’t enough to cover a feature narrative. It’s the virtuosic filmmaking—the impossible agility of the elephantine IMAX camera, the clarity of time-space editing between Land, Sea, and Air, the concisely written and staged wordless sequences—that maximizes this survival story into a visceral and unforgettable experience.

6. After the Storm “Did you become who you wanted to be?” a son asks his father. He contemplates the question, wondering what to say to his son while unable to pay child support, unsuccessful in winning back his ex-wife, and finding himself penniless just like his own late father. Are we bound to make the same mistakes as our parents or can we break free and become who we want to be? This movie doesn’t have any simple answers but it dares to wrestle with those complicated questions.

5. The Shape of Water This movie doesn’t just highlight flaws, it unashamedly celebrates them. Through a restlessly floating camera, a magnificent use of color, and a shimmering performance by Sally Hawkins, it lifts those flaws until the things we find embarrassing and the things we hide in fear ultimately transcend their “limitations” and elevate to what they truly are: signs of unexplainable beauty.

4. Phantom Thread Speaking of flaws, we are as much drawn to each other in relationships by our annoying quirks as we are by our admirable strengths. With a dizzyingly well-placed camera, a gorgeous score, and a powerhouse trifecta of performances, Phantom Thread showcases the complex nature of romance and how sometimes, more than our kindness and vulnerability, it is our longing to be needed and taken care of that messily glue us together.

3. Okja Just like Ahn Seo-hyun sprinting relentlessly through the running time, the movie follows suit in a rocket launch of mayhem, bizarre humor, political satire, and most precious of all, familial love. With pristine creature effects, Okja is given the proper heft and tangibility to deeply express all the nuances and specificity of her sisterhood with Mija. Taking a cue from Spielberg, Bong Joon-ho uses that sacred relationship to ground this zany globe-trotting (pun intended) adventure, and that is what I love about all his films. In whatever mode or tone they’re in, the beating heart is full of warmth and intimacy, and then on top of that he layers the exciting genre elements and excellent filmmaking craft. Okja is no different because the camera swings around like a beautifully controlled acrobat, the blocking/staging is always sensational and adroitly choreographed, and the wildly fluctuating tones are well managed and coalesced into a single piece. Finally, shout-out to Steven Yeun for being the perfect embodiment of the clash of East and West in a role that only someone with his distinct upbringing and Hollywood clout could play.

2. Mudbound With the cascade of different narrators weaving throughout, this movie is about equality—not just equal rights, but an equal depth of pain and an equal potential to love. Everyone is given a moment to shine or be humiliated without any judgement or bias. The characters collide and harmonize in deft handheld camerawork and dug-from-the-earth production design. And it’s in that egalitarian landscape that makes the horrific inequality all the more devastating. Also there’s a reunion scene with a son coming back home from war and being embraced by his father that made me cry harder than anything I watched this year.

1. Blade Runner 2049 I love the extremely impressionistic photography, the glorious production design, the deliberate pacing, and the wild abandon of Denis Villenueve to take a beloved franchise and make it his own. But it’s my favorite of the year because for me, it’s about sacrifice. Everyone has a Messianic complex and wants to save the world. But being Christlike doesn’t mean to be spotlit as the Chosen One—that is the dream of the Narcissist. Genuine transcendence and generosity come from giving up that position and downgrading yourself so that another could be given that seat of honor. And in today’s climate of megalomania and self-aggrandizing fanaticism, a little bit of selfless sacrifice could be of use. ----------------------------------------

Honorable Mentions:

20. The Meyerowitz Stories (New and Selected) - One of the funniest movies of the year. Baumbach shows a new level of confidence in his bombardment of dialogue and exploration of ridiculous family dynamics.

19. Gerald’s Game - Well-crafted, well-written intimate terrifying single room thriller. 18. I don't feel at home in this world anymore. - Well-crafted, well-written intimate quirky comedic thriller. 17. Split - Shyamalan continues to get his groove back.

16. Gook - Stunning debut film filled with tons of heart in under-seen contexts.

15. The Lost City of Z - The tension between chasing your dreams and fulfilling your duties.

14. Baby Driver - An unhinged musical made with a stunning command of craft.

13. Star Wars: The Last Jedi - Rian Johnson crafts a meta narrative out of the most famous film franchise in history, infusing his own anxious ambition to leave the past behind in order to become a trailblazer.

#best films of 2017 #year end list

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