mctcrcity

[mctcrcity]

happy juneteenth, dash 🫶🏿 ❤️🖤💚

[mctcrcity]

MEME CALL — like to have me trawl through your meme tag & send things from fallon.

[mctcrcity]

@bewitchingbaker // continued from╰┈➤ˎˊ˗  here!

she knows. she knows, she knows, she knows.

"but...i cain't—can't." fallon's pleading in the semi-dark of the balmy night comes easy at first, then forced, almost painful on the correction. (her mother's own belief, perhaps the worst form of misplaced—a mother's desperate hopes for her daughter—was if fallon trained herself, forced herself to speak without the affect that lay so easy on all their tongues, she might get away from here.)

"how do y'all even know that to be truth? all them bad-eye looks, all that talk, from people who'll never even try to know you..." she sighs, kicks at a clump of grass at her feet. not great that them people also consist of her parents, her cousins, and every other eye at church, at the market, anywhere else. but, it's doable, right?

"....it can't be the end all, be all. you wouldn't let me be in real danger." would you, chris?

[mctcrcity]

@eyeshone // continued from╰┈➤ˎˊ˗  here!

"joey, please."

her expression takes on that mushed muppet-ish quality unique to somebody determined to hold onto a bad mood at all costs, who is also being dragged out of said bad mood. she performs a set of actions that should not feel fluid and connected in a few smooth motions—snatches the holey underwear (that should become rags, whenever she has the time and mental wherewithal to sit down with a sharp object), tosses them back into the basket, more gently remove the cup from joey's hand, and shakes the cup side to side before holding it back out.

forgive her, joey, that desperate, death rattle straw sound burned into her brain forever really does her nerves in.

"don't lemme forget i need to replace those." fallon says, more for the purpose of being social, than thinking joey's memory superior to her own. (not in, like, an elitist way, she's just the brain of this stuff, right?) "i'm not thrilled about whenever i'm gonna start finding whatever might be rotten in here."

[mctcrcity]

@bewitchingbaker sent! :

Chris’s eyes are everywhere but on Fallon. Funny considering he offered to take her to the airport. He knew she would pursue a higher degree, he’ll he was her biggest cheerleader. But some part of him knew he would greatly miss her. Seeing her first thing in the morning would wake him up faster than any coffee they had in the bakery. Ever since their last few hangout, Chris wanted to spill out his feelings but he knew she was going on the bigger things and he would never be a distraction for her. His attention finally turns to Fallon, one hand reaching out to reveal something. The purple bandana he often wore in the kitchen, passed down from his scowling aunt. “Umm I thought this might help. I always wear it when things get busy…it’s sort of a good luck charm Alice gave me. I thought you might need it in between all that studying even though I know you’re smart as hell. You’re gonna crush it, Fallon.”

things working out have, at a certain point, become something fallon's dismissed as relics of a more successful time in her very short adult life. so, she hasn't even really processed the here and now of the situation. of leaving the beat sidewalks, the striped awning, the flour smears on seemingly every article of clothing she owns, and, of course, the worn cotton being pressed towards her palm, inexplicably vibrant in the dull bustle of the airport carrying on around them.

"aw, no...chris." even as she's denying, her fingers cannot help but curl around it. "i can't take this, you've got, like...a century of sunday rushes left at least to deal with."

[mctcrcity]

"it's more..." a lifestyle feels exceptionally whack, and more burnout-y than fallon wishes to ever sound in her life. it wouldn't be inaccurate. a better phrasing may be—

"...it's kind of been, like, a through line with things lately. new, but constant, if that makes sense."

@mctcrcity

[x]

"real.. real. honestly. i've definitely had periods where adrift.. really is the best word to describe that feeling. is this something that's been going on with you for a while or a more recent phenomenon?"

[mctcrcity]

hey, how you feeling?

𝚙𝚛𝚘𝚖𝚙𝚝𝚜 𝚏𝚛𝚘𝚖 𝙳𝙸𝙴 𝙷𝙰𝚁𝙳

"...adrift feels kind of dramatic. but it's also, like, not inaccurate."

[mctcrcity]

her mental state is buoyed by the delusion that she is still a good person plagued by circumstance, and not responsible for the evil she participates in. duh!

"that is...fair enough. but, what if i'm, like, dead or killed?" if she would ever be so lucky.

MORAL JUDGEMENT, GIVEN THEIR CURRENT OCCUPATIONS, WOULD JUST KIND OF BE HILARIOUS. He scoffs the thought of it away.

"What good is having you if I have to be sharp all the time?"

[mctcrcity]

"i mean, there's no, like, moral judgement." none that will be disclosed out loud, because she still somewhat enjoys being alive. "i say that in relation with all the S.H.I.E.L.D. stuff. don't you worry about not being sharp?"

@mctcrcity said: " i like you better sober. "

"I had three drinks. What's the issue, here? Are you becoming a Puritan, and this is how you want to tell me? Because you must be aware I wouldn't allow that."

[mctcrcity]

oh, OKAY.

so, horrible news for her, she's heard exactly what she'd thought she'd heard. and, so had the woman sitting nearby, who briefly looks up from the laptop worth more than fallon's entire life, net worth, and souls, both immortal and mortal, to throw a tight, disgusted glance at willy before returning to her typing.

fallon gives herself precisely as long as it will take to pop the cardboard lid into place & hand-swirl the drink—one, two, three, four revolutions of the wrist—to get it together, then answers. "neither!" too chipper. "we get it shipped from our central processing and supply warehouses."

Wonka finishes recording his notes on Fallon's most recent concoction (thrilling loops of cursive: the rollercoaster of handwriting) with the impromptu materials she so considerately provided: a napkin from the coffee shop and a black sharpie usually reserved for names on cups. Coconut, peanut butter, hazelnut, and almond milk. Too nutty. Louder and more enunciated:

"Do you whip your cream in house or in cow?"

[mctcrcity]

PROMPTS FROM DIE HARD *  assorted dialogue from the 1988 christmas movie, adjust as necessary

no fucking shit, lady!

does it sound like i'm ordering a pizza?

come out to the coast. we'll get together, have a few laughs.

i've got a hundred people down here.

who gives a shit about glass?

who the fuck is this?

i am in charge of this situation.

oh, you're in charge? well i've got some bad news for you. from up here it doesn't look like you're in charge of jack shit.

you listen to me, you little asshole...

now you listen to me, jerk-off.

if you're not a part of the solution, you're a part of the problem.

are you still there?

yeah, i'm still here. unless you wanna open the front door for me.

you know my name, but who are you?

do you really think you have a chance against us?

yippee-ki-yay, motherfucker.

now i have a machine gun.

welcome to the party, pal!

you'd have made a pretty good cowboy yourself.

what was it you said to me before?

i thought i told all of you i want radio silence.

i'm very sorry [name]. i didn't get that message.

that's very kind of you.

you are most troublesome.

sorry, wrong guess.

whoa, these are very bad for you.

who are you then?

god. that man looks really pissed.

you want money?

so that's what this is about? a fucking robbery?

put down the gun.

you throw quite a party.

now i know what a tv dinner feels like.

who's driving this car, stevie wonder?

drop it, dickhead.

you won't hurt me.

after all your posturing, all your little speeches, you're nothing but a common thief.

i am an exceptional thief.

hey, how you feeling?

what the fuck?

geronimo, motherfucker!

you motherfucker, i'm gonna kill you!

i have someone who wants to talk to you.

they're giving me a few minutes to try and talk some sense into you.

i know you think you're doing your job, and i can appreciate that, but you're just dragging this thing out.

what have you told them?

i told them we were old friends.

you shouldn't be doing this.

they know people are listening.

didn't you hear me?

shut up! just shut your mouth!

go fuck yourself, [name].

put down the gun.

i'm going to count to three.

what do you think, i'm fucking stupid?

i have a request.

what idiot put you in charge?

i don't enjoy being this close to you.

can't you see what's happening? can't you read between the lines?

you couldn't drag me away.

you don't wanna know.

i had an accident.

the way you drive, i can see why.

drop the fucking gun!

the hell with this.

you are done.

thanks for the advice.

i hope that's not a hostage.

i'm going to count to three. there will not be a four.

what the fuck are you doing?

how the fuck did you get into this shit?

i hope i'm not interrupting anything.

you're amazing. you've figured this all out already.

hey, business is business.

you use a gun, i use a fountain pen.

he could be a fucking bartender for all we know.

the FBI is here.

want a breath mint?

are we on schedule?

what about the body that fell out the window?

i can live with that.

why the fuck didn't you stop them?

oh god, please don't let me die.

i'm on your side, you assholes!

i wanted this to be professional, efficient, adult, cooperative... not a lot to ask.

something's wrong.

you don't like flying, do you?

you didn't bring me along for my charming personality.

we are both professionals.

do you smoke?

right up the ass.

you macho assholes.

i know the type. i think he's got his eye on you.

we may have some problems.

i need backup assistance!

no one is coming to help you.

no one kills him but me.

are you crazy?

good enough?

[mctcrcity]

CLOSE YOUR EYES. MAKE A WISH. COUNT TO THREE.

#GOLDTICKET. independent writing account for willy wonka from the movie willy wonka and the chocolate factory with minor book influence. written by jordy.

[mctcrcity]

"for…?"

then, she shakes her head and remembers why this very un-fallonish individual is in her apartment in the first place. RIGHT!

"oh! right!" she says aloud, a little too high-pitched from where she's standing, back turned to him as she fills the first cup she'd put hands on, no clink accompanying the run of the tap. (the chief ice tray refiller of the apartment has been down for the count these last few days, so sorry about that!)

"it's, um…well, it's not, like, okay, but," fallon's rambling as she sits on one end of the couch, holding her blanket close with one hand and outstretching the glass with the other. "…we can talk about it."

         𝐇𝐎𝐎𝐑𝐀𝐘  𝐟𝐨𝐫  𝐟𝐢𝐫𝐬𝐭  𝐢𝐦𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬!  and  seeing  fallon,  it  '  s  all  coming  back  now,  thankfully.  well,  maybe not  all  of  it.  but  he  remembers  the highlights ; her,  and  what  they  did.  she  '  s  a  chocolate  cutie ;  her  hair  done  up  in  braids  and  she  '  s  got  the  prettiest  little  mouth  sam  '  s  ever  seen.  it  '  s  no  wonder  he  hit.  good  job,  past  sam!  score!  

.  .  .  but  would  it  of  killed  him  to  be  a  bit  more  .  .  .  dunno,  CAREFUL?!

       ❝  uh,  yeah.  i  '  ll,  uh  ...  i  '  ll  take  a  water, thanks.  ❞     he  hesitates  for  a  moment,  but  then  he  '  s  entering,  careful  not  to  bump  his  apparent  baby  momma  with  the  guitar  case  in  his  left  hand.  they  '  re  likely  in  for  a  long  afternoon,  as  there  '  s  much  to  discuss.       ❝  ... sorry.  ❞     a ... potentially strong start?

[mctcrcity]

that's not how computers work! that's not how they WORK.

but, okay.

"yeah, i don't know." it's easier to feign defeat and allow dmitri to feel capable. continue the high that his knowledge of being half-heartedly hunted down by S.H.I.E.L.D.'s best and brightest has placed him on.

is trying to seek any degree of truth or faith in her abilities even worth it at this point? how does anything work, really, when you considered it philosophically?

she sits back, patiently giving him the space to shuffle through the miserable mind palace represented through his notes app. "who or what are we looking for? once you're, like, logged in."

WHAT WAS THAT, FALLON? Nothing worth saying at an audible level? Alright, good.

He gives her a side-eye that's almost a threat, but he's in too good of a mood—teetering on the precipice of becoming outright mania—to actually present himself to Fallon as dangerous. (Also, of all the people to try that on, at this point—come on. She knows exactly what he's capable of—WHICH IS A LOT!—and exactly what he isn't.)

He swivels to the computer.

Idly testy: "If you fixed it properly the first time, there shouldn't still be a problem. Why is there still a problem?"

The computer force-reboots. Log-in screen.

"...fucking hell—"

He takes out his phone.

[mctcrcity]

"it's time to lock in, it's time to lock in" i sob, as i drag myself away from my multiple movies per day with ZERO writing jag

[mctcrcity]

fallon is revolted. she'll neither be eating the lunch she brought, nor will she be wasting $4 in tips on a pretzel.

she's a fool in the sense that she thinks she can SAVE the oddballs, every single time. she's the nicest on shift, almost every time. so, it makes perfect sense that she'd all but jumped between the whimsical man (willy, as she's scrawled in increasingly messy, uninvested handwriting on every. single. damn. cup.) and her coworker before.

now, the shine is LONG gone. she's shredded through the reasonable, mild syrup options and she's now at the bottom of the barrel—the sweetest, most wretched, and fallon's most personally hated. she's knee deep in three pumps of butterscotch (hurk), three of crème de banana (hurk), and three of kettle corn (HURG-)

trying her best to slap on her light, lilting customer service voice: "i'm sorry, when do we what?" she must not have heard him right over her aversion to sugar.

@mctcrcity

This will be his fifth order of coffee here today. Wonka has not left the premises. He's sat at the bar seats that invasively overlook the baristas. His previous paper cups are in a neat line of three with one balanced atop two like an unfinished pyramid—an ominous promise—more yet to drink! From here: "Once more unto the breach!" The agreement Fallon has been grandfathered into from his first order is this: she makes a small, hot latte with three different syrup flavors each time: no repeats. With whipped cream on top. His tongue pokes at a smudge of whipped cream stuck to the inside edge of the latest empty cup. His lips tamp together rapidly, like feet stomping grapes into traditional wine. Musing:

"When do you whip your cream?"

[mctcrcity]

the level of detail under the layer of too-thick, too-cakey foundation makes fallon sober up a little. this is dire.

she focuses her scrubbing on a particularly thick vein across the middle of his forehead. "better not to, i guess." fallon mumbles under her breath, trying her best to close the distance between his height and her lack of.

fallon cannot offer whatever luxurious conditions coach's office must have for donny to sleep through the extended mural work across his forehead. but, she can at least promise no drawings. and a beanbag. "y'know, you could always, like, come to mine? i'm not far from this gym." major vein down. next, some of the mild ones! "i hate for you to be all, y'know, psyched out."

not that she knows a thing about boxing, even after many donny lectures, but she knows psyched out means donny's blood, spit, or a tooth flying all over the place. she'd rather not, both for herself and him.

He did try washing. He learned then that they had used Sharpie. So some borrowed foundation from one of the very kind ladies at the front desk was an ingenious secondary plan. He's actually very proud of his own quick thinking.

Donny does his best to crouch down to her height, hands on knees, forehead presented with foundation that's a twinge too light for his complexion and hiding a crude penis— pubes and all. There was an apparent artist amongst the boxers.

"I took one power nap in Coach's office," Thinking he would have a little privacy. "I don't think Coach did it but I'm not ruling it out." It could have been anyone, really. Donny loved to play pranks and there were several people who swore vengeance. "I'm neva' doin' that again, lemme tell ya."