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gottawriteanegoortwo · 4 years

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Darkstache Week Day Seven: Ordinary People

Days: 1, 2 , 3, 4 , 5, 6, 7

At last, the final prompt of the wonderful event hosted by @projectdarkstache! Thank you so much for encouraging everyone to create such fantastic pieces and I hope all the works can be cherished by their creators! You’ve all done fantastic!

After years of causing chaos and trouble as the Actor, Mark uses his new freedom to bring the fictional world he ruled back to the modern real world. But what about Dark and Wilford?

Word Count: 2,437

(while not necessarily a warning, this does contain sympathetic!Actor becoming Youtuber!Mark in the timeline my stories are written in.)

If he was asked, Mark would admit he had no idea when he felt like ‘himself’ again. It had been decades since the troubled actor’s heart was shattered, the will to live had vanished, and the ability to die eluded him. His broken soul was utterly consumed by the terrors of the Manor’s arcanic past until he became a god-like figure in a world of his own creation. Former friends were moulded and reshaped into characters to suit his schemes. Poor, innocent souls over the decades were pulled into the cat-and-mouse plot to populate the worlds. Drama and chaos were on the regular schedule, and how the Actor thrived!

But now… Peace. And Mark was baffled by it.

He remembered standing at the edge of the city, watching the sun rise like he had never seen the day before. In all the years of darkness and being pulled like a puppet by unseen forces, maybe that was the truth. A new life, a new start. The ‘performances’ he had been part of were failed attempts to gain control over a world that had torn him to pieces and tossed him in the trash. All they achieved was pain and suffering. As he recognised this and wanted to do good, the world he had mastery over was fading and merging with the real world - the one he had left behind. With new independence, he was losing grip over whatever powers he had before. No more would he be able to cheat death or restart time. This was it, the final ‘act’. He didn’t feel sorry for himself. Mark was finally ready to break free from the puppet strings and start over… But there were two in particular he needed to apologise to. Trying to face Dark or Wilford now would result in mockery or gunfire (or both). However, from his spot on the hill, he could see a new opportunity. He could reverse the crimes that were cast. Let them and all their old friends live the lives they were meant to in this new, modern world.

Mark opened his arms wide as the light of the morning sun hit his weary body. At last, the game was up. He could set everything right.

“Ah, there’s the man of the hour, Damien himself!” A familiar voice sang as he entered the office with his usual dramatic flair.

“It’s ‘Mayor Brooks’ while you are here, Mark. But it is good to see you.” Damien countered, playfully rolling his eyes. Even if Mark was a big internet celebrity, he made it his mission to check in regularly on Damien. It was a nice relief, even if the pair were trying to regain grounds on their friendship. Mark had dated his twin sister in university, but the manner in which the pair broke up was so dramatic, it caused a rift between the two young men. At least a friendship from childhood was not one that could be broken forever. He saved the document he was typing and closed the laptop. “If you are here, can I assume there is some great problem going on in your world?”

“Oh, no no. All good on my end!” Mark slumped onto the sofa to the side of the office with a laugh. “I recorded one huge game over the weekend and scored myself some free time. What better way to spend it than with my favourite politician?”

“As much as I appreciate the compliment, I would gather that your other friends are busy and you don’t have anyone else to turn to.” However blunt the statement might be, there was a smile on Damien’s face as he fell back onto the free half of the couch. Mark responded with a loud gasp and a hand on his chest, which only prompted Damien to lightly push him.

“How dare you! I’ll have you know I came here to see if you wanted to grab a coffee with me. I found ten bucks in my pants pocket this morning and I wanna splash out. Come on, Dames! Doesn’t your favourite coffee place have the best pumpkin spiced latte on this side of the city?”

“Mark, it’s May. They aren’t going to make that for you.” Now it was Damien’s turn to be pushed as Mark waved the ten dollar bill in his face.

“I think you’ll find myself and mister Alexander Hamilton will disagree with tha- HEY!” Letting his guard down was a mistake, as Damien took the chance to snatch the money out of his hand and jump onto his feet. “You crooked politician! Stealing the money of an innocent, hard-working man like me!”

Damien fetched his coat with a chuckle. “For someone who wants coffee, you don’t seem very keen in moving for it.” It worked, and a childishly offended Mark pulled himself off the couch. The money was returned to Mark as the pair exited the office. Damien did need a break, he decided as he locked the door after him.

Mark was an interesting man. He could act loud and brash, but it was only a mask that hid a soul that seemed older than thirty. Damien used to joke that Mark might be an old man stuck in a young body. The walk to the coffee shop took the usual diversion through a nearby park so they could swap stories and chat without the rush of the world shoving them forward. Mark and his content creator friends were busy working on a variety of projects, and he himself admitted he was feeling happier in himself than he had been in recent years. Likewise, Damien had been working on completing some important jobs around the city and trying to get some new schemes underway. It was busy, but rewarding. In times like this, neither had to play the part cast for them by society. They could be themselves, just like old times. It meant that Damien was more relaxed and jovial by the time they reached their destination.

The coffee shop had the familiar busy hum to it as the pair entered. Since Damien was a regular, there was never any fanfare of the mayor visiting their business. Mark’s ‘perfect’ disguise of a worn baseball cap and his glasses seemed to do the job of keeping a low profile. Surprisingly, the barista did indeed agree to make a pumpkin spiced latte for Mark, as well as Damien’s regular order. Both drinks and two large muffins were covered by the ten dollar bill, much to Mark’s delight. For now, they simply had to wait for their drinks.

“- And still no sign of a special someone?” It was a question Mark frequently asked. Damien seemed content to be ‘married’ to his work, but Mark would argue that the companionship would make the heavy workload more bearable. They both knew it was true, but Damien was a stubborn man. He was too proud to deal with blind dates, and seemed insistent on waiting for ‘the right person’. Instead, Damien countered with a question about Amy and how she and the two dogs were doing. A simple diversion, but a wholesome one, as Mark could share silly moments and photos on his phone, and Damien could enjoy the tales. How could he not be happy for his friend? It seemed like things were finally looking up for him.

At that, Mark’s drink and the muffins were ready, but there was no sign of Damien’s drink. He insisted Mark go fetch a table while Damien continued waiting. Several long minutes passed as people who ordered similar drinks received theirs, and Damien was tempted to ask one of the staff about his drink. Just as he was about to, the door slammed open as a man stumbled in.

“Geez, man! Could you not break that door, please?” The manager shouted at the stranger, who hurried over and apologised profusely while ordering his ‘usual’ summer iced drink and telling a story about a kid outside throwing ice-cream at him. Damien pulled out his phone to try and look busy, but his eyes strayed from the screen and darted to the man.

The stranger was a head taller than Damien and had a broad build that was emphasised by the fitted white t-shirt and jogging pants he was wearing. His black, curly hair looked somewhat erratic, while the large, bushy moustache reminded Damien of the chief of police from a TV show he loved. Facial hair of that style wasn’t in season anymore - not to mention this wasn’t as eloquently groomed as other moustaches would have been - so it was likely something important to the man. His face was framed by a sturdy jawline, which gave a somewhat intimidating air. But his eyes… Were looking in Damien’s direction. Oops.

The Mayor gulped and returned his attention to his phone.

“It’s rude to stare, you know.” Damien jumped at the sudden voice and presence beside him. The stranger had stepped closer without him realising it. “Is something wrong? Did that kid get ice-cream on my shirt?”

“No, your shirt is fine.” Damien responded quickly, intending to leave it at that. But the stranger stayed firm, bringing a sigh out of the politician. “I’m sorry. I know it’s rude to stare. I thought I recognised you, that’s all.”

“And do you?” The stranger sounded genuinely curious. That was enough to prompt Damien to lock and pocket his phone.

“I’m not sure. I feel like I do, and I wouldn’t forget a moustache like that, but I can’t place anything… Even if it feels like it’s on the tip of my tongue.” Realising how odd that sounded, his shoulders slumped in resignation. “I’m sorry, this all sounds rather bizarre from a complete stranger -”

“No!” Both men were taken aback at the stranger’s interruption. “Er, no. Sorry. It doesn’t sound weird. I feel the same. I feel like I know you -”

“I’m the Mayor. That’s hardly a surprise.”

“- yeah, but like I know know you, you know?” The stranger shook his head, curls bouncing with a nervous chuckle. “I think this is a sign. Maybe we ought to get to know each other properly, just in case we met in a dream.” A large hand was offered to Damien. “The name’s William Barnum, but friends can call me -”

“The Colonel.” Damien finished. Confusion was mirrored on both faces.

“How did you -”

“I don’t know?” No matter how he tried to place a specific memory with the phrase, nothing came to mind. Instead, he pushed it aside. “My name is Damien Brooks. Despite the rather odd circumstances, it is a pleasure to meet you.” The large hand was taken, and they gave a firm shake.

Immediately, a memory crossed Damien’s mind. This man had pink in his hair. His own hands were gray. Mark had a shadowed, wicked grin on his face. But as soon as it came, it vanished, like trying to recall a fading dream.

“Hey, Damien?” William’s dark eyes had drifted aside as he tried to encourage the words to come to him. “Do you want to go out for lunch this week?” A simple question made Damien’s heart skip a beat as an all-too familiar sensation of butterflies in his stomach manifested.

“Are - are you asking me out on a date?”

“Yeah… Is that too forward? I feel like it’s the right thing to do. You’re very handsome.”

Strange. Why did Damien feel like William had complimented him like that a hundred times before? Stranger still, why did it make him feel so happy to hear the nervous rambling? He reluctantly pulled his hand away so he could snatch a napkin from the counter and the pen in his pocket. A phone number was hastily scribbled on it, before it was scratched out and written neater. Just in case, his name was noted underneath.

“Here. Text me later. If you’re free, we could always… Go for dinner?” It also felt like the right thing to do, like it was a regular event. William seemed to agree, as his face lit up. Upon receiving the napkin, it was treated like something sacred by William, who carefully folded and placed in his wallet.

“Yeah! That’d be - I’d really like that - Bully.” That exclamation of relief shouldn’t bring a familiar tugging of heartstrings to Damien, but it did. Only that he was with Mark (and that he has a job to return to), Damien would have gladly gone wherever William was going.

Both names were called as the drinks were finally ready. Each one was lifted, and the pair gave their parting words and a promise to arrange something as soon as William returned home. But just as Damien was about to turn and walk to the table, William leaned down enough to kiss him on the cheek, hurrying off before anything else could happen. All Damien could do was watch the larger man disappear with a wistful smile before turning to find Mark at the table.

“You’re putting the local tomatoes to shame. You okay?” Mark asked, innocently sipping his latte. It was still mostly full. The drink itself looked hot. How long had that moment actually lasted?

“I’ve got a date tonight.” Damien was so embarrassed after blurting his answer, he didn’t notice how Mark’s surprise was an act. “I started talking to a guy up at the counter and - well, we’re meeting for dinner.”

“I’m so happy for you, man. Look at you, getting out there and being ambitious! I’m sure he’ll be a great guy!” Mark grinned, letting the topic drop so the Mayor could get his head around the ‘unexpected’ event.

While they were talking after the drinks were finished, a text arrived on Damien’s phone. Mark noticed there was a number rather than a name, but it brought a smile to Damien’s face. The Youtuber waved his hand and insisted Damien needed to ‘urgently’ answer it. As the Mayor did so, Mark noticed how the shadow that was always looming over Damien finally dissipated. At last, the malicious claws from a lifetime ago were gone, and with that, Mark’s own powers.

But what did the loss of powers matter when he was able to use them to help Dark and Wilford start a new relationship together? They could live as normal, ordinary people, just like Dark had always vowed when confronting the Actor. Today: the Actor was dead, Mark was alive, and the curse holding them all down had been broken for good.

Now, if only Celine would talk to him so they could become friends again...

#projectdarkstache2020 #darkstacheweek2020 #writersofmark #dilliam #darkstache #who killed markiplier #actor!mark #mayor damien #william j barnum #Blue Soul (Damien)#Eccentric Goof (Colonel)#(I SWEAR I didn't mean for it to be this long but I SWEAR it's cute)

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sondepoch · 4 years

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Day 2

10 Days (Jumin Han x Reader)

You didn't expect to find yourself locked in an engagement to Chairman Han, but with your own mother forcing you into it, you have no way of denying her. But as time continues and things change, you begin to develop affections for your fiance's son: Jumin Han. But the sad truth is that there's nothing either of you can do to stop the marriage, and you only have these 10 days before your future becomes reality. 10 days with Jumin Han.

Day 1 | Day 2 | Day 3 | Day 4 | Day 5 | Day 6 | Day 7 | Day 8 | Day 9 | Day 10 | ✔

MASTERLIST

By the time dinner is concluded and you're finally at Jumin's penthouse, it's well past midnight.

Still a child used to her normal daily routine, it takes all your effort to keep your eyes open, with your body relaxed from the wine and your mind tired from trying not to further aggravate Jumin.

"I'll show you the guest room in a moment," Jumin says stiffly. "Just wait on the couch for a moment while I make sure that it's been properly set up."

With that, he leaves.

You waste no time in flopping onto his couch, not caring about your dress wrinkling. I'll just lie down for a moment until Jumin comes back, you tell yourself, kicking your heels onto the floor and resting your head on the armrest.

For the next thirty seconds, you really do attempt everything in your power to stay awake. You try to think about the engagement, your mother, even Jumin himself, but for some reason, you can't bring yourself to care about anything when the pull of Hypnos grows stronger.

Vaguely, you recognize the sound of someone saying your name. Is that Chairman Han? You wonder, before realizing that this man's voice has a slightly different cadence to it: softer, deeper, and gentler.

But even that thought takes too much energy and you fall asleep to the feeling of a soft blanket being wrapped around you, utterly unaware of the sighing man watching you.

Sleep is surprisingly blissful on that couch.

When you wake up, half of you is still in the dreamworld, and the morning drowsiness hits you harder than usual.

It takes you a minute to remember where you are, why you fell asleep on a couch, and whose apartment you're in. Right, you think with a grimace. I'm with Jumin.

It barely takes a single glance around the apartment for you to now realize what your mind had been too exhausted to register yesterday: this entire penthouse is suspiciously familiar. You pull yourself off the couch, wondering why, and it's only when you see the full-glass wall to the left of you that you remember.

After all, how could you ever forget such a view?

You stand up from the couch, wrapping your blanket further around your body as you walk over to the windowed wall. From such a high distance, the people walking around in Seoul are nothing more than colored spots, the cars they're driving just ants carrying them here and there.

You saw this very same view nearly a decade ago, when you'd visited the home of a classmate for a group project. Jumin must have purchased this within the past few years.

A soft smile blooms on your lips at the memory of your past.

Back then you'd been so innocent and carefree, never realizing that one day your mother would marry you off to a man older than even your adoptive father.

But this is the life I've been given, so there's no point in brooding about it, eh? You tell yourself, resolving to be strong.

You force yourself away from the window. There's no point in reminiscing over the past. The fact that you're even in Jumin Han's penthouse is a testimony to your need to prepare yourself for the future.

You make your way to the guest bathroom, sliding the door open. Relief floods you when you find that Jumin has left you everything you could possibly need: a fresh change of clothes, toiletries, and what looks like a professional-grade makeup kit.

You look at the various foundations suspiciously before deciding not to use any of them, uncomfortable with using a brand of makeup your skin isn't used to. Besides, you think while gazing at your skin in the mirror. It's not like I need to impress Jumin.

You shower and change into the clothes you'd been left, pleasantly finding that they were just loose enough to make you look comfortable but still cute. Alright, you think, smiling at your reflection. Let's get some breakfast.

But by the time you've maneuvered your way to the kitchen, you're shocked to find that Jumin is already there.

"What's this?" You muse out loud, grabbing his attention. "Jumin Han making breakfast? Never did I think I'd see the day."

The man in front of you averts his eyes, going back to frying the omelet in his pan. "The chef called in sick. His usual replacement is apparently on vacation."

You let out a light chuckle before taking the cooking spatula from Jumin's hand. "You have to use oil if you want the egg to cook properly."

He doesn't respond while you turn the electric stove off, and you can't suppress your laughter at the executive director's inability to do something simple as cooking eggs. "You really haven't changed, have you?"

"I haven't, but you certainly have." Jumin looks away, not meeting your eyes, killing your mirth in an instant.

"Jumin...I'm marrying your father because I love him. There's no ulterior motive, nothing else to it." You try to get Jumin to look you in the eyes, but his gaze is locked on the ruined eggs.

"My father might love you, but you don't love him," Jumin mutters, glaring. "I haven't figured out what your angle is, but I won't be fooled. Go, your phone is ringing."

You turn around and, sure enough, your phone's screen is lit up with the bright contact picture of Chairman Han. You pick up the phone and turn your body away from Jumin so that he can't see the grimace on your face as you speak to your fiancé.

"Hi dear," You say with fake excitement. "How are you?"

"Horrible, (Y/N)," Chairman Han says from the other line. "The Director of International Communications was right...this whole situation is too high-level for me to discuss over the phone. But C&R will be in huge trouble if I don't stay here and sort this out. I'm sorry, my love, but you'll need to stay with Jumin for a few more nights."

"I see," You say, tone flat. You don't know whether you should be excited at the prospect of a few more days without Chairman Han's presence or terrified of how Jumin will behave with you.

As if he were hearing your internal thoughts, though, Chairman Han asks, "Is my son treating you well?"

You swallow nervously, well-aware that you can only say one thing. "Of course. Jumin's been very good to me."

Chairman Han sighs. "Good. I'm sorry, sweetling, but I have to go now. I'll call you tomorrow, alright? Until then, goodbye."

The man pauses, before adding: "I love you, (Y/N)."

You swallow. There's only one thing for you to say. "I love you, too."

From behind you, Jumin scoffs.

When you've hung up, you turn to him once more. "Looks like I'll be staying with you a couple more nights."

But if Jumin heard you, he makes no indication of such. "I'm going to work."

"It's Sunday."

"I'd rather be at an empty C&R building than with a liar like you. Deceive my father you might, but I won't fall for your tricks."

"Jumin..." You trail off, trying not to be insulted by his words.

But before you can say anything more, he's grabbed an umbrella and is out the door, leaving only you in his lonely, lonely apartment.

Or at least, that's what you thought half an hour ago, before you met his adorable cat.

She now lies curled in your lap, licking her paw daintily while you try not to squeal from how precious she is. Your fiancé had ranted half a hundred times to you about how his son obsessed over his cat: Elizabeth the Third. (Or is it the Fourth? You can't remember.) When you first heard about it, you'd scoffed and dismissed the notion of any animal being so mesmerizing, but now that Elizabeth is actually in your lap, it's hard not to fall in love with her.

Stroking her head delicately, you can't help but sigh. "Why won't Jumin accept me as easily as you, Elizabeth?"

A part of you almost waits for the cat to respond, before you realize what you're doing. Sighing, you turn to your phone and check your texts. No messages from Mother, nothing from Chairman Han, and...who else would text you? Jumin doesn't even have your number.

You groan, hating how he stormed out. But curse as you might, you know that there's nothing you can do about his prejudice against you.

Objectively speaking, he's in the wrong. You gain nothing from this marriage with Chairman Han. BC-Sonic is on a steady rise, and will soon be as large as C&R; your family is wealthy enough that a divorce settlement would be useless; and Chairman Han can't give you anything you don't already have.

But then, when one considers the more delicate nuances behind the marriage, it feels like Jumin has the truth of it.

You don't love Chairman Han, though you've managed to get the older man to fall in love with you.

But maybe that's okay.

Because Chairman Han will be happy with you by his side. You're a good actor, you'll live the rest of your life pretending to reciprocate his affections...and you'll give him true happiness. You've spent your whole life trying to be the perfect daughter, and now all your efforts will turn to being the perfect wife.

So Jumin has no reason for complaint.

If anything, his father benefits most from this marriage, by wedding a youthful and beautiful woman who's long captured the heart of the media.

I should be the one protesting this, You tell yourself, before remembering why you hadn't. It's not like I have a choice, you remember, thinking of your mother. In a roundabout way, this marriage would also bring you happiness. It'll free me of Mother.

You massage your thigh, images of growing up flashing through your mind, before you shake your head.

It's not good to dwell on the past. As soon as your marriage with Chairman Han is complete, you'll leave those memories in the past.

Forever.

You stare at your phone once more, hesitating before typing in C&R's name into the search engine. Part of you hoped that there would be some word of the 'huge trouble' Chairman Han had said his company was in, but somehow the media has yet to catch wind of the situation.

That's a good thing, though. If C&R's stock drops, then Chairman Han will want to advance the wedding date to connect our companies as quickly as possible.

You tap the search bar again, and this time enter: Jumin Han. Your idea was strange, and a little unrealistic, but it might give you some information as to where Jumin went. Surely he didn't actually go to C&R.

The page loads and sure enough, a low-credited media outlet has already released an article about Jumin Han: Shopping Adventure?!?! as of thirty minutes ago. At the top of the page, there's a picture of him holding a bag from some store you vaguely recognize, and he's in the same suit and umbrella as when he left the house. Never doubt the media, you tell yourself, mildly amused at how they managed to make a full article about something as mundane as a rich man shopping.

On the bright side, though, you at least know that Jumin is safe and accounted for. You make a mental reminder to ask for his phone number when he returns. Next time, you doubt there'll be an article online detailing his whereabouts.

But as minutes stretch into hours, and morning turns into evening, you realize, with fear, that Jumin might not be coming back. After cleaning the dish you had used to give Elizabeth dinner, you glance at the door hesitantly, as if staring longer will make Jumin walk through the door.

Sadly, it doesn't work.

You glance at your phone once more, now worried. You could call Chairman Han and ask him for his son's phone number...but no, you don't want any reason to talk with him now. You've already been sentenced to spend the rest of your life with the man, you'll enjoy this brief freedom from him as much as you can.

So who should you call...?

You have few acquaintances in this strange city of Seoul, never having been here for any purpose except business. There was always that one man...but you don't even know where he lives, much less if he's still at his old number.

Still, it's worth a shot.

You dial in the number you'd saved to your contacts so many years ago, wondering this was a lost cause. To your surprise, the man on the other line picks up instantly. "(F/N) (L/N)?" The man asks. "I've been waiting for you to call for the past four years! Are you here to chat, or are you finally going to cash in on one of those favors?"

"We can chat another time, Seven." You say, only knowing him by the hacker name he'd used when he first breached BC-Sonic's security system. "But right now, I have someone I need you to track down."

"Hm, I can do that. But I'll need you to narrow my search range down to at least the continent if you want an answer within the next twelve hours."

"How about if I tell you what city the person I'm looking for is in?"

On the other line, Seven laughs. "Sounds like you already know where they are, then. But yes, if you give me the city I can probably send you their exact address within the next ten minutes or so."

"That works."

"Good. Now, what's the name of the unfortunate soul that (F/N) (L/N) is hunting down?"

You sigh, frustrated that you're wasting a favor from one of the best hackers in the world to track down Jumin, but it can't be avoided.

"Jumin Han."

On the other line, the constant sound of typing from Seven's keyboard stops, and you can feel him shift all his attention to you. "(Y/N)..." He trails off, before continuing. "I'm sorry. He is one of the few people I cannot disclose private information on."

"Cannot or will not?" You ask, scowling. "Seven, you owe my company big-time for what you pulled when you breached our users' privacy. We've already suffered the backlash from the leak, but I did you a favor by not revealing your name to the public and you still attacked us two more times! You and I both know that all it takes is a public statement from me for your entire world to come crashing down, so save us both the trouble and find me Jumin Han!"

You bite your lip, hating that you had to resort to threatening the hacker, but it's nearing midnight and you need to know that Jumin is safe. It doesn't matter where he is, be it in a bar or a friend's home or even a strip club—you just need to know that he's safe.

On the other line, Seven sighs. "(Y/N), you and I both know that you're too good of a person to leak my information like that. We both know what would happen, and I doubt you want my blood on your hands. Besides, it would only bring back bad memories for BC-Sonic and the media would be reminded of the breach. Your company's stock would drop."

"And I'd bring it back up again," You respond, but you both know that your threat was meanignless as it was pathetic. "Alright, fine. Maybe I won't tell the media anything, but at least check that Jumin Han is safe, wherever he is. If you won't reveal his location to me, you must have some kind of allegiance to him, and he might be in danger right now."

"Why? Did he receive any threats?" Seven asks, voice serious.

Your cheeks flush in embarrassment when you realize that your concern for Jumin is baseless, only supported by the fact that it's late and he has yet to come home...but the worry in your stomach is too strong for you to ignore. "I just..He left without saying anything. I thought I saw an article that said he was going shopping, but if that were the case he should have returned hours ago. I'm just worried because...because..."

Seven finishes your sentence for you.

"...Because he's going to be family?"

You swallow.

The one condition your parents had desired for your marriage with Chairman Han was that the media would receive no word of the engagement until the entire process was complete. It was to be completely secret until everything was finalized. But if Seven knows...

"D-Did the media find out?" You ask, terrified for the truth. You fear for yourself, remembering your mother's dark warning against any failure.

"Not quite..." Seven trails off. "Jumin sort of...told me."

You swallow.

What?!

And that is the precise moment that Jumin walks in through the door, leading the way for eight hired helpers who each carry two armfuls of shopping bags.

"I'll call you back," You tell Seven, before angrily turning to Jumin. "Where were you?!"

"Out," Is all he says, loosening his tie and pulling a wine glass from the cabinet while the rest of the helpers leave the room, leaving only you and the man of the hour himself.

"A call to the penthouse would have been appreciated," You mumble. "I was worried sick. And so was Elizabeth."

As soon as you mention the cat's name, she comes running into the room, purring as she nuzzles against your leg. Jumin looks down at her in surprise, before picking her up and placing her onto the table where he strokes her fur.

"I shouldn't need to inform you where I am. Remember, in this house, you're an intruder. You are welcome here because my father directly requested this of me, but you will never be welcome in this family."

Jumin looks like he was planning on saying more, but his phone begins buzzing from his pocket and he excuses himself to take the call. While he answers, you pour yourself a cup of wine and look at Elizabeth. She's already accepted you into the family, why does Jumin have to be so difficult?

"You called Luciel?" Jumin fumes at you when he returns. "You were going to have a hacker trace my whereabouts?"

You blink, not recognizing the name Luciel until you piece together that it must be Seven's real name. A strange name, you think, And probably another fake one, but it's information nonetheless.

"You had me worried, Jumin" You respond, voice low. You take another sip of wine, suddenly wishing that it were something stronger to give you the liquid courage you need to berate Jumin for his rudeness. "I was scared." That second part comes out in a whisper.

In front of you, the male seems taken aback by your sudden dejectedness. "I see," He says, though you can tell he wants to add more.

"We should exchange numbers, no?" You suggest, offering your phone to him so that he can enter his contact information. He doesn't repeat the gesture for you, but you don't think it matters, so long as you have his number.

A long silence follows, briefly interrupted only by Elizabeth's occasional purrs as Jumin rubs her head on the spot between her ears while you stroke her body. It's strange, but it's as if she's connecting the two of you, and healing all the seemingly unforgivable insults Jumin has labeled you with over the past two days.

"I'm tired," You tell him.

It's true, but you're not sure that he understands the full meaning behind the words.

There had been a day when you were excited about marrying Chairman Han, eager that the final piece in the puzzle of your life was going to be set in place. But then, you'd learned of his womanizing habits, his callous behavior, and his utterly banal taste.

You're tired.

You're tired of this engagement, but given that you have no choice in the matter and the fact that this engagement is your future, the truth is that you're tired of life. Tired of the life you've yet to even begin leading.

Still, it seems that Jumin picked up on some semblance of your meaning, and he sets down his wine glass. "I'd like to apologize, (Y/N)." He pauses, as if he were considering leaving it just at that, but finally continues. "I may have treated you...less fairly than you deserve."

An amused smile flits across your face. It wasn't an outright apology, still heavy with the implication that Jumin doesn't trust you, but it's progress.

"And how fairly do you think I deserve to be treated?" You ask, unable to hold the question back.

"I..." Jumin trails off. "I spoke with my father on the phone today. He...told me that your happiness was his happiness. I'm not foolish enough to believe that you love him, (Y/N), but if I mistreat you it will bring him pain. That's the only thing I wish to avoid."

You offer Jumin a light smile. "Jumin, if there's one thing I can promise you, it's that he will be happy with me. No matter what, he will feel loved."

"He will feel loved by you, but will he be loved by you?"

Your smile turns sour, and you think about the sad truth of life. "Is there truly a difference? He's happy regardless."

Jumin pauses, considering your words. Another moment of silence follows, and you almost stand up to go to bed, but the man finally speaks. "The difference is your happiness, (Y/N). Even if you're skilled enough to deceive my father into a false sense of happiness, what kind of life would you be leading?"

You swallow, trying your hardest to pretend as if you hadn't asked yourself the very same question this morning. Without any way to answer, you decide to use business tactics to respond. If you can't respond in a way that benefits the company, don't answer the question at all, your mother had once told you.

The same logic applies.

"We are in agreement that your father will be happy in this marriage. That is all that matters." To convey that this discussion is over, you stand up and announce that you'll be going to bed. It's not quite as late as it was when you'd arrived in Jumin's penthouse yesterday, but it's still well-past when you'd have liked to be asleep.

You don't look back when you leave the room, not even when you hear Elizabeth meow and attempt to follow you, for fear that Jumin will see your face and your tears.

For fear that Jumin will realize that thinking about the life you'll be leading brings you more pain than you've ever felt before.

For fear that Jumin will realize that you don't want this marriage any more than he does.

MASTERLIST

Day 1 | Day 2 | Day 3 | Day 4 | Day 5 | Day 6 | Day 7 | Day 8 | Day 9 | Day 10 | ✔

Word count: 3.9k

Notes: Aghhh I'm so sleepy but I still have to work out >.> i kind of want to take a nap just to recharge but I know that if I do that I won't be able to get up UGH T^T plus i had ice cream today so if I skip ill feel guilty aghhhhhh woe is me

Comment & Like

Next Update: 4/11/20

I do not own the rights to Mystic Messenger or any of the characters within it.

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starfleetdoesntfirefirst · 4 years

Text

(Discovery Season 3 Episode 4 “Forget Me Not” Spoilers)

Greetings disco friends, here is my attempt at a fix-it fic.

What I mind most of all was them showing his graphic death scene, whether it’s partially-temporary or completely-temporary, after doing the same with Hugh and Michael’s then-death scenes. As far as the future of Gray's plotline goes (this season and into the next, since we know the actor is filming Season 4), I think there's a chance (especially given that GLAAD was helping them write the storyline) that he'll be completely brought back from the dead like Hugh and a chance that he won't be brought back fully but rather will continue to hang around noncorporeally like he's doing now. But either way, as with Hugh and Michael's graphic then-death scenes, that doesn't change the fact that they showed that in this episode.

I think I've reached the point of hard 'no’ on continuing to watch the show myself. (Though of course I completely support y’all in watching or not watching the show, as works for you!) And I’ll still be around here, writing fic based on Season 1 through to this episode.

Also, I’m currently brainstorming ways to put something affirming into the fandom this season while not watching, since I won't be writing fix-it ficlets and…obviously I know no one ~depends~ on my fix-it ficlets, but this community means a lot to me and I guess I want to feel like I'm putting something into the fandom even as I'm (aside from continuing to make content for older season stuff) walking away, if that makes sense? (Maybe some book giveaways of sci-fi books with trans characters, tho that may or may not work logistically/financially, or something like that.) Please let me know if you have suggestions! <3

Dreampt Of More Things

Other, F/F, M/M | Teen And Up | Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings | 2,600 words

ao3 link in a reblog since Tumblr still seems unpredictable about when posts with links are allowed in the tags

and/or, full fic + tags here:

Tags – Jett Reno, Jett Reno’s Wife, Michael Burnham, Hugh Culber, Ellen Landry, Philippa Georgiou (original Captain version), Adira Tal, Paul Stamets, Gray Tal, Sylvia Tilly, Tracy Pollard Adira Tal/Gray Tal, Jett Reno/Jett Reno’s Wife, Ellen Landry/Amna Patel, Hugh Culber/Paul Stamets Grief (Ellen’s) and mentions of Lorca, no serious injury since again we are sidestepping that but very brief description of Adira’s joining surgery, Gray Tal Lives, Jett Reno’s Wife Lives, Philippa Georgiou Lives

Note: This is not an Amna Patel Lives universe (Ellen Landry’s fiancée from Star Trek Online), as I am Making A Point about how no, it’s not that queer stories about loss and grief are bad or that I personally don’t want to write/read them; it’s about context, and how many characters have died over the course of your franchise, and the nature of your franchise, and what to portray versus not portray onscreen (in the context of your show), and how you’ve advertised your characters, and reading the room.

***

“Burning the midnight oil, huh?”

Jett looks up as Michael steps closer to her workbench in the corner of Engineering, raising an eyebrow, as Michael had known she would.

“Here to check my work on your outfit, Commander?” she asks, laconically, before bending her safety-goggled face back to her work.

Michael grins despite herself as she pulls out a chair opposite Jett. “I’m entirely confident in your work, Commander.”

“So you’re here to pester me because…?”

“Because I’m curious to see the work-in-progress. And, more importantly, because I ran into your wife on her way to turn in for the night, and she told me to tell you that she’s taking you out on a fantastic date when all this is over.”

“Where’s she think she’s gonna scare up a place to go out on any kind of date in the ass-middle of the 32nd century?”

Michael grins again. “I think it was a ‘looking for a way to take my wife on a fantastic date and if I cannot find one I will create one’ kind of thing.”

“Yeah, that tracks.” Michael can hear the smirk in Jett’s voice as she fiddles with the wiring on the angel suit’s chestplate.

“Don’t stay up too late, Commander,” she says as she stands. “We’re still gonna need you on shift tomorrow.”

Jett grunts in acknowledgement, and Michael smiles as she walks past the spore cube and towards her quarters for the night.

***

“How are you doing with all this, Landry?” Hugh ventures, after a few days of deliberation, when he and Ellen have a quiet moment alone together at the end of a meeting.

Ellen takes a minute before answering, dropping a PADD into her bag. “One of my security lieutenants said it seemed implausible that we’d be able to find a way to send Burnham back in time, once again, especially with the way the Burn affected ability of the time crystals on Boreth to interface with the suit even if we are granted one.”

Hugh raises an eyebrow and waits, silent.

“I told her that if she thought implausible was going to stop this crew, she must've not been paying attention to half the weird shenanigans they’ve pulled off.”

Hugh smiles wryly. “‘More things in Heaven and Earth than are dreamt of in your philosophy,’” he quotes.

Ellen gives him a look, and he holds up his hands in surrender. “Maybe I’ve been spending too much time around this ship’s surprisingly high number of Shakespeare fans.”

“And we’ve already dreamt of more things, haven’t we?” Ellen asks simply, pausing and leaning a hip against the table. “At this point, it’s just a matter of choosing philosophies.”

High raises an eyebrow again. “That's an interesting way of looking at it, Commander.”

Ellen folds her arms. “Yes, thank you, I am a font of excellent observations, at least when I’m not busy misreading dipshit captains and making the worst choices in the universe. You can stop giving me the sympathy look, by the way.”

Hugh watches her, silent.

“Yes," she tells him in a sing-song voice, "I have in fact experienced one or two emotions while helping prepare for a mission to bring someone back from the dead and knowing I can never bring my own fiancée back.” Her tone drops back to a flat command. “The only person in my, this, situation who actually deserves your sympathy is Amna, and she’s not here to receive it. You’re a busy man; you’re needed all over the place. Go do something clever and medical somewhere.”

Hugh watches her for a moment longer before he says simply, “I’m so sorry. For your loss.”

“Don’t. No.” Ellen’s voice is firm, though without rancor. “Those words are not for me. I am not a good widow. Do you understand that? Instead of honoring my fiancée in any substantive way, I went off and got manipulated by some dipshit. And what’s worse, if it hadn’t been for the manipulation and the secretly evil part, I might not have ever figured out to regret it. Do you understand that? Can you understand that? You’re a good person. Your partner is a good person. Do you know what it is to not just not be able to save her but to get even grieving wrong?”

For a long moment, Hugh considers what to say.

“I think your actions in helping Lorca were wrong,” he says. “I don’t think it’s possible to grieve wrong.”

Ellen, eyes dubious, grunts in a way that could be dismissal, acknowledgement, or something in between.

“Take care, Commander,” Hugh says quietly, heading for the door.

He is nearly in the hallway when Ellen speaks.

“This is part of hers.”

Hugh pauses, turning to face her again. “Hers--?”

“Amna. This mission would have been part of her philosophy.” Ellen’s lip twitches in what could be the shadow of an exhausted smile, voice still blunt and the expression in her eyes still characteristically direct. “Without question.”

***

When Georgiou returns from Boreth, she discovers that Adira has slipped down to the shuttle bay to meet her.

“How did it go?” they ask, hesitantly, eyes wide with some unknown emotion.

“Successful,” she tells them, as the two of them make their way out of the bay together. She pats one strap of her pack. “We now have a time crystal.” Given that Gray’s life rests on having a crystal to power the suit, it’s unsurprising that Adira has been worried.

“No, I mean—I knew you’d be able to do it,” Adira tells her, as if this is obvious, a trust and confidence in their eyes that makes Georgiou’s heart ache. “But, I just, I do talk with the rest of the crew, and they talked about how Pike was so f—messed up by whatever he had to go through to get the crystal, like it was really really…bad. And I just—” They stare at their feet as they walk, sneaking a quick glance sideways at Georgiou. Georgiou knows she probably looks like shit. “If I’d never come to this ship, you wouldn’t have done that for Gray. For us.”

Georgiou stops walking, turning to face Adira, and Adira watches her, their face pinched and anxious.

“Listen to me, Adira.”

Adira nods.

“This might not be something you fully, truly understand until you’re an adult yourself, but when kids are hurt or in danger, it’s us adults' job to protect you. That’s one of the most important parts of being a caring adult Human. Caring adult person,” she corrects herself. “Maybe the most important thing.”

Adira nods uncertainly.

“Saving Gray is the most important thing right now,” Georgiou says gently, as the two of them resume walking. “To all of us. You arriving on this ship was a very, very good thing for so many reasons, Adira. Saving him is one of them.”

“And that’s a go, Burnham!” comes Paul’s voice in Michael’s ear, and she launches herself upwards from Discovery’s stationary hull, the soft interior padding of the red angel suit once again surrounding her as she hovers in space, programming her coordinates.

“Jump commencing in thirty seconds,” she reports.

“Take good care, Commander,” Paul says, his voice gentle in her ear against the silent cushion of the vacuum around her.

“I will.”

A pause of a few seconds. “Adira says ‘good luck.’”

Michael can picture the two of them as they were when she flew out of the shuttle bay, Paul standing at his portable console in the shuttle bay's cobbled-together mission control, one arm around Adira.

“Tell them—” Michael swallows. “Tell them thank you. Tell them that I’ll—tell them that we’ll be back soon.”

“I will.”

The countdown completes, and Michael falls forward into a bright shower of instants.

***

Outside the generation ship, Michael shifts reality out of the timeline with a wave of one Jett-Reno-enhanced suit hand, glancing at the two figures inside the viewport in front of her before tractoring the asteroid off its course. After confirming its trajectory away from the ship, she punches the personal transporter on her chest, materializing inside.

Gray and Adira startle, each making as though to stand protectively in front of the other.

“I mean you no harm,” Michael says quickly. “And you’re both going to be safe. I am going to make sure of that. My name is Michael Burnham, and the next year is going to be very difficult for you, Adira,” she continues, feeling the words tumble from her lips as quickly as she can say them, “but I want you to know that when that year is over, you’re going to see Gray again. Gray,” she says, holding out the unpowered exoskeleton of a second timesuit, “I need you to put this on and come with me.”

Gray steps closer to Adira. “What? No, I—”

“Your name is Gray Tal, and your last name was Senna Tal, and when he was a child his favorite thing to do was to read books to his collection of plush tribble toys,” Michael says.

Gray’s eyes widen. “That’s—“

Michael continues, rattling off former Tal host facts as quickly as she can, before explaining, also as quickly as she can, about the asteroid they’ve just seen her deflect, and the symbiont, and the Discovery.

“Adira needs to have the symbiont,” she explains, “in order not to cause a time paradox. But the modified time crystal in my suit will allow me to shift you—” she nods at Adira—“back into the real timeline in time for the medbots to give you the symbiont. I just need to do it at exactly the right time, so that Gray doesn’t actually die, and you snap back just as the medbots are holding the symbiont.” Do medbots hold things? Hover them? Whatever; she’s getting the point across. And Gray is putting the suit on.

“Luckily, my amazing crewmates have worked out all the timing,” she continues, “so I just need to transport us back outside and then snap the timeline back to the right instant. And, yes, there will be two Tals in the galaxy when you see each other again and I’m sure that will make things very interesting. Ready to go?”

She holds out a hand, and Gray takes it. “I love you, Adira,” he says, as Michael reaches for the transporter.

“I love you too—” Adira says, and Michael and Gray reappear meters away in space. Adira is standing watching them, and standing watching them, and then with a motion of her hand Michael slams them back into the timeline and Gray puts a hand to his mouth over his suit visor as he watches the medbots complete the surgery and place a blanket over Adira, flying the newly-joined Human slowly away down the hallways and out of sight.

“You’ll see them again,” Michael whispers, “in just a minute.”

“Them?” Gray sounds puzzled.

Oh, right. Well, in just moments, there will be ample time for explanations. “Adira. You’ll see Adira, who’s going to be so very, very happy to see you. It will have been a year,” Michael adds, as she pulls up the angel suit controls, “and Adira is going to be so glad to see you again.”

They fall forward into sparking and sparkling time together, and all at once they’re dropping back into the timeline, floating easily in the vacuum in front of Discovery’s shuttle bay.

“Ready?” Michael asks.

Gray nods. “Yeah. I mean—of course I’m ready. I’m ready.”

Michael smiles, floating them into the bay as the forcefield ripples obligingly to let them enter and landing them both on the smooth floor, steadying Gray as his feet make contact.

“Gray?”

Adira is pressing their own hand to their mouth as Michael and Gray release the visors on their suits, and then they take a step toward him, staring as though they don’t quite believe he’s real.

“It’s me,” Gray says quietly, smiling nervously at them. “I’m here.”

This appears to be all the encouragement Adira needs to dash forward, wrapping their arms around him. He hugs them back, eyes closed as he buries his head against their shoulder. Adira is smiling and crying at the same time.

“I’m here,” he whispers to them again.

Michael steps away from the two of them, leaving them to it, and Sylvia hurries forward to wrap her arms around her. “Welcome back, Michael,” she says.

Michael hugs her for several long seconds before releasing her to accept a hug from Philippa and then a pat on the back from Paul as Tracy steps forward to scan her with a medical tricorder. “No adverse effects of the jump,” she reports, smiling.

Hugh is stepping over to do the same for Gray as Gray and Adira finally—though, Michael suspects, temporarily—pull apart. Paul echoes his motion, heading for Adira and rubbing their back before wrapping a supportive arm around their shoulder as Hugh reports that Gray is fine as well and the two teenagers grin exhaustedly at each other.

Michael watches the four of them for another moment, smiling, before turning to glance at the place where Ellen stands at her own console, studiously powering it down. Her eyes flick up just briefly toward the reunion in front of her before she lowers her gaze again, turning and slipping out the doors of the shuttle bay. Michael catches Tracy’s eye, and the two of them walk after her as Sylvia steps over to power her and Paul’s consoles down in turn and Philippa begins the process of packing the rest of mission control up.

***

At 20:00 hours in an undisclosed location on the starship Discovery, Jett’s wife leads her, eyes closed and complaining happily, into a room that has been decorated to a degree that resembles an explosion in a paper snowflake factory, while a few decks up on the bridge, Philippa settles into the captain’s chair for the night shift. Tilly climbs into bed, pulling out her PADD with its book on 30th century Earth, and at the table next to the viewport in Discovery’s rec room, Michael and Tracy sit beside Ellen in silence, keeping her company in her complicated grief. Hugh hums to himself while he brushes his teeth, and Paul yawns as he finishes slipping on his pajamas, stepping forward as Hugh sets his toothbrush back in its holder and wrapping his arms around him, humming deliberately off-key. He garners an eye-roll for his trouble, and two decks down, Gray and Adira sit in Discovery’s mess hall, gazing into each others’ eyes as Adira lapses into silence after explaining how Paul found them in the Jefferies tubes in orbit over Earth.

“You’ve had so many adventures all this time,” Gray says, grinning. “Adira Tal.”

Adira half laughs, shrugging one shoulder. “I guess so.” They look up at him. “I think my adventures are about to get even weirder, Gray Tal.”

Gray grins again. “You know, I didn’t think I or anyone I know was ever going to have the chance to visit the pools. What was it like?”

“Yes, I suppose you would have to ask me what it’s like, since it’s one of the memories we don’t share,” Adira comments with a mischievous grin of their own.

Gray laughs, shaking his head, and they beam at each other in shared exhaustion and confusion and joy as Adira begins their story and the Discovery floats onward through the night.

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atc74 · 5 years

Text

Oil & Water

Square(s) Filled: Arranged Marriage for @spnkinkbingo

Warnings: It isn’t angsty, but it ain’t fluffy

Summary: Jared Padalecki is the heir and next in line to run his fathers oil company. Y/N Y/L/N is the only child of their biggest competitor. What happens when their fathers decide their personal and professional futures?

Pairing: Jared x Reader

Word Count: 3467

Written for: @spnkinkbingo

Beta’d by: @alleiradayne, thank you for always being a great sounding board!

Like Jared’s scent? Buy it here from @scentsfromthebunker!

As a reminder, this is a work of fiction and should be regarded as such. No harm is intended toward the actor(s) or their families.

“I don’t care. You do not get an opinion in this decision Jared! We’ve sealed the deal and you’ll marry that girl come hell or high water!” Gerald thundered at his youngest son.

“So I don’t even get a say in my own fucking life?” Jared demanded of his father.

“No, you don’t. Not anymore. You’ve had your chance to find someone and settle down. For Pete’s sake, boy, you’re thirty-six years old and I ain’t gonna be around forever. I need you to settle down and learn how to run the business,” Gerald sighed, sitting down at the large desk.

“Why does it have to fall to me?” Jared asked his father.

“Your brother and sister chose different fields. You chose to stay here and by default, you’ll take over when I retire. This is a good deal, son. We’ll be the biggest oil conglomerate in the country, by merging companies and families,” Gerald explained. “You’ll do this. End of discussion.”

“Whatever,” Jared scoffed and left his father’s office, slamming the heavy door behind him. His mother stopped him before he could leave the house, a gentle hand on his arm.

“Jared, I know it’s not ideal, but I think you’ll be good together and a mother’s intuition is rarely wrong,” Sharon spoke softly.

“Good together? Mom, we’re like oil and water. Every damn time we’ve been in the same room, it’s nothing but angry words and snide comments,” Jared sighed heavily.

“Oil and water don’t need to mix to be together, baby,” she smiled up at her son. “It’s a good fit. It was for your daddy and me. It will be for you, too. You’ll see. She is coming to dinner tonight with her family to start the planning.”

“Okay Mama,” Jared bent at the waist to place a sweet kiss to his mother’s cheek before he left the house. He took off on foot, wandering the family land until he found himself at the stables. He may not have known where he was going when he left the house, but he always seemed to end up where he needed to be. He saddled up his horse, Wildfire, and the two of them roamed the outskirts of the property.

Even with the heavy thoughts on his mind, Jared felt lighter when he rode her. As she ran effortlessly along the tree line, his mind flooded with a memory.

“Dad stop!” Jared yelled as he spotted something in the middle of the burning trees. A foal, no more than a few weeks old. She stood there on wobbly knees, her coat dirty and sweaty from the fire and ash in the air.

Jared ran from the truck and without thinking, dashed through the flames to get to her. She was skittish as he approached her, but he was able to get close enough to throw the rope in his hands and land it around her neck. He hurriedly but gently coaxed her through the flames until they reached safety. When he finally got her home and cleaned up, her coat was a beautiful chestnut. Jared and his father looked, but they never found out who she belonged to, so she became a permanent resident and he named her Wildfire.

Wildfire whinied beneath him as his mind wandered. “I know girl, I know. Let’s head home, yeah? Don’t want Mama to yell at us for being late for dinner. Gotta shower for my bride-to-be,” Jared chuckled and turned her toward home.

It’s not that he didn’t like Y/N Y/L/N. She was smart, beautiful, funny and sarcastic. She was actually someone Jared would normally have been attracted too, but one run in too many at industry functions and they had just rubbed each other the wrong way, more like he had seemingly rubbed her the wrong way. Truth be told, he wasn’t happy with the arrangement, but he could have thought of a hundred women worse than her. Still, he had to figure out how to get along with her if they were to be married.

Freshly showered and dressed in clean slacks, a button down and a light colored jacket, Jared made his way to the kitchen. His mother greeted him as she checked last minute details. “You look so handsome,” she smiled affectionately at her youngest son.

“Thanks, Mama,” he smiled in return, a small blush creeping up his cheeks.

The Y/L/N family arrived on time an hour later and everyone was ushered into the sitting room for drinks. Jared cautiously approached Y/N where she talked with their mothers. She looked annoyed as they talked wedding plans.

“Wanna take a walk?” he offered.

“Will it get me out of marrying you?” she rolled her eyes.

“No, but maybe we can talk, get to know each other a bit more,” Jared suggested, leading her out to the veranda. “It’s not the greatest of situations and I’m not happy with the arrangement, either, Y/N.”

“Well, maybe you’re just better adjusted than you appear to be,” she smirked.

“What the hell does that mean?” Jared asked.

“You’re a playboy, Jared. A rich, privileged brat that shows off his daddy’s money,” she scoffed.

“Yeah, you’re rich too, remember?” he retorted.

“I am now, but I still remember what it was like to be poor, before Daddy struck oil and made his money. I’ve worked hard over the last ten years to help him build his empire that was supposed to be mine. Now I’ve been told that he’s merging with your daddy and I have to marry you in the same week!”

“Yeah, I got the same news,” Jared sighed. He knew this would be hard, but he wasn’t sure why she hated him so much. Apparently her first impression would be harder to change than he realized. “If this is going to work, can we at least try being friends?”

“I don’t want to be friends, Jared, and I sure as hell don’t want to be married to you!” she snapped. “But, we’re stuck so whatever. No sleeping around and stay out of my way.”

She stormed back into the house, leaving Jared staring after her. It was no secret that Jared enjoyed the company of women, but he was not a playboy, by any means. He rarely slept with them and in fact, hadn’t been with anyone intimately in over a year. Y/N was a spitfire and he liked that, but he certainly had his work cut out for him if he was going to get her to even like him at this point.

“No. We’re not making this a huge affair! This is a sham and while we’re prepared to play nice in public, I’m not doing it with an audience of five hundred people!” Y/N shouted at her mother, smacking her hand on the table for emphasis.

“I agree with her. We should keep it small, just family and maybe a few close friends,” Jared offered, giving her a shy smile, which surprisingly, she returned.

By the time the Y/L/N’s had bid goodnight to the Padalecki’s the date had been set, the guest list finalized and menu options discussed. Y/N had decided on gardenias and white heather for her bouquet. The tables would have additional gardenias and candles. They had agreed on blue and silver for the main colors and bridesmaids.

Y/N was an only child and didn’t have many close friends, so she planned to ask Jared’s younger sister to stand up for her since it wouldn’t let more people on to their arrangement. Jeff, his older brother, would be his best man.

Their mothers would take care of the catering, but had told both Jared and Y/N that they were expected the next day at Haven, the bakery they decided on, for a cake testing. Protests had been made but Sharon put her foot down.

“Jared Tristan Padalecki! I am your mother and I am telling you you will do this and you will not complain. I raised winners, not whiners!”

“Wow! You got full named dude,” Y/N snickered at him behind her hand, until she heard her own mother.

“And you’ll do the same, Y/N Y/M/N Y/L/N! No more acting like a brat. I raised you better than that! You were born naked just like the rest of us, so get over it!”

Jared’s eyes went wide as her mother’s outburst, a not so subtle laugh erupting from his mouth, as he was met with a scowl from all three ladies. “Sorry.”

“Fine!” Y/N yelled before turning on her heels and she shot Jared a look and pointed her finger at him. “Don’t be late!”

~*~

The cake tasting was tense to say the least, but they finally settled on several flavors for the cupcakes Jared wanted and the traditional cake their mothers insisted on.

“I’m glad we’ve come to a compromise,” Y/N said on their way out of the bakery.

“No, we collaborated. Compromise indicates we both gave up something to get what we wanted in the end. Collaboration is us working together for a pleasing end result,” Jared smiled proudly, holding open the door for her.

“God, you’re so annoying. At least you’re pretty and smart,” she scoffed, walking through the open door.

“You think I’m pretty!” Jared squealed in feigned delight. “Don’t forget I’m right, too.”

“Yeah, okay you’re right, pretty boy,” she said, a small smile tugging her lips. She ducked her head so he couldn’t see.

They walked out into the bright Texas afternoon, Jared just a step behind her. “You know, this arrangement our families are forcing us into doesn’t have to be all bad. I know it’s not what either of us want and I heard what you said last night loud and clear, but just hear me out, okay?”

Y/N stopped and turned to face him, her head tilting up to look him in the eye instead of his annoyingly broad chest. “I’m listening.”

“Let me take you to dinner. Your choice. I just want to talk, I promise,” Jared held her gaze and he saw her giving it thought.

“Fine, one meal,” she relented and he let out the breath he didn’t know he had been holding.

They walked to his car and he opened the door for her, closing is gently after she slid into the passenger seat. Jared prayed he knew what he was doing as he walked around to get in on the other side. He slipped in next to her, turned the engine over and the air on full. “Where to?”

~*~

After their drinks were served, Jared cleared his throat before he began speaking. “Y/N, I know you don’t care for me very much and I’ll admit I don’t know why, but I’d like us to try to at least get to know each other.”

“Why?” she took a sip of her wine while she waited for his answer.

“Because I have done absolutely nothing to make you hate me. Hell, I’m a nice guy!” he threw his hands up. “I just don’t want us to have all the hostility. And although being forced to marry one another isn’t ideal, we can learn to get along.”

“So what’s your solution, pretty boy?” she eyed him carefully.

“Tell me something about yourself. You share one, I’ll share one. We’re going to be married in less than two weeks, and I’d like to know more about you than just your name and occupation,” he offered with a smile.

“So your plan is to make this marriage another collaboration? Or are you trying to woo me?” she jested.

“Why not? You never know...in the end, we both might end up with what we want,” he lifted his glass, clinking it to hers. “To us.”

Dinner seemed to move smoothly after their negotiations. They both enjoyed their meals over not unpleasant conversation.

“So why are you still single?” Jared asked, taking a sip of his after dinner bourbon.

“I work all the time. Helping my daddy build his empire that I assumed I would be running someday occupies, sorry occupied, all of my time. Besides, dating is for people who don’t know what they want,” she shrugged.

“And you do?” he probed.

“Hell yes! I want to be successful in all areas of my life, not just business. But a successful woman intimidates a man. Something about their ego and thinking their junk is the size of Texas and all. I don’t know. I just want a strong man who can handle my own success while still being my man, ya know?” she looked up from her salted caramel cheesecake to look him in the eye, taking note of the myriad of colors she found there.

“There is nothing wrong with being successful. You should be very proud of your accomplishments. Your success would intimidate a lesser man. From what my father tells me, your daddy would be lost without you,” Jared acknowledged.

“I am, trust me. And I know he is too, but that is what makes this arrangement even more infuriating. If I am doing such a great job, why sell now?” she questioned, but shook it off, not expecting an answer from Jared. “This isn’t all about me pretty boy. You too busy playing the field to settle down?”

“Ha, no. Nothing like that. I just never found the one I was looking for,” Jared responded with a low chuckle.

“And what is it that you are looking for, Jared?” she leaned forward in her seat.

“A successful woman who could hold her own, whether it be in the boardroom or the bedroom. A woman who isn’t afraid of confrontation, someone who will call me out on my bullshit when I get out of line,” he revealed.

“So, of all the bombshells I’ve seen you with around town, none of them fit the bill?” she jabbed.

“You’ve seen me with one in the last two years, Y/N. And no, they didn’t. They preferred a free ride and the spotlight. They’d rather get their nails done than do anything that resembled work,” Jared frowned, his brows knitting together.

“Sounds exhausting. But what you’re telling me doesn’t sync with what I’ve seen and heard,” she tipped her glass and finished the rest of her wine.

“Don’t believe everything you hear and looks can be deceiving. I know your what first impression of me is but I’m not what you think I am, Y/N,” Jared declared, placing his phone on the table and sliding it over to her after unlocking it.

“What is this, Jared?” she looked from him to the phone and back.

“That’s my phone. Go through it. The texts, pictures, whatever you want. I’ve got nothing to hide from anyone, least of all you. I’ll even give you the names and numbers of all the women I have dated in the last three years, you’ll see you are wrong about me,” Jared stated, signaling the server for another round.

~*~

It was the night before the wedding and Y/N found herself a bit nervous as she approached the Padalecki estate. Her parents had arrived earlier while she had gotten hung up at the office. It was just a rehearsal dinner and only family would be present. So why was she so anxious? Because after the dinner she shared with Jared a couple weeks ago, she couldn’t get him off her mind. She had freely scrolled through his phone while they were out, even his cloud, but found nothing that provided any evidence that he was telling her anything but the truth.

She had asked for the references, as she put it, and she actually did call all of them. And googled them. Y/N got the same story from all three, which is something else in itself. Over the last seven years, Jared had only seen three women, each of them relationships, not flings. The women had come off as shallow and money hungry. They had each solidified the information Jared had given her. He wasn’t a playboy, he was just looking for something more than they could give him. How could her first impression have been so wrong? The time she spent with him over the last two weeks painted an entirely different picture, something she liked.

No, it wasn’t just nerves she was feeling. It was something more, something deeper. Something she was completely unfamiliar with and it scared her.

She entered the manor and headed through to the back veranda. She took in all of the decorations and the tent that had already been set up for the wedding tomorrow. Everything looked beautiful as she looked around. She was stunned at everything her and Jared’s mother had done to prepare for it. A glass of red wine appeared in her line of sight and she looked up to the man holding it. Jared. She took the glass from him with a shaky thank you.

“Hey, you okay?” he whispered, lowering his head so only she could hear him.

“Yes. No. I don’t know,” she replied, shaking her head.

“Hey, let’s talk. We’ve got time before dinner,” Jared said, leading her back into the house and into his office.

The room was painted a soft gray with dark shelving filled with old works of fiction. There were some books on business management and leading people, but mostly there were photos. Framed pictures covered one wall and several of the shelves. There were pictures of his friends and family. But what caught her eye most were the pictures of Jared with children. It was unexpected and it gave her one more glimpse into his life.

“That’s my nephew there,” he pointed to a picture of him holding a newborn. “And this is my niece at her third birthday. That one is my favorite.”

Y/N chanced a peek at him, a happy, content smile on his face as he looked at the picture. She pulled her eyes away to get a closer look. Jared was seated at a small children’s table, wearing a crown and sipping from a ridiculously tiny cup. “Tea party?”

He hummed his reply. “She was so elated with the tea set I gave her that she insisted we have a tea party right then and there. There isn’t anything I wouldn’t do for them.”

Her heart fluttered in her chest at the softness of his voice and his eyes at the memory.

“Sorry, I got caught up there for a minute. Talk to me, Y/N,” Jared took a seat on the leather sofa, patting the other side for her to sit with him.

“I don’t even know where to start, Jare,” she sighed, closing her eyes.

“I know this is overwhelming and it’s unfair and we should get to decide who we want to spend our lives with, but it’s happening. I’m nervous too, but I’ve got your back, okay?” he promised, pulling her hand into his.

“I, uh, that’s th-, crap. Okay, I’m going to start talking and please don’t interrupt me, I just need to get this out, okay?” she looked at him for confirmation. She tossed back the wine in her glass and opened her mouth.

“That’s the thing. Yes, it’s overwhelming, but shouldn’t it be? I mean, we are getting married tomorrow. Is it unfair how we were forced together? Yeah. Is it unfair how you’ve been basically courting me for the past two weeks? Yes. Is it unfair that I’m feeling things I have no idea how to deal with? Hell yes. I have learned more about you in the last two weeks than I have about most of my employees in ten years. I’m not good with people. But you? Ha, you’re like a master when it comes to getting people to open up to you. I’ve told you things I haven’t told anyone, like ever! And that is exasperating, to say the least. I don’t do feelings. That’s why I haven’t dated, because I don’t want to feel things that normal people feel.

“You’ve made me see things in a new way and feel things that I thought myself incapable of feeling. And now, now I just, I just, shit. This sounded better in my head. What I am trying to say is that I kinda like you and how we got here is unfair yes, but under different circumstances, I think we could have gotten here on our own.” She paused for air after her word vomit and looked at Jared who sat silent, his expression unreadable. “Jare, say something, please.”

“It’s a lot to process, Y/N,” Jared stood, taking another look at all the photos spanning his thirty-six years. He knew there were several moments missing from that wall and he knew then and there what the next photo would be. He took her hand in his and pulled her to her feet. Jared placed his hands on either side of her face and looked her in the eye. “I kinda like you, too.” He slipped one arm around her waist and pulled her closer to him. “And I really want to kiss you right now.”

Her eyes fluttered shut at the thought of his lips on her and she rose up on her toes. “Jared.”

He loosened his hold and pulled back to see her. The look on her face didn’t shock him as much as he thought it would. She was pissed and that he had anticipated. “But, as you said, I’ve been courting you and I am going to finish courting you properly. The first kiss we share will be tomorrow when we are married.”

“You better be worth the wait, pretty boy,” she smiled.

continued here

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The Whole Enchilada: @iwantthedean @dolphincliffs @mrswhozeewhatsis @meganwinchester1999 @cherrycokegirls1 @closetspngirl @roxyspearing @flamencodiva @blacktithe7 @sis-tafics @just-another-busyfangirl @evansrogerskitten @amanda-teaches @hannahindie @wotinspntarnation @winchesterprincessbride @winecatsandpizza @kickingitwithkirk @wi-deangirl77 @hobby27 @mogaruke @gh0stgurl @paintrider13-blog @alleiradayne @idreamofplaid

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#spnkinkbingo #Jared Padalecki #jared x reader #jared padalecki au #jared padalecki x reader au #supernatural fanfiction

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spaceorphan18 · 4 years

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Marvel Movie Night: Spider-Man

Kicking off Sam Raimi’s original Spider-Man trilogy! Whoo! It’s interesting - Spider-Man was one of those things that I wasn’t initially into (totally here for the X-Men). Then I really fell in love with this trilogy. And then kind of fell out of love with it. And then Tom Holland came along leaving this in the dust. Coming back to it again I find it… endearing? But like the original X-Men films, despite being thought of as great for the time, I don’t believe it holds up that well now that we’re nearly twenty years later. (My god, am I getting old?)

Let’s back up and talk about this film in context for a second. X-Men was revolutionary in its own way - bringing the comic book genre into a space that could be taken more seriously. Spider-Man, however, was the first glimpse of what films based on Marvel properties would later become. Unlike superhero and action films of the time, it was brightly colored. It was cheesy, but not overly campy. It had humor and emotion. And, not surprisingly, audiences reacted positively!

But now that we’ve had twenty more years of Marvel films, does it hold up? Kind of? Is it a good Spider-Man film, yes if the context you’d like your Spider-Man films to be in is taking directly from the Silver and Bronze age era of comics. Is it a good film overall? Meh.

I don’t spend a whole lot of time in Spider-Man related fandoms, but there is a big chunk of fans that prefer this film and its sequels to the other two Spider-Man franchises. And while I don’t agree (though I support everyone having their own, varied opinion), I can see why this might appeal to those fans who had been reading the comics for years.

The first half of this film is directly lifted out of Amazing Fantasy #15, the comic issue Spider-Man made his debut in. The filmmakers did, really, a fantastic job of bringing it to life -- the origin story, Uncle Ben, the ‘great power’ line, Peter Parker’s guilt, the spider-bite, and so on and so on. It’s there. This film feels like a Silver Age comic book brought to life. On the one hand - that’s pretty remarkable. I don’t think the comics had ever been directly referenced in the same way prior to this. On the other, it brings along with it all the downsides of a Silver Age comic. The dialogue is incredibly stiff. The acting feels forced. And everything has that -- ‘ah, golly shucks’ mentality about it. It felt dated in 2002. It feels even more dated now. But the novelty of it being THE COMIC BOOK was pretty revolutionary for the time.

Peter Parker/Spider-Man

Of course there are hundreds of polls out there, and I’m sure a few dozen YouTube videos about who the best Spider-Man is. Honestly, there’s a lot of subjectivity that goes along with it. I think each of them has their pros and cons, so let’s take a second to talk about Tobey Maguire in this film. One thing I think Tobey Maguire does really well, especially for being nearly thirty by the time he got the part, is play the nerdy and awkward Peter Parker… or at least at least the nerdy and awkward Peter Parker that was written in the 60s by Stan Lee. Maguire does a great job of doing the part he’s supposed to be playing - the problem is, and I feel this way about all the characters, is that he doesn’t feel like he’s playing a real person. He feels like he’s a comic book character thought up during the 60s.

What about the Spider-Man side of things? I’m going to give this a pass more than I probably should. First of all, Spider-Man is supposed to be rather chatting, and this Spider-Man is near silent. But that’s more so due to the lack of ability with the suit. And I don’t blame the filmmakers for keeping Spider-Man off the screen for so much of the film. Not only does it make those times Spider-Man is there feel more special, but it saves them from having to do a lot of things that, maybe, didn’t the technology wasn’t fully ready for yet.

Look - I think while it was definitely moving in the right direction, the action sequences in this film are probably some of its weakest points. Everything is incredibly stiff and/or ridiculous looking. Sure, there are some great moments of Spider-Man swinging around the city. But most of the stuff between he and the Green Goblin have not aged well at all.

One last thing - the organic webshooters? Nope. Nope, nope, nope. Ew.

Aunt May, Uncle Ben, and Great Responsibility

So - Aunt May (and Uncle Ben) in the comics are older. It’s… kinda unrealistic, unless Peter’s parents were much, much older when they had a kid. Uncle Ben says in this film that he’s 68. That’s grandparent age -- and I’d believe this whole thing much more if they were Peter’s great Aunt and Uncle. That said, Cliff Robertson and Rosemary Harris were perfect choices for their roles. Robertson especially plays the closest to an actual person as he grumbles about unemployment and new technology he’s having trouble with. But more so, he does such a great job with his Great Responsibility line, that there’s really no reason for other Spider-Man films to do it. It’s in the culture now. We get it. Meanwhile, Harris’s Aunt May, well, looks exactly like Aunt May. Aunt May, in general, kind of annoys me, so I suppose we’ll leave it that.

The Osborns and the Green Goblin

First, James Franco as Harry Osborn. There really isn’t a whole lot to this character - it feels like he’s talked about more than actually on screen, and I feel like we don’t get to see that much of Peter and Harry’s relationship. That said, Franco does brooding rather well - and is pretty consistent at keeping the brooding up throughout the film. He’s fine, but sometimes feels like he’s there because the movie wants him to be in it.

Willem Dafoe is Norman Osborn, and here’s my thing. Dafoe is a pretty good actor. He does the whole split-personality thing rather well, and makes an incredibly convincing villain, especially when everything about the Green Goblin is, well, incredibly contrived. Really, I think the Oscorp stuff is the dumbest stuff in this film because it strictly adheres to comic book logic. And while I also understand there were obvious limitations and complications making such a ridiculous suit, that Green Goblin costume is terrible. Dafoe was much more menacing without it on.

Mary Jane Watson

**sigh** Okay. Let me start by saying that I like MJ in the comics, even though, yeah, this is a pretty good representation of her (or more so the kind of character she was forty years ago) here. I don’t even mind Kirstin Dunst. This version of MJ bugs me though. Part of it is the story framing. Everything’s from Peter’s POV, and it doesn’t make any sense. What is it about her, besides the fact that she’s pretty, does he even like? They never actually spend time together - and when they do, Peter’s giving her soliloquy about how wonderful she is. The problem is that we’re never really given a reason, other than pretty, to understand why. Do they have anything in common? Not really. Do they make a connection beyond his constant saving her from bad situations - whether it be emotional or physical? Not really.

Everything about their scenes is just over-the-top a majority of the time. Like -- this is a big sweeping romance, hear the music? See the close-ups? Add tears, more tears! But I never buy an actual connection between the two of them.

The one thing that does actual work, and I will give them a ton of credit for, is that upside down kiss in the rain. That’s pretty damn iconic. And kinda hot. It’s the only time that the movie allows the romance to do something other than follow the tired tropes of boy-likes-girl, boy-rescues-girl, boy-gets-girl. Ug.

J Jonah Jameson and the Daily Bugle

JK Simmons and the Daily Bugle is hands down the best thing about this film. It’s witty and almost satirical with everything looking straight out of the 60s comic book. It gets the humor that the comics often has and runs with it. I have no complaints, it’s really, truly amazing. And I have to wonder if this entire film would work better if it had taken place during the 60s and was a tad more on the satirical side. I feel like the world would have made just a little more sense.

Final Rating: 3 out of 5 Spiderwebs. I think this film is a great embodiment for what Spider-Man meant to a whole group of people who grew up with the character. As a film, I think it’s standard issue, and besides letting comic book movies be brightly colored and fun, I don’t think it does anything special with the story it’s telling. And much like the original X-Men film, while I’ll give it credit for being special for the time it came out, I don’t think it holds up now.

Next Up: Oy, I’m gonna have to watch that Ben Affleck Daredevil film now. :P

#marvel movie nights #spider-man

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booklover4816 · 6 years

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A Surprise For Donald

Donald knew something was up when he heard the bumping. It sounded almost like someone had dropped something heavy onto the wooden floor of the houseboat.

“Be careful, Dewey!” Huey’s voice admonished in a quiet whisper. “You’ll spoil the surprise.”

“But I’m so exhausted,” Dewey whined in response.

His bedroom was pitch black, and he could feel the boat rocking back and forth gently with the summer waves, always a good sign, especially considering it was the middle of hurricane season. Donald glanced over at his alarm clock and saw that it was only three in the morning. The boys were usually never up before six thirty, especially in the summer. For them to be awake at this early... Well, that meant that they were up to something.

Donald internally groaned. As much as he adored his nephews, he couldn’t deny that they were a handful. And being out of school only meant that they got into even more trouble than usual since they had more free time.

It wasn’t that they were bad kids. No, really he couldn’t have asked for better. But they were mischievous and curious, two traits that weren’t a good combination when it came to seven year olds.

But even for them, plotting something at three in the morning was strange. And if this was going to become their new habit, then it was going to be a long summer.

“Ouch, Dewey!” Louie hissed. “That was my foot!”

“Well, I can’t see!” Dewey responded in a frantic whisper. “Can we please turn on a light, Huey?”

“We can’t wake Uncle Donald,” Huey replied stubbornly. “Besides, it’s too dark. I can’t find the light switch.”

“Well, Dewey’s klutziness is going to wake him away,” Louie warned softly, a slight edge to his voice. The youngest triplet was getting annoyed with his blue-clad brother.

“I’m not klutzy,” Dewey retorted defensively, the volume of his voice raising. “Guys,” Huey whined, clearly annoyed that his brother’s bickering was ruining his plan to not wake Donald (though, unbeknownst to him, it had already failed). “You’re going to wake Uncle Donald.

But Dewey and Louie refused to heed their brother. Donald heard Louie growl, “Well, at least I know how to actually pay attention to what I’m told.”

“At least I know how to defend myself,” Dewey shot back, referring to his tendency to let his fists do the talking when facing bullies.

“I do defend myself!” Louie defended. “But I know how to do it without getting the snot beat out of me.”

“Oh yeah! Well—“

“Knock it off! Now!”

The oldest triplet’s voice, while not loud, was sharp, with a hint of anger beginning to seep into it, as he cut Dewey off. Hearing that tone coming from his normally sweet, level-headed nephew made Donald flinch. He had hoped none of the boys had inherited his foul temper, but alas, luck was never on Donald Duck’s side. And of the three, the last one he ever expected to see it in was Huey.

Donald contemplated getting out of bed and intervening before his oldest dissolved into a full blown temper tantrum, but he decided to wait and see if it would pass on its own.

Luckily, the two younger triplets decided to heed their brother’s warning, lest they end up on the receiving end of his nasty temper. He heard Huey let out a sigh to regain his composure. “Okay, here’s the plan…”

Donald couldn’t make out what they were saying, meaning that the red-clad boy had gestured his brothers closer so he could whisper his plan to them. Donald was no less suspicious, but he was a little bit relieved that whatever they were up to, it was Huey’s plan. The oldest triplet’s plans usually as destructive as Dewey’s or borderline illegal like Louie’s.

Plus, Huey almost always had good intentions. That’s not to say that his brothers’ plans never had good intentions behind them, but Dewey and Louie sometimes dipped into that gray area. And really, Donald didn’t like any of the boys plotting, but it was a relief to know that he probably wasn’t going to be paying for damages and/or dealing with the police.

The older duck heard heavy footsteps hitting the wooden floor of the boat, indicating, much to Donald’s displeasure, that one of the boys was running down the hall, despite the fact he had told them time and time again not to run at all when they were on the boat. The footsteps stopped in front of his room door, and he heard over exaggerated sniffling.

He assumed this was their distraction to keep Donald from finding out they were up to something. The parental part of him told him to call them out before they even started, but that part was overwhelmed by curiosity. It was probably best just to play along for now and actually see what they were up to. After all, there was always that chance that they really weren’t up to anything at all. So, he closed his eyes and pretended to be asleep.

The door opened slowly and hesitantly, screeching as the duckling on the other side pushed it open. “U-Uncle D-Donald?”

Donald groaned and sat up, pretending that he had just been woken up and hadn’t actually been awake for nearly a half an hour. “What is it, Dewey?”

“I had a bad dream,” the middle triplet responded tearfully. “C-Can I sleep with you? Please?”

Donald rubbed his eyes and scooted over, patting the mattress bedside him. “Get up here.”

Dewey shut the door and bounded over, his webbed feet slapping against the wooden floor as he rushed over and jumped into Donald’s bed. The older duck had to admit to himself as he pulled the “scared” Dewey into his arms, his nephews were quite the actors.

Dewey buried his face into Donald’s nightshirt and began sobbing forcefully, soaking his uncle’s shirt with crocodile tears. It would’ve been convincing, had he not heard Dewey arguing with Louie less than ten minutes before. But Donald played along as he pulled the covers over his nephew and rubbed his back soothingly. “It’s alright, Dewey. It was just a bad dream. You’re okay.” Dewey just sniffled, or maybe it was a giggle muffled by the cotton of Donald’s shirt. The older duck wasn’t sure. The duckling pulled away and layed down, adjusting his body so he was comfortable.

Donald raised an eyebrow, though Dewey didn’t see it because it was still pitch black in the room. The duckling was fully committed to providing the distraction his brothers needed, and he had every intention of keeping up the “bad dream” charade.

Donald rolled his eyes and layed down next to his nephew, draping an arm over the duckling’s tiny body. Dewey snuggled closer, yawning sleepily. Three thirty was way too early for seven year olds, Donald figured. And thank whatever higher being was out there because he didn’t think he could handle three a.m. plots on a daily basis.

“Uncle Donald?” Dewey asked hesitantly, his voice calm and steady, proving that he had been pretending to cry earlier.

The older duck didn’t comment on his nephew’s acting. “Yes, Dewey?”

“What was Mom like?”

Of course, that was what the duckling wanted. Dewey always had this question. And the middle of the night was always his favorite time to ask. Perhaps he figured Donald would be too tired to carefully construct his answers and let something important slip. But after the fifth time he asked, Donald had figured out his motives.

Still, he humored his young nephew. “She was the bravest person I knew. She was fierce and adventurous. And she loved nothing more than piloting airplanes. She was so talented in everything she did, but flying was what she was the best at.”

Whenever the boys asked about Della, he was always careful about what his said. He never told them anything bad about her, not wanting to push her off the pedestal that they had placed her on long ago.

That was part of the reason that he could never bring himself to tell them what had happened with the Spear of Selene. Well, that and the fact that they were really too young to comprehend the whole situation.

“And,” Donald said as he always did, “she loved you boys more than anything else in the world.”

Donald had no idea how truthful that statement was. He knew his sister loved the boys, but he always had the feeling that they weren’t her number one priority. If there was one thing Donald knew better than anything else in the world, that was his sister. And knowing her, while she did love the boys, Donald knew deep down that nothing would have come between her and her adventures, including her children.

But, perhaps he was wrong. Maybe she would’ve given up adventuring in favor of raising Huey, Dewey, and Louie. He wasn’t a hundred percent sure. But the boys needed to know that she loved them. They didn’t need to know any different, and they most likely never would.

“Uncle Donald?” Dewey said.

“Yes, Dewey?” Donald replied with an exasperated sigh.

“What do you think it’d be like? You know, if Mom was still here?”

That was a new one, one that Donald hadn’t been expecting. Though he couldn’t see, he could feel Dewey’s eyes on him, waiting expectantly for an answer that Donald didn’t have.

“I’ll have to take a rain check on answering that question. Now, go to sleep.” He didn’t need to see in order to tell that Dewey was disappointed. Donald hated disappointing his nephews like that, but his answer to that question would have been even more disappointing not only to his young nephew, but to Donald himself.

He half expected Dewey to protest, but surprisingly he let it go. “I love you, Uncle Donald.”

“I love you too, Dewey.”

He felt the duckling attempt to snuggle closer, beginning to yank the blankets away as he did so. Within moments Dewey’s breathing slowed, indicating that he was asleep. The rest of the houseboat was eerily silent, and Donald almost forgot that he was supposed to be listening for whatever Huey and Louie were up to.

He could see why they had sent their middle brother as the distraction. Huey and Louie were much better at being stealthy than Dewey was. They were so quiet, that if Donald didn’t know any better, he’d say that they were fast asleep in their own beds.

Twenty minutes passed before Donald heard anything. The gentle rocking of the boat and Dewey’s quiet, steady breathing had almost lulled him to sleep when he heard his bedroom door squeak open. Two sets of footsteps softly scurried across the floor, before he felt two separate bodies clamber up onto his mattress.

Louie crawled in between Donald and Dewey, pushing his brother towards the side of the bed as Huey attempted to shove the blue-clad brother back towards Louie and Donald, choosing to lay on Dewey’s other side. The middle triplet said nothing, indicating that he was probably still asleep, blissfully unaware of the fact that he was caught in between this sort of reverse tug-of-war.

Donald pulled all three of them closer to him after the other two had settled in. “Bad dreams, boys?”

“Yes, Uncle Donald,” Huey mumbled sleepily, his tone very unconvincing. Huey was a bad liar when he was fully rested, and he was even worse when he when he was tired.

Donald said nothing as he attempted to get comfortable himself. It wasn’t so bad when his nephews were little, but they were starting to get a little too big to all be sleeping in the same bed. Still, he couldn’t complain. After all, the days of them coming to him in the middle of the night after a nightmare were beginning to become few and far between.

“Goodnight, Louie. Goodnight, Huey,” he mumbled tiredly. “I love you both.”

“We love you too, Uncle Donald,” Louie replied with a yawn.

“M’night,” Huey added in a faint whisper, before beginning to snore lightly. The youngest wasn’t too far behind, leaving Donald the only one awake.

Donald had never been more in love than the moment he first laid eyes on them. Though sticky and damp with amniotic fluid, his newly hatched nephews were the most beautiful things in the whole entire world, at least in Donald’s opinion.

Della laughed as she watched him gently cleaning off Dewey with a damp washcloth. The hatchling was not at all pleased to feel the cool dampness against his skin, whining in protest every time the wet cloth touched his feathers. His sister had gotten lucky with Huey, who seemed to be pretty docile compared to his brothers and actually looked like he was enjoying his first bath, and now she was moving onto Louie.

Della put a comforting hand on Dewey’s head. “Come on, sweet boy. Sit still for your Uncle Donny.”

The middle triplet cooed at his mother and attempted to grab at her hair, though he couldn’t quite lift his tiny arms high enough. Donald could already tell Dewey was going to be a handful, and he wasn’t even two hours old yet. After they had calmed down, Huey and Louie decided it was nap time, exhausted from their struggle to enter the world. Dewey, on the other hand, chose to forgo the post-hatching nap in favor of surveying his new surroundings and flailing his arms and legs around in an uncoordinated fashion.

He heard Louie let out a mournful wail, clearly unamused that his mother woke him up from his nap. Not that Donald blamed him, really. Huey also started to bawl, mostly due to the fact he wasn’t getting attention at the moment.

A soft, hesitant knock at the door startled both Della and Donald. Standing in the doorway was their Uncle Scrooge, looking rather uncomfortable and unsure of himself, something that neither twin would have ever expected from their usually confident and daring uncle. “I heard they hatched.”

Scrooge’s voice was a little unsteady. Donald knew he wasn’t exactly used to this kind of thing. After all, interacting with family outside of adventuring wasn’t exactly the old billionaire’s forte.

Della smiled as she sat Louie on the table. She went over to the sobbing Huey and lifted him out of the bassinet before facing Scrooge. “Would you like to hold one of your great nephews, Uncle Scrooge?”

“W-Well, I—” Scrooge stammered, clearly flustered. So, there was finally something that the old man was unsure of. The older duck studied his niece’s beaming face. “Well, I did take a shower today, so I suppose I can.”

He reached out and gingerly took the fussy hatchling from Della.

“Uncle Scrooge, meet Huey,” Della introduced proudly.

Huey’s sobs quieted as he studied Scrooge inquisitively, not quite knowing what to make of his great uncle. The old billionaire smiled at the newborn fondly before declaring, “This one’s a McDuck alright. I can see that fire burning in his eyes.”

“If you think that one’s a McDuck, then just wait until you meet this one,” Donald declared as he picked up Dewey, having finally finished cleaning him off. He brought the middle boy over to his uncle as Della returned to tending to Louie. “This is Dewey. Della’s got Louie.”

Donald saw a side of Scrooge that day that he had never saw before, at least not that he could remember anyway. The old billionaire spent the rest of the day coddling the new hatchlings, talking about all the adventures he was going to take them on and all of the business secrets he was going to teach them one day.

Of course, that was before Della took the Spear of Selene, a choice that blindsided both Donald and Scrooge and soured the relationship between nephew and uncle. After that, Scrooge wanted—

“It’s time to wake up, Uncle Donald!”

“Yeah, Uncle Donald!”

“Get up! Get up!”

Donald woke up to three little ducklings crawling all over him and shaking him awake. The sunlight was pouring through the window, illuminating his bedroom. The boys were all smiling eagerly at him, Dewey practically shaking with excitement.

“Happy birthday, Uncle Donald!” they cried simultaneously.

Huey sat up enthusiastically, practically bouncing as he did so. “Come on, Uncle Donald! You gotta get up. We have a surprise for you.”

That’s right, it was his birthday. And he was willing to bet that’s why the boys were up in the middle of the night.

The three of them clambered off of him, and ran to the door. Louie gestured for him to follow. Whatever they had planned, they were all super excited to show him.

Donald groaned as he sat up, cracking his back as he did so. He was starting to feel old, though that was probably a side effect from raising three energetic boys and his knack for somehow getting hired to do strenuous and often dangerous jobs. He yawned as he swung his legs over the side of his mattress and stood up to follow the boys. Luckily, it was his day off, so he wasn’t in any hurry.

Dewey was waiting in the hallway and grabbed Donald’s arm as he came out of the bedroom. “You gotta close your eyes, Uncle Donald. It’s a surprise. Don’t worry! I’ll guide you.”

Donald raised an eyebrow suspiciously at his beaming nephew. But, he complied and closed his eyes, allowing Dewey to lead him down the hall towards wherever Louie and Huey were waiting. He could smell something wafting throughout the houseboat, something that smelled suspiciously like pancakes.

Suddenly he and Dewey came to an abrupt halt. “Okay, now you can open your eyes.”

Sure enough, sitting on the table in front of Donald was a stack of pancakes. Huey stood sheepishly on the other side of the table, indicating that he had been the chef. Louie meanwhile was setting the table.

“Don’t worry, Uncle Donald,” Louie assured him. “We were super careful with the stove and made sure to turn it off. Huey checked it like fifty times.”

“You boys really didn’t have to do this,” Donald told them, choosing not to comment on the fact that they had disobeyed him by using the stove.

“But you make us pancakes every year for our birthday,” Huey pointed out. “You deserve to have pancakes on your birthday too. So, we all thought we’d surprise you and make you some.”

Donald smiled. This was perhaps the best birthday he had in a long time. He held out his arms and all three of the boys rushed towards him, engulfing him in a hug.

“Thank you, boys.”

“We love you, Uncle Donald,” they all chirped eagerly.

“I love you too,” he replied as he affectionately ruffled their hair. “Now let’s go eat some pancakes.”

So, story time. One of Scrooge’s lines is a direct quote from my grandpa. 19 years ago, yesterday, my Grandpa came to the hospital the day after I was born (because I was born in the middle of the night), and my dad asked if he wanted to hold me. He, no joke, replied, “I took a shower today, so I guess I can hold her.”

I thought that would be a cute thing for Scrooge to say when asked if he wanted to hold his newborn great nephews.

Speaking of my dad, today is his 60th birthday— or at least it would be. So, I wanted to write a little something where the triplets surprise Donald (their father figure) on his birthday, since you know, I kind of couldn’t surprise my dad today.

It’s just kind of been a miserable day, even my mom was on edge when I talked to her. So, writing about a good dad figure who reminds me of my dad kind of cheered me up.

Anyway, enough depressing stuff. I hope you all enjoyed this and let me know what you guys think when you reblog this. I’ll probably post this on FFN tomorrow.

#Ducktales #Ducktales 2017 #Donald Duck #Huey Duck #Louie Duck #Dewey Duck #Scrooge McDuck #Della Duck #Huey Dewey and Louie #Pre-canon #Family #Fanfiction #One-Shot #Ficlet #Still working on that song fic #Probably going be Sunday at the earliest #I have to finish beta reading for someone before I work on it

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mst3kproject · 6 years

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Gamera vs Jiger (1970)

That’s right, Hollywood After Dark was actually so fucking depressing I decided the only thing that could cheer me up was a Gamera movie – and lo! When I typed our sabre-toothed saviour’s name into YouTube, up pops this film, which I’d never seen! Gamera vs Jiger was directed by Noriaki Yuasa, who brought us the other Gamera films, and features a really annoying noise and some even more annoying little kids!

The city of Osaka is getting ready to host some kind of world’s fair. Young Hiroshi is particularly eager to see it, as is his American friend Tommy, because their families are both intimately involved with the preparations. Hiroshi’s father, an inventor, is building mini-submarines for one exhibit, while Tommy’s, an archaeologist, is bringing in a mysterious stone statue all the way from Wester Island in the Pacific. The statue is called The Devil’s Whistle and the natives don’t want to let it go, because a legend says it’s the only thing keeping away something called Jiger. Boy, I bet that won’t come back to bite anybody in the ass, will it?

Turns out the reason the statue is called the Devil’s Whistle is because when wind blows over the hole in its top, it makes a really, really annoying sound that drives everybody insane – the crew of the ship transporting it, the audience, and a weird warthog-dinosaur-looking creature. Sure enough, this is Jiger, who sets out to destroy the statue and anything else it might happen to come across. Looks like a job for Gamera to me!

Now, the formula for these movies is to have Gamera get injured in an early fight, so that the people of Japan have to try to take on the monster themselves. They then fail, and Gamera miraculously returns, summoned by the whining of bratty children in tiny shorts, to save the day! That’s what happens here, too. So how does Gamera lose his first face-off against Jiger? Is he frozen, like he was by Barugon? Held at bay by a threat to children, like he was by Viras? Beat up and forced to retreat to the water to heal, like by Guiron or Gyaos?

Hell no! Jiger is much more creative. The first time the two monsters fight, Jiger fires quills into Gamera’s arms and legs so he can’t pull them into his shell and fly away, then rolls him over on his back and leaves him on a rocky island to starve to death! Then we have to watch Gamera try to flip himself over again using his tail, screeching out in pain the entire time, and it truly is the sorriest I’ve ever felt for him. Then at their second encounter, Jiger stabs Gamera in the shoulder with some kind of stinger, and Gamera staggers off in agony. There’s then this bizarre sequence where the kids take one of those tiny submarines down Gamera’s esophagus and find that Jiger has implanted a fucking embryo in his chest which is now devouring him from the inside out like one of those creepy spider wasps! Holy shit! Since when did Gamera do body horror?

Gamera spends so much of this movie in obvious pain, I think it would probably be rather distressing for a child to watch. The part where the embryo is growing inside him, and Gamera turns white with his skeleton briefly visible before his glowing eyes go out, actually distressed me and I’m in my thirties. I think this might be the only time I’ve actually seen the children in one of these movies give up on Gamera in what sounds like honest despair, when Hiroshi declares, “oh, he’s dead!” It feels weird to talk about a Gamera movie being dark, but this one gets there.

After the ridiculousness of Gamera vs Guiron, Gamera vs Jiger represents the series trying to regain some of its self-respect and the respect of its audiences (as demonstrated by the fact that the next installment was Gamera vs Zigra, it didn’t work). The dark content is probably an intentional part of this, and it sits a little uneasily alongside the cheerful absurdity that naturally comes of this being a Gamera movie. Sometimes it kind of works, but more often it really doesn’t. The miniatures and matte paintings are as terrible as anything in Mighty Jack or, for that matter, in previous Gamera films. The music includes classics like We’re Gonna Ride our Bicycles and of course the immortal Love Theme from Gamera, sung by a chorus of slightly tone-deaf grade-schoolers. The pun ‘Wester Island’ is kind of awe-inspiring in its sheer lameness, and the dialogue includes technical language like ‘it’s based on super-ultra-violent waves!’ The foleyed-in footsteps sound like all the actors are wearing tap shoes. The dubbing sucks. The dubbing of the children, particularly Tommy’s little sister Susan, is so terrible it actually manages to suck and blow at the same time.

My favourite nugget of silliness is the scene in which one of the scientists shows a slide of an x-ray of Gamera. How the fuck do you x-ray Gamera?! Imagine the host sketch in which Joel and the bots try to figure it out!

But Gamera movies, like all kaiju eiga, live and die by their monsters and the fighting between them. The Gamera of Gamera vs Jiger looks as dumb and rubbery as he ever did (I’m particularly fond of his belly-flop landings), but Jiger is actually pretty cool and mean-looking, with a surprisingly plausible quadrupedal gait – while Guiron always looked like a guy crawling around in a rubber costume, Jiger actually moves like a four-legged animal and I can only attribute this to a very gifted suit-maker. Some of Jiger’s powers, like its quill-shooting, are quite interesting and scary. Others, like its ability to fly by shooting steam out of its ears, are laugh-out-loud stupid.

The fights themselves are kind of interesting in that they are battles of wits, as well as monster fights. Both Gamera and Jiger are depicted as observing their enemy and learning from what they see. In the first fight, Gamera learns that Jiger will try to wrap its tail around his neck, and pulls his head into his shell at the last minute. Jiger learns that Gamera must retract his limbs in order to fly, and uses the quills to prevent this. The fact that both combatants are intelligent ups the ante quite a bit, without giving them the childlike human motivations that turned the monsters of Godzilla vs Megalon into cartoon characters. The brutality I mentioned continues into the final fight, culminating in Gamera impaling Jiger in the face with the statue that started the whole thing!

Just as often, of course, the fights are ridiculous. There is a bit where Gamera throws Jiger up in the air, but Jiger lands on the other end of the fallen tower Gamera is standing on, launching him into some buildings in turn like something out of a kaiju-fueled Rube Goldberg machine.

The setpiece sequence of the film, and the one that sets it apart from any other Gamera movie, is the Fantastic Voyage bit where the two boys go inside him with the submarine to remove the Jiger embryo. Fantastic Voyage was made in 1966, so I suspect it was indeed the inspiration. Unfortunately, Gamera’s innards are not nearly as cool as anything in the earlier film – and in retrospect, Fantastic Voyage doesn’t even look that cool anymore. Instead, the baby Jiger chases the kids around on an obvious stage set, among tunnels that aren’t nearly gooey enough to be something’s anatomy. The inside of Gamera’s lungs are made of inflated plastic bags with some algae inside them, and seeing the Jiger suit at its actual size is laughable. For all that, though, the sequence is sometimes pretty tense, and when it fails at that it’s at least amusing.

I do like Gamera movies in general. I mean, yeah, they’re not very good, they’re not particularly meaningful and they’re not gonna win any awards, but they’re fun to watch, fun to write about, and fun to heckle with friends. I’d even say that Gamera vs Jiger is one of the better ones. It doesn’t have the annoyingly irrelevant moral of Gamera vs Zigra, and a lot more money, effort, and creativity went into it than that movie or Gamera vs Guiron. It helps a lot that the kids here are a little older – Hiroshi and Tommy are specifically described as being twelve years old, instead of the five or six-year-old Kenny and Helen from Zigra. The kids do keep ending up in places they don’t belong but for once the adults respond fairly realistically to this.

In reviewing Gamera vs Barugon I noted that insofar as Gamera symbolizes anything, it’s probably childlike faith in good overcoming evil. Apparently I was right, because that is explicitly stated in the closing scene of Gamera vs Jiger – the adults admit that Hiroshi and Tommy were right about Gamera being the hero Japan needs, and that they should have believed in him. This is still a weird attitude to take towards a giant monster that wrecks almost as much shit as Jiger does, but I guess that’s just something you have to accept about kaiju eiga. There’s also some attempt at a statement with the world’s fair setting, in that what Gamera has saved is a place where all humanity can come together to learn from each other. Gamera movies do seem to be basically optimistic in outlook, positing that humans are basically good and higher forces are looking out for us, and that’s probably one of the things I like about them.

As one final note, the movie claims that ‘Wester Island’ is the last remaining bit of the lost continent of Mu. Godzilla vs Megalon did something similar with Easter Island and ‘Seatopia’, and was made only three years later… did one inspire another, or were Easter Island and Lost Continents just big things in Japan in the early 70’s? If the former, that represents a rather curious inversion: Gamera began his life as a ripoff of Godzilla, but many years later we find Godzilla movies stealing ideas from Gamera instead!

#mst3k #reviews #episodes that never were #gamera vs jiger #70s #antiimperialist kaiju

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realrhythmskrp · 7 years

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DISPATCH, (04/08/17): Mirage Entertainment has officially released information about actor two, Nam Euntae, on Euntae’s official website! He is a ‘91 liner and has been beloved by fans since his acting debut in 2013. Find out more about Euntae below!

I, Nam Euntae, have read and understand the terms and conditions as my position of Actor 2 and agree to honor the standards that are to be expected of me as an employee of Mirage Media.

OOC INFORMATION Preferred name: Trice Pronouns: She/her Timezone: PST Other muses: Park Aejeong

IC INFORMATION Faceclaim: Lee Jongsuk Name: Nam Euntae Stage name (if applicable): N/A Idol concept: When he was formerly in a boy group and an idol, he had the “mischievous maknae” concept. His former company marketed him as a “sweetheart on the outside, but an untameable, passionate lover on the inside.” It was a little bit true; while euntae is a total flirt and a generally nice person, he’s more of a playboy. Mirage is currently marketing him as “sexy and seductive” as a foil to his former idol concept, and it’s working brilliantly: netizens are loving the idea of a childish-on-the-outside maknae “showing his true colors” as he “matures into a steamy-gazed young man.” euntae finds this a little ridiculous, but since he feels a deep sense of obligation to his company, he doesn’t question it. Birth date and age: April 23, 1991 (age 26) Company name: Mirage Group Name (if applicable): N/A Group Position (if applicable): Actor 2 Strengths: euntae’s acting talent is unmistakable. He does best in roles as villains, particularly cold or insane ones. He’s navigated almost all the aspects of the K-Entertainment business; he started off as an idol in 2007, began acting part-time in 2013, and after his former group disbanded in 2014, he began acting full-time. Due to this, his face is very well-known throughout the entertainment business. He’s also good at sticking to concept, and he knows how to work his visuals. He’s rather good at variety as well, although he’s better at performing than hosting, and he has been doing more hosting ever since switching to an acting career. Weaknesses: euntae is a total cynic, and seems to think that every company except Mirage will screw their contractees over. This is partly because his old idol group disbanded due to the company forcing them to (even though most of the members began to pursue their solo careers more). Because he misses his days as an idol, it is occasionally clear that he’s jealous or particularly cold toward younger groups as he believes they’ll eventually end up disbanding against their will as well. This attitude makes a few particularly aggressive dispatchers consider him a spoiled child who never grew out of his rascal maknae phase, which reminds him of his time in an idol group and starts the cycle back up all over again. Positive traits: Polite, enticing, passionate, loyal Negative traits: Vitriolic, unforgiving, arrogant, elitist

PERSONAL HISTORY nam euntae is born the youngest in his family in the spring of 1989. his parents are a strangely mismatched couple; while his father parades around his newborn child (“look at my son; he’s an angel, perfect!”), his mother is amusingly unimpressed in all the photos after her labor. (in all fairness, she’s like that in all of the pictures with euntae’s siblings— most of the pictures in the family photo album are the rest of the nams making silly faces around her while she stares into the camera, queenly despite her deadpan expressions.)

his three older siblings are just as dizzyingly carefree as his father. they’re triplets, two girls and a boy. the eldest (by eighteen minutes only) is hana, then mija at thirty minutes, then chul. then euntae, youngest by three years. he doesn’t really feel left out when it comes to the triplets— they’re pretty good at including him. hana especially: she’s the ringleader. mija, chul, and euntae practically worship the ground she walks on, and with fair enough reason; she’s the most clever of the four nam siblings, and usually the one orchestrating tricks to play on their father or on their classmates. and even though the other three bear a striking resemblance to hana, she’s still the prettiest in their family besides their mother. with all this, she can practically get them to do anything she wants.

euntae is usually her go-to. she adores him and he adores her right back, though her reason for getting him to shoulder the grunt work for setting up pranks is based on the fact that he’s more obliging than the other two in the triptych. so she convinces him instead of them, and that’s how euntae gets the time he craves from his three older siblings.

still though, it’s hard not to feel a little bit lonely when they hit high school and the triplets’ class goes on field trips and he’s left alone. or when the older kids are clearly civil with him at their lunch table only because he’s hana-mija-chul’s little brother. it’s still fair enough, he thinks, when his brother and sisters graduate in the top ten of their class and he fades back into the background; even when his sisters go to law and med school and his brother studies aerospace engineering in america, they still call him, but he still misses them a lot. even his sprightly father and reserved mother notice, so they enroll him in vocal lessons to try to get him to interact with kids his own age instead of alumni who graduated in the years before him.

it works out much better than they hope; he’s caught on quickly, and signs on with a prestigious entertainment company at fifteen, and he’s finally made it: he’s going in as the main vocalist and maknae of a group with wicked sharp choreography and strong vocals to boot. he’s pretty pleased with the outcome of his time with the group, living on top and managing to stay at least somewhat relevant. his parents and sisters attend concerts where they can, and his brother is at the front row when they tour america.

he signs a non-exclusive contract with mirage entertainment in 2013 after the ceo “falls in love with his tortured soul” or whatever the hell it was; surprisingly, his first acting job isn’t under that company. it’s under kaleidoscope, where mirage loans him out for the drama my love from another star as lead villain lee jae-kyung. and he’s praised for it, even getting offers from bkb to play a role in their drama (he turns it down, of course; not only is he a full-time idol and a part-time actor, but there’s no way in hell he’d want to do anything for bkb).

his fellow members start branching out as well, much to his chagrin, and while they still promote together, his hyungs go into solo debuts, variety hosting, and modeling. euntae becomes greedy, savoring the time he can spend with his group as a group and not as members beginning to pursue their own solo activities. it was the period at the end of a sentence already written once 2014 rolls around.

because no matter how much euntae gives his life to his group, they disband. fans, of course, still try to keep up with a good number of the ex-members. there are rumors that euntae’s packed up and moved to australia. there are rumors that he’s gone into hermitage and now resides at the local cave. there are rumors that he’s gotten involved with the mafia.

in actuality, he’d stumbled into his parents’ living room after moving day, towing seven years’ worth of luggage and seven members’ worth of tears before he collapsed and slept like he’d never slept a day in his life.

the triplets have been keeping up, it seems, because they return home on the pretense of sightseeing. hana pulls the curtains back and lets the sunlight stream in. mija arranges flowers while humming the tune to her favorite song euntae’s promoted. chul takes it upon himself to place euntae’s clothing, neatly folded, back into their drawers. it’s nice to have hana-mija-chul paying attention to him again, but he’s absolutely bitter at the circumstances under which it happened. how is it that someone can try their hardest at something for seven years straight, only for it all to dissolve just like that?

he stews in his own anger for at least a month, 2014 becoming his most hellish year and unsurprisingly the year he releases no new content before the triplets haul him out of bed and back into the world.

and somehow, it works.

he leaves his old company and changes his contract with mirage from non-exclusive to exclusive; he belongs to mirage now, with the exceptions where they loan his skills out to other companies.

he’s far better at it than anyone might expect. of course, perhaps it’s growing up with three mischievous siblings who, together, are fiendish enough for plenty inspiration, but he’s praised for his role in a villain’s shoes, and suddenly jobs are flooding in. he had been asleep, he thinks: when he signed on with mirage the first time, he had opened one lethargic eye. when he signed on the second time, he was awake, alert to the harshness of the world around him. netizens are stunned once his face starts appearing all over again in the magazines as roles and modeling jobs begin to take their hold on him (nam euntae is back and better than ever, some sources claim). He plays a few roles as villains in various dramas, his most notable ones in my love from another star and oh my ghostess. he’s about as on-demand as they come when it comes to villains. the media eats him right up, loving the idea of former maknae taking high society by storm with a flash of his devilish grin. “sexy, seductive nam euntae!” is splashed in big, bold letters across magazines with him on the cover, and he’s a little amused to see it.

(not to mention he’s a little smug as well to see that he’s still considered the most famous of his former group, and made the successful transition from idol to hallyu star. it’s refreshing to sleep to.)

admittedly, he’s a little thrown with his change from idol to full-fledged actor. it’s strange to go from the performing end to playing guest host on variety shows or introducing new groups on stage that are bound to end in the same place he did. but he tries his best out of a rooted gratefulness, loyalty, and respect to mirage; they did, after all, shelter him where his group failed to, and he will do his best to repay them. a pang of sadness hits him when he sees bright-eyed idol groups rise to the top; he knows they’ll fall farther, hit harder, and he can’t stand the idea of anyone ending up like him. but that’s none of his business; his business is to act, to play hellion on screen for as long as his company needs him. and if doing that helps junior idols maybe realize that not everything is golden, then nam euntae will only consider that the icing on the cake.

#ryt:accepted #ryt:mirage #ryt:actor #ryteuntae

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gamesmakers · 7 years

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That Time We Took Over the World

For @mores2sl.

Kensington, England

April 13, 2015

Local Time: 8:42 AM

“Everdeen.” He rose his glass to her before taking a long swig of what had better be water. “And here I thought you didn’t like me anymore.”

“You know, I just spent eleven hours flying here from Los Angeles. I even paid fourteen bucks extra for internet so Effie could get ahold of me if your condition changed. The least you could do is act like you had a heart attack this morning.”

“Yesterday morning, but I’m all right. They’ll get me some stints, and I’ll be better than ever.” Now that she got a good look at Haymitch, she saw what Effie had been so worried about when they talked this, fine, yesterday morning. The IV bag was all too obvious, but all the quips and one-liners in the world couldn’t hide the fifteen years he seemed to have put on since she’d seen him last Christmas. With the extra gray in the beard he never shaved but had never quite filled in and the deep bags under his eyes, he looked far older than fifty-nine. Those decades of hard living had finally caught up with him. “Y’know, I was thinking earlier.”

“You don’t say.” She didn’t care if he had been dead for almost two minutes yesterday. Haymitch walking into his own favorite insult was too good of an opportunity to pass by.

He glared at her. “As I was saying, I was thinking about your career after these goons were still trying to figure out if they’d saved me or not.” If he thought the legion of medical professionals who restarted his heart were goons, he had to be feeling better.

“And what did you decide?” she prompted.

“Now, hear me out. This might not seem like the most natural pairing, but the more I think about it, the more I think it could really work out well. People really dig that fusion shit, you know?”

“Haymitch!”

He took another drink of his water, then set it aside. “So, kid, tell me. What do you know about Peeta Mellark?”

Chelsea, England

April 13, 2015

Local Time: 11:27 PM

In the late nineties, nobody could escape the Tributes - not that anybody besides a few jealous teenage boys and tired parents really wanted to. The more enthusiastic members of the media heralded the five boys as a return to the Golden Age. They sang. They danced. They even made a film that, surprisingly enough, wasn’t terrible. “Like five Frank Sinatras,” one Rolling Stone critic wrote about them, “but more good-looking.” For teenagers who had been holding down part-time jobs at McDonald’s and Burger King not a year prior, it was high praise indeed. But the longer one watched them, the more justified the comparison seemed. With fourteen chart-topping singles and practically constant sellout world tours, they were on the road to the kind of superstardom that actually manages to worm its way into the history books.

But tastes changed, interest waned, and almost as suddenly as they had shot to fame, the Tributes’ career fizzled out. The former teen idols were suddenly the butt of jokes everywhere from late night talk shows to schoolyards. There was an attempt at a comeback, then another, but the only mercy came when the group officially announced their breakup. With that last blast of publicity, the group somehow managed to fade from the public consciousness completely.

Only one member managed to emerge from the rubble unscathed. Finnick Odair had in some ways always been the star of the group. The man was the closest thing the world had to a living, breathing Adonis. Nobody could really blame the army of managers, executives, and publicity workers that fueled any operation as big as the Tributes for wanting to place him in the center of every photograph or giving him the most solos. Issues of consent and sexualization of a sixteen-year-old hadn’t been the world’s main priority as they collectively drooled over the most recent pictures of him. At least publicly, Finnick seemed to have been able to brush that off with no big impact. Even fifteen years later, his new releases were almost guaranteed to land in the top ten, and he snagged the starring roles in some of Hollywood’s biggest movies.

Katniss had never been his biggest fan, but like every other heterosexual female she knew, she followed him on Instagram. Something about the muscular star holding his new baby and grinning really did it for her. She’d blame it on evolution.

Tonight, Finnick Odair wasn’t her main focus. She scrolled down the Wikipedia article to find the section on Peeta Mellark. Okay, she vaguely remembered him from the poster Prim had hung in their shared bedroom when she was in middle school. The article said he had released his first and only solo album seven years ago and continued to tour, though a quick scan of the upcoming dates and venues showed that he was mostly going to small casinos and clubs. Katniss kind of wanted to judge him for that, but then again, Haymitch wouldn’t go around trying to pair her up with a successful artist. Sure, she played guitar – really well, actually, well enough to make a very comfortable living off of session work – but you couldn’t start a conversation with random strangers on the street about Katniss Everdeen’s style.

She clicked out of that article and returned to the YouTube mix entitled ‘Tributes and Peeta Mellark Ultimate Fanmix :-)’. As a thirty-two-year-old woman and devoted artist, did she feel ridiculous sitting here, listening to ‘90s pop? Absolutely. Did she find herself humming along? Well, the Tributes had gotten popular for a reason.

San Bernadino, California

May 4, 2015

Local Time: 9:56 PM

Peeta Mellark took his job very seriously. One would have to if they were going to go onstage at the San Manuel Indian Bingo & Casino in an outfit straight from a music video that came out twenty years ago. The black pants and tight-fitting, primary colored t-shirts had looked a little too Star Trek in 1997, and the look hadn’t aged well. She applauded professionalism and devotion to one’s craft as much as the next person, but there came a point where one should walk away with their head held high and try something outside of entertainment. Katniss estimated Peeta had reached that point about ten years ago. The cheese value of this routine was through the roof. He did more flirting with the audience than actual singing, and every joke had the muddy flavor of having been used night after night for years. In a few spots, no matter how hard she tried to be polite, she had to roll her eyes. Good thing Peeta had managed to comp her a ticket for this show, or she’d be out more than the mileage to drag herself out to San Bernadino.

“For my next song, I’d like to mix it up a little and take suggestions from the audience. Anything’s fair game, mine or not.”

The crowd ate it up the same way they’d gobbled up the jokes earlier. Could they not see that he had a plant? At best, he might take a suggestion from an actual audience member and accept it if it happened to be in the lineup of songs he and his backing group had rehearsed, but otherwise, he’d move on to the predetermined ‘guest’ who’d lob him an easy one. Oldest trick in the book.

“Um, how about you, ma’am? Dark hair, braid, right in front of the stage, very pretty. What would you like to hear?”

It took Katniss a second to realize that he was referring to her. Her mind scrambled through an inventory of thousands of songs, but one kept coming up again and again. “’Til There Was You’.” Not exactly her usual style, and it came as a missed opportunity to see what he could do with something more folky, but oh well. She could grill him on folk’s greats later. It wasn’t like he would actually play her song anyway.

“Gotta love musicals. Who here likes The Music Man?” The crowd cheered as Peeta moved to the piano. Wait, was he actually going to follow through with this? She had to give him some respect for that. His accompaniment wasn’t what she would expect out of a professional pianist, but it got the job done. “I’ve got this on the CD I play when I’m driving to work. It’s one of my favorites.”

The voice she heard then barely sounded like the one she’d heard earlier. That had been as stale as his jokes, but now, he sent emotion rippling through the room. For a moment, Meredith Willson’s metaphorical bells were very, very real, and she did hear them ringing, and maybe, just maybe, Haymitch had been on to something.

San Bernadino, California

May 4, 2015

Local Time: 11:05 PM

After the show, several women her age and older loitered around the stage. Peeta chatted with them one at a time, all winks and smiles that promised something naughty. Now, she had hung around with enough big stars to know that chatting up women after the show was to be expected, but did he not remember that they had a meeting scheduled? According to the schedule Effie had found for her, he had three more shows at this very venue in the next week. There would be plenty of other chances to get laid, but he had royally screwed up his first meeting with a potential business partner. Good to know he had his priorities straight.

Only after he had gathered a few telephone numbers did he deign to join her. “Katniss?” he asked hesitantly.

“Yes.” He smiled, and she rose to shake his hand. “After that show, you don’t need any introduction.”

“Nice to finally meet you in person.” Maybe he was just a good actor, but the words sounded genuine. Then again, he had sounded pretty genuine a few minutes ago when he was prepping new notches for his bedpost, so maybe she shouldn’t put too much weight on that. “Sorry to put you on the spot back there. I didn’t realize it was you.”

“You did really well with it.”

“Thanks. I really do have it on CD in my car, but I’d never performed it live before tonight. Especially coming from you, it’s great to hear I did all right with it.” He sat down at the table for two that had been hers alone for the show. “I’ve been reading a lot about you since we talked on the phone. I didn’t realize how many of my favorite albums you’ve been on.” God damn it, she couldn’t let him charm her the way he had those other women, but goodness did it feel nice to hear her work praised. “I mean, you’ve worked with everyone around. The Stones, Madonna, I think I saw McCartney on there too. I know you want to do something more on the folk side, but your catalog is pop and rock and roll royalty.”

“Thanks.” She was going to start blushing if he didn’t tone it down a little. He leaned in just a little, and Katniss met those gorgeous blue eyes, and well, it was too late on that whole not blushing thing. “Really, thanks.”

“Sorry, I just don’t think you studio musicians get enough credit. You’re the ones who make the rest of us look good, and we don’t bother to say thanks often enough.”

Definitely buttering her up, then. Good. That meant he wanted to go through with Haymitch’s scheme, erm, idea. She smiled at him. “Flattering as this is, if we don’t stop trading compliments, I think we’ll be sitting here for hours and I’d really like to go home at some point.” Two could play that game. “I’d like to hear your thoughts on Haymitch’s proposal.”

“Wouldn’t want that to happen,” he laughed. “Y’know, I’ve been thinking a lot about it, and…” his voice trailed off and he shook his head ever so slightly. “I’m not sure it’s what’s best for my career.” Wait, what? How was it that Peeta Mellark, corny C-grade casino performer, was the one putting a stop to this? She had an actual career. At any moment, there were five or ten requests for her to come in and play, and with the big names too, and he thought this wasn’t right for him? Her knuckles went white as she fisted her hands into the tablecloth. He must have noticed, because he immediately backpedaled. “That sounded bad. What I mean is, well, this might not seem like a lot to you, but I kind of like it. I get to travel all the time. I constantly get to meet new people. It’s not a very glamorous part of showbiz, but it keeps food on the table and lets me sing instead of working at the bakery back home.

“That being said, I’ve been doing this at varying levels nonstop for twenty years, and I’m ready to try something new.”

“So you want to go for it.”

“I’d at least like to test some things out, yeah.”

“That’s about at the point where I am too,” she admitted.

He had a great smile. It wasn’t fair, really, that he got the eyes, the smile, and the voice all rolled up in one package. How was the female portion of the population supposed to resist? Katniss stopped herself before she could take that line of thought too far. If things worked out, they would be business partners, and even if people didn’t always respect professional boundaries in this industry, she was better than that. “Then I think this could be the start of a beautiful friendship.”

“Casablanca and The Music Man in one night?”

“Hey, if someone’s said it better already, why not let them say it for you?”

“I hope that’s not the approach you take to songwriting,” she deadpanned.

Peeta winked. “As you wish.”

“Princess Bride, and you’d better.”

Los Angeles, California

June 25, 2015

Local Time: 3:09 PM

“I’m so sorry, that session was only supposed to last the morning. He promised we’d be out by noon.” She really ought to spend some more quality time with that stupid treadmill she’d shelled out six hundred bucks for the Christmas before last. Katniss had only run from the corner to the front door of Haymitch’s office, but even after a few seconds spent panting and wondering if she was about to collapse dead, she still sounded like she was trying for a personal best marathon time.

On second thought, maybe dying wouldn’t have been so bad. Three sets of eyes were on her, the expressions on them a rainbow that went from concerned to amused to annoyed. Yes, an hour and forty minutes late was bad, but she had called as soon as she knew the session was going to run long.

Peeta broke the silence first. “Hey, Katniss. How are you?”

She smiled at him as she took the remaining seat. “I’m pretty good. Howa bout you, Peeta? Effie?” She didn’t need some smartass answer from Haymitch right now, so she left him out.

Not that that strategy ever worked. “So, who chased you up here?”

He got a well-deserved glare for that one. “I just couldn’t wait to get back in your presence. It’s such a magical place to be.”

Effie giggled at that, light and tinkling, but then it was all business. “We’ve been filling Peeta in on the basic business plan we have for you. Katniss, you’ve said that you have quite the catalog of songs built up, so we figured it would be best to use one of them for first single.” She turned to Peeta. “You’ll love them. She won’t brag about them, modest thing she is, but Haymitch has played a few of her demos for me, and they’re just lovely.” If Peeta wasn’t here, she would have hit him. She’d never given Haymitch permission to show any of those recordings to anybody. “If we can’t find anything we like in there, we can always find something to cover, but well, neither of you is getting any younger, and it’s better to get something out as soon as possible.” Katniss did her best not to flinch at that. She knew age was more of an issue for her than Peeta. Female stardom seemed to have an expiration date of around thirty-five, and she was getting closer every day. “Ideally, we’ll have you in the studio next week, have a single out on iTunes in six weeks tops. Then we’ll get you out on tour and hope for the best.”

“Do you ever hope for anything else?” Haymitch asked. “Ouch!” Oh good, if Effie hadn’t kicked him for that, Katniss would’ve had to, and after that admittedly short run, she didn’t feel like moving at all.

Effie smiled at them. “Any questions?”

She and Peeta exchanged glances and shrugs. “I think we’re good.”

“Excellent. Then let’s get started on the paperwork.”

To both of their credit, neither groaned audibly, but Katniss was pretty sure it was a shared sentiment.

Los Angeles, California

June 29, 2015

Local Time: 9:40 AM

Buttercup had only stayed with her for a week while Prim was out of town, and that had been a month ago, but she still found orange cat hair all over her furniture. On days like today, when she wore black, she might as well just add a pair of Tigger ears to complete the costume. Peeta’s black pants were going to be a mess when he got up too. Fingers crossed, he wouldn’t notice.

It would be a lot harder to ignore the fact that she’d said she was going to the kitchen to find some snacks but would return empty-handed. She blamed it on the rock ‘n’ roll lifestyle. Her minifridge currently held the three-day-old remnants of a meal at Chili’s, three bottles of beer, half a jar of dill pickles, and a thing of ketchup. She didn’t even like ketchup. The pantry wasn’t much better. She’d been trying to cut down on her salty snacks habit, which was both doing nothing to help her slim down and not very helpful when it came to being a gracious hostess.

Opening the fridge a second time did nothing to help finger foods magically appear. What a time for witchcraft to fail her. She settled for grabbing two of the beers and heading back to the living room. A+ hostess. They ought to stamp her high society entrance ticket right now.

Peeta sat cross-legged in the center of the room, eyes closed and swaying along with the music flooding through the oversized headphones. She had spent hours over the past three days going through the songs she’d written over the years. Like everything, ninety percent of them were absolute shit, but she hadn’t touched some of them since high school, and revisiting them had brought her almost as many smiles as cringes. Almost.

“Anything sticking out to you?”

Peeta slipped off the headphones. “Yeah. How do you not have a solo career? Your voice is great.”

“Not what I was asking.”

“But inquiring minds want to know.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about. Want a Bud Light?” She hadn’t even been prepared enough to buy decent beer.

“Yes, please.” She handed him the bottle, and he cracked it open and took a long sip, studying her the whole time. “You know, I’m not sure what to think of you.”

“Thank you very little.”

He grinned. “Caddyshack?”

“Yep. Two can play at that game.” She sat down on her sad, worn couch and opened her own beer. “And one can win.”

“Trust me, you don’t want to turn it into a competition. I’ve been touring at least eight months of the year for the past decade, and Netflix and I have spent a lot of quality time together.”

“I thought you liked traveling.” He had said that, hadn’t he? She probably should’ve been paying more attention to the words he said and less to the lips that said them during their earlier meetings, but who could blame a girl for looking? A painfully single woman whose only serious relationship had petered out eight years ago had every excuse.

“Oh, I do, a lot. And I try to get a good taste of the local culture wherever I go, but when you’re in Boise for the sixth time, you kind of run out of new things to do.”

“Fair.”

“Okay, you’ve dodged the question for long enough. Who are you?”

That question made her feel like a Bond girl: sexy, mysterious, and more likely than not playing both sides flawlessly. Too bad she had no idea what those two sides would be in this situation and all her foreign, ‘exotic’ accents were shit. “I’m not sure what you’re after.”

He scooched away to lean back against the room’s single chair and crossed his arms over his chest. “It’s not a bad thing. You’re just hard to figure out is all.” Peeta paused for a minute, collecting his thoughts. “What I mean is, I don’t understand why you’d be interested in this arrangement. You’re a rock guitarist, and you’re very successful at it, but the stuff you want to record is all pretty folky. I’m open to anything, but my background’s in pop.”

“Haymitch suggested it, and I thought it sounded like a good idea.”

“That doesn’t add up either. Why is it that you have a manager that’s mostly involved in the country scene?”

“Oh, that’s just coincidence. Haymitch was married to my mom for a very short time when I was a teenager, and we stayed in touch after they divorced. He actually got me my first break.” She rose one eyebrow. “That, or we’ve carefully crafted an intricate spider web of lies with which to entrap you.”

“A guy can never be too careful. The pretty ones are dangerous.”

She made note of that comment so the part of her that was still fourteen could overanalyze and obsess over it later. “Do you have a song picked out?”

“I’ve got it narrowed down to three, but I’m leaning toward ‘Mockingjay’.”

“I like that one too. Want to go for it?”

He laughed. “We’ve really put a lot of careful consideration into all of this, haven’t we?”

“Let’s call it great minds thinking alike instead.”

Annapolis, Maryland

September 1, 2015

Local Time: 9:07 PM

Peeta looked over to her and grinned. Ready? he mouthed.

She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, hoping the butterflies would fly out of her stomach as she exhaled. When had that ever worked?

“Don’t worry. You’ll be great.” He could say that all he wanted. He’d been doing shows practically constantly for twenty years. Bill Clinton had still been president the last time she did a live gig. No, maybe it had been in 2001, right after Bush the Younger came into office. Either way, if it had been long enough that she didn’t remember the year, she certainly didn’t know what it would feel like. Fuck, it had been a few years since she’d been able to ride a roller coaster without feeling sick to her stomach the rest of the day, and that was way less adrenaline than getting in front of two hundred people and singing. Never mind that most of them were there to see Peeta, and that she was a sideshow attraction at best, she’d still be up there with him, and –

“Katniss, don’t worry. It’ll be fine. I mean it.” Peeta gave her upper arm the gentlest of punches. “You’re great. If you can play for Paul McCartney and impress him, you’ll amaze these people.”

Like wax strips, sometimes it was just better to tug things off as quickly as possible, bleeding or other bodily injury be damned. “Let’s just get this over with.”

“All right.” He winked. “Here’s looking at you, kid.”

She frowned at him. “Casablanca, and that’s not the spirit at all.”

Peeta gave her another one of those grins that she was quickly coming to hate – or love, if there was any difference. “But it got your mind off of it.”

Annapolis, Maryland

September 1, 2015

Local Time: 10:56 PM

There wasn’t bleach strong enough to wipe the smile off her face. Who cared if she’d forgotten some of the words in the third verse of “Blowin’ In The Wind”? It hadn’t been her favorite song since middle school, and nobody could understand what Dylan was singing half the time anyway. It lent authenticity to their performance. The adrenaline had kicked in somewhere around the third number, and she hadn’t even wanted to take a break in between sets. While Peeta had gone to grab them some water, she had stayed on stage, singing any song that came to mind. Rock, folk, show tunes, at this point, she didn’t care. Why had she ever cared about that? Distinctions were stupid. She could play one thing as well as another, and if the audience didn’t mind, she wasn’t going to act all high and mighty about which things were better than which. Who got to decide what was good and not? Not her, that’s for sure, and if she had her way, they’d stop using words like that. Outdated language was what it was, not taking into account personal taste. As always, the patriarchy stayed hard at work, grueling over their 1950s-era language like they knew best. They’d be upset when they got home and realized she didn’t have dinner ready for them, but their time was long gone, and hers had dawned.

“It’s about time that we wrap up for tonight.” A few audience members groaned at Peeta’s words. He cocked his head and grinned. “Don’t be too sad. We’re going to miss you too. But, before we head out, we’ve got a real treat for you: our first public performance of our new single, ‘Mockingjay,’ now available!”

“One, two, three, four!” She started with the guitar, and there it was, out for the world to see. Katniss had practiced this song hundreds of times since Haymitch and Effie pulled this tour together two weeks before. Every night before bed, every morning when she woke up. If she wasn’t playing it, she was thinking through it, running through the chords, quizzing herself on the lyrics. Her fingers knew what to do, and the word slipped out without any conscious thought, and for the first time in years, she could just be.

She watched, and she listened, but mostly, she floated above everything. It sounded so cheesy in retrospect, but she felt like she was in the audience more than on stage, watching herself and Peeta as an outsider. She loved it, all of it. The words sat right in a way that only her own words could, the representation of feelings that, though shared in some respect with the rest of humanity, were hers and hers alone. She basked in his voice, swayed with her accompaniment, and the chorus slowly pulled her back to herself. At the second chorus, she and Peeta locked eyes, and they didn’t break their gaze until the last chord finishing reverberating through the room.

Applause made her nerves light up brighter than the Christmas tree at the Rockefeller Center. Heat rushed to Katniss’ cheeks, and as soon as she finished two stiff bows, she got the hell out of there. Though Peeta had spent several minutes greeting fans after his show in San Bernadino, he followed only a few steps behind. “You were great!” he said, beaming. Post-gig afterglow was definitely a real phenomenon.

“You think so?” She should say something nice about his performance back, but her mind was still reeling from all of it, and that had only been a hundred and fifty people. What would she do if they ever sold out a stadium? Probably too early to be thinking about that, considering that before the show, they’d only sold ninety-seven copies of ‘Mockingjay’ on iTunes, and that number included Prim, her mom, and all of Peeta’s family, but it never hurt to plan ahead.

“Incredible.” He’d moved even closer. From here, it was impossible not to notice how brilliantly blue his eyes were, and she just wanted to stare at them for a while, commit every detail of them to memory. It didn’t register that there might be a reason Peeta’s face was so close until his lips met hers.

One hand found his shoulder while the fingers of the other carded through thick blonde hair. He wrapped his arms around her, warm and strong, and she sighed against him, moving herself in closer still. Peeta’s breathing turned ragged as his fingers brushed against the back of her neck, and though she keened into the touch, the rational part of her brain finally kicked in. Katniss wanted nothing more than to give in, to do as she’d wanted to from the moment they’d met, but as warmth and desire curled and pooled within her, she moved her lips away from his. “Peeta,” she said, breathless. “Peeta, this is a bad idea.”

His forehead furrowed for the briefest of instants, then he stepped away. “I’m sorry. I thought – never mind. I apologize.”

“No, don’t.” God, she wanted to kiss him again, replace that regret with the passion she’d felt just seconds prior. She wet her lips, and his eyes followed the motion. “I mean, don’t be sorry. Just don’t do it again.”

“Of course,” he responded, avoiding her eyes. Somehow, she doubted the plain white wall was really that interesting, but Katniss wasn’t going to call him out on that. She’d done enough damage already. “Um, should I go, or do you want me to stick around and walk you back to your room?”

She was more than capable of finding her way from the hotel’s club back to her room, thank you very much, and any other time, she would make sure he knew that. “I’d like to walk with you.” Katniss glanced down at his hand, thought about how nice it would be to walk up hand in hand, invite him inside, let herself cut loose for the first time in months, but he stuffed his fists into his pockets. “Peeta?” she asked. “It really is all right.”

He gave her the stiffest nod she’d ever received.

Milwaukee, Wisconsin

November 7, 2015

Local Time: 8:31 AM

“Katniss!” The door rattled on its hinges as he knocked. Wanted to wake up the entire hotel, did he? “Katniss!”

Eight thirty was way too early to be dealing with this kind of shit. Still, she didn’t want the poor guests that got stuck next to her to have any more of their mornings ruined. With a sigh, she hoisted herself out of bed and padded over to the door. “What’s wrong?” she said as the door swung open to reveal a far too excited Peeta.

“Wrong? We’re in the top ten!”

“Wait, really?” Any remaining grogginess disappeared in an instant. “Let me see!”

He pressed his phone into her hands and stepped further into her room.

Her hand flew up to her mouth to cover her gasp. There it was, everything she’d been dreaming of. A top ten chart, and there they were, Katniss Everdeen and Peeta Mellark, right at sweet, sweet number three. She never thought she’d live to see the day. It had seemed impossible, the ultimate pipe dream. No, some random pipe had a better chance of being stolen and made into a found art item valued at a million dollars than she had of releasing a hit single. Incredible. Just incredible.

She turned at a popping sound to see Peeta standing next to the dresser, pouring two glasses of champagne. Usually, she’d say it was too early to start drinking, but today, Katniss could get away with anything. Damn responsibility. Who was going judge her for a little early-morning alcohol? The only other person who knew about this was right there in the same boat with her.

Wait, what chart was this? God, she hoped it was the Hot 100. Anything was a godsend, but Billboard… Billboard was something else, and –

Sverigetopplistan. There was no way that was a real word. She couldn’t even begin to pronounce it. But it had the words ‘top’ and ‘list’, and that couldn’t be good.

A quick Google search told her everything she needed to know. “We’re only number three in Sweden?”

“We’re actually at three in Finland too. ‘Mockingjay’ is doing really well all across Scandinavia. I know it’s in the top twenty in Denmark and Norway, and I want to say it’s doing about the same in Latvia or Lithuania – I don’t remember which. Isn’t it great?”

“Uh, yeah.” She couldn’t help that her voice sounded a little flat.

Peeta winced. “Sorry, the way I said that made it sound like we had it on the British or American charts, didn’t it? I wasn’t trying to get your hopes up.” He held up the glass. “Champagne? I shelled out for some halfway decent stuff.”

She accepted the glass. “Thanks. To us?”

“To our continuing success,” he replied. They clinked their glasses together. “You know, I think we’re looking at this the wrong way. We are now international pop stars.”

“We appeal to the more refined tastes of the European market,” she added.

“America might be our homeland, but it is also our respite from our legions of devoted fans.” The CDC probably classified Peeta’s smile as a communicable disease. “Why would you want to be on the Walk of Fame in Hollywood when you could be on the one in Stockholm? Much cleaner.”

Katniss laughed and went for another sip of champagne only to find it was all gone. He noticed and went to fetch the bottle. “We can’t have you running out of champagne. After that first hit, you never know when the diva behavior is going to start kicking in.”

“You know, you’re really lucky that you’re cute, because otherwise, there’s no way I would put up with that.” The words just slipped out before she could really think about what she was saying. She hadn’t drank enough yet to blame it on the champagne yet, either. Damn it. Alcoholism was a terrible disease, and she understood that, but what she wouldn’t give right now to use Haymitch’s ‘I haven’t been in complete control of my actions for a decade’ excuse.

Peeta’s grin widened. “Just how much would you let me get away with?” His expression was pure sin, and Katniss blushed practically down to her toes.

“Has Haymitch heard the news yet?” Time to change the subject before she said anything even more regretful.

And as though flirting was as easy to turn on and off as a light switch – and for him, maybe it was – Peeta was back to friendly but professional. “Yeah, he’s the one who called me. Believe it or not, I don’t spend my mornings browsing the Scandinavian pop charts.”

“You might have to start now.”

“Good point. Guess I can work it into my busy schedule somehow,” Peeta laughed.

Gary, Indiana

November 23, 2015

Local Time: 10:14 AM

Peeta was a world-class pacer. Unless social niceties dictated that he absolutely had to sit, the man kept to his little four steps forward, right turn, four steps, right turn habit at all times. And so when Katniss walked into his hotel room – they’d left knocking behind weeks ago – to find him talking on the phone and standing stock-still in the very center of the room, she immediately grew concerned.

He didn’t notice her presence, too focused on his conversation to hear soft footsteps against the carpet. She moved back towards the door. He deserved his privacy as much as anyone else. “Yeah, for sure. That’d be a great opportunity, and I’m sure Katniss is on board too.” At the sound of her name, she froze. “I just need to check that the schedule will work out. We’re on the road right now, and you know how I am with dates.” He paused while the person on the other end spoke. “Of course. I’ll call our manager right now and get back to you as soon as I’ve got something. Yep, talk to you soon. Say hi to Annie and Ronan for me.”

“Who was that, and what am I on board for?”

Peeta jumped at the sound of her voice, but he quickly recovered. “Finnick. He’s got a big tour coming up, and his opening act canceled on him at the last minute. He’s wondering if we’re available.” She managed to keep her mouth from falling open, but only barely. Peeta laughed. “Yeah, that was my reaction too. He says he really likes ‘Mockingjay,’ and Annie – that’s his wife, she’s a sweetheart – has been playing it nonstop for days.”

In any other circumstance, she would be flattered, but her mind could only focus on one of those ideas at a time. “He wants us to tour with him?”

“Yeah. Isn’t it great? I mean, you do want to, right?”

“When?” She sounded breathless. Accurate.

“His first show’s in Seattle on the fourteenth.”

“Three weeks.” Okay, they could do three weeks. It might be a little bit of a logistical nightmare to get everything together, but it was an achievable logistical nightmare with some fantastic benefits. How many people attended each of Finnick’s concerts? She’d gone and seen him at the Hollywood Bowl a few years ago with friends, and that place had to seat twenty thousand, easy. He could probably sell out much bigger stadiums, too, and even if the audience wasn’t super excited by the prospect of listening to something kind of folky before the pop show, that was still twenty thousand more people exposed to their music, and even if only one, two percent wanted to go and pick up the album…

“Katniss? What do you think?”

She snatched his phone out of his hand. “I’m going to call Haymitch. He and Effie can make this work. I don’t care if we have to rearrange a few other dates.” She laughed, probably looking like a crazy woman. Oh well. Crazy old witch was one thing, but successful crazy old witch was pretty freaking fantastic.

Los Angeles, California

December 9, 2015

Local Time: 4:21 PM

Beyond a nice dinner with Prim at Sae’s, Katniss scheduled nothing for the two weeks she would be in Los Angeles before they started touring again. Nothing was going to get in the way of her sleeping as much as possible. She put in a grocery order with a delivery service and checked out of life for two weeks. After more than two months of almost-nonstop touring, she deserved it.

It got old after two days. By the third, she was ready to pull hair, and whether it was hers or someone else’s didn’t much matter. Most of her friends weren’t around on an everyday basis – she supposed that kind of came with the entertainment business – and anyway, she’d never been the most social sort. Katniss knew she should be resting up for the next tour, but instead, she found herself filling every waking moment with something. The pervs that hung out on practically every street corner in Los Angeles had always turned her off of walking around the city by herself, but almost every day, she took hours-long walks around her area. She ducked into art galleries and coffee shops she’d noted as places to check out but never managed to get to and wandered around the city’s parks, snapping photos and picking the occasional flower when no one was watching.

As she explored, she allowed herself to think. Big mistake. She didn’t confine herself to any single topic, and she covered quite a bit of ground. Art, the meaning of life, whether or not she’d remembered to lock the apartment on her way out, all of it came up. But she mostly thought about Peeta. He was three thousand miles away in Boston, and she still couldn’t get away from him. Peeta Mellark had ruined ogling cute blond guys, because none of them could quite measure up. She’d see some diet-busting pastry in a window, and her mind would leap to the cheese buns and raspberry tarts she’d tried from his family’s bakery when they’d played that gig in Worcester. He had even infiltrated her blessed TV-watching, because flipping through channels, she’d end up on TCM, and there he was again with one of those movie quotes that she hated but couldn’t get enough of.

When she ended up watching one of the films, she’d text quotes to him, and no matter the time of day, within thirty seconds, he replied with the title. Katniss hoped he cheated and googled them. Nobody should have watched No Orchids for Miss Blandish enough times to be able to quote it.

Damn boy was driving her nuts. She’d given Delly a hard time in high school for crushes far less consuming. How low had she fallen?

Three more days until she saw him again, but who was keeping track?

Seattle, Washington

December 12, 2015

Local Time: 3:09 PM

“Peeta!” She ran towards him, luggage in tow. Two little old ladies moved to one side so she could pass, and one flashed her a thumbs up. Katniss had him wrapped in a hug the instant she got close enough. “How are you? How was Boston?”

He squeezed her. “I’ve been good. Kind of wondering why I thought it was a good idea to visit home in February, but it was good. Nice to see everyone.” He broke away first. Smart move – airport baggage claims were hardly the place for public displays of affection, even completely platonic ones between friends that definitely didn’t want to screw each other. “So, how’s California? Ten below and covered in snow like Boston?”

“Isn’t it always?”

Peeta laughed, and wow, had she missed that. Cliché as it was, Katniss was convinced that one noise could light up an entire room, maybe power all the street lights in Seattle for the rest of the year. “I’m sure you froze half to death.”

“I wore shorts every day I was home.”

“So did I. They only had to amputate one limb.”

“If you two are done, we’ve got the car waiting outside.” She spun to find Haymitch standing behind them and waiting.

“Hey, Haymitch. How’ve you been?”

“Good. Get in the car.” He pushed Peeta in front of him and stayed behind with Katniss a moment. “What do you think you’re doing, kid?”

She shook her head. “I have no idea anymore.”

Seattle, Washington

December 12, 2015

Local Time: 11:30 PM

“You know, I’ve been to rehab three times, and marrying your mother is still the worst mistake I’ve ever made.”

“Rehab was a mistake?” She couldn’t let something like that slide.

“No, the choices I made that landed me there were mistakes.” Haymitch took another swig of his Southern Comfort. “And the first time I went to rehab was a mistake too - made me think that getting clean was gonna make me come to Jesus or some shit like that, scared me off the idea for years – but that’s not the point. They always tell you that your drinking is affecting the lives of the people you love, and trust me, they’re right. They’ve got more scientists than I can count running all kinds of studies and coming up with figures to show you how right they are. And I’m good at fucking up the lives of the people around me – you’ve seen it more times than I want to remember.”

Katniss nodded, wary. She was used to Haymitch drunk, or angry, or the quiet, determined way he got when he had a plan that he was dead-set on seeing to completion, but she hadn’t seen this kind of open emotion from him before. Frankly, the thought of some baring their soul, particularly to her, made Katniss a little nauseous. She had signed up for Thursday night drinks and catching up, not a feelings orgy worthy of the Hallmark channel.

But he kept going, a steamroller headed downhill at a hundred miles an with no brakes. “Well, I really thought I had things under control this time. Y’know, I’d been to rehab, managed to stay clean for a whole year. Still wanted a drink from the moment I got up right up ‘til I fell asleep at night, but I figured that was to be expected. I know you’ve heard all that before, but it bears worth repeating. Your mom, she just seemed perfect. Too perfect, looking back on things. Gorgeous, smart, patient as can be – you’d have to be, to put up with me.”

She had her own opinion on that matter, but now wasn’t the time. “Haymitch, I’ve got things to do today. You sure that –“

“Let me finish. Long story short, she was too good for me, and I knew it, but I somehow managed to con her into marrying me anyway. And guess what? All I wanted to do was make things better. I really did, and still do, care about how you all ended up, but I couldn’t keep it together, and I ended up taking you all with me. Made you move, have to do the whole new school, new friends thing, made you deal with my problems, forced you to deal with my divorce because I wasn’t responsible enough to deal with my shit by myself.” Tears had gathered in the corners of his eyes. She wasn’t sure if she should try to comfort him or bolt. Katniss settled for reaching over and giving him an awkward pat on the back. Beyond a few handshakes over the years, this might very well be the first time she’d touched Haymitch. She’d been twelve when he’d come into her family’s life, and at a point in her life when she scorned physical contact with everybody, and neither of them had ever been the touchy-feely type. “Cut it out. You see, it’s happening again. I’m the one who made you hurt, and now you’re cleaning me up. That’s what happens when you let someone who’s too good for you in. You take and take until there’s nothing left to give, and when they finally give up and leave you, you’re both left with nothing.”

“You think Peeta’s too good for me.”

Haymitch’s eyes were steady as he nodded.

“Fuck off.” God, she wanted to leave with that, but something kept her rooted in place. She choked on something that wasn’t quite a laugh and bordered on a sob. “That’s precious, coming from you.”

“There’s a reason we get along so well, sweetheart. Here, have some.” He pushed the bottle towards her, but she pushed it away as she rose, spilling fat drops of amber liquor all over the pristine white couch. It’d be a bitch to clean up later, she reflected, but then again, so would she.

Katniss didn’t stop running until she was well into the parking lot, and even then, she only stopped because there was no place to go.

That seemed to happen a lot these days.

Toronto, Ontario

January 10, 2016

Local Time: 11:11 AM

When she and Peeta had gone on tour previously, it really had been just the two of them, Peeta’s Lincoln, and four different hotel rewards cards. They didn’t have a lot of extra equipment, so there was no need for anyone to help them haul anything, and though there were at least daily phone calls with Effie and Haymitch, nobody needed to be there to hold their hand and get them to the gigs on time. It was bare-bones, but it was fun. Yeah, that meant that she had spent an evening in Peeta’s car with a bottle of nail polish remover after a less-than-successful attempt at giving herself a pedicure in a moving vehicle, but they also got to talk and joke and stop at stupid roadside attractions whenever they felt like it.

Finnick’s touring was as far away from that as one could get. First of all, they had a private jet. She supposed that made sense, as thirty-five people accompanied Finnick everywhere. Family, security, personal assistant, sound engineer, stage coordinator, the backing group, Katniss, Peeta, and two people whose purpose on the tour remained a mystery even four weeks into the three-month stint. She blamed those people for her current situation.

There was a timid knock, then the door opened just a crack. “Are you feeling okay?” Peeta asked.

“The only reason I know I’m not dead is that everything still hurts.” Her voice came out as little more than a whisper. Katniss had always liked to think that she could tough her way through just about anything. How nice of this cold/flu/sinus monstrosity to rid her of that delusion.

Peeta didn’t move away from the door. Smart guy. “Do you think you’re going to feel good enough to perform tonight?”

“Yes.” That wasn’t even a question. She would have to actually be dead to not show up for tonight’s show. In the halo ring that was this tour, tonight’s show, the only one that would be broadcast live to millions of home viewers, was the pendant diamond, the one your friends were really complimenting when they said how pretty the whole thing looked. They forecasted that twelve million viewers would tune in tonight. She was going to wow every single one of them.

“You can’t talk. How are you going to sing?”

“I’ll rest until then.”

Peeta frowned. “I’ll go to CVS. Do you like pills or liquid cold medicine better?”

“I’ll be fine. Don’t worry about me.”

“Liquid then. I’ll get some soup too. Don’t go around infecting anyone else.”

She mumbled something at that, but even Katniss wasn’t quite sure what point she was trying to get across.

Toronto, Ontario

January 10, 2016

Local Time: 4:55 PM

She loved those green lights. They should make all the lights green. Then the cars could go faster because they’d never have to stop, and all the people would be happy because they spent more time with their families and less time driving. Lots of good things were green. In fact, she couldn’t’ think of a single bad green thing. Money, trees, kale, those rain boots she’d been eyeing at Target since last winter… they should make everything green. It would be nicer that way. “Don’t you think so?”

“Don’t I think what?”

“That everything should be green.”

Peeta shook his head. “I think you’re a lot less coherent on cold medicine than you led me to believe. I don’t have any strong opinions on the color green.”

“That’s too bad.” Peeta had a green sweater that made his arms look fantastic. Maybe she could convince him to wear it more often.

He had other things on his mind. Peeta’s voice dropped. “Look, we’re going to have you lip sync tonight, all right? Haymitch has a tape of your part on all our songs, and all you’ll need to do is mouth along with the words and pretend to play your guitar.”

“Okay.” She hated lip syncing, but it was hard to be upset about things right now. Why think about the bad things when there was so much green?

Toronto, Ontario

January 10, 2016

Local Time: 7:21 PM

The wiggles went through her entire body when she tried to shake the nerves out, tickling enough that she giggled out loud. Her fingers felt fat and sluggish as they danced over her guitar. The object was so familiar that it might have been another limb, but holding it now, it could just as easily have come from another planet. The weight was off, the balance just not there, and when had the strings gotten so little? No matter. She’d made it through three songs. She could handle two more before she went backstage and conked out.

‘Mockingjay’ shouldn’t be too bad. The first chords were easy. It started nice and slow, perfect for beginners and heavily-medicated Katnisses, before picking up speed. She knew what she was doing. Same thing, just faster, and faster, and faster, and then –

She realized an instant too late that this was her verse. Her eyes widened, and she did her best to start mouthing along, but the damage had been done. Whispers from the crowd rolled over her in waves, and it was all she could do to not cry on stage.

They struggled through that next number. She gave it everything she had – so not much – but she couldn’t sell it. Because of her fuck up, both of them would be in the papers tomorrow. They’d never have a successful album. Hell, they might not even be able to record an album. Nobody would invite them on tour again. Peeta might be able to go back to his old career, but maybe not. Opportunities dried up quickly in this business, which she knew better than anyone.

Katniss fell apart as soon as she got backstage. “Katniss, hey, it’s no big deal. I should have told Finnick you couldn’t go on. I’m so sorry.” Peeta’s words burned like acid over fresh wounds. He knew what she had ruined, and here he was, comforting her. If she was going to wreck something for someone, why couldn’t she pick some awful person who kicked puppies or something? Why did it have to be the nicest, sweetest man she’d ever been lucky enough to meet? Haymitch was right. “Katniss, I’m really –“

She kissed him. “Shut up.” Another one, this time harder – and now that he had gotten over his initial shock, he responded. Peeta dragged her close, pressing her tight against his chest. One hand found her waist, and the other toyed with the ends of her braid. His heartbeat was going nuts, but so was hers, so she supposed that was fair, and she –

“Hey, you two have a dressing room for that.” Peeta pulled away, and she turned to glare at Haymitch. He wouldn’t be cowed so easily. “Hey, if you don’t want to start damage control right now, I’m gonna enjoy the concert.”

“It’s okay, Katniss.” Peeta pulled her into their shared dressing room. “It’ll be okay, all of it. I promise.”

The worry swelled over her again. “You can’t promise that.”

“We can avoid the internet for a couple days. It’ll blow over.”

She closed her eyes and nuzzled up against his chest. “Maybe.” At least he smelled nice. Small consolation, but she’d take what she could get.

He kissed the top of her head. “Either way, we can’t do anything about it now.”

Another thought came to her. “I’m sorry if I gave you the flu.” Because she just couldn’t stop screwing up today, could she?

“Hey, it’ll make it easier to not go online, right?” he laughed. Then his voice dropped. “But since I’m already infected, I suppose there’s not anything to keep me from kissing you again, is there?”

She wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled him down to her level.

Boston, Massachusetts

October 11, 2028

Local Time: 7:31 PM

She’d been convinced that it was Haymitch who always edited the “Katniss Everdeen and Peeta Mellark” page on Wikipedia, but in the two years since his death, it continued to change. Every week, some new, strange story popped up that managed to keep the basic outline of their story the same while putting them into the strangest circumstances. She rather liked this one, a fairy-tale themed story involving dragons (poor Effie), a knight in shining armor, and herself as the beautiful princess trapped in the castle of studio work while she longed to be out among the people. Pity it had to go.

She copied and pasted the short version of the group’s history into editing window and hit ‘submit’. Nowhere near as interesting, but at least there were no beheadings in this version.

Katniss Everdeen and Peeta Mellark are an American folk-rock duo. Since the two artists began collaborating in 2015, they have released four studio albums and toured extensively. Though best known in the United States for their first single, ‘Mockingjay,’ and a lip-syncing controversy that occurred during a televised Finnick Odair performance, the duo has achieved great critical and commercial success in northern Europe. They are most popular in Sweden, where their third studio album ‘Girl on Fire’ held the number one chart position for thirty-one weeks between 2021 and 2022. The duo began dating shortly after meeting in 2015 and married on June 11, 2017 in Mellark’s hometown of Boston, Massachusetts. They are parents to three adopted children: Aster Mellark (born 2019), Rye Mellark (born 2024), and Senna Mellark (born 2026). In September of 2028, Everdeen and Mellark released dates for their Everlark tour, their ninth world tour, with dates across Europe and East Asia.

Only when she was reading it through for the second time did she notice that she’d forgotten to delete the prankster’s last line. Katniss smiled. She highlighted it, and her finger hovered over the backspace key, but she couldn’t bring herself to get rid of it.

And they lived happily ever after.

After all, who was she to argue with the truth?

So sorry I posted this early on Ao3 and FFN. I promise that I can count. Don’t take away my math degree.

#thg #everlark #everlark fanfic #that time we took over the world #mores2sl

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geekpellets · 5 years

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Wolf Pack

Lone Wolf Lone Wolf is about a Werewolf that suddenly shows up and starts killing people, but it’s mostly about this punk band singer and a meet cute between a girl who’s boyfriend is eaten by a werewolf and a computer geek. How do I even begin to talk about what’s wrong with this film? Well, for starters, most of the high school students look like they’re in their late-20s to early 30s. None of the characters are that complex. The acting is bad, in that uniquely 80′s way. Bad 80′s acting hits different from bad 90′s acting or bad modern acting. There’s maybe, MAYBE, one good performance in this entire film, and that’s probably because the man just laughs 90% of the time. Maybe two, there is an actor that approaches her character with an air of childishness, so the character can say the same terrible dialogue as everyone else and sell it a little better. Besides, you have to put respect on the name of someone older than 12 that will through out Buttface as an sincere insult. The dialogue is bad. It’s not the worst, but it is bad. I can’t blame the dialogue for the bad acting, though, because there are scenes were people have to act without saying anything, and some of them are just as bad as everything else or worse. The movie has some of the worse cuts I’ve ever experienced in any movie. In less than three minutes it’s day, night, day again, night again, day again, all in different locations. One switched scenes from night to day to show nothing in particular happening very quickly to move to night again. This is it. This is what it feels like to Quantum Leap. To the movie’s credit, the overall tone is silly. The movie isn’t taking itself seriously. In its hour and thirty-seven minute run time, I chuckled at three scenes that were made to be funny. That’s something. Of course, I chuckled at far more because of just how bad this film is. That’s what type of movie this is, really. You might enjoy it, in the same way you might enjoy The Room, or Birdemic, or Sharknado. It ISN’T as bad as all of the previously mentioned, but it can by on the novelty of being entertainingly bad. The best thing about this film are the practical effects. They aren’t near the best of the 80′s, but they are surprisingly competent given everything else in this film. Even the transformation sequence of the wolf looks like it came out of a better movie. You barely ever see it, and when you do it is often in the dark. Keeping most of it in the dark was probably a good idea, but I’ll go ahead and warn you that there isn’t a lot of wolf in Lone Wolf. No, this is about the struggles pf a punk band led by 30 year old high school students that go to school in the morning and get out at night for some reason first and foremost. Was I entertained? Yes. For the first 37 minutes I was down with the awfulness, and then intermittently so afterwards. It’s so incompetent, though, and the climax is so flat and unexciting. You have to be of a special sort to love this movie, and there will be people that love this movie (just not for the reasons the writer and director want you to love this movie). More power to you. I don’t think the movie is worth an hour and thirty+ minutes of anyone’s life, but at the same time, I’m not angry or disappointed at having spent an hour a thirty+ minutes of my life watching it. Coco j Pixar: “Oh, we’re crap now? All we do is make sequels now, huh? You didn’t like The Good Dinosaur, huh? Come here, let me show you something.” And with that, Pixar blew us all away once more with Coco. An entire family that absolutely hates music is a little out there, tbh. It’s noticeably out there at first, but that all melts away very quickly because of Pixar magic. This film has a lot of characters, and not all of the characters that show up have an important role to play or a lot of depth. I mean, the story follows Miguel and his parents practically don’t exist in this film. That’s ok. This film centers around who it needs to center around, the patriarchs and matriarchs of the family, and these characters are given so much depth and humanity. They look amazing. There are human like features in these models that make the humans in previous movies look like plastic toys by comparison. It’s a masterful combination of real human features and exaggerated cartoon shapes and bodies. Naturally, as one would expect, the film is a feast for the eyes. The world of the living and the world of the dead both look great, and the dead and their spirit guardians are something to behold. Pixar movies aren’t inherently musical in that Disney way where people are singing all the time. This one is, and they knock it out of the park. All the music, whether they are actually being sung or played by characters or not, is exceptional. It plays a big part in transporting you into the world of the movie. The movie is very well paced, and very funny. I wasn’t expecting some of the comedy to be as dark as it was. There’s nothing in this movie worth cutting. The movie is sharp, tight, and efficient. Problems? Flaws? Ehh. I did think the climax was kind of flat and simple, but this isn’t that kind of story to begin with. That’s just years of big climaxes in live action and animation screwing with my expectations. A big adventurous action packed climax isn’t necessary, what happens here is true to the story and true to the themes of the story. Regardless, though, I just wasn’t pumped about it. I praise Pixar for setting up this complex situation where there isn’t a villain, there are two sides that are opposing one another, but both having something of value to offer. AND THEN, there was a villain and some of that was diminished somewhat and with it. The other argument was kind weakened as the film itself decided, “This is the absolute right answer.” when it would have hit a little stronger is it had decided, “This is the right answer for this character.” The drama is real. The character dynamics are complex and touching. The characters themselves are likeable and memorable. The film is exceptional. It is a must own movie.

#Lone Wolf #Coco

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weekendwarriorblog · 6 years

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56th New York Film Festival Preview Part 1

This year’s 56th New York Film Festival will be my 15th time covering the Film Society of Lincoln Center’s annual festival if I’m doing my math correctly, and it’s certainly gone through a lot of changes in that time with the departure of Richard Peña as its director a few years back and lots of personnel changes behind the scenes. The selections tend to be geared towards the Film Society of Lincoln Center’s older clientele, rich Upper West Siders who want to make themselves feel more special at dinner parties by saying they’ve seen the latest movie from this foreign director or another that most Americans a.) Do not know and b.) Do not give a flying fuck about. Sorry to be so blunt about it, but this is my blog and as long as I’m not getting paid to write it, I will do and say whatever the fuck I want. Got it?

Anyway, the festival offers enough variety and diversity and movies that haven’t played at previous film festivals like Toronto (TIFF), which I missed for the first time in over 13 years sadly.

The 56th New York Film Festival kicks off on Friday, Sept. 28, with The Favourite, the latest film from Greek filmmaker Yorgos Lanthimos, whose early film Dogtoothwas nominated for an Oscar in the foreign language category, followed by The Lobster, which received an Oscar nomination for screenplay. I didn’t like the former and didn’t much care for the latter either. Lanthimos’ last movie, 2017’s The Killing of a Sacred Deer I walked out of it at TIFF because I was hating the fact that everyone was talking like a robot. I haven’t seen The Favourite yet – see my note above about missing TIFF – but this one is getting even more raves. It’s a period comedy starring Olivia Colman, Emma Stone and Rachel Weisz, three actors who I absolutely love, and I’m happy to see Colman, who will take over as Queen Elizabeth II in The Crown season 3, getting lots of attention for her performance, which is either lead (going by the credits) or supporting (depending on who you’re talking to). I’ll be seeing this early Friday morning and hope to have some thoughts in the second part next week.

I’m even more excited about seeing Roma, the latest film from Alfonso Cuarón, which was selected as this year’s Centerpiece and has also been getting raves out of Venice, Telluride and Toronto. Unfortunately, it’s nowhere near a premiere of any kind for the NYFF. What’s exciting about Roma is that it’s Cuarón’s return to his native Mexico (at least on camera) for the first time since 2001’s Y Tu Mama Tambien, which for many was their introduction to Cuaron. It’s also his follow-up to 2013’s Gravity, for which he won an Oscar, and it’s likely to be another visual spectacle that few others could master.

This year’s Closing Night film is the North American premiere of New York artist Julian Schnabel’s new film At Eternity’s Gate, which reunites him with Willem Dafoe as well as with making films about artists, this time being about Vincent Van Gogh. I loved The Diving Bell and the Butterfly, which was nominated for four Oscars but not Best Picture, sadly, and many people I know still love his first film Basquiat, so maybe this will be Schnabel’s return to greatness after the disappointing Miral. The movie skipped TIFF and Telluride, so it will indeed be the first time many will be able to see it.

I’m also looking forward to the Coen Brothers’ Netflix series-turned-movieThe Ballad of Buster Skruggs, which will play during the festival’s second and third week; that’s also a North American premiere. Barry Jenkins’ Moonlight follow-up If Beale Street Could Talk is also playing later in the festival, and I hope to get to that review sometime later in Part 2. I’ve also heard good things about Bi Gan’s Long Day’s Journey into Night and Claire Denis’ High Life, the former I’m not sure I’ll have a chance to catch before its theatrical release by Kino Lorber. Other returning filmmakers represented are Jafar Panahi with 3 Faces, Oscar winner Pawel Pawlikowski with Cold War, Korea’s prolific Hong Sangsoo’s Grass and Hotel by the River, Louis Garrel with A Faithful Man and more. (I can’t even THINK about making the time to see Mariano Llina’s 13 ¾ hour – yes, you read that right -- Argentine film La Flor, which will be shown in three parts or eight parts depending on your patience and free time, neither which

I tend to focus on the Main Slate films and documentaries, but the festival has grown rich with revivals and even a VR Arcade as part of its Convergence slate. If I only had time….

So let’s get to a couple mini-reviews of films I’ve seen so far…

Her Smell

Director: Alex Ross Perry

I’ve long had a strange love-hate relationship with the indie filmmaker who continually makes inroads into the mainstream (like writing Disney’s Christopher Robin, for instance). He’s a regular at my local theater, the Metrograph, and I’ve interviewed him a few times, and I just find him to be a fascinating filmmaker and interesting guy in general. What got me excited about this one is that Elisabeth Moss (who starred in his earlier films Listen Up Phillip and Queen of Earth) plays punk rocker Becky Something making a comeback with her girl group Something She, which is set for disaster due to her self-destructive behavior. Perry really takes a different approach to this than his last film Golden Exits, making a movie a bit like Birdman where the camera flows smoothly from one room to another in the various locations. The film begins in a club where Something She are playing their comeback gig, then follows them into the studio a little later and then to a club where Becky is trying to play with a bunch of younger female musicians. It’s not gonna be for everyone, and to be honest, I’ve worked with musicians/rock stars as nutty as Becky gets at her worst, so it was hard to watch sometimes. Moss is amazing but the rest of the cast around her is also amazing including Dan Stevens as her ex-husband, plus Eric Stolz as her manager, Virginia Madsen as her mother and all the unrecognizable women as various musicians in Becky’s circle, including Amber Heard, Cara Delevigne but particularly Gayle Rankin from Glow as Becky’s put-upon drummer Ali.

The Other Side of the Wind

Director: Orson Welles (kind of)

There’s been a lot of ballyhoo about this film which Welles was working on up until his death in 1985, and the fact that Netflix will be releasing it after it was finished by others is kind of a big deal, I guess. Honestly, I’m really not sure why stuff like this is done with filmmakers’ work even thirty years after their death. The plot involves a filmmaker played by the late John Huston who is throwing a party to show a rough cut of his latest film and all of the drama that surrounds the movie and the filmmaker’s entourage. My biggest problem with the “movie” was that it’s clearly edited together from stuff filmed at different dates, possibly even different years, and it uses the pretense of being a “found footage” movie cut together from various video cameras around the filmmaker documenting this party and the movie’s release. It certainly sounds like something Welles might do, putting him well ahead of The Blair Witch Project when it comes to “found footage.” Because of that, I had the same problems with The Other Side of the Wind, which could have used some color correction to make the editing between characters in the party scene not quite as jarring. The actual film within a film (also called “The Other Side of the Wind”) was much more interesting as an artsy and trippy film with two very attractive and frequently naked actors. (The NYFF is also screening Morgan Neville’s related doc They’ll Love Me When I’m Dead, which documents the 15-year history Welles spent trying to make and finish this movie. Both will play as a Special Event at the NYFF before Streaming on Netflix on Nov. 2)

American Dharma

Director: Errol Morris

Having just seen Michael Moore’s Fahrenheit 11/9 the day before, I wasn’t too sure if I wanted to sit through Morris’ new movie about Steve Bannon. I mean, I don’t have the hatred some of my colleagues do for Bannon, since I literally have no opinion of Breitbart and what goes on there. I certainly would never go to a right-wing site for any reason, let alone one that promotes the alt-right’s racism. As I expected, the movie is a lot of Bannon bragging about himself, but Morris comes into this story in an interesting way, since Bannon has respect for the filmmaker due to his Oscar-winning film The Fog of War. Maybe it’s that respect that gets Bannon to open up about what was involved with getting Trump elected as well as his involvement with Breitbart’s exposing of Anthony Weiner (sorry for the pun) and other endeavors. What I like about the film is that Morris is a true artist, accompanying Bannon’s boasting with clips from classic films (many which Bannon references) but also some beautiful visuals including the set which was based on the airplane hangar in Twelve O’Clock High, one of Bannon’s favorite films. This is playing as part of the festivals’ “Spotlight on Documentary” which includes fourteen films, but not all of them will have press screenings, sadly. I hope to catch at least Carmine Street Guitars, Ruth Beckerman’sThe Waldheim Waltz (Austria’s Oscar selection!) and Charles Ferguson’s Watergate in this section.

Non-Fiction

Director: Olivier Assayas

I’ve long been a fan of the French filmmaker since seeing Irma Vep many, many moons ago. While not all of his efforts have been masterpieces, he has enough great films under his belt that I’ll always give his movies a chance. This one worried me because it looked like another movie about French people talking about movies, books, relationships ala Summer Hours and just about every other French film made in the last couple decades. Surprisingly, the movie about an author (Vincent Macaigne) who tends to base his fiction on real life and his off-and-on publisher (Guillaume Canet) ended up being far funnier than I was expecting. It’s Assayas’ third film with Juliet Binoche, although her role is more of an ensemble one and more of the focus is on the two men. She plays the wife of the publisher who has an affair with the author, and if that seems like standard French fare, then not the way Assayas handled it. The entire cast is good but Macaigne is particularly funny, since he’s the perfect caricature of a schlubby and unapologetic writer. I guess in some ways, this is Assayas’ first official comedy even though he’s often played with satire and dark humor in his past films, and ultimately, this ended up being quite enjoyable for one of his talkier films.

Ash is Purest White

Director: Jia Zhangke

China’s Zhangke is another filmmaker whose work I’ve heard praised so much over the years, but I haven’t been able to get into either of the previous films of his I’ve seen (Still Lifeand Mountains May Depart). Not sure why I haven’t been able to get into his work, especially with the osmosis that comes with living in Chinatown for 26 years, but Ash is Purest Whitedeals with things I’ve liked in other Asian films. It starts out a bit like a Johnny To film with its look at the jianghu gangs of a small mainland mining town run by the beloved Brother Bin (Lao Fin) and his girlfriend Qiao (Zhao Tao). Things are going well until something happens that gets Qiao thrown into jail trying to protect Bin. When she’s released, things have changed, and she has to find her own way, but then Bin eventually needs Qiao’s help and she puts their differences in the past. Even though there’s definite genre aspects to the film including a section that reminded me a bit of Park Chanwook’s Lady Vengeance, this is still very much a character piece in the vein of Zhangke’s other work, but I think this one works better than some of his other efforts, mainly since the director has two fantastic actors in the leading roles, particularly Zhao Tao, who goes through such a transformation from one section of the film to the next and then into the final act, as the film covers a good ten to twelve years in their lives. Ash is Purest Whitewill be released by the Cohen Media Group, although I’m not quite sure when.

Burning

Director: Lee Chang-dong

It’s hard to call the latest film from the Korean director of Poetry and Secret Sunshine a “genre” film even though it has genre elements, because it’s more of a strange character drama involving three people. Mind you, I wasn’t a fan of Secret Sunshine even though many of my critical colleagues had raved about it, but Burning is a much stronger film even if it’s tougher to explain what it’s about (mainly due to possible spoilers). A young man named Jong-su Lee (Ah-In Yoo) runs into Hae-mi (Jong-seo Jeon), a girl from his old farmland hometown in the middle of Seoul and she convinces him to feed her mysterious cat while she’s travelling to Africa. Jong-su thinks that he might have a new girlfriend until Hae-mi returns with a rich and charming guy named Ben (Steven Yeun from The Walking Dead). Jong-su continues to hang with the duo even though he feels like a third wheel, although both men are clearly enamored with the strange girl. And that’s pretty much all that I can say about the movie. It’s a fairly long 2 ½ hour film where Jong-su gets more and more suspicious of Ben’s intentions, and there’s an odd exchange when Ben tells him that he likes burning down greenhouses. I think the film might be somewhat frustrating to those always looking for clear answers to all the questions the film raises, but it’s still a strong film from Director Lee that’s going to be South Korea’s selection for the Oscars. I’ll be curious to see if it’s too weird for the Oscar foreign language nominating committee. Well Go USA will be releasing Burning.

That’s it for Week 1 of press screenings, and I hope to get to some of the other movies. Here’s the official trailer for this year’s festival:

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