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the--blackdahlia · 5 years

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Too Young to Fall in Love Chapter 30 (Dirt!Nikki x Reader)

Title: Too Young to Fall in Love 30

Summary: Nikki Sixx was a hard partying musician on the strip. He never expected to fall in love with anyone, until a girl knocked on his dressing room door looking for a ride home and took his breath away. Just like everything else Nikki did; the drugs, the money, the music; Nikki went hard with love. (Y/n) Bass never expected the bassist of Motley Crue to be the one to shake her calm and calculated life up. She had a plan. Graduate school, become an epic producer, and watch from behind the scenes as her brother’s band rose to fame. Nikki and (Y/n) were perfect for each other, too bad her brother, Tommy, didn’t think so.

Series warnings: Smut (18+ Please), drug use, language, referenced miscarriage, drug overdose, mentioned attempted suicide, out of character moments for everyone in the band, the timeline might be a little screwy but it’s fanfiction! I know nothing of music production and my medical knowledge is really screwy, so it won’t be accurate.

Tommy growled when the number to reach his sister didn’t work. Nikki was off in side the sound booth recording a bass line for one of the songs. He could tell Nikki was still hurting but he seemed better. With a growl he dialed Vanessa’s number.

“You’ve reached Vanessa,” she answered.

“Nessa? It’s Tommy.” Tommy told her. “Why is (Y/n)’s phone disconnected? I can’t get a hold of her.”

“She got transferred to New York. Didn’t Heather tell you?” she rubbed her forehead. “You guys were in rehab and she got a promotion.”

“What? She’s in New York?” Tommy asked. That got Mick and Vince’s attention. “Why the hell didn’t anyone tell me? New York!?!”

“Uh oh,” Mick sighed and glanced at Nikki who was still recording the bass line. “Did Tommy say New York?”

“It sounds like it,” Vince breathed. “I need a drink I hate this whole sober stint. Nikki is becoming too much of a perfectionist for my taste.”

“Just don’t do it while he’s looking.” Mick sighed. Tommy hung up the phone and immediately punched a wall.

“Fuck!” He called out.

NIkki took of his headphones and talked into the microphone, “What’s going on? Did the bass line sound bad?”

“Uh, no. Sounds great. I gotta go.” Tommy left the studio, holding his hand.

“Something I should know about?” NIkki looked to MIck and VInce. “Oh and Vince I might need your vocals again man.”

“Sorry, gotta go check on Tommy.” Vince walked out after the drummer. Mick looked at Nikki’s bass, seeing “Without You” taped to it.

“We finally gonna do the song?” Mick asked.

“Should we?” Nikki came into the soundboard room and looked at it and his special bass. “I mean… she’s not going to listen to it anyways so might as well.” Nikki groaned and grabbed a different bass while heading into the recording booth the get the bass line going.

****

“Vince, I’m fine.” Tommy hissed as the singer looked at his hand.

“Why are you pissed that (Y/n) is in New York?” It didn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out who Tommy was mad about going to New York. Vince looked at Tommy’s hand. “You should get it checked out.”

“She just left without telling any of us.” Tommy said. “She just left and didn’t even say goodbye…”

“Did you really expect her too,” VInce sighed. “She spent a good chunk of her life thinking you didn't care about her T-bone. Plus the fact that you kept snipping at Nikki about their relationship every chance you got.”

“I fucked up so bad Vince.” Tommy sighed. “I just wish she would come back. Her and Nikki, they were good for each other.”

“What changed and why now?” VInce sighed looking at Tommy. “Was it rehab?”

“I think I could see things clearly for once. I don’t have booze or drugs in my system for the first time in years. But honestly, it was the night the news reported that Nikki had died. (Y/n) was a mess and I just wanted to fix it.” Tommy explained.

Vince nodded, “Come on lets get your hand checked out.”

Nikki finished the bass line and looked at Mick, “How was that?”

“Fantastic man.” Mick said. “I think this song is gonna be a hit. Should we get dumb and dumber back in here?”

“Yeah, we should… remember it’s about Heather and Tommy ok?” Nikki sighed. He let his fingers graze over the bass (Y/n) gave him. He hadn't picked it up in a long time. He kept it as a reminder that he had to stay sober for her. Even if she didn't come back to him, he would stay alive for her.

“Of course.” Mick nodded. “So, apparently my girlfriend has a sister. She wants to introduce you to her.”

“Uhhhh,” Nikki wasn’t sure what to say. A date with someone else wasn’t something that he had thought about.

“Just dinner with us. If you don’t like her, you don’t have to go back out with her.” Mick told him.

“I guess,” Nikki nodded. Maybe meeting someone new could help him.

“Great! Tomorrow night work for you?” Mick asked.

“Yeah, that sounds good,” Nikki gave him a tight smile. He looked at the clock. Vince and Tommy hadn’t come back in yet. “What are those two clowns doing?”

“Oh, Vince was taking Tommy to the ER to having his hand x-rayed.” A tech told them.

“WHAT!?” Nikki growled. “How the hell did he break his hand?”

“It looked like a sprain to me.” The tech told him. “But he punched the wall pretty hard.”

NIkki ran a hand across his face and looked at MIck. “I guess we can call it a day and come back tomorrow.”

“Guess we should go check on the drummer.” Mick sighed.

“I’m… going to go home… I got something I want to work on.” Nikki sighed. The memory of what (Y/n) said and the baby that never happened gave him a slight idea.

“Okay. I’ll call you when I know if the idiot broke his hand or not.” Mick said. “Night Nik.”

“Night,” he sighed as he got in his car and drove home. Reaching his own studio he began writing. He felt sad and angry. Angry at himself for not being there for her, and sad for losing a precious piece of life. Putting the pen down he looked at the picture from Disneyland and smiled. He genuinely smiled at the happy memory and looked forward to getting better.

****

“Doc said just to take it easy for a few days, until the bruising goes down.” Tommy told them the next day. “So you can lay down vocals or whatever and I can drum in a few days.”

NIkki sighed, “Yeah lets get the vocals for ‘Without you’, just read over it and get it down.” Nikki sighed and shook his head.

“That’s nasty man.” Vince said, looking at Tommy’s hand. “You’re an idiot.” Tommy shrugged. “Okay, give me the lyrics Nik.”

Nikki handed him the lyrics and stepped back to go into the soundboard room. He had reached the door when Tommy stopped him.

“Yeah?” Nikki asked.

“Who is this about?” he looked to Nikki. “I mean… Nik… this is…”

“It’s about you and Heather T-bone.” Nikki sighed as he shook Tommy off and walked into the soundboard room. Pressing the button he talked into the mic. “Just listen to the bass line and let’s get this track down. Then we can get Micks guitar in and hopefully Tommy tomorrow.”

“Mick,” Tommy looked to Mick. “Who is this song about? I know it’s not about me and Heather.”

“What makes you think it’s not about you two crazy kids?” Mick shrugged. “We wrote it right before your wedding, but he was too strung out to give it to you and it wasn’t my place to.”

Tommy simply nodded and sighed looking at Nikki in the soundboard room. Grabbing the headphones he put them on and laid down track for the song. Vince thought he had it on the first take, but Nikki kept making him redo it.

“You know, I’m half tempted to send you to New York with (Y/n)!” Vince yelled at him, instantly quieting after he realized what he had said.

“Damn it.” Tommy sighed. No one had told Nikki yet, and he was trying to think of the best way to tell him.

“Oh… she.. Umm… ok,” Nikki nodded. “Just take it from the top Vince.” Nikki looked at his hands and sighed. His hands started to shake and he cleared his throat. “I need air.”

“Nikki, wait…” Vince said, but Nikki went outside. Tommy followed him.

“Nikki…” Tommy told him. “She didn’t even tell me. I found out from Vanessa.”

“I was too strung out when she told me about her miscarriage so I’m not surprised,” he muttered. Pacing around he shook his head. “It’s fine, she gets a fresh start, I get a fresh start… Mick is setting me up on a date. We move on… just like they said in therapy.”

“Wait...her what?” Tommy asked. “Did you...she was…” He closed his eyes.

“I can't remember when it happened, but I was really strung out when she told me… I… I kind of wish I did die in the ambulance.” Nikki closed his eyes and gave a laugh. “I deserve anything that fate throws at me.”

Tommy didn’t know what to say. His sister had had a miscarriage at some point and he didn’t even know. He had screwed her up so bad she didn’t even think she could talk to him like she used to. Closing his eyes, he took a deep breath, wanting to fix it all.

****

“Nikki, this is Ashley.” Mick said. She almost looked like a girl that would’ve been at the strip back in the way. The type that Nikki would’ve done in a heartbeat before (Y/n) came into his life.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you.” She laughed. “I’ve heard a lot about you.”

NIkki gave her an awkward smile, “Right, so Ashley… what do you do?”

“I’m a tax examiner for the Internal Revenue Service.” She said, her voice getting to him a bit.

NIkki cringed a bit, “You don’t say…” he looked to Mick and raised his eyebrow at him. “I mean it must be… exciting?”

“Well, it’s not as glamorous as a rock star, but we have our fun.” She smiled at him.

“So, any artists that you’re into?” Nikki figured if she was into someone cool they could enjoy a good concert.

“Oh, your basics. Madonna, Michael Jackson, Wham!. But my all time favorite is Olivia Newton-John.” She smiled. “God, she was so good in Grease and I just followed her career from there!”

"Mick can I talk to you man,” Nikki got up and looked to Ashley, “excuse us.” he gave her a tight smile and walked away from the table and ran his hand across his face.

“What the hell is this Mick?” Nikki asked.

“What?” Mick shrugged. “Palate cleanser.” MIck looked at Ashley. “She is hot.”

“I can’t date her Mick! Her favorite artists is Olivia Newton-John! I can’t have that much positivity in my life!”

“Well, you could just, I dunno, wham bam thank you ma’am?” Mick shrugged.

NIkki shook his head, “No… I can finish the date and just...not call her I guess.” Mick sighed.

“I tried to find someone that didn’t look like her…” Mick told him. “And my girl’s sister seemed like a good fit. Sorry man.”

“Thanks Mick, at least you tried,” Nikki sighed. “This tour is going to be fun.” he said as he smiled.

After the date, Nikki found himself once again at the Hollywood sign. Sitting on top of his car, he sighed. She was in New York, he was here. He was miserable, but he was sober, he was clean. The hard part would be staying clean and keeping it that way.

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

“Hey man, I can’t believe that Motley Crue went sober man,” a member of the group (Y/n) was representing. “Dude these rock bands are hardcore. And they throw it all away?”

“Dr. Feelgood is still a good album.” (Y/n) said. “Focus on your own music.”

“I heard Nikki Sixx’s real name is Frankie though, I mean man that is such a change.” The drummer shook his head.

“Frankie? That’s awful. No wonder he changed his name,” the guitarist smiled. “And heavy metal is on it’s way out. Everyone knows that grunge is the way of the future.”

“Dude, I heard that Nikki Sixx got himself some tattoo artist on the strip. We could be that cool!” The bassist said. “Think of all the free tattoos.”

“Not if your name is Frankie.” The singer sneered. (Y/n) glared at them.

“I think Frankie should shoot himself up again, he’s been going a bit lame,” the guitarist gave the lead singer a high five. “Like, have you heard that new single of theirs? They’re getting soft.”

“Dudes that’s not cool, if it wasn’t for him and Motley Crue rock would be dead,” the bassist sighed.

“Please, I’m sure rock would have survived without Frankie.” the lead singer looked at the drummer.

“Guys, I’d stop while you were ahead.” A tech warned them. “Don’t you realize who your producer is?”

“Yeah, some broad who noticed we sounded good,” the drummer smiled and winked at her.

“I produced Metallica and Tom Petty.” She hissed, looking him right in the eye. “Tommy Lee is my brother and Nikki Sixx is my boyfriend,” She had dropped the ex without even realizing it. “And his name isn’t Frankie! It’s Nikki!” With that, she punched him in the face, knocking him flat on his ass.

“HA! She told you!” the bassist clapped and smiled at her. “(Y/n), you’re awesome!”

“Go home for the night.” She sighed. “We’ll start up tomorrow.” She headed down to her car, leaving the punks in the studio. She turned it on but just sat there, leaning her head against the steering wheel.

Without you, there's no change

My nights and days are gray

If I reached out and touched the rain

It wouldn't feel the same

She heard Vince’s voice coming through her speakers. Lifting her head, she looked at the radio, listening to the song as it played.

Without you, I'd be lost

I'd slip down from the top

I'd slide down so low

Girl, you'd never, never know

Without you, without you

A sailor lost at sea

Without you, woman

The world comes down on me

The first time she met Nikki as he was taking off his makeup after a show when Athena had abandoned her. She remembered her heart skipping a beat when she looked into his eyes.

“Hey, I’m about to head out myself. I could drop you off somewhere?”

His first way of asking her out giving her a ride home. She smiled at the memory.

“I...sorry. Not being very lady like, am I?”

“Actually, I’m impressed. You are probably the first girl I’ve eaten with that acts human.”

Without you in my life

I'd slowly wilt and die

But with you by my side

You're the reason I'm alive

But with you in my life

You're the reason I'm alive

But without you, without you

Without you, there's no change

My nights and days are gray

If I reached out and touched the rain

It wouldn't feel the same

“Merry Christmas Nikki.” (Y/n) whispered to her boyfriend. “I got you a present.”

“Babe, we said no presents.” Nikki told her. “But I got you one too. Well, more than one…”

“Well, I’m a recently graduated college student, but I saved up all summer and semester for this.” she handed him the case. “I hope you like it.” Nikki unwrapped the case and opened it, staring in awe at the bass inside.

“Babe…”

“I hope it’s the right thing.” She said. “I wanted to get you something you’d like and use, and I…” He cut her off by kissing her.

“It’s perfect.”

“Here,” he whispered giving her a long velvet box with a bow on it. “I hope you like it.”

(Y/n) undid the bow and opened the long black box looking at the necklace inside. “Oh… Nikki.”

“I love you my sweet girl,” he said and caressed her cheek.

“I love you my silly boy.”

Without you, without you

I'm a sailor lost at sea

Without you, woman

The world comes down on me

Without you in my life

I'd slowly wilt and die

But with you by my side

You're the reason I'm alive

But with you in my life

You're the reason I'm alive

But without you, without you

“I love it, but don’t you think it could use some color?” (Y/n) asked, looking at their living room. “And no, black is not an idea unless we only do one wall in black.” She told him with a laugh when he pouted.

“We could do yellow I guess.” He said with a shrug. “Even though one wall of black would be cool. And we can have a pentagram here! And some skulls!” (Y/n) laughed.

“Slow down there Mr. Crowley.” She giggled. “Let’s start with the painting first and see where it goes?”

The next day, (Y/n) came home with paint. An hour later, there was probably more paint on her and Nikki than was used on the wall. He kept flicking it at her, and she’d flick it right back. She was glad she had put a drop cloth down, or the carpet would be ruined.

“We made a mess.” (Y/n) said, looking around.

“Well, I guess we better go get clean.” NIkki said as he grabbed her and carried her to the shower as she shrieked and laughed.

“Nikki! Put me down!”

“Nope sorry! Not letting you go anytime soon!” He told her as they went to try out the shower.

I could face a mountain

But I could never climb alone

I could start another day

But how many, I don't know

You're the reason, the sun shines down

And the nights, they don't grow cold

Only you that I'll hold when I'm young

Only you, as we grow old

“So I have something to ask you,” He said and took a deep breath.

"You ok?" (Y/n) looked over at him.

He took out the velvet box and opened it slowly showing her the ring he got her, “I thought about this alot…” he took a shaky breath. “When i’m not with you it’s like I can’t breath and I… I feel lost without you,” he looked into her eyes. “(Y/n) Bass will you marry me?” She leaned over and kissed him deeply.

"Of course I will marry you!" She said happily. "I love you!"

“I love you too!” he kissed her and placed the ring on her finger. “I can’t wait to make you Mrs. Sixx.”

Without you in my life

I'd slowly wilt and die

But with you by my side

You're the reason I'm alive

(Y/n) wiped her eyes. She wanted nothing more than to go back to LA and be with Nikki, but she had heard those assholes she was producing. She had seen the tabloids. They were all saying that he was with some chick from the strip. And (Y/n) knew she didn’t stand a chance. She headed back to her apartment, empty and quiet. She laid in bed and played with her necklace, wanting nothing more than to be back with the man she loved.

Forever Tags: @anathewierdo @dekahg @marvel-af-imagines @feelmyroarrrr @nanie5 @imboredsueme @gemini0410 @aiaranradnay @babypink224221 @mogarukes @xxwarhawk @sandlee44 @shatteredabby @caswinchester2000 @supernaturalwincestsblog @lauravic @mrsambroserollinsacklesmgk @teller258316 @horrorpxnk @tommyleeownsme

Motley Crue Tags: @primal-screamer @waywardprincess666 @twistnet @saint-of-los-angeles @vader-kai @motleyfuckingcruee @sharon6713 @kawennote09 @2dead2function @nikkisixxwiththebass @iamtiber-andtiberismusic @jayprettymuchomw @charlyallise @you-know-im-a-dreamer @sweet-dreams-on-butterfly-wings @estxxmotley @arianareirg @the-normal-potato @nikki-sixxtynine @jjjjjjjoshdun @just-a-normal-fangirl18 @stella20131991 @tarahell @wowilovenikkisixx @i-want-to-shoot-myself @motleycrueee @sams-serialkiller-fetish @getbackhonkycatt @are-you-reddie54321 @flamencodiva

Nikki Sixx Tags: @daisystuffsstuff @unknownoblivion @deacyduck

Too Young to Fall in Love Tags: @kingbouji3 @leximus98 @thekidbakerinthetardis @crystalbaby12 @shawnsstxtches @knockemdeadgirl

#too young to fall in love #Motley Crue #nikki sixx #nikki sixx x reader #nikki x reader #the dirt #dirt!nikki sixx #dirt!nikki sixx x reader #dirt!nikki x reader #dirt!nikki #fanfiction

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christianslaterreview · 4 years

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Mobsters (1991) dir. Michael Karbelnikoff

Synopsis:

Charlie 'Lucky' Luciano, portrayed by Christian Slater, is a young, working class Italian whose family is being terrorized by the Mafia as his father owes money to one of two main bosses, Don Faranzano (Michael Gambon). Luciano teams up with three of his boyhood friends to overthrow Don Faranzano and the other boss, Don Masseira. The film follows the boys as they quickly rise to top and become embroiled in Mafia politics, love stories, and personal conflicts that threaten to ruin lifelong friendships.

Review:

This is going to be a hard review for me to write because I really don't care about this movie. Like, at all (I mean look at my shitty synopsis lmao). Usually I'm so ardent about my reviews because I so desperately want the film in question to be good. Typically, Christian Slater's films have just enough about them that's good that elements of them are not only salvagable, but sincerely enjoyable. They're also usually just bad enough to remain interesting. Bad enough to make me care.

Mobsters, however, was so formulaic and devoid of any actual substance that the end product feels like a parody. It was so clearly hitching it's wagon to the popularity of other films in the same genre such as Bugsy and Good Fellas, but in their hurry to piece together some semblence of a film before the trend fizzled, they forgot that a movie needs elements beyond snappy one liners, empty banter, period costumes, and pretty faces with famous names. The audience is rushed through most of the narrative with focus only given to a handful of major plot points - but this is of course only when we're torn away from the laughably long and gregarious sex scenes which are peppered throughout the entire film to really help move things along - so all the opportunities to truly get to know the characters, their drives, their vulnerabilities, etc. in compelling B-plots or excellent pacing of the A-plot are nowhere to be found. The result is a film that feels like it was developed purely for flashy, promotional material with the story being tossed inside this hollow, pandering concept as an afterthought.

One of my main issues with most films is the pacing. I expect every film to have Tarentino level pacing where the story is slowly teased out in a seemingly chaotic but methodical progression. Tarentino is the fucking master of knowing just how long to let a certain plot point sit on the back burner before bringing it back full force right before you forget it ever happened. He knows just how long to keep the camera focused on one character's face, how long the back and forth dialogue needs to continue before bursting into action, how long to keep the audience waiting before a reveal (if the reveal ever happens). And before I get totally lost on this tangent and end up becoming a Tarentino stan blog, my point is that Mobsters fails in every single one of these devices.

Instead of feeling like 2hrs passed by so quickly because I was just that engaged, the run time of this film felt unbelievably long because literally nothing of real interest happened until about an hour into the movie. Right off the bat, we're thrown into the drama as Luciano's Mother and Father are assaulted and threatened by one of the main bosses, Faranzano. But rather than feeling like we're being poignantly acclimated to the brutal setting of this story, it just feels sudden and awkward, like a cheap, theatrical bid for emotion and drama. Granted, this might not be the screenplay's fault per se. None of the actors did a particularly solid job throughout this film, which did end up weakening whatever elements of Mobsters could have been salvagable.

After this point, the movie just rushes through introductions in a series of montages with a voiceover by Slater in his ... "accent". The movie barely has time to get on it's legs before we've already reached the next milestone in the boys' story as they're making a name for themselves as bootleggers. However, instead of actually demonstrating the struggle, the danger, the politcs of rising to the top, we just get another expositional montage with voiceovers. Have fun trying to remember what overlapping whispers are important plot points and which ones are just a little flavoring to show the glamorous gangster lifestyle the boys are entering into.

The stitled, awkward pacing of this film can actually be broken down to a pattern if you were paying close enough attention: major plot point, expositional montage mentioning specific Thing, the Thing happens in literally the next scene, 12 minute long sex scene, and repeat for 2 hours. It doesn't make for a very compelling narrative at all.

Additionally, the characters themselves were so one dimensional and poorly acted (sorry Christian :/ ) that not even they could save the movie. The accents were cheesy as hell, but even worse than those was the dialogue which consisted of banter and one liners that wanted so badly to be insidious and clever, but only ended up sounding like borderline nonsensical gangster jargon that was regurgitated by memory from someone who had seen Good Fellas once. And when the dialogue wasn't an unsuccesful mimicry of shrewd banter, it was equally meaningless, psuedo-artfilm dialogue. But instead of using dialogue as a device to allude to greater themes and deepen both the emotional and philosophical landscape of the film, everyone's dialogue was just a series of free floating, psuedo-intellectual lines that when strung together, didn't actually make a conversation or even develop the characters themselves.

Which is yet another problem with Mobsters. Although the characters are based upon real life historical figures, the characters themselves are barely developed on screen. Everyone's personalities are almost indistinguishable from one another because every character is so one dimensional. Despite the bounteous material the writers had to work with such as Lucky Luciano's righteous anger at the injustice his family and others have faced, Lansky's battle against the anti-semitism he faces, or the political landscape of the time controlled by the Mafia, all the characters are still underdeveloped caricatures.

The main focus of the film could have been the conflict that exists between Luciano's desire to see an end to the vicious reign of the Mafia while also seeking to be the Ringleader himself. It could have been a slow burn film focusing on the strategy and politics of attempting to dethrone the cities two biggest mob bosses. It could have been about how Luciano's and Lansky's friendship developed and devolved throughout their enterprise. It could have focused on literally any number of things to help anchor the story in a main conflict. But instead, the focus of the film flits from politics to personal drama to love scenes with only the cast of characters to connect the threads. None of those plot points were artful B-plots that helped flesh out the story and the characters; they were pitiful, unskilled attempts at creating a world to immerse the audience in without having any knowledge about how to effictively do that. As a writer, you can't give equal attention to all the different threads throughout a story otherwise the audience doesn't know what the main point is - that's why they're called B-plots.

Moreover, Mobsters used yelling really loudly and dramatically as a superficial plot device over and over again and each time it did nothing but made me want to hit mute for a moment or two. Syd Field's put it best when she said "All drama is conflict. Without conflict, there is no action. Without action, there is no character." However, what Karbelnikoff doesn't understand is that conflict is not just people displaying extreme emotion; there needs to be substance behind what is creating this conflict and that the audience needs a chance to become invested in the storylines and motivations the conflict is contigent upon. People aren't moved just by emotion itself; people are moved when they can empathize with a character's struggle. But we can't do that unless the director takes the time to walk us through the world they've created so the stakes actually seem real.

This film is chock full of scenes where characters that don't seem to have a reason to fight are fighting. I'm sure it's supposed to demonstrate what a rough business being a mobster is and how the pressure of ambition and the ever present threat it might overtake you, but instead it just makes the characters seem volatile and juvenile to the point that I don't even want to sympathize with any of them.

Lastly, this wasn't even a beautiful movie. Just like a Marvel movie, every shot was obvious, straightforward, and boring. In a movie that is all about the excess and glamour and violent opulence, you'd think the cinematography itself would reflect that. Instead, I wasn't surprised or moved by a single shot throughout the whole film. The overtop villains had such potential for unsettling, aggrandizing angles but every scene felt about as creative as watching talking heads.

And my very last bone to pick with this film is the ENDING. It felt like they decided to toss in a random moral to the story solely for the purpose of offering some kind of closure. I mean, to be fair, there's no other way they could have wrapped it up since the entire film is just a series of loose threads. But it was just the perfect way to punctuate the end of this wishy-washy movie (about MOBSTERS) with a vague cliche sentiment of "can't we all just get along?"

To me, Lucky Luciano is perhaps an anti-hero. I empathize with his desire to seek retribution and justice and instigate egalitarian politics, however, he doesn't seek to eradicate the institution of the Mafia, he just wants to run it *differently*. This could have made Luciano a supremely compelling character, but the movie never really frames him as a good guy or a bad guy. He is just kind of matter-of-factly presented to the audience with no real commentary. So by the end of the film, the fact that he's painted as this feel good hero within the last few minutes felt contrived and meaningless.

If Luciano's aim was to be the biggest mob boss around while also instituting a more egalitarian regime, why wasn't that the main focus of the film? It's definitely brought up, but it isn't given the focus it should have. We just knew that he wanted to overthrow the other bosses, but didn't delve into what his visions for the Mafia were or how much his desire for success was consuming him.

So the ending sentiment of the movie being "and then the bad guys were dead and a really Nice Guy became head of the Mafia and everyone was treated a lot nicer :)" felt juvenile and cheesy.

Mobsters gets a total of 1 Slaters out 10 Slaters. I'm not prepared to give it a zero, but I have no justification for that because, news flash, my rating system is wholly subjective and based on what I feel inside my heart. I will not be accepting criticism on this point. Thank you for understanding.

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hisgirlwonder · 5 years

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Wicked Games - Part One

Length: 3.6K words Warning: Smut (sex, mention of degradation, Michael secretly is a cuck?, etc etc) and angst Synopsis: Every lawyer is given a case they would rather not work on and you’re no exception to this. Someone you know all too well ends up being your latest client, how will you cope under the pressure? You’re the best of the best in the world of law but you are, after all, only human. Notes: Today comes the day when I finally publish something about a character other than Michael. I’ve been staring at it for days because I didn’t want to ruin Duncan (I haven’t seen HOC) so hopefullyyyyyy this is okay! I’m kind of nervous in writing other things because my heart lies with Michael but I have been feeling such a pull to write for Cody’s other characters (I have some of an outline for another series for Michael x Reader x Jim so keep an eye out for that! It’s going to be a bit angsty from what I have so far) (also this is probably my favourite version of Y/N I’ll write about to date because we love a strong woman)

“Hello, Mrs Langdon,” Michael purrs, grinning at the sight of you coming through the front door. You plant a kiss on his cheek and apologise for the late arrival home; telling him those idiots at work were to blame.

Taking off your jacket feels like an effort with all of the buttons and a pair of tired hands; eventually you get there and hang it up on the coat stand. Michael asks if you had a rough day and your response is a heavily exhale of exhaustion followed with a remark of you have no idea as you’re kicking off your heels.

He closes the door and asks if you’ve eaten. You nod, explaining that you ordered in sushi earlier. It was unfortunate because having dinner together was one of the things that helped you unwind after a long day and today you had to miss it. It turns out your newest client held you back for much longer than intended and when you finally got to pack up for the day night, you leave feeling deflated because all you’ve done is run in circles and achieved nothing.

Michael sinks his warm thumbs into your trapezius muscles to try and massage the tautness out. You were never one to give up a fight because you thrived on winning but the weight of this was so heavy and it was only day one.

You feel those smooth hands glide down to rest on your upper arms and Michael tells you he’s going to get you a drink. A sigh of dejection erupts from your lungs, and you push past it to thank him before he disappears into the kitchen.

Michael re-appears with a drink in hand and as you’re taking it from him, you smile weakly and mouth thank you. You swallow a few mouthfuls to calm yourself before offloading onto your husband.

“I don’t know what I’ve done to be dumped with this case. I just, I mean, I just really wanted to slap the shit eating grin off of his face. He’s even more unrelenting than I remember.” You say, dumbfounded in disbelief at how anyone could have that kind of attitude.

“Oh, so you know him? Obviously, you can’t tell me specifics about the case but, might I ask, who is it?”

“Duncan Shepherd.”

You and Duncan ran in the same circles ever since your rise to power in the world of law so you’d been around each other more times than you’d like to admit. You couldn’t forget the first time you met – it was an opening for an art gallery where he gave you nothing but grief about being married all the while trying to win you over. It was almost like he forgot you were a lawyer who was well-versed in reading people. That, or he just didn’t care. Duncan did like a challenge.

Michael stays silent, making an oh face. He knew exactly from your recollection of stories and meetings what Duncan was like. Being the best of the best when it came to your profession had its perks but it also had its downfalls, like old men trying to buy their way into spending a night with you or pretty boys with more money than sense.

You’d represented your fair share of guilty people in passing but never one who got on your nerves as much as Duncan did. Maybe it was his comment about Michael being a “ball and chain” for you that did it, or perhaps it was more than that.

“I get the feeling you’re going to need something stronger than just a cocktail, I’ll be right back.”

As your eyes are scanning over the photographs on the mantelpiece waiting for Michael to return, there’s one that takes your interest and sends you headfirst into the throes of nostalgia.

It was from the engagement party where one of your best friends had styled you - she’d commissioned a very famous designer to create a black, cinch-waisted dress with a sweetheart neckline. Oh, you felt so glamorous and had no idea what life had planned for you following that night.

You smile to yourself when remembering how adamant she was for you to have curls and for them to be done by her; she spent what felt like hours perfecting them. The makeup was polished off with a deep plum coloured lipstick and she’d joked about how you looked like her very own masterpiece. Completely biased though because she’d always reiterate her belief that you didn’t need makeup since you possessed such natural beauty.

Your heart feels as if it has sunk to your feet when you recall what else happened. How could you forget? The joy of that evening fell short when your mother decided to pull you aside and snap, asking why you felt the need to dress the way you did. She was referring to how dark your dress and makeup were, because in her mind her own flesh and blood should take after her, dressing in shades of salmon and lilac. Sadly, it wasn’t the first time she’d called you out like this and it wouldn’t be the last.

Her serpent-like mouth had bitten you one too many times and now, older and wiser, your heart had become cold towards her. Every person you meet remarks about how your parents must be so proud of you and you want to laugh in their faces and admit the truth – that your father is nowhere to be found and your mother will never be satisfied with anything you do. It’s as if you were an aversion to her eyes as well because she was constantly telling you that no man would ever love you if you were to dress like you’re always going to a funeral. Even Michael professing his love in front of the room full of people wasn’t enough.

Either Michael must have been stealth-like or you were too engrossed in what you were thinking about because you didn’t hear the bottle of vodka on the table nor did you hear him come up behind you. The fixation on your younger self in the picture was interrupted by the feeling of his arms encasing you and the warmth of his chin resting on your exposed shoulder. “What are you doing?”

You point to the photograph, pained with a longing in that moment for how things used to be. Before law school, before all of this stress, before Duncan fucking Shepherd came into your life.

“This simultaneously feels like a lifetime ago yet so recent I can almost taste the entrees we ate that night. She’s ruined so many things. It was the beginning of some of the best things to happen to me,” you look down at the diamond ring on your finger before continuing, “But when I get like this, I’m reminded of her disapproval. Life would be much easier if my father didn’t decide to abandon me and leave me with her.”

“M/N is and will always be jealous of you, Y/N. You looked radiant that night and she was just projecting her own insecurities onto you. Do you remember the day we were introduced? I was wearing god knows what but I will never forget the sight of you in those ripped black jeans and boots. It gave me a raging hard-on to see you dressed like that. You’re even more beautiful now because you’re my wife.” He squeezes his arms around you in comfort before continuing, “Let’s forget about that and focus on something else. You’ve had enough drama for one day. Work was hard, wasn’t it? I think I know a way we can relieve some of this pent up energy.” As he’s talking, the bulge trapped in his pants is pushed into your ass and all of a sudden you become distracted.

You place the now empty glass beside the photo in question and guide a hand upwards to stroke at Michael’s face. You knew what he wanted but decided to play along, questioning him in a coy voice, “Oh? And what might that be, Mr. Langdon?”

Michael’s unwraps himself from you, positioning his hands on your hips and caresses your lower back. “Maybe we can go to the bedroom and I can fuck the frustration out of you.”

Hands are travelling up your sides to meet at the top of the zipper, pushing your locks over to one side. “Let me.” The slider glides down, parting the teeth and allows the dress to fall to the floor. He touches his lips on the curve of where your shoulder meets your arm; he’s planting kisses on your skin while eager fingers are unhooking the clasp on your bra.

By now you’re standing only in a small pair of underwear and the moment you turn around Michael snatches you up; hands digging into the flesh of your ass. He’s smirking in enjoyment, almost salivating at the thought of what next comes out.

“I was thinking about you in that pretty red dress of yours I like at work today. You’re innocently knocking files off my desk as you’re trying to place them in front of me like a clumsy little girl. You’re bending over to grab them but your feet are apart enough so everything is exposed…” he pulls you in even closer before continuing, lowly growing in thirst, “…and it’s obvious to see your slit is glistening for me; ready to be fucked.”

If you didn’t know you were alive before, you sure knew now because you feel your heart quicken and nostrils becoming flared as you expel out hot breaths of want. Those few words forced you into a state of submission - one where you’d do anything no questions asked.

Your mouths meet in what starts off as a slow, loving kiss but quickly transforms into a salacious mess; lips turning red, swollen, and spit covered. Both of you were becoming drunk on the other. He instructs you to get on the bed and you follow through without hesitation.

With eyes glued to him, you watch as he’s sitting on a chair nearby undoing his tie. You become occupied with the thought of how you’d rather them around your throat than loosening the item of fabric he now throws on the ground. Michael teases in the hopes it’ll set you off by warning not to get too excited because he’s staying dressed for what he has planned.

He was right to think that way because with his comment you transform into a brat, rolling your eyes and whining, “Can you not? You’re strangely looking like Duncan did earlier.”

Michael reaches down to untie his shoes and every now and then looks up at you and the only reaction to your words is a silent smile; one that said you just wait. Once his shoes are off, he walks over to the bed and towers above you, asserting you in dominance. He grabs your face in a hand and breaks his reticence, telling you, “I think you’re forgetting who makes the rules.”

In the blink of an eye, Michael has ripped off your underwear and runs a single finger up your slit to feel the slick leaking from your folds. You’re ignorant enough not to realise Michael wasn’t the only reason your body was behaving this way. He, however, does know and pushes your thighs apart to see what he’s dealing with. Tips of his digits are drawing shapes against your bud - you think he’s letting them wander aimlessly but Michael was actually spelling out the word Duncan.

“Duncan really makes you mad, doesn’t he?” Michael teases with words laminated in a devilish tone. He could see how you were visibly responding to him and it drove him wild. Michael noticed at the mention of Duncan’s name you did jerk your legs shut but there was a brief moment where you bucked your hips and Michael could read between the lines; he knew precisely what it meant, even before you did.

Forceful hands pry your legs apart as if to say I’m the one who is in charge and when he begins to touch you again, he changes it up and uses all four fingers. The blood rushes in between your legs, swirling around and causing tumescence in your loins.

“He makes you red hot, doesn’t he?” The deliverance of those two words made you wonder if he was insinuating something entirely different. Something that you’d never considered until now. Maybe your brain had kept this revelation hidden away until Michael decided to open your eyes to it. Maybe, just maybe, this was for your own benefit because there’s no way you would have willingly accepted your own want for him of all people.

Michael slips two of those four fingers inside, curling around and massaging your soft spot in a continuous but inviting come here movement. Not leaving any part ignored, he light grazes his thumb against the surface of your already stimulated bud and it makes you writhe around in pleasure. All attempts at trying to keep composed and innocent fail as your words become broken and you’re a stuttering mess, “W-w-what a-are yo-o-ou d-d-doing?”

Then suddenly, an unfamiliar feeling washes over you and you’re not sure if you like it but you have no choice because it’s consuming you; the want need for Duncan to be committing unspeakable acts against your body. Michael’s almost gagging over you coming undone from a few simple words and figures it’s the perfect time to take himself out of his pants knowing you’d be pathetic and desperate for a cock inside you.

The old adage goes “silence is golden” but this was the exact opposite. You needed something to stop you dissipating into the fever that was burning deep within your core. You wanted to snuff out the fire inside because you had absolutely no idea how you were going to work with this lingering.

Michael positions his body between your legs to stroke the head of his throbbing cock against your slit, mixing what was leaking out of himself with your own wetness. He takes it up a notch by sliding in a minuscule amount and taunting you, with words like you know, your body is giving me the answers your mouth wouldn’t dare speak.

His icy blues are locked onto you as he pushes past your entrance, gauging your reaction while giving you more of the thing you yearned for. Michael’s having too much fun being a tease but it becomes too much and you spit angst at him, “Can’t you just fuck me already?”

Michael provokes you even further and suggests, “If you want it so bad, why don’t you just behave and bend over the bed like a good girl. Bad girls don’t get what they want.” He knew what being called a good girl did to you and used it to his full advantage whenever you were in a state like this.

You don’t know whether to laugh or feel bad that this exact situation was what Duncan had predicted at that party. Goosebumps hit your skin as you can hear him. “I can already see it now – one day you’ll be bent over a bed, pussy soaked with your own filth and you’ll be begging for him to fuck you when really you wish it was me.”

And that’s exactly what is happening. You were bent over and beginning to be fucked, like a cock-deprived slut. It was more than just your usual lust over Michael but it also included being wrecked and ruined by Duncan, and you hated yourself for it.

“If you really do want this, there’s only one thing I want in return.” Michael tells you, rubbing a hand over your ass, “I want you to tell me exactly why he’s so bad. I want you to feel it.”

“Duncan Shepherd is a sanctimonious, smug asshole. He thinks he’s a hot piece who can get whatever he wants whenever he wants. He-“

Your outburst is interrupted by Michael moving back inside. You’re wondering when he’s going to fuck the neediness out of you because he was deliberately holding back and moving very slowly. “Keep going. Remember, I want you to feel it.”

“He always thinks he can do whatever the fuck he wants and not get away with it. This is why I’m stuck with him, because of his actions, and now I have to see him every single day until this damn trial is over and done with.”

There it is, your distaste for him. You thought it was stronger than the urges that reverberated throughout your body. The truth is you wanted to fuck Duncan out of hatred, then make him watch as you fuck Michael out of adoration, and for both men to pour load after load into your open mouth; deep down your willing throat. You wanted to be defiled but only by your own control.

Michael’s hands are gripping into your thighs to say your body is mine and he picks up his pace. He grunts, “More. Tell me more. Feed it to me, baby.”

“He’s such a pig. He treats me like I should beg to be the ground he’s walking on. Remember his ex? She said he’s so vain that he likes to fuck in front of a mirror so he can watch himself.”

Your pussy twitches at the very clear image in your head of him pounding away at you like he did with her, almost as if it had happened in real life. Were you jealous? You couldn’t deny that Duncan was hot, because he was, but he knew it. You also knew that he’d be good in bed despite the disgusting ego. The thoughts of being used and abused by a man like this, specifically Duncan, drove you mad in every way possible.

“Do you ever think it’s because he wants to fuck you?”

That slight twitch turns into a full-on throb and every muscle within the confines of your cunt begin to tighten around Michael’s cock – your body growing unfaithful with its admission of the things you were trying to remain tight-lipped about. It’s one thing to find someone attractive but it’s another entirely for it to be someone you’ve spent years loathing. Duncan was everything you couldn’t stand in a man yet your entire existence was begging to be destroyed by him.

“My bet is he’d like to turn you into an incoherent mess. His hand is probably lathered in fake slick right now and he’s fucking himself to the thought of you in the dress you wore today.”

Your knees were growing weak and you were barely holding on. You being sent in a direction you’d never been before. Before tonight, Michael was the only thought and person which brought you pleasure in all the ways. The truth was that Michael wanted you to feel this. He secretly had lusted after this for so long and now he finally got his chance.

And that’s when it came. The words that would tear you in two, causing the same reaction in your body akin to a dam bursting its banks.

“I can guarantee that Duncan would love to be here right now, seeing your pussy full with this cock and us taking turns on you all night, filling every hole.”

Michael was the filthiest and there was no doubt about that but it’s as if the events of tonight had given you a key to a hidden lock inside him – you opened it and it unleashed something wild and untamed. His mouth and his member cause you to explode as if you’re a supernova; stars littering your vision as evidence of the intensity.

A lustful growl emits from Michael’s lungs as you drop to the mattress, knees weakened completely. “I knew exactly what that meant.”

It seems like your climax transforms him into some other being. He begins pounding away at you mercilessly, throwing caution into the wind and slamming his body into yours like he was trying to punish you for thinking such dirty thoughts.

Michael’s positioned now with his torso against your back, taking in your mixed scent of perfume and sweat. He thrusts a few more times and you both cry out in enjoyment – you’re still swimming in the pool of your orgasm and he meets you there, unloading himself inside your pussy. Once the last drop is spilt he rolls off your body and onto his back.

He breathlessly throws an idea at you, “Maybe we should make our own game, Y/N. Duncan Shepherd needs to atone for his sins of the flesh. You should play with him, make him bend to you however you see fit, and, when the time is right then we can take it even further. There are only two rules.”

“Which are?”

“Number one, have fun. Number two, fill me in on everything. Also, remember, it’s Duncan.”

You knew what it’s Duncan meant because you knew Michael all too well. It meant don’t worry, nobody is going to believe someone as manipulative as him if he tries anything.

You didn’t care. Your impulses took over and you agreed to his game, asking when you were to start.

“Tomorrow.”

Taglist: @avesatanormalpeoplescareme @sensitivethot @sacredlangdon @sammythankyou @sevenwondr @langdonsdemon @queencocoakimmie

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trashcanmarvelfan · 5 years

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Best. Job. Ever. (Tom Holland x Reader) 1/?

Summary: Reader gets a job on the set of Spider-Man: Far from Home for the 3 weeks they are shooting in New York City as what she thinks is a production assistant, but a twist of fate has her reassigned as Tom Holland's personal assistant. As she & Tom grow close during filming, will their budding friendship turn to more or will they go their separate ways after filming concludes?

Warnings: Language, but that’s pretty much it? This is basically a PG-13 rom-com.

Word Count: 2109

Author’s Note: As this was written WAY before Spider-Man: Far from Home was released (actually before Avengers: Endgame was as well) I've kept plot details and which scene was being shot on what day extremely vague. Also, I'm American but tried to write Tom as British as possible, although I do think he'd try to stay(ish) in character and use as much American slang as he could while he's still playing Peter.

Requests are always open!

Cross-posted at AO3.

“I really need your help here,” Y/N's best friend Laura said over the phone. “Please, Y/N.”

Laura had wanted to direct films, so she immediately moved to L.A. upon Y/N’s & her college graduation that past spring to work in the film industry. So far she had worked as a production assistant on a few feature films and was currently scheduled to work as part the Spider-Man: Far from Home crew, but she had been offered a position as a 3rd assistant AD on another film after the director saw one of her student films, which unfortunately required her to drop out of the Spider-Man crew. Before leaving Laura had promised that she would find a reliable, trustworthy replacement.

“I don’t know,” Y/N replied.

“I promised Anna I’d find a replacement PA since I had to back out. You don’t start your new job for like a month, right?”

“Right…”

“It’s only for the final 3 weeks of shooting, while they’re in New York. They’ll put you up in a hotel, you’ll get to meet the cast, and you’ll get to see the city! Think of it as a paid vacation… that makes you work for it. You might actually get to meet Tom Holland himself!”

Y/N sighed wistfully. She had had a crush on Tom Holland ever since she had seen him in Captain America: Civil War, and had loved him in both Spider-Man: Homecoming and Avengers: Infinity War. Laura wouldn't have recommended her if she didn't believe that Y/N could do it, right? “You’re so lucky I love you… and that I really need the money.”

Laura squealed. “So you’ll do it?”

“Yeah, I’ll do it.”

“Great! I’ll let them know and send you the details.”

One week later, Y/N stepped off of the plane in NYC. She grabbed her bags from luggage claim, caught a cab, and headed to her hotel to check in and drop her luggage off before catching an Uber to the crew meeting.

She nervously tapped her foot the entire way to the filming location. Once she had arrived, she made her way through security and to the set.

She spotted a woman holding a clipboard, who was directing various people where to go, so she walked over to her. “Excuse me, I need to check in. I'm the new production assistant, taking over for Laura Pearson.”

The woman peered over her glasses at Y/N. “Name?”

“Y/F/N.”

The woman glanced at her clipboard. “Y/N, Y/N”, she muttered, running her finger down the page. “Ah. Yes, we’ve been expecting you. You’ve actually been reassigned from production assistant to personal assistant to Tom Holland.”

“Wait, excuse me-- What?” Y/N thought that there was no way that she had heard right. “Did you just say that I’m Tom Holland’s personal assistant?”

The woman nodded. “Yes, well, Tom’s in need of an assistant for this leg of the shooting and you seemed like the perfect choice.”

Y/N was still convinced that there had been a mistake. “But I’ve never even worked on a movie set before. When I was told I’d be a P.A. I assumed that meant I’d be a production assistant to the director or something.”

The woman arched an eyebrow. “Is there a problem? You came very highly recommended, and your background and references were excellent.”

Y/N shook her head. “No, no problem. Just surprised, is all.”

Suddenly things started to make sense. She had thought that the NDA Sony had made her sign had some extra clauses to it regarding speaking to the media about the cast, and the hotel she was staying at was more fancy than she had been expecting. Tom must be staying there.

The woman handed her a manila envelope. “Here’s Tom’s schedule for this week. On Saturday I’ll give you his schedule for next week, and next week I’ll give you the final week’s schedule. You’ll be meeting with him at the hotel restaurant at 5 pm today to go over it and to make sure that nothing conflicts or has changed in his availability. We start shooting tomorrow. Any questions?”

Y/N took a deep breath and shook her head. What is my life?

She went back to her hotel and reviewed Tom’s schedule, noting with relief that she would have Sunday off, which would at least give her one day this week to go sightseeing. Better than nothing, I guess. She had hoped to be able to do some exploring before filming started the next day but instead opted to take a nap before her meeting with Tom. Jet-lag must’ve hit her harder than she thought, because Y/N slept for longer than she thought she would’ve. Luckily she had set an alarm, which gave her enough time to shower, throw some fresh clothes on, and get downstairs to the restaurant about 10 minutes early.

She gave her name to the hostess and was led to a small table in the back of the mostly-empty restaurant. A few seconds later their server came by. “Hi, my name is Michael and I’ll be taking care of you. Is someone joining you tonight?”

“Ahh, yes, actually. He should be here any minute,” Y/N replied.

“Ok, great. Can I get you anything while you wait?”

Y/N bit her lip. She was working, so… “An iced tea and a water would be great to start with.”

“Ok, I’ll get you that tea and water and be back momentarily.”

“Thanks so much.”

As Michael walked away Y/N checked her phone and noticed that she had a message from Laura. How was the crew meeting?

I have so much to tell you, Y/N responded. But it’ll have to wait.

She put her phone away. Michael came back with her water and she thanked him before pulling out Tom’s schedule. She was reading over it again when she heard a crisp British accent. “Excuse me, Y/N?”

She looked up and her heart skipped a beat. Holy shit. Tom Holland himself stood in front of her. “Um…” she stammered. “Yeah. I mean yes.”

“Hi, I’m Tom,” he said, taking a seat across from her and sticking his hand out.

Y/N shook his hand. “Y/N… but you already knew that.”

Tom grinned. “Nice to meet you.” He leaned back in his chair as Michael returned once more.

“Hello there! I’m Michael. Can I get you something to drink?”

“Um, yeah, I’ll take a water.”

“Ok then, I’ll give you a few minutes to look over the menu and then I’ll be back.”

Tom picked up the menu. “I’m famished. Y/N, would you like something to eat?”

At the mention of food Y/N’s stomach growled loudly, reminding her that she hadn’t eaten yet that day. Her eyes widened in embarrassment.

Tom laughed. “I’ll take that as a yes.” He picked up his menu.

“So,” he said once Michael had returned with his water and they had placed their orders, “tell me about yourself. I figure if we’re going to be working with each other for the next few weeks we ought to get to know each other, am I right?”

“Um, right,” Y/N agreed. “Well, I’m originally from (hometown) but I recently graduated from the University of Chicago with a degree in English with a focus on journalism.”

Tom looked impressed. “How on earth did you wind up as an assistant on a movie set then?”

“My friend and former college roommate Laura was originally scheduled to be a production assistant on this shoot but had to back out, so she asked me to fill in. I was recently offered a position with a publishing company in Los Angeles, but I could really use the money while I’m waiting on my background check & paperwork to go through, so I agreed to help her out, plus this is my first time in New York so I thought it’d kind of... be like a vacation? I really wasn’t expecting to be your assistant for the next 3 weeks… Not that it’s a problem!” she quickly corrected herself. “I just… It’s just not what I expected to be doing.”

Tom was obviously amused. “Well, it’s not the most glamorous job in the world since you basically have to follow me around everywhere, but I promise to make it easy on you.” He winked then pulled out his phone. “Since we're going to need to stay in touch over the next few weeks how about you give me your mobile number and email address? Anna didn't give me your personal information, just your name.”

Y/N flushed slightly. “ Oh um, sure. And thanks.” She rattled off her phone number and waited while Tom added her contact information, then picked up Tom’s schedule. “So since shooting starts tomorrow, shall we go over your schedule?”

They hashed out the details of the next week in between bites, Y/N making notes in her phone and setting alarms so she wouldn’t forget anything.

Once they were finished, Tom insisted on taking care of the check. “It’s on me. It’s the least I can do to thank you in advance for keeping me on schedule.”

“Oh, well, thank you so much,” Y/N said.

They left the restaurant and headed toward the elevator together. “Which floor?” Tom asked.

“10,” Y/N replied.

“Oh, is that so? I’m actually on the 10th too.”

“Cool,” Y/N replied. “Oh that reminds me, since I have to come pick you up from your room… which one is it?”

“Right, I guess that would be important, wouldn’t it?” Tom chuckled. “I’m in 1043.”

“Ok, so, a car is supposed to pick us up at 7:30 tomorrow morning to make sure you’re at the set for 8,” Y/N confirmed, so I’ll be around about… 7:15ish?”

“7:15 it is,” Tom nodded.

“Umm… do you want me to pick you up some coffee in the morning? Oh wait, you’re British, you probably don’t drink coffee. Tea then?”

Tom laughed. “Actually I DO drink coffee, and that would be lovely, thank you.”

“Great! There’s a Starbucks in the lobby of the hotel, is that ok?”

“Yes, that’s perfect.”

The elevator doors opened on their floor and they stepped out into the hallway.

“Ok, well, I’m this way,” Y/N said, pointing in the opposite direction of Tom’s room. “I’ll… see you tomorrow?”

“See you tomorrow. Good night, Y/N.”

“‘Night, Tom.”

As soon as Y/N got in her room she pulled out her phone and Facetimed Laura.

“Hey, Y/N,” Laura answered. “What’s up?”

“So when were you going to tell me that I was going to be Tom Freaking Holland’s personal assistant on this shoot?” Y/N hissed.

Laura’s eyebrows went up in surprise. “What? You’re kidding, right?”

“Nope. I walked on set fully expecting to be a production assistant helping everyone out, not personal assistant to the star of the freaking film! What the hell did you tell these people about me?”

“Just that you were super reliable and trustworthy and a little about your background. You’re the one who sold them on you with your phone interview and resume. This is a good thing,” Laura reassured her. “I’m sure it’ll be a lot more fun keeping Tom on schedule than running around set as a glorified gopher who hands out scripts and fetches coffee for everyone.”

“Well that's true, plus the pay is actually double what I would’ve originally made, and they put me up in a swanky hotel,” Y/N replied.

“Well see, it’s definitely working out!” Laura paused. “Have you met Tom yet?”

Y/N sighed. “Actually, yeah. We just had a dinner meeting.”

“Is he as cute as he is on screen?”

“Oh my gosh, Laura, he’s even more adorable in person, and he seems really nice. And that accent-- So dreamy.”

Laura squealed. “Take lots of pictures and send them to me!”

Y/N laughed. “I have to be professional, but maybe I’ll be able to get a selfie with Tom before filming is over.”

A bell rang in the background and Laura looked over her shoulder. “I’ve got to go, but have fun and keep me posted!”

“Will do! Bye!” Y/N ended the call.

She brushed her teeth and got ready for bed. 8 PM in New York City and I’m already in bed, she thought sardonically. What a wild life I lead.

She snuggled in bed with her tablet and rewatched Spider-Man: Homecoming before falling into a dreamless sleep.

#tom holland x reader #tom holland x you #tom holland fanfic #tom holland rpf #marvel fanfiction #avengers fanfiction #tom holland fanfiction

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erisgregory · 5 years

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You Were In The Darkness Too, Ch. 2

cross posted to AO3

or start with chapter one

Rating: Teen Archive Warning: No Archive Warnings Apply Category: M/M Fandom: Roswell New Mexico (TV 2019) Relationship: Michael Guerin/Alex Manes Characters: Alex Manes, Maria DeLuca, Michael Guerin, Various Manes Family Members Additional Tags: Fake/Pretend Relationship, Fluff and Angst, Family Reunions,

Homophobia

Summary: Alex has to go to his family reunion, but between his father and all the well wishing matchmakers, Alex really needs a date. A boyfriend, to be exact. So he asks Michael, which is either the best idea in the world, or the worst.

The drive from Roswell, New Mexico to Wichita Falls, Texas was almost six hours, so they would arrive at the reunion at around one if they stayed on course. And Alex definitely panned to stay on course. The cooler could tide them over till lunch which they would eat when they got there. He hadn’t been to his aunt’s house in years, but he had to admit there were a few people he was looking forward to seeing.

Michael was quiet in the beginning as if he weren’t very talkative first thing in the morning. He didn’t say a thing when Alex turned on the radio and found a Fall Out Boy song to listen to. He just looked out the window for the first thirty minutes or so sipping the coffee that Alex had brought him. By the time they came to Lea County Michael was sitting up straight in his seat and looking a good deal more alive.

“Not really the morning type are you?” Alex asked him.

“I know how to get up early, but I’m not crazy about it. Even after years of working on the ranch.” Michael admitted.

That made sense to Alex. He hadn’t always been a morning person, but the Air Force had changed that. Now he rose with the dawn whether or not he had an alarm set. It just became a part of who he was, like making his bed first thing in the morning and keeping his boots polished. He’d thought about relaxing some of his regimen, but then it hadn’t felt right, so he just kept it up.

He was trying to picture what Michael might have done on the ranch and he couldn’t quite see it in his head. Not without more information. “What did you do, when you worked on the ranch, if you don’t mind my asking?”

“I don’t mind.” Michael told him. “I was a ranch hand so it really depended on what time of year it was. Odd jobs here and there mostly. Probably what you’d imagine. Working with the horses and cattle. Keeping the ranch running. Fixing things that were broken. The usual.”

Alex could picture it now. Michael really was a cowboy. The real deal, too. A part of Alex wished he could have seen Michael at work. On a horse, his cowboy hat pulled low to keep the setting sun from his eyes.

“You’re picturing some movie scene cowboy shit right now, aren’t you?” Michael asked, breaking him from his train of thoughts and completely catching on to what he’d been imagining.

“Maybe.” Alex said, a smile twisting at his mouth.

“It’s not glamorous, by any means.” Michael said. “But I liked the work. Kept my hands busy.”

“Do you miss it?” Alex asked softly.

“Nah.” Michael said. “It’s nice to set my own schedule for a change. Choose which jobs to take and which to pass on.”

“I see.” Alex said. He wouldn’t know about choosing jobs or setting his own schedule, he was still pulling desk duty for the Air Force and it looked like that might be his lot in life, at least for now.

The fell quiet again for a while, until Michael finally spoke up about the music. “I’ve been enjoying this walk down memory lane, but I don’t think I can take any more emo alternative shit right now.”

“Is that so.” Alex laughed shocked by Michael’s tone of voice.

“Yeah, we need to expand your horizons a little bit.” Michael told him.

“And just what do you have in mind?” Alex asked, curious.

“Spotify.” He said, holding up his phone. “Where’s the adapter go?

“Did you make a playlist for the drive?” Alex guessed.

“Of course.” Michael shrugged.

Alex laughed. “Okay, it goes here.” And he pointed low on the dash where the adapter plugged in. Then he switched the from am/fm to auxiliary.

Michael plugged in his phone and reached to turn the volume up, causing Alex to laugh again.

“This better be good.” Alex warned.

Michael shot him a grin before hitting play on his phone. The first song was clearly country, Michael said it was Eric Church, but then he promised the playlist wasn’t all country so Alex stuck with it. It was actually really good, had a great beat to drive to.

The playlist lasted them all the way to the New Mexico/Texas border. They listened to Rage Against the Machine, Matt Nathanson, Little Big Town, The Sex Pistols, and Muse. At the border Michael pulled up George Strait and together they sang Amarillo By Morning, despite the fact that they were heading to Wichita Falls. It was hilarious, Alex couldn’t even recall how he would have learned the song. Probably his mom.

They got out a rest stop to stretch and to switch places. The air was warm, but the breeze was fresh and cool enough that it wasn’t uncomfortable. Alex pulled out the cooler and they sat at one of the drab little picnic tables eating grapes and cheese and drinking cold water. It was then that Alex realized he’d forgotten the hard part that was coming up. He’d been so distracted by the good music and Michael’s company that he’d stopped thinking about having to see his family.

Granted there were a few people he’d be happy to see, but it was a chore more than anything else. Even with Michael there as a buffer, and wow, thinking about that made him think that maybe they needed to talk about what being together might look like. What it would look like and also what boundaries they wanted to have. They definitely needed to talk boundaries.

“What’s got you thinking so hard over there?” Michael asked.

Alex offered him a tight smile. “While we’re here, I thought we should talk about what being boyfriends will need to look like and maybe set some boundaries.”

“Well, what do you think it should look like?” Michael wanted to know.

“I’m not sure. Things like holding hands or offering to help each other, get things for each other.” Alex began.

“What about kissing? Boyfriends kiss.” Michael pointed out.

Alex had to think about that. “Not on the mouth.” He said eventually.

Michael raised his eyebrows at that. “Okay.” He said. “This is your dog and pony show.”

Alex huffed a laugh. It certainly was, he thought.

“Anything else?” Michael asked him.

“I think terms of endearment are okay, but nothing gross like baby or sugar. I can’t picture you calling me anything but Alex, but if you have to try to make it believable.” Alex told him.

“Fair enough. Sweetheart.” He teased. Alex just rolled his eyes.

“What about you, do you have any limits we should add?” Alex asked.

“No, I think we’ve pretty much covered everything. Except what if you need to leave or can’t take any more of someone’s company. Should we have a code word?” Michael asked him.

“I don’t know, probably. You’re just as likely to need to leave as I am.” Alex said.

“Okay, then what’s our word? Something we wouldn’t normally say.” Michael said.

“Okay, how about Star Wars?” Alex asked.

“You are such a nerd. Are you sure you’re not going to be talking about Star Wars at some point this afternoon?” Michael shook his head at Alex.

“Fine, you pick a word.” Alex told him. He downed the rest of his water bottle and then narrowed his eyes at Michael wondering just what he was going to come up with.

“Alright.” Michael said, wiping his hands on his jeans. “How about, daisy? It’s simple and neither of us are likely to bring it up in casual conversation.”

“Daisy? Okay. Daisy it is.” Alex agreed with a laugh.

They finished their snack and headed back to the car where Alex passed over his keys. “This is my baby.” He said. “Go easy on her.”

“Don’t you worry.” Michael said with a laugh.

They switched back to Alex’s music for some Green Day and Panic! At The Disco, there was some Better Than Ezra and The Eagles, which they both agreed on.

Sometimes they sang along and sometimes they were quiet. It was a companionable silence though, one that gave Alex time to think. The road continued to stretch on ahead of them, though they were more than halfway there when Alex said, “We should get our story straight.”

Michael turned the radio down. “Like how we met, started dating? That sort of thing?”

“Yes.” Alex said, worried now for the first time about how they were going to pull this off.

“Okay, that’s no big deal, we just tell the truth. Your dad’s going to be there, right? He’s gonna know the truth for the most part, so we stick to that and maybe even mention our on again off again tendencies.” Michael suggested.

“Okay, yeah, okay.” Alex said.

“Hey, listen, we’ve got this, you don’t have to worry.” Michael told him. “Don’t go getting your panties in a twist over nothing.”

“My panties are fine. I’m just concerned that we come across as believable. Even to my father. He’ll be on the lookout for anything out of the ordinary.” Alex explained.

“We will, we just have to act like we’re used to being out together. You need to get in the right headspace for that.” Michael told him.

“Me? Why not both of us?” Alex wanted to know.

“Because I never had a problem being in public with you, but you--” Michael tried to explain but Alex cut him off.

“Got it. Yeah.”

“I don’t mean to piss you off, I just want you to think about it. This isn’t just Isobel, this is your whole family. And I’m fine with that, but are you sure you are? We don’t have to go through with this, you can drop me off somewhere and pick me up after.” Michael offered.

“I am. I have to be.” Alex said.

Michael sighed but reached to turn the music up again. “Okay, just checking.” He said softly.

They arrived at his Aunt Brenda’s house at 1:20 pm and Alex was officially nervous. He turned off the car and took a deep breath, turning to Michael. “Ready?” He asked.

“Ready.” Michael told him.

Together they walked into the house hand in hand in silent agreement, and headed for the backyard, following the sounds of children laughing and general gaity that Alex just wasn’t feeling. Michael gave his hand a quick squeeze as they walked back out into the sunshine, and that was the only thing that could have made Alex feel better just then.

#malex #malex fics #eris writes fics

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1dreality · 5 years

Link

Why The Normalization of Stan Culture is Unhealthy

How a tweet about Ariana Grande made me realize the extent of harm this subculture has done.

Haaniyah Angus

FollowJan 27

The way in which pop culture is consumed in the 2010s is unlike anything else we have witnessed since the dawn of pop culture itself. Social media has created a hyperreality wherein the distance between regular individuals and their idols is slowly shortening, or at least appearing to. This is most obviously seen within ‘stan Twitter’, a section of Twitter dedicated to celebrities even to the most harmful lengths.

I want to make myself clear here: I don’t hate stans or stan Twitter. Throughout my teenage years, I was part of this subculture in various ways, whether it be K-Pop, One Direction, Justin Bieber, 5SOS and — ironically enough — Ariana Grande. Through ‘standoms’ I was able to meet people and make friends in a way I couldn’t in real life. I felt as if I were part of a community, that I finally belonged. But, as I got older, I realized the obsession I had wasn’t healthy, and that’s why I worry about the direction that many young people seem to be heading in. Their dedication to strangers in order to boost their own self-esteem feels almost like a car crash ready to happen and, for some, it already has.

But, though this is undoubtedly a phenomenon of the social media era, in order to understand what stan Twitter is and its origin, we need to travel back to a time before Twitter even existed.

Currently, on Urban Dictionary, a stan is defined as an overzealous maniacal fan for any celebrity or athlete, stemming from Eminem’s 2002 hit, Stan. In the video, Stan wants Eminem to make contact with him but Eminem doesn’t reply to his letters and, due to this, Stan thinks he has been ignored. As revenge, Stan ties up his own girlfriend, stows her in his trunk, drives along a rain-soaked highway and drives off a bridge. Eminem gets around to responding and says how thankful he is for the support, only to understand that Stan is obsessed with him and then, finally, to connect the dots and realize that he’s the man who killed his girlfriend.

What many psychological professionals would describe this as is a parasocial relationship. This is not a made up disorder nor an armchair diagnosis, but simply the definition to a relationship many people have with famous figures. Parasocial relationships are one-sided dynamics in which energy, interest and time are extended towards the object of obsession whilst they (commonly a celebrity) remain ignorant of the existence of the other.

But, though critics and think piece writers often frame them as a symptom of young people’s generational rot, behaviours such as this are not new in the slightest. Before the boom of social media, obsessive fans had existed for a long, long time — such as during the Roman reign, where people collected gladiators’ sweat out of admiration; or the Victorian era, when hordes of fans forced author Arthur Conan Doyle to revive his star character, Sherlock Holmes. The Beatles had a superfan plotting to murder John Lennon, Michael Jackson had to prove that he didn’t impregnate a stalker, and Uma Thurman received a card from a fan that had a drawing of an open grave, a headstone and a man standing on the edge of a razor blade.

This is not an exclusively Western phenomenon either. In Korea, this type of idolatry exists heavily within the K-Pop industry. Sasaeng fans are over-obsessive fans of musical idols, to the point that they engage in stalking. According to Yahoo Lifestyle, Korean idols have been filmed, had their phones wiretapped, and even had fans breaking into their homes.

What makes this new era of ‘stalker fans’ different, in my opinion, is the admiration that seems to be growing towards such behaviours. Today, even as a joke, the terminology of ‘stalker fan’ or ‘stan’ has been the latest object of amelioration — where a word’s negative meaning is elevated to a positive one.

Last year when culture writer Wanna Thompson received a hateful DM from rapper Nicki Minaj and decided to share it, the following backlash shone a light for many in regards to this behaviour. Minaj clapped back at a comment Thompson had made on her Twitter account and Thompson brought it to her timeline, shocked that a celebrity of that magnitude could do such a thing. According to an interview with the New York Times, Wanna received hateful messages via Twitter, Instagram, Facebook and even email; including insults to her infant daughter and suicide bait. The majority of these hateful words came from stans, who seemed to have a soldier-like sense of duty to protect Minaj. It was as if they would do anything for their idol.

Though Wanna and Nicki’s beef was recent and particularly notorious, one could pick any of all the major stan groups and they’d find that they all exhibit this need to protect their idols from critique, even when it is valid. Which brings me to the point of this article.

We need to talk about Ariana Grande.

It was last week when Grande released her song ‘7 Rings’ and, as a longtime fan of the 25-year-old star, I was ecstatic. I loved the song and felt like she was finally blossoming into the artist she could always be. That was until it was rightfully pointed out to me that Ariana was walking along a tightrope that many young white pop stars toe — and often fall off of. Like many ex-child stars before her, Ariana was rebelling against her ‘good girl’ image by appropriating Black culture.

As stated by writer Erin Dyana:

Viewing her 7 Rings video after seeing her come up in real time throughout the years has left a bizarre taste in my mouth and I’m not sure if there’s anything that can cleanse my palate of it. The video has quite literally glamorized a trap house (something she wouldn’t know anything about) while she raps in an airy voice about buying weave, being rich, and having a “stacked” ass (a lie). These lyrics and visuals aren’t fitting and belong to a Black woman, period. It’s inauthentic and corny to me that she felt the need to cherry pick from Black culture to make something that’ll sell and get clicks.

As much as I love Grande, I couldn’t ignore this issue, which has plagued Black culture for years. The more I listened to 7 Rings, the more I understood why it made people, specifically Black women uncomfortable. While I wasn’t the most damning critic of Grande’s song, I immediately got pushback for suggesting that those who dislike it weren’t in the wrong. Historically white pop stars have been able to cross genres (pop to trap, in Grande’s case) while Black singers haven’t.

I was noticing that anytime someone dared speak about Grande, they were silenced by her fans and stans alike, even though some of the people criticizing Ariana might have disliked her already, or been indifferent to her, many of us truly loved her music. Though stan Twitter might have you thinking otherwise, critical consumption doesn’t negate enjoyment. I and many others are perfectly able to spot the problematic aspects of music, writing and film whilst still having fun with it. Critical thinking only makes our experience richer, and definitely doesn’t mean that we hate an artist for making mistakes.

The drama culminated when people noticed that Ariana herself was liking tweets defending 7 Rings, its music video and the genre choice. I find that, when celebrities try to defend themselves against valid critiques such as cultural appropriation, it does more harm than good. This self-victimization causes the stans to be even more defensive and thus lash out against anyone critiquing their idol. Grande seemingly felt attacked or felt that these critics — mainly Black women — were harassing her. Her fans didn’t just internalize those feelings as their own but, of course, felt the need to defend Ariana by attacking anyone who dared criticize her.

I probably wouldn’t be paying as much attention to this if I hadn’t been also a victim of the harassment her stans were dishing out online. What sparked it, you may ask! I had simply tweeted a ‘judgemental’ reaction image in response to Ariana’s Instagram story. In it, it seemed that someone had jokingly written in their Insta-story: You like my hair? Gee, thanks just bought it” *kissing emoji*!!!! white women talking about their weaves is how we’re going to solve racism. Grande then proceeded to repost that story, thanking the OP for praise, even though it was clearly a mockery of that line.

As I mentioned earlier, I’d already gotten pushback from Ariana’s stans, and I didn’t care if people got mad at me. I would have continued on not caring but, after that tweet started circulating, it got to a point where my direct messages started blowing up with fans threatening me and telling me to delete it or else. I didn’t pay them any mind since I felt that there was no reason to take their threats seriously. However, come the next morning I woke and saw that my Twitter account had been suspended. It didn’t take long for me to realize that I had been falsely reported by stans in order to get the tweet taken down.

You see, Twitter’s reporting system is beyond repair. Reports are evaluated by algorithms, making it ridiculously easy for abusive accounts to skirt suspension by misspelling slurs, and even easier for ill-intentioned people to ‘game’ the system by mass-reporting innocent users. I only got a tenth of the backlash that Thompson received from Minaj fans and yet my Twitter account, a platform on which I had built a following of 12,000 and which held contacts throughout various industries was gone. Not only that but, once I tweeted on my new account that I had been suspended unfairly, stans started to mock me and say that I deserved it for posting that tweet. A tweet that simply reacted to a foolish post of Grande’s — which, mind you, she acknowledged as such and took down.

But why do these things happen? Why do hordes of fans maliciously attack critics? Why do ‘stans’ behave in such an obsessive manner? Some say that social media is to blame and that isn’t a completely ludicrous view. As stated earlier, stans existed long before the age of the Internet, but the anonymity and the mass reach of social media allow their harassment and stalking to be extremely harmful while sheltering them from consequences. You can’t get a restraining order against an anonymous person who could use various accounts to stalk you. If stans are harassing those critiquing their favourite celebrity, blocks may prove futile, as they could make uncountable new accounts, and online harassment may continue until the aggressors get bored or the target finally gives in and deletes their account, whatever happens first.

I want to be positive when it comes to stans, I want to say hey! let these kids do what they want and oh, they’ll grow out of it, but I’m worried it may be too late. These stans have projected their own self-esteem issues and insecurities upon celebrities that make them feel whole. I know this because I did this, and many of my friends did this. Maybe obsessive fanaticism is an inescapable part of growing up, and maybe stans will come across this article and drag me for it. They will say that I’m being extra and that I just want clicks but — while I do want clicks, that’s why we’re all here, right? — I am genuinely worried. What was seen as fringe behaviour before — the invasion of privacy, obsessive fantasies, aggression and possessiveness, absolute disregard for others’ wellbeing — seems to be expected now in order to be “a true fan”. I’m worried that this has become the new norm for celebrity culture, and that the popularization of ‘standom’ has cemented this behaviour for years to come.

Edited By: Andrea Merodeadora

#fandom culture #stan culture #excellent article on the phenomenon!!

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let-it-raines · 5 years

Text

Second in Command (Ch. 20)

Summary: Life as the "spare to the heir" isn't all that it's cracked up to be when you're the supposed screw-up of the family, but people don't know what really happens behind closed doors.

Rating: Mature

A/N: Full disclosure, I have never been huge on royalty. I’ve always thought it was interesting watching the glamorous lives they lead, but it’s not generally my cup of tea. That said, I somehow sat down and wrote all of these words about a fictitious royal family simply because I needed an interesting way to keep two characters from being together. Who knew it would spark my imagination and pique the interest of you guys the way it did?

So it started with a man getting caught in the rain and wandering into a pub, meeting a woman, and it’s ending with a woman wandering into a chapel, marrying a man.

You guys are the best, and I can never thank you enough. This story is crazy and all over the place, and I most definitely put off writing this chapter because I didn’t want it to end...so look out for the small, multi-part epilogue because I have no chill. Seriously, thank you.

Also, the cover is for those who asked for visuals.

Found on AO3: Beginning | Current

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Tag List: @nikkiemms @resident-of-storybrooke@kmomof4 @wellhellotragic @profdanglaisstuff @ekr032-blog-blog @bmbbcs4evr @onceuponaprincessworld @jennjenn615 @a-faekindagirl @mayquita @captainsjedi @captswanis4vr @teamhook @skyewardolicitycloisdelena91 @branlovesouat @dreadpirateemma @alys07

He cannot sleep, the anticipation of tomorrow morning keeping him up while Liam snores away in the next room. It’s not that he hasn’t tried to fall into a slumber, knowing that no matter how much adrenaline is running through him that tomorrow – or is it today now – will still be a long day. Because he has tried, lying down in bed and shutting his eyes as he endeavored to force himself into sleeping for hours on end. Giving up, miserable staying still as his entire body screams at him to move around, he gets out of bed, grabbing his phone and a sweater before going to walk back and forth out on his balcony.

It’s perfect for his pacing because no one will see him, and he can simply be alone. He doesn’t really want to be alone. He wants to be with Emma, but he can’t exactly do that right now. He can, however, text her. He doesn’t expect Emma to be awake. He wishes her to be asleep so she won’t be as bloody exhausted as he is tomorrow…today…but he’d really just like to talk to her right now.

Killian: You up?

He barely gets a chance to put his phone back into his pocket before he feels it vibrate against his thigh.

Emma: Why Your Highness, are you requesting a royal booty call the night before you’re to be wed? How scandalous.

He can just imagine her saying the words, teasingly batting her eyelashes as she twists her hair between her fingers and softly smiles at him. He chuckles to himself before sitting down on one of the lounge chairs and looking up at the night sky, inky black above the vast land that stretches out ahead of him, the only light coming from the stars above and lanterns at the corner of each balcony railing. He understands the tradition of being separated the night before the wedding, but he’s really hating it right now as he texts her back.

Killian: Not a booty call, but maybe just a call.

His phone rings within the next thirty seconds, and he answers immediately, propping his phone between his shoulder and his ear as he hears Emma’s voice.

“So you requested a call but not of the booty variety?”

A laugh passes through his lips while warmth settles within his chest. If he can’t be with her, this is good enough. “Why aren’t you asleep, love?”

“I think I could ask you the same question.”

“I can’t sleep,” he admits, a slight breeze gusting over him, and he idly hopes that the weather forecast for later stays pleasant and there’s no repeat of the rain from earlier.

“Me either.”

“Are you nervous, Emma?”

“Not nervous to be marrying you. Like, that part I’m okay with. You might even say I’m excited about it.”

“But?”

“I’m nervous because of all of the people watching. I just keep reminding myself that it’s just you and me, just us.”

“Just us.”

It’s silent for a moment, restlessness fading away as he stretches out on the lounger, before she speaks again. “Is Liam snoring?”

“Bloody hell, yes,” he snorts, curling his legs into himself, “but he’s in the other room. How are your roommates?”

“Fast asleep. I’m currently sitting in the bathroom talking to you.”

“Well, the acoustics are better there. I’m sitting out on the balcony.”

“Damn,” she laughs, the sound making him feel like maybe they’re not actually in two different places. “That would have been a much better plan on my part. There’s a couch in here, though.”

“A couch in the bathroom?”

“It’s a very fancy place your dad has me set up in. It’s almost like he likes me or something.”

“He’s not the only one.”

“Goofball.”

Eventually he settles back into the softness of the unfamiliar bed, the mattress dipping underneath the weight of his body, as he and Emma continue to talk until suddenly her voice goes silent on the other end of the phone, just soft breaths coming through the speaker until he disconnects the call and manages to fall asleep as well.

When he wakes a few hours later, his head stuffy from his lack of sleep, he still somehow feels calm and rested, like he could go days without sleep and be fine today, sod what his anxious self told him earlier this morning when he couldn’t sleep. He wouldn’t say no to some coffee, though, and when there’s a knock at the door of his suite and a tray of food with a pot of steaming hot coffee waiting for him, he thinks that it may very well be some kind of wedding day miracle, especially because Liam’s still asleep and Killian can keep this all to himself.

It’s a beautiful day outside already, the summer sun shining across the well-groomed grass and making the pool several floors below shine in his eyes while he goes about eating his omelet and fruit and drinking the sweet, sweet nectar that is coffee this morning. When he places his mug back down, he sees an envelope underneath his plate, a small bit of Emma’s elegant script poking out underneath it, and she seems to have had the same idea that he did this morning in sending breakfast and what seems to be a letter.

He smiles before opening up the envelope and pulling out a piece of stationary marked with Emma’s hotel and the slightest coffee ring stain.

Killian,

I finally feel as if my life is a bit of a fairytale, and before you get your hopes up that it’s you making me feel that way, it’s more the fact that I’m sitting in a bathrobe while my toes are being painted writing you a letter on actual stationary with a pen that might as well be a quill. It’s just missing a feather. It makes me feel as if I’m in one of those historical romances I so often force you into watching, but I also know that I’ll probably text you this morning as well, sending you my own little modern day love letter in addition to this one.

Or maybe just a text about how hungry I am because I’m not sure I can eat this breakfast you sent me.

It’s not that it’s not good food. My stomach is just doing summersaults with how excited I am.

The coffee is good, though. Thanks, babe.

I was woken up at five this morning after, as you know, just a few hours of sleep because I was on a “not booty” call until the early hours of this morning, and I feel like my body hasn’t been left alone since. Anyways, enough complaining about how the birds and deer are dressing me because I really did mean to write something actually romantic. You’re not the only one who can be a regular Mr. Darcy, babe.

Six years ago today, at about this time really, I was trying to fall back asleep after waking up and being just absolutely tormented with the fact that I’d kissed this guy who I really liked despite all of my attempts not to, and then my dad had walked in on us when things were really getting good. You’d gone away, to Scotland if I remember correctly, with your mom for a few days, and in that time I just completely lost it thinking about how the hell could I ever trust a man again with my heart, especially someone with your position in life. It was like torture, the war taking place between my heart and my head, and then you just showed up at the pub and all of my feelings spilled out because I was already so comfortable with you in our months of knowing each other…or bickering and teasing each other at two in the morning when we were both delusional and exhausted.

Telling you about my past that day, taking down a stone or two of my walls and reservations, was one of the best decisions I ever made. We met by chance, but we’re together by choice. Loving you and having you love me in return has been the greatest adventure full of laughter, hardships and heartbreaks, and most of all, happiness.

Killian Michael Philip Louis, my love, I love you with all of my being, and I’ll see you in just a few hours. I don’t think you’ll be able to miss me. I’m going to be in a very fancy white dress.

Love always,

Emma

He picks up his phone immediately, calling her with just the goofiest of grins on his face. He knows how much it means for Emma to be the one to write and say sentimental things. It’s not that she doesn’t do it, as she has grown in her confidence in her words the longer they’ve been together, but he still remembers the woman who only showed her true affection through physical acts instead of words.

“Hello,” she greets, but she’s yawning when she’s saying it so it really just sounds like one long lo. He can hear Ruby talking to Mary Margaret in the background as someone tells Emma not to move her eyelashes or the glue will be messed up.

“Hello, darling. You got any plans today?”

“Just a little thing, and then I’m free, ya weirdo.”

He hums before taking another sip of his coffee as the sun settles a little closer to the middle of the sky while the time passes on. Emma’s apparently been up for hours while he’s still in his pajamas and hasn’t seen a soul all day.

“Good. So I got a curious piece of mail this morning.”

“Did you now?”

“Yeah, it seems that I have an admirer who loves me very much.”

“Funny, I got the same type of letter this morning. Though, I’m sure the one you received was much more romantic and well-written. Something that should be preserved for historical literary significance.”

“I’m thinking about having it framed.”

The two of them talk for a few minutes longer until Emma’s makeup artists tells her she can’t be moving her lips, and he lets her go, heading inside to his own room to find Liam standing there already getting dressed in his uniform for the day, buttoning his jacket and adjusting the medals on his chest.

“Well, good morning. Nice to see you’ve finally come inside from your sunbathing.”

“Don’t be jealous that I ate all of the food, brother.”

“There was food?”

Killian laughs before heading into the bathroom and hopping into the shower, letting the water wash away the day before and wake him up so that he can dress in his uniform, something more uncommon to him than his suits as he only wears it for special occasions and really only on St. Patrick’s Day. It feels different draping the red coat over his body and even weirder when the blue sash is put across his chest while gold pendants and multi-colored medals are attached to his chest and his shoulders. Liam’s wearing the same uniform but in black, and his medals include the honors he earned while serving instead of the ones he was granted by his father for simply being born.

He has to leave his phone with his aide before they walk out of the hotel, so he texts Emma one more time to tell her that he loves her and he’ll see her soon before handing his phone off and being disconnected from Emma until she’s at the alter with him.

God, until she’s at the alter with him.

He’s got to be at the Church grounds a little after eleven, an entire hour before Emma even arrives, and he and Liam are dropped off on one of the paths so that the two of them can greet some of the crowds gathered outside of the gates of the palace. It doesn’t seem to be too much of a crowd as he and Liam chat and wave while managing to move along so that they’re on time, knowing that this entire day is on a tight schedule, but when they turn the corner, he can see the long stretch of road on which Emma will ride down with David absolutely packed with onlookers who erupt into cheers when he and Liam come into sight. To put it in a word, it’s insane. There’s nothing else for it, and even if he experienced something similar on the day of Liam’s wedding, nothing could have prepared him for this mania surrounding him.

“It’s a bit wild, don’t you think, little brother?”

“Younger,” he corrects automatically, clapping onto Liam’s shoulder as they continue to walk, gravel crunching underneath their feet. “You have to call me younger from now on.”

“Maybe when you’re married, Killian.”

He laughs at his brother’s cheekiness before stopping to see a few more people, eternally grateful that they all care about him enough to wait outside for what he’s sure is hours or days ahead of time to stand here at the front of the path. He even spots a few people from last night, their clothes the same and hair a bit disheveled, and he makes sure to give them a wave and smile.

“Good morning, everyone,” he shouts, waving to all of the people outside, trying to avoid staring into the television cameras that seem to be as numerous as the crowd. “I’d stay and chat, but I’ve got someone who needs me inside on time.”

The waiting is pure agony, seconds feeling like minutes and minutes feeling like hours. Liam tries to distract him, chatting with Killian about anything and everything, and as much as he appreciates it, it doesn’t help. He’s honestly not sure what Liam’s said, the words flowing in one ear and out the other. He hears the music change before he sees Mary Margaret walk into the Chapel, a brilliant smile on her face as she takes a seat, giving him the most subtle of nods before straightening out the imaginary wrinkles in her dress. The anticipation only increases then because he knows that Emma is on the palace grounds with Abigail and Ruby and all of the children, and he feels like he may burst if time doesn’t pass more quickly. He probably looks like the most anxious man alive, all jittery and antsy, and he one hundred percent should have had a small glass of rum before showing up today.

When his parents walk in, he knows that they are the last to arrive before David and Emma, and this is the home stretch. He can do it.

A fanfare sounds to announce Emma’s arrival, and he cannot help the smile that blooms on his face as he waits for her to walk through the mahogany stained archway and onto the black and white tiled floor. When he sees the first hint of white, even if it’s not quite clear, his heart begins thumping in his chest, his entire body warming even as something pleasant becomes lodged in his throat. As she and David get closer, he beams, the happiness – and he’s sure that’s what the emotion lodged in his throat was now – radiating from him as she comes into view.

She’s gorgeous, her skin tanned against the white lace snugly covering her entire body, her blonde curls falling down her back as they’re pinned back by the tiara he knows is gracing her head. He can’t see her face quite yet, still too far away that he can’t see her through the sheer material of her veil. As she gets closer, he sees Alexander walking with all of the other children behind her, Ruby holding Emma’s veil and corralling the kids, and Killian knows that Alex is probably itching to be the one standing with Emma because he doesn’t quite understand what’s happening here. He’ll have to make sure to hold Alex later to make up for the confusion.

God, he loves her so damn much.

He can’t believe this is happening.

Finally, finally, finally, Emma is near the alter, her face completely visible to him, and she’s the most beautiful woman alive. Really and truly. Who cares how biased he is? He certainly doesn’t.

“Hi,” she mouths to him before she steps up onto the alter, squeezing David’s arm before he lets go and joins Mary Margaret in the pews.

Killian takes her slightly shaking hand, helping her step up where he is, and all of the anticipation has totally been worth it for this moment alone when he lifts the veil over her head and there are no barriers left between the two of them. “You look stunning, love.”

“You look – ”

“I know.”

She laughs the smallest bit before the Archbishop calls for their attention and the ceremony begins, the two of them being united as man and wife within the next fifty minutes as hymnals are played, sermons are preached, and vows are promised to each other.

“First,” the Archbishop begins, and Emma squeezes his hand just a little more tightly knowing what moment this is, “I am required to ask anyone present who knows a reason why these persons may not lawfully marry, to declare it now.”

The Chapel is blessedly silent, and while there was no real risk of anyone saying anything, with all he and Emma went through to get here, it’s a bit of a relief, Emma nervously chuckling when the Archbishop moves on.

“The vows you are about to take are to be made in the presence of God, who is judge of all and knows all the secrets of our hearts; therefore if either of you knows a reason why you may not lawfully marry, you must declare it now.”

When neither say anything, Killian knows that it’s his turn to make his vows, the schedule of the day drilled into his head even with the mess of emotions coursing through his body.

“Killian, will you take Emma to be your wife? Will you love her, comfort her, honor and protect her, and, forsaking all others, be faithful to her as long as you both shall live?”

“I will.”

Emma smiles at him before looking down, her eyelashes fluttering against her cheek, while she suppresses a laugh. He’s got no idea what she’s laughing at, but he has to bite his bottom lip to contain his own when she looks back at him with mirth dancing in her eyes.

“Emma, will you take Killian to be your husband? Will you love him, comfort him, honor and protect him, and, forsaking all others, be faithful as long as you both shall live?”

“I will.”

The entire congregation is invited to support and uphold their marriage before everyone prays and his mother’s cousin Lillith reads several verses in the Nave as the choir sings. Emma’s bouncing a bit even under the weight of her dress, and while he can’t hold her hand quite yet, they’re almost there.

“You okay?” he whispers when the song begins to wind down.

She simply smiles, and it’s the smile she reserves for him, soft and sweet and happy.

Finally, after her bouquet is placed on a side table, he’s able to take her hands, grasping them as they stand in the middle of the alter again and officially make their vows to each other.

“I, Killian, take you, Emma, to be my wife, to have to hold from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, till death us do part according to God’s holy law. In the presence of God I make this vow.”

Emma squeezes his hand before she begins, her thumb brushing over his knuckles, and it’s then that he realizes that she has on her sapphire ring on her right hand. He knows for a fact that she wasn’t supposed to wear any jewelry on her hands, even her engagement ring, and he smiles thinking about her likely slipping it on at the last minute.

“I, Emma, take you, Killian, to be my husband, to have to hold from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, till death us do part according to God’s holy law. In the presence of God I make this vow.”

The Archbishop prays over their exchange of rings before Killian slide’s Emma’s wedding band over her ring finger, his gaze only leaving hers to make sure that he doesn’t drop the ring or slide it onto her middle finger.

“Emma, I give you this ring as a sign of our marriage. With my body I honor you, all that I am I give to you, and all that I have I share with you, within the love of God, Father, Son and Holy Spirit.”

Emma beams at him, her smile practically reaching up to her eyes as she slides his wedding band onto his ring finger, holding it there as she repeats his words.

“Killian, I give you this ring as a sign of our marriage. With my body I honor you, all that I am I give to you, and all that I have I share with you, within the love of God, Father, Son and Holy Spirit.”

The Archbishop takes their hands, joining them together, and he runs his finger over the gold while their marriage is blessed to the crowd, and right now he really and truly hates that he cannot kiss her quite yet like every other man and wife would be able to do at this moment. Instead they’re hurried into a small room where they sign the registrar and officially become man and wife in the eyes of the law and of his father, their titles being changed into The Duke and Duchess of Cambridge. Emma’s hands shake a bit as she signs first with her given name and then when she signs with her new name and all of the history and responsibility behind it.

When it’s official, the two of them finally get to exit the room, everyone maneuvering around Emma’s dress and veil as they all exit the doors and walk back down the aisle, waving at everyone and smiling with Emma’s hand wrapped around his bicep while her other hand holds her bouquet as they exit the Chapel as husband and wife.

Finally.

“This is insane,” Emma gasps when they walk through the double doors and back out into the sunlight to the sounds of church bells and cheers of all of the people from his patronages that they invited to stand outside of the Chapel, and he laughs that Emma had the exact same thought they he had when he was walking inside with Liam. That seems like a lifetime ago, and maybe it was.

“I know, but a good kind of insane, yeah?”

“The best.”

When they reach the stairs, standing under the archways of green foliage mixed in with blooming white magnolias and a few of the flowers people gave he and Emma yesterday, Emma turns to him, leaning in close, before whispering, “Can I kiss you now?”

“Absolutely.”

They lean into each other before their lips finally press together for a fleeting moment, Emma as soft and as warm as she always is in this gentle caress. He knows there’s the sound of cheers and trumpets all around them, and while he can hear them, he doesn’t care. All he cares about is the fact that he’s currently getting to kiss his wife.

When they pull back from each other, instead of pulling away, Emma rests her forehead against his and speaks against his lips, “I love you.”

“I love you, my darling.”

They’re loaded into a red and gold laden horse-drawn carriage, with white horses leading them, and even as they’re driven into the crowds, more people surrounding them than ever before the further away from the Chapel they get, it’s the first time he and Emma have truly been alone together, relatively speaking, since their goodbyes yesterday evening.

“So, this whole being married thing,” he teases, interlacing his fingers with hers and bringing her hand up to press a kiss against her knuckles before resting it in his lap, “is it treating you well?”

Emma snorts, actually, legitimately snorts as her free hand waves to the crowd. “I mean, I think it’s going well, but who knows what’ll happen when we’re alone together without all of these people? I might totally change my mind. Though, I do love a man in uniform, so that may be working in your favor today.”

“You’re already the best wife, darling. I mean, I don’t have a lot to judge on, but you’re doing great.”

Emma turns from looking out at the crowd to looking at him, giving him the smile she reserves just for him again and returning his kiss to her knuckles by leaning down and kissing his shoulder. “You’re a pretty good husband, too.” She shrugs before winking. “Not a lot to judge on, but you’re doing great so far.”

Their ride is at least twenty minutes, and he just takes it all in. His life is not normal. He’s well aware of that, and if he wasn’t, the fact that he’s in a horse drawn carriage leaving his wedding and waving to the masses would be a pretty good clue otherwise. But it is normal in the way that he and Emma always have been. They love each other, and that’s all there is to it. About halfway through the ride, Emma leans over and starts questioning all of the different ways there are to wave, demonstrating them and laughing as he joins in. They look ridiculous, but his chest is heaving with laughter and a tear escapes Emma’s eyes for the very same reason.

Maybe it’s the sleep deprivation, or maybe it’s the jubilation at being here in this moment.

After their loop is finished, the two of them are ushered back into the Palace in order to take official portraits while their guests wait for them at their first reception. Emma has to have her makeup retouched while he goes to greet their families in the sitting room where they’re taking pictures. He sees Abigail first as she’s squatting down talking to all of the children, but she doesn’t see him. Alex does, though, squealing at a volume that could break glass over him being in the room.

“Hi, buddy,” Killian grins, picking him up and pressing a kiss to his cheek, “are you having fun?”

Alex shakes his head from side to side, and Killian has to laugh at the very honest answer of a toddler. He imagines it’s probably not fun for them to be stuck in small suits and dresses with no toys or entertainment for such long periods of time. Hell, there were times during the ceremony when he was bored out of his mind, and he’s nearly thirty years old, not three.

“Well, that’s okay. You’re almost ready to go home.” He places Alex back on the ground to join everyone else before pulling Abigail into a hug and kissing her cheek. “Hello, love.”

“Hello, Mr. Married Man. Where’s your bride?”

“Getting her hair and makeup touched up before the portraits because it was a little hotter outside than she was expecting. That, or she was just too nervous and started sweating.”

“She was as calm as a cucumber, Killian. Not even I was that calm. God, I was a mess before I got married.”

“You were beautiful, Abi dear. Thanks for being with Emma today.”

She squeezes his bicep and gives him a reassuring smile that settles somewhere in the pit of his stomach, his gratitude for this woman never ending. “I love you both. I can’t imagine having anyone else as my family.”

“I love you, too.”

He greets the rest of his family as the camera crew sets up, and just as things begin to calm down, Emma comes into the room, her train and veil still taking multiple people to transport while moving around. He has no idea how she moves in that thing, especially with how it clings to her body with every step, but she does.

“Oh my baby,” Mary Margaret cries, rushing over to Emma at the same time that Alex cries out an Emmy. “I can’t believe you’re married.”

Emma chuckles before grabbing onto her mum’s wrist and squeezing. “I know, Mom. But you were with me when we got here. You knew it was happening.”

“But you weren’t married then. It was so surreal watching the two of you up there.”

Emma goes around greeting everyone else, or really, they greet her while she stands in place for pictures. They’ve got to get everyone out of here before they take pictures on their own, and wrangling children is no small feat. But pictures are done despite that and his father’s joking around with David.

When everyone is shuffled out to the reception, he and Emma take their official portraits, standing together in stiff poses, before being moved out to the gardens to take more casual ones. It reminds him of their engagement pictures, the only differences lying in the fact that it’s bloody hot instead of freezing and that Emma’s dress is a little more complicated. She’s taken her veil off, their aides transporting it for safe keeping, but the tiara still remains in her hair, the sun glistening off the pearls and diamonds.

“How do you move in this thing?” he jokes while helping her sit down on a set of stone steps.

“Very carefully and without breathing. I’ve got a corset on under here, and that thing is going to be ripped open and never used again.”

“Well, I was planning on doing that, but it’s nice to know you agree.”

Emma scrunches up her face, her nose wrinkling and her brows furrowing together before she pats him on the leg and lets out a breath. “Get all of your inappropriate jokes out now so you don’t say them later.”

“Well, the same could be said to you. I say we sprinkle them in to prepare everyone for Ruby’s speech.”

“I’m pretty sure there’s no preparing for that.”

When they’re finished with pictures – at least for now as the photographer says – he helps Emma to the dining hall, stopping just outside and pressing her against the wall before running his lips against her jaw, never staying anywhere for too long before his lips finally land against hers, soft and sweet and everything he’s wanted to do since they were announced as husband and wife.

Damn is that still weird to think.

Damn is that nice to think.

“I love you, Emma. You are gorgeous and wonderful and amazing.”

“So are you,” she whispers before running her hands against his hair, pushing the pieces that fell against his forehead back and keeping her fingers against his hairline. “You ready to go have some more people stare at us?”

“And to eat some damn good food.”

“That too.”

The sounds of glasses clinking distract Killian from his meal and his conversation with Emma to see David standing from his spot at the other end of the table with a glass of champagne in his hand and a smile on his face.

“Good afternoon,” David begins into the microphone that’s been set before him, his voice shaking the slightest bit. Killian places his fork on the table before reaching over and twining his fingers together with Emma, running his thumb back and forth over her wedding band and recently added engagement ring. “First, I’d like to thank His Majesty for hosting this wonderful reception, even if we all know he’s not the one who picked out the food and flowers. And then I’d like to thank all of you for coming to the wedding of our daughter Emma to Killian. I’ve been told that I can drop the formalities with him, which is good, because I didn’t get to know Killian as His Royal Highness, I got to know him as Killian, frequent pub patron and rum drinker who happened to have a crush on my daughter. Now, I don’t know how many of you knew Killian at twenty-three, but he wasn’t nearly as smooth as he is now. And he most definitely couldn’t hide the fact that he was smitten with my daughter.”

Killian turns to look at Emma, and she’s watching her father with cautious eyes, like she’s not sure of what he’s going to do next, and a timid smile tugging at her lips. Honestly, Killian’s not either, but he trusts Dave not to say anything too embarrassing…at least not at this reception.

“Emma was the slightest bit better at hiding her feelings, but six years ago today, my daughter started dating her husband, who is, I think, more importantly my son-in-law and one of the absolute best men on the planet. And while I could go on and on about the adventures and misadventures of Emma and Killian throughout the years, I’m not. I’d simply like to wish them a blessed marriage, through the good, through the bad, and through it all.”

David raises his glass as everyone else does the same, all of them echoing “to Emma and Killian” before settling down to a hushed tone of chatter across the hall as he and Emma continue to eat. His father also makes a speech, but it’s more to thank all of the diplomats in the room before the luncheon goes on a little too long and everyone gets too antsy sitting around without anything going on.

“So,” Ruby drawls, coming to squat down between he and Emma, “how much longer is this thing going on before we get to the real party with, you know, all of the alcohol and the celebrities and the music? Because I know you guys tried to keep the fact that David Beckham and George Clooney are here from me, but don’t think that I didn’t see them. I’d like to meet them and dance with them both at one time.”

“Not that much longer,” Killian answers while Emma tells Ruby, “both of those men are happily married, Rubes.”

“Well, so is Killian, but I’m still going to be dancing with him tonight.”

“I’m looking forward to it, lass.”

After the luncheon, the two of them are allowed an hour alone together before having to get ready for the reception his brother is hosting for them at Frogmore house, and as soon as Emma’s dress has been removed and Ruby and her mother leave, he’s on her, cupping her face and running the tips of his fingers against the hair at the edges of her face before pressing his lips against hers and really getting to kiss her, devour her while her arms cling to his back. It feels like liquid pleasure running through him when she kisses him back, moving her lips with his, but they can’t go any further than that even with the hour alone so he’s forced to pull back.

“As much as I’d like to continue this particular activity, especially with what I know you have on underneath this robe,” he fingers at the silk material of her collar, revealing the white lace underneath that she put on after taking the corset off, “we can’t get sweaty. Plus, not to make you doubt my abilities, I’d really rather spend the next hour drinking coffee with you.”

“Babe, I think that’s the best idea you’ve ever had.”

It’s their first hour alone as a married couple, and the two of them are sitting in his room at Windsor in nothing but robes drinking copious amounts of coffee and filling each other in on how they spent their mornings when not with each other. He would say that it’s an odd choice, but it’s really not for them. He’s incredibly attracted to his wife…God, his wife…and he’d like nothing more than to plow into her and say sod to the next reception full of all of their friends and liked family. But what they’re doing right now feels right. It’s their wedding day, something they’ll never get again, and this will be the last time today that it’ll simply be the two of them and no one else until they’re back in his hotel room from earlier.

Plus, he really, desperately needed the caffeine after all of the adrenaline began to fade away.

“So we’re married, huh?”

He nudges his feet against Emma’s on the ottoman in front of the couch they’re sitting on, acknowledging her statement while he inhales the fresh aroma of his caffeine, the hot liquid running down his throat and causing him to think that this is equivalent to gold.

“We are,” he agrees. “Do you feel different?”

She laughs before putting her coffee down and resting her head on his shoulder and running her hands up and down his arm.

“Not in the slightest.”

“Yeah, but I can call you my wife now, so that’s something new.”

“I still accidentally called you my boyfriend last week, so I think it may take awhile for me to get used to our new names. Also, how weird is it that my last name isn’t Nolan anymore?”

“You’ll always be Nolan to me, love.”

“How much time do we have left before I’m forced back into a tight dress and heels?”

He pulls his phone out of his pocket to check the time, ignoring all of the texts filling up his home screen that he hasn’t checked since his aide gave the device back an hour ago. “Thirteen minutes.”

“Alright, babe. I’m going to make out with you one more time and get you all hot and bothered before you have to change into your tux.”

“You’re evil.”

“I love you,” she laughs before taking his drink out of his hand and straddling his thighs, “and your discomfort is a cross I’m willing to bear.”

He never thought he’d be so thrilled to put on tuxedo, but he is absolutely delighted compared to the uniform he had on earlier. It’s much less stuffy, and his shoulders don’t feel as heavy with all of the tassels and dressings of his earlier outfit. Emma’s still having her hair curled and makeup redone while he simply sits on the bed and waits for her. He’s got a pair of diamond earrings in his pocket that he should have given her when they were alone, but it somehow slipped his mind.

They’re his grandmother’s, and while Emma never got to meet her and he was never particularly close to her, he thinks that they’re very much Emma’s style. Simple and classic and entirely unassuming even with their shine.

A bit like Emma.

Damn is he sentimental and overly gushing today.

“You’re looking a little bored, Killian.”

“It’s riveting watching your hair curled, love. I’ve never been more entertained.”

“Do you guys see why I married him?” She asks her hairdresser, the girls giggling with her. “He’s totally kidding, but I’m going to choose to think that he actually finds this entertaining.”

When Emma’s finished getting ready, her hair pulled into a high ponytail with tendrils framing her face, she slips into her new dress, this one a strapless lace gown with a scalloped top and a cinched waist. It’s gorgeous, but then a white cape is added over her shoulders, making her look like some kind of bridal superhero.

“A cape, darling?”

She shrugs, raising her arms so that the cape moves with them. “I thought it was unique.”

“It is. You going to take it off for the dancing?”

“After I twirl around once or twice, you bet your ass I am.”

He gifts her the earrings before they leave, and the smile on her face warms his heart. She immediately takes out the earrings she had on before, replacing them with the small studs, and presses a kiss against his cheek before straightening his bow tie.

“You look so handsome. I’m glad we went with the blue tux.”

Before loading up in the car to drive to the reception, they stop and wave for the photographers, knowing that this is the last time they’ll have to do that today. After they’ve posed enough, Isabelle telling them to go on, he opens Emma’s door and helps her in before walking around to his side and driving them away, a tent full of the people they love waiting for them.

When they walk into the tent, his eyes trail upward to the lights strung across the tent’s ceiling, casting everything in a soft white glow while the sun sets outside in a mixture of pinks and oranges. When he looks down, he can see columns with greenery wrapped around them, tall vases of colorful flowers sitting at all of the round tables while people mill around talking and chatting, the band playing softly in the background.

He only gets a moment to look around before they’re noticed, cheers and wolf whistles mixed in with the sounds of hands clapping together as he takes Emma’s hand and raises it in the air between the two of them, the cheering only increasing as they fully step into the tent and walk through the people until they reach their families at the center. This is the one thing he and Emma didn’t completely plan themselves, and taking it all in, he feels every weight he’s ever had on his shoulders drop away.

They’re here. They’re together. They’re married.

It’s everything.

After Liam greets them, clapping Killian on the back and pressing a kiss against Emma’s cheek, Liam gets up on stage, asking for the microphone from the band leader before speaking.

“Good evening, everyone! I hope everyone hasn’t already imbibed too much that you’re all not interested in what I or anyone else has to say. Somehow Killian and Emma have so many people who like them that there’s a lot of people making speeches. Or maybe everyone just wants to embarrass them. After all, Killian is so handsome when he blushes.”

Emma snorts beside him, and he wraps his arm around her shoulder before pulling her closer and kissing her temple, resting his cheek there while they watch Liam.

“Now, Killian is quite a bit younger than me, and while we haven’t always gotten along, we do now. At least most of the time. He ate all of the bloody breakfast this morning, and he’s got on quite a bit of makeup covering the black eye that’s blooming on that handsome face of his because of that.”

“Bloody wanker,” Killian mumbles under his breath, and Emma laughs against his shoulder, pressing another kiss there like she’s been doing all day.

“Killian’s always been known to bat a little above his league. There were the sports he tried to play, the novels he’d read when he was seven and had no idea what was going on, lasses he’d ask out while in school. But there has never been a time he’s batted so much above his league than when it comes to Emma. She has been kicking his ass for six years, and she’s been kicking my ass for the past year. She’s a bloody brilliant spitfire, and not a one of us in this family deserves her. Well, maybe my children, but that’s it. So everyone go get something to drink, and let’s celebrate Killian and Emma.”

“That was really nice,” Emma whispers, but he can barely hear anything over the sound of the people around him and the sound of his heart beating in his chest. Liam may have glossed over some things there, but Killian knows that every word he said, he meant.

“Yeah, yeah it was.”

When Liam reaches them, he’s got a broad smile on his face, and Killian immediately envelopes him in a hug, burying his face in his shoulder and holding him there for a minute. “I love you, Liam.”

Liam rubs his back up and down before patting him and pulling back, and Killian sees his eyes when he says, “I love you too, younger brother.”

“Look at that. You said that right words.”

“Well, I did say I’d call you that when you were married.”

Liam lets him go, turning to find Emma behind him with two glasses of champagne in her hands while she talks to a few of his friends from University, Robin included, and he takes a glass out of her hand, taking a sip while they talk. For awhile, it’s person after person, each one wanting to talk to them and give them their congratulations. He knows all of them while Emma doesn’t, but you’d never know with the way that she’s comfortable speaking, not freaking out or shaking as she speaks to some of the well-known guests like Ruby’s personal favorites of George Clooney or David Beckham (he sees Ruby circling around trying to find a way to look talk to them, and he hopes that conversation is somehow recorded and mass released).

She’s amazing.

Always.

Emma’s hand never leaves his, and as they’re asked to walk to the dance floor for their first dance, her fingers only tighten around his while they begin to move back and forth, taking small steps and twirling in circles. He spins Emma around as How Long Will I Love You is sung in the background. He likes to think that their dancing has improved, that they know what they’re doing out here, but he doesn’t really care. And as the song goes on, Emma drops all pretenses of trying to dance, releasing his hands to wrap her arms around his neck and sway with him, their bodies pressed together while they chat with each other. It’s quiet and intimate, and no part of him is focused on the people watching him.

When they finish their dance, he leads Emma up to the stage, the blush rising on her cheeks visible under the white lights surrounding them. She hooks her arm around his while he moves to the microphone.

“Good evening. I promise this is going to be the last speech of the night. I know most of you have probably been bored to tears all day, but after you all let me wax poetic about my wife, feel free to drink and dance and play any of the games we have set out in the back. I know some of you may think games at a wedding are a little odd, but we’re mixing in tastes here. If you hate it, blame Emma.”

She squeezes his arm before leaning over and speaking into the microphone. “Hey, beer pong is a hell of a lot of fun when you’ve had a little bit too much to drink. Of course, that was supposed to just be a ping pong table, but Ruby’s already taken over.”

“Damn right,” Ruby yells from the crowd, everyone erupting into laughter.

“Anyways,” Killian calls coaxing everyone’s attention back to him, “we will get to all of the beer pong in a minute. So I know that everyone in here was a little shocked when they found out I’d been dating someone for so long, but I like to think it worked out. In Emma, I found a friend, a confidant, a lover, and as of today, a wife and lifelong partner. She’s an ordinary woman who is actually quite extraordinary. She’s beautiful, and she’s shown herself to be resilient in all of the hardships that life has put her through, both before me and because she’s with me. She’s also shown herself to be witty and passionate and kind. Mostly, she’s shown me that I can have someone love me and face the world with me, hand in hand.”

The room erupts with the sounds of clapping and a few yells of kiss her, but before he can dip his head and kiss her, she’s grabbing his cheeks and pulling him in for a searing kiss before pulling back and resting her forehead against his.

“I love you, too. I wish that I had said something other than defending beer pong.”

“Well, I’m sure if you tell everyone they’re free to go have a good time now, you’ll be a huge hit.”

“I was talking about saying nice things to you, but that sounds like a good idea.” She leans over into the microphone, “You guys ready to celebrate?”

The rest of the night is a blur of talking, drinking, and dancing. There’s a dinner served, but he and Emma never get to eat it, always be dragged somewhere else by someone who wants to talk, drink, or dance. It’s crazy, it’s fun, and the hours pass with the sun completely setting outside so that the lights inside the tent reflect off of the darkness outside. He and Emma play cornhole against David and Mary Margaret, her parents absolutely crushing them as they toss the bags, before moving along to play the aforementioned beer pong, Ruby leading the game only to be dragged away by George to dance. Emma laughs so hard at the face of shock Ruby makes that she leans over on the table to hold herself up with tears coming out of her eyes. The laughter is contagious, and he loses it along with everyone around them.

Eventually his parents leave along with Emma’s, and they’re left with the sounds of the band and the movement of all of their guests. Sweat pools at his temples as he and Emma dance with everyone, Ruby twirling him around like she promised she would. When Ruby moves on, Emma comes to wrap her arms around his neck as she moves against him, his hands splayed against her hips while they talk to everyone around them, but always coming back to each other.

When they walk out of the tent, it’s to fireworks going off in the sky, his brother’s penchant for the dramatics really showing, and when Emma whispers to him that the fireworks were most definitely Liam’s idea, he barks out a laugh before kissing her and leading them to the car that’s going to drive them back to their suite.

It’s long past midnight when they walk back into the suite, and instead of being rushed to strip each other out of their clothes, it’s slow getting there. He guides Emma into the room, holding her hand while she takes her heels off, her dress dragging along the floor as she shrinks next to him. She excuses herself to the bathroom while he sits down at the edge of the bed, kicking his own shoes off and slipping out of his jacket, laying it over a chair as he unbuttons the rests of the buttons on his shirt that Emma didn’t get to at the reception. Before he can slide the material off of his shoulders, Emma comes out of the bedroom, her dress still on but her hair falling in soft waves across her shoulder.

He beckons her closer, and she comes to stand between his splayed knees, her palms coming to caress his face. He tilts his head and kisses her palm, lingering there and breathing her in before he grabs her wrists and slides his fingers into hers, his thumb soothing her knuckles and running over her ringers. When she begins to move away, he tightens his legs around her, keeping her there so that she looks back down at him with her lips tugging up on one side.

“What are you doing?”

He simply hums, staring up at her and admiring her beauty. They’d both imbibed with alcohol tonight, but neither of them is drunk. Maybe a bit dulled and exhausted, but he’s aware of every one of Emma’s movements and the way that her breath catches when he leans forward and kisses her knuckles right above her wedding ring.

“Killian?”

“Yes, darling?”

“Will you help me out of my dress? I tried to do it in the bathroom, but I couldn’t get the buttons undone.”

He chuckles before pressing another kiss against her skin and spreading his thighs apart so that she can turn around and he can deftly unbutton the clasps on her dress, the white material falling from her body and exposing the tan skin and white lace underneath it. He’s seen her like this more times than he cares to count, but it’s no less of a stunning sight watching her hair fall against her nearly bare back. She’s so beautiful, so wonderful, and he wonders if he’ll ever fully adjust to this woman being married to him.

It’s only been a few hours, and it all feels like some sort of surreal dream.

She turns around when the dress hits against the floor, her hands on his shoulders underneath the material of his shirt while her head dips to capture his lips with hers, soft and smooth and tasting of wine and the lemon cake she grabbed on their way out of the reception. When she pulls back, she stands up to her full height and smiles down at him. His hands move from her hips where he’s been fingering the lace of her thong, up her waist, feeling the smooth, soft, muscled skin of her stomach until his fingers rest just below the scrap of material that barely passes as a bra.

“You should wear things like this more often, darling.”

“Well, mister,” she croons, pushing his shirt off of his shoulders so that it falls against the mattress, “you are in luck because I have lots of little things like this for the honeymoon.”

“Do you now?”

“I do.” She traces his skin with her fingers while his thumbs begin to trace the tops of her bra, pulling the material down so that his fingers can rub in circles against her nipples, hardening them while Emma gasps underneath his touch. He can feel his length hardening in his pants, the pressure beginning to build in his spine as he watches her chest heave and thinks about what she just said. “But also unfortunately for you, those pretty little scraps of fabric go away after that and it’s back to my ugly white bra and mismatched panties.”

“You tease.”

“Nope. You married me bud. I don’t have to be sexy for you any longer.”

He laughs at her teasing and pulls her closer so that his lips can press against the skin of her stomach, his tongue following behind them as he traces the lines of her muscles with the freckles scattered across her skin like a constellation of stars. His hands move back down to her hips, pulling her forward and on top of him until he rolls her onto her back, crushing her body into the mattress while he presses himself into her, rolling his hips into hers and allowing the friction to build the pressure, savoring every movement and every sound.

Emma’s quiet tonight, so he makes up for it by constantly whispering things to her, different words of affection mixed in with dirty little nothings echoing throughout the quietness of the room as they move together in a dance they’ve done much more often than their wedding dance. He stands to undo his pants, letting them fall to the ground with Emma’s dress as Emma unclasps her bra, her breasts exposed to his gaze while he’s entirely exposed to hers. Grabbing her ankle, he begins kissing up her leg, only stopping when he gets to her inner thigh so that he can slide the lace covering her down her legs, the both of them bare before each other.

His fingers find their way into her folds, feeling the slickness that’s gathered there while Emma gasps at his touch. He teases her for awhile, slightly thrusting into her while his thumb runs against her bundle of nerves and his lips kiss her hips. Just as he’s about to replace his fingers with his lips, Emma grabs onto his hair, pulling his gaze up to hers.

“Not right now, babe,” she smiles, encouraging him to climb up the mattress so that his length presses against her thigh and his lips against her cheek. “But later, okay. We’ve got all of the time in the world.”

Slowly, slowly, slowly he slides into her, gritting his teeth as he braces himself against the mattress, palms digging into the sheets while Emma throws her head back against the pillow, hips arching up and driving him absolutely mad with pleasure. She’s so warm, always so warm and welcoming, and his body hums at finally being connected to hers after this day. She reaches up to hold his biceps, running her hands back and forth over his muscles while he begins to rock inside of her, the hair of his chest brushing against her hardened nipples.

He’s deliberately unhurried in the way that he moves inside of her, letting the both of them enjoy this moment and this time together. He could do this for hours, moving against her and staying connected in this way. They know each other so well by now, only the occasional instruction needed as to how to please the other, but tonight, there’s none of that. Emma trusts him as he sets their unrushed pace, her tongue caressing his in a languid motion that matches his thrusts.

Emma wraps her legs around his ass, pushing him further inside of her so that he’s tightly buried within her core. Emma moans into his mouth as her nails dig into his shoulder blades, leaving crescent moon scars in his skin while his own mouth moves to leave a mark against pulse point, her skin tasting of sweat and smelling of her flowery perfume. He could get lost in it, lost in her, but he wants to be here for every moment of this.

“You’re so perfect,” he whispers into her ear, making sure that his scruff rubs against the sensitive spot below her ear. “I don’t know how, Emma, but you are. You’re so bloody perfect for me.”

Emma gasps before moving her hands from his shoulder blades to his hair, fingers caressing his strands until she grabs onto his scalp and pulls his lips back to hers. “I love you,” she murmurs against his lips, the sensation of them touching almost feeling like brushes of air.

“I love you, sweetheart.”

He continues to slowly push and pull inside of her, Emma’s reactions only spurring him on, and when she begins to tremble and shake beneath him, her walls contracting around him, he moves against her at a furious face, letting her hold onto him tightly as she falls apart, soft sounds emanating from her lips as she whispers and curses his name and her love for him to his neck. Her reaction increases the pleasure and pressure that’s been building in his spine, spurring him on while Emma comes back to herself. She’s kissing him when he falls apart, pulsing inside of her and spilling himself into her while her lips slant over his to capture any words that he could have possibly said in the midst of his orgasm.

Afterward, he rests his head in her lap while she plays with his hair, stroking his cheek with her other hand while he holds onto her wrist and keeps her hand there. He’s exhausted, but he in no way wants to sleep. In a few hours, he’ll have been up for an entire day, Emma too, but he’s content to stay in this hazy state of bliss that they’re in.

“You know,” she murmurs, her hands still moving in his hair, “this has been a pretty fantastic day.”

“A fantastic life, really.”

She slaps the back of his head. “You’re a cheeseball.”

“I’ll have you know,” he rolls over until he’s propped up beside her, the comforter pooling over their waists, “you are every bit as much of a cheeseball as me. And you married me.”

“That I did.”

“Any regrets?”

“Not yet. Give me a few hours though, babe.”

He laughs before they both crawl down into the bed, finally letting sleep wash over the two of them as their voices quiet and are replaced by the soft sounds of their breathing. When he wakes in the morning, Emma’s wrapped around him, their legs a jumble of limbs beneath the covers, and he feels every bit as warm and as happy as he did yesterday. Her eyelashes flutter against her cheeks, lifting to reveal her emerald eyes staring up at him. He brushes her hair behind her ears, his thumb running underneath her cheeks and brushing away flecks of mascara that remain there.

“Still no regrets, my love?”

She hums before pressing up and kissing his chin. “Just the one.”

“And what’s that?”

“You haven’t gotten me breakfast yet.”

They eventually scramble out of bed, wasting too much time in the shower exploring the lines of their bodies that they already know by heart. He can’t stop smiling, not quite believing that his life is real and that this woman has agreed to be by his side forever. He loves her so damn much, even when they’re arguing and don’t like each other very much, and he’s forever thankful for his partner in life. The water begins to cool, Emma shivering with it, and so they step out, getting ready for their flight while eating the breakfast he ordered.

Emma takes longer than he does to get ready, as always, but when she comes out of the bathroom with her damp hair twisted into two braids that run down her oversized sweater covered chest, he smiles thinking about how beautiful she looks just like this. She was stunning yesterday, something he hopes to never forget, but in all honesty, he prefers her like this. He can’t help but stare as she crosses her purse over her chest and puts on her sneakers. He knows that she can feel his eyes on her by the way that blush rises on her cheeks and her eyes roll as she ties her laces. He’s being, as Emma would say, cheesy. But he doesn’t care.

When she comes to stand next to the door with him, threading her fingers between his, her palm as warm and soft as always, he inquires, “You ready to go, my love?”

Squeezing his hand, the tightness lingering a second too long, she answers, “I’m ready.”

#second in command #cs fic #cs ff #captain swan #excuse me while I go cry in a corner

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if-only-angels-could-prevail · 5 years

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i really wish i could articulate why i find rent such a powerful show but here are a few scattered things

all the popular critiques--that the two white boys have more stage time than anyone else, that it’s a glamorous version of the AIDS crisis and urban gentrification, the arguable tragedy porn, the slipping into harmful stereotypes--that’s all true and valid and real. and i don’t intend to shrug it off. but i’ve done a lot of thinking about that side throughout the years, and now i’d like to talk about why the show is so moving for me right now at this point in my life. so please don’t interpret this gushing as engaging uncritically with the piece. i just have to put some of this out there.

i’ve only seen the movie and watched the filmed version and seen two bad live productions. sitting in the theater, being able to see EVERYTHING that’s going on onstage, the whole time, of what is essentially the original production, is a massively different experience. being able to see everything happening onstage means being able to perceive all the different relationships forming at the same time.

which leads to another thing--for rent to be convincing and powerful, every character needs to establish a relationship with every other character. the point is everyone is an individual member of a giant family, navigating through life. that includes benny! he’s “the enemy,” he’s often pointed to as the villain of the piece, but throughout the actual course of the show, it becomes clear that he’s still blood to the other characters, even as they wrestle with their contradictory lifestyles and politics.

any production where the actors fall into their aligning stereotypes (fun drag queen + evil landlord + emo boy + bitchy lesbians) and only really establish a convincing relationship with one or two other characters--which, as far as i can tell, is most productions of rent--is failing the show in a big way.

and that’s the thing! they’re all just navigating through life! i didn’t used to like the show because i found it scattered and kind of plotless, but that’s the running theme of the whole show. they rent emotion, they rent love, they rent relationships. they move in and out of each others’ lives, which is a more honest reflection of a year--and certainly my life, at 24--than the usual three-act structure building to one peak moment.

also i hate to say it because it sounds so cliche and ugh but like. the rise of tr*mpism and having the political divisiveness of this country be thrown into my face like that (rather than living in blissful conservatory ignorance), not to mention witnessing the gentrification of cincinnati every day as i walk through downtown, has made the material in the show so much more powerful, and it’s made me appreciate how smart the musical is.

opera! i didn’t even mention opera yet! this show needs to be approached as an opera to work. dramaturgically, on paper, it’s scattered, but from the onset, we witness these huge emotions that simply can’t be translated on paper (or, for that matter, on film) that allow us to delve into the story a little less critically. i think if i weren’t such a lover of opera (and, yes, la boheme), i wouldn’t be so in love with this show.

the staging is SO FUCKING GOOD. Michael Greif really is a genius. the life support scene might be the best example of what i love about the direction: having the one soloist (”i find some of what you teach suspect”) on the ground level, while the rest of the group is on the opposite side on a raised platform, is so inspired. and then having mimi and roger centerstage that’s all going on!!! i’m not sure how to articulate it but the visual language of the show with its original direction is so inspired.

there are still moments i can’t handle. when mark is like “THAT attitude toward the homeless is EXACTLY what maureen is protesting tonight!” it’s like thanks for spelling it out for us, mark! also listing sondheim and kurosawa as counterculture......lmao

lines that made me fully start sobbing: “living with, living with, living with, not dying from disease” and “it was us, baby, who were the lucky ones”

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cosplayinamerica · 6 years

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This is one of my most popular cosplays. I tend to do overpowered, aggressive characters that kinda intimidate people, but this Storm cosplay is very approachable. People love the afro, they love the jewelry, the make-up, everything. It’s actually a bit challenging getting around because I get stopped a lot for photos. That large afro is really noticeable. To be honest, I’ve kind of avoided cosplaying Storm. It’s become a cliché for Black women to cosplay her, but I knew that if I were to do it, the cosplay would have to be different and interesting to me. I’d cosplayed Blood Storm (Storm as a vampire in an alternate universe) a few years prior so when I thought about cosplaying Storm again, I wanted something different. I finally settled on a kinda classic Storm look but with an afro because there was just something really powerful and striking about that image. It took me about six months to find a wig I liked and could work with and once I did, it was full steam ahead. Once the wig had been found, I needed a suit that was attractive, comfortable, and easy to use the bathroom in. LOL! And because I had an event coming up, I only had a couple of weeks to put everything together. To be honest, I went to the mall and stood in a clothing store for over an hour searching for something that could work. I got lucky and found some leggings that looked shiny and amazing but weren’t too hot. There wasn’t a matching top, so I took a smaller pair of the same leggings and decided that I would cut the crotch and wear them as a shirt. I knew I’d be wearing a corset, so it wouldn’t matter if the top and pants didn’t connect. In fact, it was better that way cuz, you know, bathroom. For my cape, I took an old cape I had from Halloween a few years back, cut the seam in the middle and bought wide gold ribbon and fabric tape at Michael's for the trim. Because I like multi-purpose items, I’d bought some thigh high boots for another cosplay that I knew would work with this one. To make the headpiece, I created a pattern I liked using PowerPoint and printed it out to trace onto foam. Then I covered the foam in black worbla. I was a little worried about the weight, but it wasn’t too heavy on the wig. It’s attached to my wig with hair clips. It’s hilarious how people don’t recognize me out of cosplay. I’ve talked with folks, like full, in-depth conversations and an hour later, once I get changed, I have to convince them I’m the same person. Apparently, I become ultra-glamorous once I’m dressed up. It’s hilarious switching back to my disappointing self. I would honestly say that cosplay changed my life completely. I met my husband through cosplay. He saw a picture of me dressed as Domino and found my blog and asked me out. Cosplay has helped me express myself in ways I couldn’t do in “regular” life. In a lot of ways, cosplay is my regular life. It gives me something to look forward to and challenges my creativity in ways I’d never imagined. It’s not everything, but it does play a large role in many things that I do. Another major way it’s impacted my life is that I talk and write about being a fat, Black, femme, geek. I’ve even published two books talking about how these identities intersect, overlap, and interplay in my life. My entire platform is about creating the space to be yourself and all the conflicting and confusing things that go along with it. Cosplay has been an integral part in figuring myself out and accepting myself as I am. If people are interested, both books are available on Amazon or they can subscribe to my website, www.talynnkel.com. If you want to do wear cosplay, just do it. The skills will come, and you’ll acquire the tools over time. But just know that you don’t have to wear a cosplay to be a part of this community. Sometimes I feel like there’s a lot of pressure to get everyone interested in cosplay into a costume, but people don’t want to dress up. In fact, many people don’t, and I don’t want them to feel pressured into dressing up if that’s not what they want. I can’t count the number of people who have helped support me emotionally and sometimes physically when it comes to cosplay. We always think that this is only photographers and cosplayers but it’s people who love the fandoms and people who enjoy the art of cosplay. It’s writers and convention planners, and volunteers, and just all variety of people who have created and grown this environment where cosplayers feel safe to explore this craft. There are many ways to be a part of this community so cosplay any way you want. #CosplayAnyWay ----- TaLynn Kel PHOTO : Leo Photography

#Storm #x-men #cosplay

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pabloimagines · 6 years

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Title: PYT Pairing: Pablo x Reader Rating: PG-13, for language. A/N: This is gonna be a 2-part fic, but I wanted to get at least a LITTLE something out there for you, nonny, so you didn’t think I’d ignored your request! Also, apparently short fics aren’t a reality where I write from. Also to anyone from West Bend, no disparagement of your town was meant in the production of this fic. Word Count: 2,114

Rural Iowa was about as far from Hollywood glamor as one could get, and West Bend made the distance all the more noticeable. Surrounded by farmland as far as the eye could see, it was a drive-thru town with one main road, bifurcated by the train tracks that cut diagonally across town. West Bend had four restaurants, and one barely counted as it pulled double duty as a general store. Not a McDonald’s for miles or any semblance of the green mermaid beloved by everyone and their mother in Los Angeles. It was, in many ways, a town stuck in simpler times, something which you had never enjoyed. It was the entire impetus for why, at 18, you’d moved first to New York, then Los Angeles in the pursuit of your dreams.

Fast forward, and now, after years of staying out of town and either skipping family holidays on account of work, or flying your immediate family out to LA’s sunny coasts, you had been backed into a corner based on one stupid family tradition. No matter who they were, or where they came from, any and all first serious significant others had to meet the family on home turf and the home of the person dating said significant other didn’t count. Only the old two-story farmhouse that had raised no less than four generations of farmers, truck drivers, and one accountant would do. You’d tried to argue your way out of it, citing the need to be in the city in case you needed to take a meeting about the new show you’d just been cast in, but your mother wasn’t having it. Either you came through with your man in tow for Christmas, or neither your mother or father would ever approve of the match, should your dating lead, as it tended to, to marriage.

While you loved your family, there were certain things you kept from them; Hollywood’s seedy underbelly and your many brushes with it, your instagram account, and, as of the last three years, your boyfriend. It wasn’t from shame, but rather the fear of your parents’ disapproval that kept you from sharing pictures, vacation photos, or even any identifying information. The one time he’d come up in conversation had been your mother mentioning how much she disliked a certain character he’d played in her favorite TV procedural.

“Boys like that aren’t right in the head, y/n. I can’t even begin to imagine what it must have taken for that man to become that...that monster!”

It was a gripe your mother shared with many of his fans, one that you saw nearly every time he put up a new picture on Instagram. I don’t know if I can like you, because of what you did on ___, but you’re hot in this! You’d seen it so often, you could honestly write an essay on the subject. But, you did your best to stay out of the comments, knowing reading them at best killed brain cells and at worst turned you into the next UFC fighter, ready to take on anyone who badmouthed him even the slightest bit.

While you’d originally planned to fly in together and rent a car to make the three hour drive from Minneapolis-Saint Paul International into West Bend, he’d been held up because of reshoots, leaving you to not only have to deal with your two brothers in your dad’s cramped F-150 for three hours, but to now--two days later--have to sit and listen to your entire family gossip about the man who was due through the front door any minute.

“10 bucks says he has that really annoying California surfer accent.”

“$20 says he’s blonde. And probably shorter than you, Jacob.”

“$30 says he’s got a bunch of tattoos to freak out mom.”

“$40 says he’s shorter than, y/n. Most actors in Hollywood aren’t even average height! They just make them look taller in movies with camera angles and stuff.”

“100 bucks to shut you both up! Jeeze.” You huff, pulling out your wallet and snatching out the bill you’d meant to break at the airport but had forgotten to in your rush to catch your brothers before they hijacked your luggage.

Your older brother, Matt, snatches the bill out of your hands, folding it crisply before putting it in his pocket, one eyebrow raised. Though he’d officially turned 30 a month ago, he still acts 12, and there are days when you can’t decide who’s more childish; him or Jake.

“I should get a bigger cut, seeing as how you get paid above SAG rates now, sis,” he jokes, and you punch his arm before you can stop yourself, only setting off a peel of laughter from both him and your little brother, the two having far too much fun with the notion of you finally bringing someone home.

“Boys, leave your sister alone and go set the table. Y/n, I’m sure he’ll be perfectly lovely, no matter how many tattoos he has. Just so long as you don’t mar your pretty skin, then he can have all the tattoos in the world.” You close your eyes to keep from rolling them all the way back into your skull. Your mother means well, but she’s about as out of touch with the rest of the world as a person can be and her words backfire as they send your brothers into a barrage of silent mimicry, your frustration with them growing by the second.

“You boys listen to your mother, and make sure you wash your hands before you touch the plates. Save your energy in case we have to kick his ass to the curb for your sister.” Your father’s voice comes through the back door, and you relinquish all hope, letting your head fall into your hands even as he passes you, still smelling faintly of corn despite having showered, changed, and switched from his work boots to his house shoes.

“Dad, no one’s getting their asses kicked. Please be nice to him. He’s a good guy, I promise.” You mutter into your folded arms, refusing to lift your head from the nest you’d made between the kitchen counter and your forearms.

“I’ll be the judge of that, thank you v--” Your father’s interrupted by the doorbell ringing, and almost immediately, your mother turns down the volume on the Michael Jackson record she’d been playing non-stop since she started preparations on Christmas dinner. He’s her favorite artist to listen to, mainly because she can dance around between the stove, the counters, and the fridge as she cooks and on top of everything she knows all the lyrics from when she was younger.

Steeling yourself for your family’s reaction, you swivel on your stool and watch as your father squares up his shoulders and puffs out his chest, ready to intimidate the only man you know he doesn’t stand a chance of intimidating in the slightest. Your dad swings open the door like he’s Saint Peter and Heaven is full and you have to press your lips together to keep from outright laughing. Even from your vantage point, you can tell Pablo’s going to have to duck through the door to get in. You trap your bottom lip between your teeth as you watch your father’s eyes widen as he shuffles aside to let Pablo in.

“Dad, this is my boyfriend, Pablo. Pablo, this is my dad, Travis,” you speak up, a smile that’s all fondness and pride crossing your lips as you watch Pablo effortlessly shift a bouquet of flowers and his carry-on from one hand to the other in order to properly shake your father’s hand. There’s snow on his coat and in his hair, and you can’t help but feel that same little flit in your stomach when you realize he looks like every Hallmark Movie boyfriend ever. It’s a good look, one you know he chose with care, but it doesn’t even come close to showing the type of man he truly is. It’s just a polished exterior to make meeting your family a little easier after all the stories you’ve told. If you had your way, you would’ve had him show up in his old motorcycle jacket and boots, but you knew it would scandalize your parents beyond the point of understanding. Both of you had to take baby steps.

“Pleasure to finally meet you, sir.” You’re almost mouthing the words right along with him, and though you hadn’t exactly rehearsed what he was going to say upon first meeting your dad, you did warn him to keep it short and to the point and not try to compliment him too early on, as it would bristle his mustache.

When your father nods in his usual gruff manner, you let out a breath you didn’t know you’d been holding, finally letting yourself take a peek at the rest of your family. Your brothers had stopped dead in their tracks, and you’re amazed Jacob hasn’t dropped the plate he’s holding. Both he and Matt have eyes wider than your father, and it’s only when Pablo approaches that Matt snaps out of it and kicks Jake’s knee, pulling his brother back to the present, even though neither of them can really close their mouths.

“Tanto?” Jake stammers out before you can even introduce them and you mentally let out a long string of cuss words, knowing any chance at normal conversation is over because of course your little brother recognizes him.

“Tanto’s Native American, sweetheart!” Your mother calls and you look for the nearest hole to crawl into, eyes closing in misery.

“No, Ma--Not that Tanto!” Jake says in annoyance before all but grabbing for Pablo’s hand, shaking it vigorously. You’re beyond grateful that Pablo is one of the chillest humans you’ve ever met, otherwise, you aren’t sure your brother’s fanboying would be nearly as well tolerated. All he gets is a smile and chuckle for his exuberance, Pablo seamlessly moving on to shaking Matt’s hand as you remember to make introductions.

“The fanboy is Jake, the old one is Matt. Boys, Pablo.” You say, your voice purposely flat when introducing your brothers, making them both turn and give you narrow-eyed glares. You only make a face back, your eyes moving back over to Pablo, the two of you sharing a secret smile. He knows all about your brothers’ antics and while you weren’t aware any of the men in your family had watched anything with him in it, you know the biggest hurdle is yet to come. Your mother has watched him, judging by how shocked she looks, and you know full well she recognizes him from a very different role.

“You’re...You...Oh my,” she sounds as flustered as she looks, and for a moment, even Pablo’s face mirrors the worry you’re feeling, a quick glance back at you a silent request for help.

“Mom, he’s not that guy,” you warn her softly, and with quick shake of her head and a smoothing of her apron, your mother switches into ‘mom mode’ and plasters a bright smile to her face, accepting Pablo’s bouquet with the appropriate amount of pleasant surprise.

“These are lovely, thank you so much,” she says, carefully setting them on the counter before she finds her hand wrapped up in one of Pablo’s big mitts. “Mom, this is Pablo, Pablo, this is my mom, Kate.” You smile, watching your boyfriend butter up your mom with a kiss to the back of her hand, Pablo having quickly figured out why she looked like she’d seen a ghost.

“Is there anything I can help you with, ma’am?” he asks, even as he moves over to where you sit, his smile growing just as fond as the one you’re wearing, a reminder that no matter how crazy dinner gets, things will be alright, because he’s here with you. Tipping your head up, you can’t help but scrunch your nose as he cups your face in both hands and kisses you tenderly.

“Missed you,” he breathes as he pulls away, and in that moment, the farmhouse disappears, leaving the two of you to speak volumes with only a look at one another. Reaching up, you stroke your hand over his cheek, tugging gently at his beard, not missing the fact that he’s gotten a trim since the last time you saw him. “Missed you too,” you whisper, any romance interrupted by the sound of Jake pretending to throw up by the dinner table.

“Welcome to West Bend Farm,” you say, plastering on your own sickly-sweet, slightly murderous smile. It’s going to be a long Christmas.

#pablo schreiber #pabloxreader #imagines #xreader #pablo imagines #fluff

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gdelgiproducer · 6 years

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DOTV AU: An Exercise in Alternate History (Part VIII)

Parts I, II, III, IV, V, VI, and VII offer more detailed context. (To briefly sum up why these posts are happening: alt history – as in sci fi, not “alternative facts” – buff, one day got the idea that DOTV could have turned out hella different if Jim Steinman looked for a star lead in other places, decided to reason out how that might work.) This is still getting a good response, so I’m gonna keep the train rolling.

Parts of the AU timeline established so far:

Instead of stopping at recording two songs from Whistle Down the Wind on a greatest hits compilation, Meat Loaf wound up taking more of an interest in Steinman’s new theater work than he did in our timeline, and through a series of circumstances found himself volunteering to play Krolock in the impending DOTV when Jim poured out his woes to him about needing to find some sort of star to attract investors. At a loss for any better ideas, Jim accepted Meat’s impulsive proposal, but not without resistance from his manager, David Sonenberg, who proposed Michael Crawford as an alternate candidate. Through quick thinking on Meat’s part, and inspiration on Jim’s, Crawford left the room accepting an entirely different role than he walked in hoping to get, leaving Krolock still open for Meat.

There was a brief speed bump, when Meat disliked Jim’s English script for the show, but after meeting with the original German author Michael Kunze and convincing Jim to compromise, things were on the road to being back on track… at least until 9/11 occurred.

Following a brief hiatus, everyone involved met to re-assess their options. The current game-plan was to put the new script on paper, schmooze with potential investors or producers, and put together a new creative team. Preferably not all at the same time, but with the crunch on, they’d do whatever needed to be done.

Schmoozing went well, but everybody that Meat, Jim, and the crew wanted to be involved was tentative. The conclusion reached was that they needed to show them there was a working show, which resulted in a concert of selections from the score paid for by none other than Courtney Love (!) that received some in-depth press coverage.

Now we join our heroes as new wrinkles emerge in the path to Broadway.

A week after the concert of selections from Dance of the Vampires (and after Michael Riedel noting that Meat Loaf has yet to sign on the dotted line for the show), a brief story appears in Rolling Stone’s Random Notes section: “Rocker Meat Loaf announced this week that he has terminated the management services of Allen Kovac and is currently seeking new representation. Kovac, who is in the process of leaving Left Bank Management to form his own firm, issued the following statement which is believed to be a comment on the heavyset singer’s departure, though he is not mentioned by name: ‘I don’t tell artists what they want to hear, I tell them what I know to be true. When I first sign an artist I let them know that I’m not their friend. Too many artists don’t measure their manager on their performance; they measure them on how many times they’ve been invited to their house. That’s not my style. If an artist is going to be successful, you need to tell them how to run their business -- not ask them how to run their business. Does it work? Look it up: no artist has ever done better after leaving my company.’” Requests from the Vampires team to speak to Meat about what’s up are met with total radio silence.

Meanwhile, the business side of Vampires continues to shore up. Jim Steinman receives delighted reports from his manager, David Sonenberg, that Jerry Weintraub and the Weisslers are ready to commit, bumping the total number of producers thus far up to nine. “How’s it looking now?” Jim queries. “Well, remember we’re trying to raise 15 million,” says David. “I don’t mean to be pessimistic, but it will be an uphill battle.” “What else is new in the theater?” Steinman grumbles in response. “On the bright side, we can now tighten the list of how many producers we need to seven.”

The representatives from Concerts West, based in L.A., get back to them within the week. Reports Sonenberg to all parties by e-mail: “They’re interested, but only if it tours. Live touring events are what they do, and the theatrical market is something they haven’t explored; they’d be more comfortable with a national tour than a Broadway run, it’s more similar to what they do at a nuts-and-bolts level.” A decision is ultimately reached by quorum to make Concerts West’s involvement in a national tour contingent on investing in the Broadway run first, and the counter-offer is duly sent their way.

As the business side shores up, the creative side is beginning to percolate as well. Meetings are had with John Rando, the Urinetown director who attended the concert and spoke very enthusiastically about the show in Riedel’s column. He’s very excited about the chance to work on the show, both to work with David Ives again (having done numerous shows at Encores! together, he feels working with David will be really special and help focus the play) and especially to work with Meat. “I’d get to hear him sing every day,” Rando enthuses. “That’s a blessing. Can you imagine that? Every single day of your life you get to hear that voice.” He also ticks the right boxes when it comes to the commercial appeal of the piece and how it meshes with his vision for the show: “It’s such a different reality. It’s silly and fun and kind of glamorous, too. These vampires sort of pull you in and you find you’re turned on by them, too! It’s a wonderful, Gothic playground.” When asked for suggestions for a choreographer, and more specifically if they should ask his choreographer on Urinetown, John Carrafa, to be a part of the show, Rando is mildly hesitant but mostly enthusiastic. Jim is admittedly happiest when it comes to Rando’s assessment of how much creative control he should be allowed to have: “Look, Jim, what are you worried about? It’s your baby! You’ve been working on it forever! The quality, the tone, the ideas, the music... this play is all you! You’d be very much a part of it.”

More progress is made when a new set designer is engaged: David Gallo. Jim immediately likes him instinctively, when, upon meeting him for the first time, Gallo stops the interview process dead. “I have two things to tell you before we continue. Number one: I’m probably the only set designer in America who still subscribes to Heavy Metal Magazine. Number two: I bought Bat Out of Hell because I saw the album cover artwork and decided I had to have it before I even heard the music.” This is no idle compliment, considering the album cover was conceived by Steinman and executed by Richard Corben... and a sequence very similar to the events depicted on the cover forms the shape of one of Vampires’ opening scenes. His sample sketches of the sets are surprisingly atmospheric as well.

The more things shape up on the creative end, however, the more everyone on the business side of the table nervously eyes the chair where Meat Loaf should be. Since his firing of Kovac, who was more a hindrance than a help so is not really missed, he hasn’t said word one to anybody. Irving Azoff, widely proclaimed the biggest agent in the world, who attended the concert and may be interested in the show, is sending them queries about who is managing Meat now, hinting that he has his eye on Meat as a client. But nobody knows what’s going on with him. When he is finally able to get him on the phone, Jim pleads with Meat to see him, one on one if need be. Meat agrees.

The scene: Le Bar Bat, in Hell’s Kitchen on West 57th. Only 9 years prior, Steinman had conducted an interview for Bat Out of Hell II at this very establishment, celebrating his and Meat Loaf’s long-awaited reunion. Plastic bats still hang from the ceiling, and the bar is still sparsely attended. A deafening fusion group still plays a seemingly endless set. Steinman greets them, as per tradition, with a cheery “fuck off!” as they finish a tune. Meat sits alone in a booth, awaiting Jim’s arrival. He rummages through his CBS Records holdall, his shoulder juddering as if it were a pneumatic drill. His graying hair could do with a shampoo. Finally, he finds what he is seeking: a couple of throat lozenges, which he pops. “Jimmy, I don’t think I can do the show.” Immediately Jim’s heart is in his throat: “WHAT?!?” “What we’re about to do is insane! Lunatic. Totally insane. We’re just gonna go out there in front of everybody with our pants down!” Jim, searching for a way to respond, can only come out with “Think of it as a character-building experience! It’ll be amazing!”

“Have you read what your fans are saying about this on the Internet? They’re saying you should be sticking aside all the old, fat guys named after a dinner dish! ‘Get rid of Meat Loaf.’ They don’t want to see me do this!” “Now, Meat, come on. You know better than to buy into their bullshit. If I believed what I read on the Internet about anything I should do, I’d never get anything done. You’re going to be glad that you stuck with it.” “Well... we need to go out of town first. New York is the hardest when it comes to people being critical. We’re gonna be judged. A lot.” “Meat, you know we can’t afford to do that. Besides, every musical that you’ve done on Broadway has opened cold in New York. I like having the preview audience be the New York audience. There’s no BS -- they’re right there telling you what you need to fix. It’s great.”

Meat heaves a sigh: “Jimmy, I’ll be honest with you; I’m more tired now than I was when Amanda was two months old!” “Meat, listen to me. We have a lot of time. We’re gonna work very hard and very slowly. I know you’re not good at dealing with change, but you really have to stay focused and believe in the project.” “But Jimmy, it’s huge! It’s got to be one of the biggest shows on Broadway right now without even opening yet. And there’s still so much to work out.”

“What happened to Allen?” “He never believed in the show. You saw what happened when he kept the door open for Night of the Proms. After the concert, I called him to ask why he wasn’t there, and he said to me, ‘Y’know, an album and a tour are still possibilities, so why not do that instead? At least you know that will sell.’ We got into it pretty hard, and he called our show garbage. He said I did better off away from you, and that if I did this album and the tour, I could retire, or I could come back afterwards if you wanted to talk Bat III, but he was adamant that I was not doing this show. It became pretty clear to me that it was going to come down to either you or him.” Jim, touched, perhaps even a little misty-eyed: “And you chose me?” “As if I had a choice! Jim, you’re my brother. I love you... more than you’ll ever know.”

A beat of silence, awkward, emotional, and then... “Irving Azoff liked the concert.” “Yeah?” “He keeps calling us. I think he wants to sign you, and he wants to do the show too. Wouldn’t it be nice to have a manager who was on the same page?” “...will it get him to produce if I sign with him?” “I dunno. Maybe?” “I’ll give him a call. What else is going on?” Jim proceeds to update him on everything going on with the show, culminating in the reminder that they have a meeting with John Carrafa coming up to decide his suitability to the choreographic duties. “Can I count on you to be there?” “Jim, I’m signing the contract for a year, manager or no manager. If we’re fortunate enough to run, that’s how long I’ll be here. And then I’ll be in a nursing home, no doubt!” For the first time all night, both men laugh. A rosy future may well be in sight.

TO BE CONTINUED!

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