#idk actor aus just click something in my brain | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

darlingkirstein · 6 months

Note

eremika in any sort of romcom setting hehe

i think this is romcom-y enough??? idk it's a silly little meet cute in fantastically cheesy unrealistic scenario so i think it fits the romcom vibe Teehee🩷 hope you enjoy my pookie wookie vic <3

actor au / fluffy / rated e for everyone / 3.6k

Mikasa toils over the counter, sifting through the different orders — many have rather well-renowned names attached — to decide which ones to tackle first. Being a barista proves more difficult than she initially imagined. All she needed was a simple job to help pay the rent; the coffee shop being on a movie studio lot has been an added bonus, a chance to mingle with stars.

And by mingle, she means floundering interactions with the latest growing stars with their persnickety drink orders, some quick to complain at the smallest errors. Whenever she gets the opportunity to see someone whose likeness is stamped on a poster in her room, Mikasa mangles all attempts at compliments. Trying to praise their work only culminates in rosy cheeks and baffled looks shot back in return.

Exhaling, she gets to work, going through the orders in a procession ascending from least complicated to most tedious. Everyone seems to want extra toppings these days, extra pumps of artificial syrups that turn their 'coffee' into little more than an excessively-priced milkshake. Whatever gets them through the day, she supposes. Making a movie is tricky work.

Mikasa understands this. Sorta. Or at least, she's attempting to. The acting jobs haven't exactly been falling into her lap, though basic probability encourages her that at least one of these countless auditions have to turn into something. She's desperate for anything — at one of her past attempts, an audition for a medicine commercial, the casting agent giggled midway through her delivery of some poorly-written script. The best Mikasa's ever gotten was being an extra for an episode of a new television show — which was promptly cancelled after a first season.

She finishes an affogato and a raspberry danish for Marilyn Lawrence, lounging around on her lunch break from shooting Saturn's Divinity. It apparently takes too much effort to acknowledge Mikasa's calls of her name, too preoccupied by whatever's on her phone to pay much attention.

"Marilyn!" Mikasa repeats, nervous for yet another celebrity interaction. Lawrence only just won a BAFTA for her performance in This Holy House.

With a scoff, the actress strolls to the counter, barely mouthing a thanks before sulking back to a table, carrying all her actress-y things with.

It's hard not to feel like pond scum when the upper echelons of the acting world are hardly willing to spare her simple pleasantries, yet alone anything resembling kindness. Mikasa brushes it off, moving onto the next order.

She just gets started before Marilyn returns.

"This isn't gluten-free, is it?" The spiteful manner in which she asks has Mikasa stammering even before she attempts to answer her question.

"I, uh— I actually don't know. Let me check."

Flustered, she ducks down, foraging for a paper or manual that lists the ingredients. This is something Mikasa knows she should remember, but this job has squeezed out so much of her brain capacity that little else remains.

"You really don't remember?" Marilyn laughs, and Mikasa can hear her continued click-clacking on the phone keyboard, probably complaining to a friend. "You could've killed me, y'know. People have this little thing called celiac. It's important."

Mikasa suspects that Marilyn Lawrence does not have Celiac disease, but she isn't willing to invite even more wrath. "I'm sorry, ma'am, you're—"

"Whatever. Just figure it out and fix it."

When Mikasa falls quiet to continue her search, she expects the frustration to simmer; it doesn't, and Marilyn continues to berate her, though most of her comments are utterly nonsensical. Mikasa's manager is nowhere to be found, useless for getting her out of this less-than-lovely situation.

Her savior comes in the form of a grey-haired gentleman in a suit, bewildered as he bursts through the door, scanning everyone inside — until his gaze falls on Mikasa. He smiles, cell phone pressed tightly against his ear. Though she cannot pin down his name, Mikasa recognizes him as some movie producer, a real big shot.

"You there! Barista! Come with me."

Stunned, Mikasa points to her chest. "Me?"

Marilyn scoffs again. "Uh, hello? What about me?"

The man ignores the Hollywood A-lister, brushing past her to reach the counter. "Yes, you. We need you. I'll explain when we get there. Come on."

Head in a tizzy, Mikasa cocks her head — squinting her eyes, unsure that she isn't fast asleep in the clutches of a dream. What did some movie executive want with some barista?

"I— I think you have the wrong person."

"Jesus, there's no time for this." He turns to the side, muttering harsh words into the phone. "Yeah— I found someone. Just give us a second."

He turns his attention back to Mikasa.

"Are you gonna come with or not? We need you."

At this point, Marilyn has surpassed the angry-scolding-stage and lands in stunned silence. Mikasa still doesn't know what she's needed for, but angering a Hollywood exec is a surefire way to get blacklisted from any future opportunities. They don't want any dead weight in a cast.

"Uh, yeah— No, I'll— I'll go. I'll go."

Opportunities like this are so rare. Mikasa gets so consumed by this fleeting chance that angering her boss isn't even a concern she consciously entertains. As the executive's eyes burn a hole through her head, she feels hypnotized to untie her apron, tossing it aside. It's tempting to pinch her arm, still convinced of a REM-induced trick, but before she can ponder it, Mikasa is crossing the counter, calling her co-worker's name.

The coffee shop's manager finally appears, and as Mikasa is whisked away by the executive's firm grasp, his protests join Marilyn's, though both go utterly unanswered as Mikasa jumps onto a golf cart waiting outside the doors.

It's hard not to feel like Cinderella climbing onto that pumpkin carriage, ready for the ball.

Mikasa's heart races. She tries guessing what possibly awaits her at the end of this ride. Some secret meeting? An agent, excited to tell her that they've been monitoring her auditions and love what they see? All options feel like a pipe dream.

They arrive at an outdoor filming set, and Mikasa wonders over the absolute chaos going on, the cameramen adjusting their equipment, the mousy-haired director shouting commands through his microphone, guiding the team. She recognizes from the lovey-dovey set design that this must be for Before Affection Retires.

"Hey," the executive barks, snapping his fingers, breaking her free from her daze. "Go over to that trailer. Get in costume and then get back here."

Costume? Mikasa is dazed. She can't produce any discernible response, tumbling out of the cart, speedwalking toward the right trailer. She's never done something requiring a costume, only her plain-old, regular street clothes, blending in easily in the background. This is all new.

Before she knows it, Mikasa is donned in a pretty dress that stops just below her knees, its color somewhere between plum and maroon, the shoulders flowy and graceful. The makeup process was even more foreign — Mikasa's daily makeup routine is simplistic to the core, but the stylist here wanted her eyelashes to pop, seductive and primed for romance. A curling iron turns her hair into bouncy, bombshell waves.

She feels so unlike herself, but adrenaline sends her speeding back for the scene of the action, toward the director still barking out commands.

"You!" He cries, pointing. "Get over here! We're starting a shoot in five minutes. Get a script."

Mikasa wonders if every movie set is this hostile, or if everyone here is just having a bad day. One page from the script gets pressed against her chest, along with one order. "Memorize this."

But before she can begin, a frazzled assistant debriefs her on the whole debacle, leading her to the side and gesturing around wildly.

"You know what you're doing? Can you act?"

Mikasa blinks. "Uh, yeah? I can, yeah."

It's clear that answer doesn't instill a whole lot of confidence in the assistant, but regardless, there's apparently no time to waste on nonsense.

"Diana Baldwin is a no show. There's no time in the schedule to skip her scenes today. You'll be filling in for her for the kiss scene. Got all that?"

Diana Baldwin? That's who I'm filling in for?

There's no time to be starstruck. "Got it. Yup."

"Alright, good. You'll say the lines, and they'll do the ADR in post production. You're just a stand-in. That's it. Don't expect overnight fame, yeah?"

Mikasa nods fervently, still so confused. "No fame. That's— I'm no— Why am I here?"

The question comes out without thinking, but that thought hasn't left her mind since the coffee shop, never able to ask in the swirl of chaos.

"You look like her from the back. Same height, same build. The editors can work their magic."

She'll be little more than a green screen, but the thrill of being on a big movie set, stepping in for an actress she's long admired, is worth it.

"Where do I go? Do I— How much time?"

"Three minutes. Get studying."

Mikasa sends herself into a corner to study, scanning the swoonworthy dialogue for the upcoming scene. A big scene. Important, crucial as the romantic climax for a major Hollywood production, and it depends on her.

The words sink in slowly, as best as they can. The last thing Mikasa wants is to earn a director's ire by flubbing the script to a laughable degree. She prepares herself to be flirty, desirable.

"You! Get ready to shoot."

Mikasa scoots into the filming area, finding the mark on the grass guiding her position. As she assumes the position provided by the script, glancing absentmindedly toward the side, she catches glimpses of camera operators approaching, microphones getting closer.

"Action!"

As directed, Mikasa tilts her eyes upward — finally catching a view at her co-star. Damn near jeopardizing the sanctity of the shoot, she struggles hard to keep her jaw from dropping.

Eren Jaeger. A total heartthrob. Mikasa's harbored a subtle (not really) crush on him for the last few years, just when he began his ascent into Hollywood relevancy. She's seen most of his movies, praising multiple as her favorites. God, Mikasa knows she'll even watch the less-than-savory options, the ones without glowing reviews — independent films with tiny budgets and screenwriters that need fine tuning. She has his films ranked by her favorites, but even that is a difficult list to maintain. Though his social media presence isn't huge, Mikasa keeps up with him.

And now she gets to kiss him.

He wears an outfit so casually suave, a dress shirt with the sleeves rolled to the elbows, the first couple buttons undone for an alluring effect. His shoulder-length hair is something you'd seen on a 1990s teen pop culture magazine, harkening to the age of 'effortless' hairstyles, so swooshy. Mikasa chooses Eren over a young Leonardo DiCaprio any day of the week without hesitation.

The lines nearly slip from Mikasa's memory. She's supposed to be flirty with Eren Jaeger; now, her tasks feels all the more insurmountable to live up to, the standards raised to their highest level.

As Eren approaches, he grins. Mikasa has to remind herself that it's the character he's smiling so pretty at, not her. Some fake girl. Not her.

The tragedy of that causes her to almost miss her first line, but she pulls it together. "You came?"

"Obviously," he replies, laughing, his palms immediately cupping her cheeks. Mikasa's glad the camera isn't focused on her face — which has turned a humiliating shade of red. "You didn't think I'd really leave you behind, did you?"

Mikasa swallows. What was the line? She exhales, as propositioned, smiling, mustering up as much desperation in her tone as she can. "I don't know." This young actress has never been this nervous. "You seemed like you were in a pretty big hurry."

Here comes the most swoonworthy dialogue, the part that'll send Mikasa into cardiac arrest. Eren, or whatever his character's name is, draws her closer, their noses rubbing together. The cameras are almost intrusive now — just like they've always been in her screen tests, her daunting auditions, the technology recording her failure.

At Eren's advancing touches, Mikasa recalls another direction from the script — touch him. She nervously rests her shaky fingers on his waist, clutching his shirt. Eren Jaeger's shirt. His smell is intoxicating this close, subtle but unbelievably attractive. Potent. He continues.

"No. Never. C'mon, El. Can't leave you. You know I can't leave you. Don't give a damn about all that."

Without context, Mikasa has no idea what all that even means, but it's irrelevant. Eren has his hands grasping her face, ready to confess his deepest feelings. She swallows hard, clearing her throat.

"Don't make promises you can't keep. You'll wanna leave again. I can't keep you here."

Her delivery has a shakier quality to it than a professional actress might have, but Mikasa's just proud of herself for not melting to a puddle.

Eren, formidable in his role, just as strong as he looks on the silver screen, pushes her back until they've stumbled into the stone railing behind them — a totally improved move that catches Mikasa off guard, her breath hitching.

Before she can process anything, his lips are latched onto hers, hungrily, his character so desperate to prove his affections to this El girl. He tastes just as good as he has in Mikasa's most shameful dreams, the ones where she gets to do exactly what she's doing now, standing tall as Eren's co-star, the recipient of all his perfectly-acted kisses across an excessive number of takes.

Happy to indulge in this fantasy, Mikasa loses herself in the scene, determined to live up to the expectations placed onto her. She clutches onto Eren, brave enough to engage her mouth, providing her own energy to the kiss. Good God. I'm kissing Eren Jaeger. This is all real.

"Not going anywhere," Eren mewls, too convincing in his 'acting', slipping into this character with so little effort. His hands find Mikasa's thighs, squeezing as she's hoisted into his strong arms, legs with no destination but to wrap around his waist. "I need you. I need you."

Mikasa can't contain herself. Her poor heart is close to giving out, and her stomach flips and clenches and every tumultuous sensation between. She forgets this is a movie, on a set, surrounded by strangers watching them kiss.

One more line. "Stay here. Stay with me, please."

"I will, you goddamn, gorgeous idiot. I'm here."

They kiss longer — so much longer — until the immersion is decimated by the director calling cut, leaving Mikasa in the unfortunate reality where Eren swiftly drops her down to her feet. Through the megaphone, the director praises them — before asserting that they would return for a second, precautionary take.

"Hey," Eren starts, his regular, out-of-character tone somehow so different from his voice during shooting. He's more relaxed. Mikasa's used to this voice from all the interviews she's seen.

"Hi." She keeps her eyes averted, too flustered to even dare looking at him after that. He's famous. She's a nobody, wannabe actress that's stuck working a part-time throwaway job. Still, her awkward smile seems to endear her to him.

"Are you alright? I'm sorry for surprising you like that. Felt like it might help the scene." He sounds pleased with himself for concocting the idea. "I didn't hurt you or anything, did I?"

As if he couldn't get anymore perfect. He's a massive sweetheart, too, not some prima donna.

"No— not at all. It was— it was clever."

"You think so? I worried it might be too much."

She's unsure how to reassure him of the move's success without exposing her gigantic crush.

"I think the women watching will be happy."

Eren laughs and it's sublimely charming. "Well, then I'm happy with it. You're all hard to please."

Behind her back, Mikasa fidgets with her fingers, cracking her knuckles like crazy — anything to relieve the what-is-happening-right-now energy coursing through her bloodstream and incapable of exiting any of her brain's fixated thinking.

"Ah, well— I doubt you could disappoint them."

Instantly, she wants to slam her palm so hard into her forehead that it sends her flying. He doesn't need another weirdo fangirl. I've seen the comments on his Instagram. There's enough of those already. If he's annoyed, Eren conceals that frustration with ease, accepting the vote of confidence with a gracious simper.

"Thanks." He exhales deeply, finding his place beside her against the railing. "Are you an actress? How'd you get wrapped up in all this?"

Calling herself an actress in Eren's presence seems rather reductive of his talent. Mikasa shrugs, biting the inside of her cheeks. "Sorta? Not really. I'm— I'm trying to be, at least."

Eren smiles. "Have I seen anything you've done?"

He's much easier to talk to than someone like Marilyn Lawrence. He's more— more human.

"If you watched Avalon Harbor, you might've caught me in the background for a second. I think it was at 36:20, if you feel like double checking."

Pathetic as it sounds, her jokes makes Eren snort, and Mikasa considers that a win. "You know what, I'll have to give it a rewatch sometime."

A different production assistant brings them bottles of water while they wait to reconvene. There's a painful silence between them — a silence that Mikasa wishes to fill with a million questions about his acting, his roles, his journey from child clothes model to big screen cash cow.

Somehow, though, he's equally interested in her.

"So, Ms. Avalon Harbor, you didn't really answer my question. Where'd they find you?"

Mikasa sighs. Now he'll really know I'm a loser.

"The coffee shop down the street. I work there."

He laughs again. "I— I didn't expect that one."

Just as she's about to attempt another joke, anything to hear his pretty laugh again, the director cuts their conversation short, summoning the cast and crew back into position.

"It was nice to chat with you— Wait, what's your name? Just realized I have no idea."

She swallows, lump building in her throat. You're about to be on a first name basis. "Mikasa."

"Eren," he replies, a formality more than anything. "Maybe we'll get to work together again one day."

Don't get your hopes up, she tells herself. "I'm happy to just be in the audience, really."

He smiles as he backpedals back to his starting position, and that smile lingers on Mikasa's brain all the way until the director calls action.

Returning to her barista job after the previous day's events is harder than she anticipates. Getting a taste of a real actresses' life didn't quench that dream — it only thickened her thirst to be on more movie sets, to experience the thrill of producing something from nothing, to turn a script into a visual manifestation for audiences.

Kissing Eren Jaeger played a big part, obviously.

It's hard to keep her mind off their scenes while cleaning the counter during a lull in customers. Her eyes fixate onto the speckles hidden into the quartz countertop, utterly lost in a daydream, replaying the kiss in her head just like she's rewatched some of Eren's movies on repeat.

A gentle voice cuts through her folly.

"What do you recommend? I can't decide."

Startled, Mikasa gets ready to issue so many apologies for being so ditzy, so inattentive. The last thing she needs is a customer complaint.

When she catches the man's eyes, she's even more startled to see Eren standing there.

"Oh! It's you, I— I'm so sorry, I didn't—"

"No need to apologize. Did I scare you?"

Behind Eren, some customers look up from their coffees to gawk at him — the penalty that comes with achieving some stardom (and the unfortunate consequences of being blessed with unnaturally beautiful cheekbones).

Mikasa laughs, flustered. Her cheeks give away just how unprepared she is for this encounter.

"A little, yeah. Thought I was gonna get an earful."

"Nope. Just wanted to stop by and see you."

See me? It's too good to be true.

"Uh, you did?" Mikasa chides herself. This flirting isn't very good, considering that their tongues were practically wrapped together just yesterday.

Eren leans across the counter, gushing his voice to avoid any pesky eavesdropping.

"Sure did. You're a fun co-star. That's rare these days. Plus, you're a pretty good kisser, too."

Instantly, Mikasa's hand covers her face, the redness flushed across her features too much to bear — Eren Jaeger likes my kissing. Me.

Undisturbed by her inability to accept his compliments with any decorum, Eren continues, glancing quickly at the clock on the wall.

"Do you have a break coming up? I'm done for the day. Thought we could go for a walk. If you want."

It's starting to dawn on her how quickly her life has been rocketed off its predicted trajectory because of a resemblance to another actress.

Is he actually asking me out? She hasn't felt this giddy in— well, since his last movie came out.

"I'm off in ten minutes, actually. I'd— I'd love to."

"Great. Then it's settled. I'll take you on a tour."

A lackluster shift becomes the second-best she's ever worked, just trailing behind yesterday's. She smiles so brightly, hard enough to hurt her cheeks, straining the muscles that she usually saves for pretending to tolerate customers.

"Do you still want that recommendation? I can make something for you while you wait."

He grins, amused. "Oh no, I don't like coffee. Just needed something cute to get your attention."

Unwilling to let her get the last laugh, Eren sticks a bill into the tip jar and slinks off to one of the tables, smiling at her from hidden his hand.

Mikasa blushes.

He might be a good actor, but he's just as terrible at hiding a crush as I am.

— (Hope you enjoyed reading! It would be so fun to imagine how they'll spend their walk and how their little courtship would develop into a relationship 🩷 eremika wholesome moment was very fun to write after so much angst!)

#darlingkirstein asks #eremika #my writing #actor au

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crguang · 22 days

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I feel like there’s a lot of sacrificing for a joke in hsr, which is definitely annoying especially when it just…doesn’t make sense, tonally and just logically. And I really do wish we found out more abt the TB, and I would’ve like even like a tidbit from firefly since we talk to her sm, we even play as her at the end. Or maybe get an offhand mention abt how she’s not supposed to tell us bc of the script or smth . I def agree w you, I cannot take the ipc seriously, bc there’s all this stuff abt how they’re doing stuff for their own benefit and profit but idk the stuff w the stellaron hunters and them is just so goofy, like it doesn’t make any sense.

ok so, I was looking thru ur blog and I realized I sent a message abt two-ish weeks ago, tumblr probably ate it smh. I was just saying how it was silly that Kafka’s wanted poster literally says she likes coats on it, and her bounty, like that’s it. Shes so sjsjshbsbddbbewv. And I also came up with another fic idea, like Kafka in an idol/band AU, but also I think her being an actor w the other stellaron hunters would be funny. But yk if I ever get around to writing anything instead of Kafka just living in my brain, who would she be in a band with, I was think abt using some of the characters from the animated before the show starts thing, but the instruments just don’t go together. Also I think I need to work on writing Kafka in general, bc she’s so complicated and it’s fun but I also overthink things too much.

And the leaks were unfortunately right abt 4 characters on one side. I’m not as devastated as you ofc, but hopefully I win my 50/50. Hjskalskskskndn I will cry if I loose.

also, no need to apologize for ranting, your rants always make more sense than mine, and I really enjoy your thoughts. -🌠

i agree with you 100%!!! missed opportunity with firefly and the tb reconnecting it could have been so nice. and omg i think i read that ask, it sounds familiar but i have so many (most are really old reqs, the recent ones are the event reqs i keep to answer eventually) and sometimes things get lost or i’ll click on the notification, answer in my head, then go do something else and forget to actually post my reply, im sorry😭😭 but YES i was thinking of kafka’s description in the game and while i know its the objective writing of the game and not the ipc, i find it funny to believe that whoever was in charge of her wanted notice thought she was hot as fuck because “dashing” and “beauty” in the same sentence is crazy work. her bounty is even funnier bc im wondering how they found out that she loved coats like😭 did she steal a bunch (she did), are they rlly monitoring her credit card and seeing all the purchases of expensive coats, is she always found in a store— what is it?!

actor au stellaron hunters would be really fun… you could also just put then in a band together for the idol/band au because i do think they’re the people who understand her best. the thought of kafka and jingliu practicing together is so funny because jingliu would hate that woman like GDJFBFNG her arrogance would have liu clenching that instrument so tight

i dont think you should worry about overthinking when it comes to writing, it can be a weakness because then you focus too much on details and forget the big picture, but personally i also think j too much into things when i write characters like kafka especially. when every genuine emotion is in the twitch of a finger, there’s kinda no choice lol

“im not as devastated as you” is killing me but its true… im the biggest victim of this banner system bc if i dont get my swanie i’ll @)&$(&)@)£<£#%. i hope u win the 50/50, unless i lose mine in which case i hope everyone else also loses <3

#sat answers #🌠 anon

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lisinfleur · 5 years

Text

Murphy’s Law

It was raining outside; your high heels broke against a stone of your garden; the fall ruined your clothes and hair, forcing you to go back inside to change; you got late to the most important meeting of your year and only when the presentation began, you discovered you brought the wrong pen-drive to the office and instead of the presentation you spent hours of your night composing, pictures of your last family dinner in your mother's house started to show on the screen.

You lost the client and with it, your job.

The day couldn't be worse! Your life couldn't be worse! You were sure of this.

Until your eyes found a man, dressed in a strangely perfect Viking costume, laid in the middle of an enormous burned circle on your grass.

"GREAT!" you cursed.

Without a job, you would NEVER have enough money to fix that shit and your garden would have a horrible black circle, causing your neighborhood to think you were some kind of a witch or anything like that.

"Because cursed I am already! I'm sure!" you growled, coming near the man, trying to push that blond GIANT away from your garden. "Ok, the nap is good and I don't know from which Monday fantasy party you came, but get... The fuck... Outta my grass!"

The man growled in pain and you noticed a stain in the grass that caused you to raise your hands, stained in his blood.

He was wounded and bleeding.

ON-YOUR-GRASS!

And to complete the strange picture, the enormous creature looked at you completely lost, as if you were a ghost, and started speaking some kind of strange language that you could barely understand.

Even speaking five different languages!

"Wait, wait, wait, what??" you tried to stop him "Stop. STOP!"

He seemed to recognize the word, stopping the uninterrupted babbling and fixating his eyes on yours.

"Ok. Slow down... I can't understand you. Can't... understand..." you tried to gesticulate explaining you couldn't hear him properly and insisting for him to keep calm "Let us try... Great... You don't speak English... Habla Español?"

He frowned, not understanding. You sighed, moving your hands for him to keep the silence.

"Deutsch? Sprichst du Deutsch?"

His face was becoming more and more frowned.

Shit...

"Fine... Let me see..." Your mind tried to figure out what to do and then, it clicked in your head.

He was dressed as a Viking... Well, you knew nothing of Icelandic yet, but why not to try?

“Kan du Norsk?”

Something on your sentence seemed to make some sense for him - which was the best you could do until now.

"Ok... Norwegian so..." you sighed, thanking God you tried those classes everyone was saying were useless.

Well, you would like to rub in your sister's face the situation where you were needing the damn Norwegian language she was criticizing you so bad for learning. But your brain instantly refused the idea of calling your sister to see your Norwegian Classes were being useful to interact with a drunken strange, wounded, and dirty man laid on your grass...

Yeah.

It wasn't the best way to prove a point.

You tried to focus, speaking in Norwegian with that strange man, trying to speak slowly since something in your Norwegian was appearing to be strange for him.

Was it your accent? It should be your accent. Surely.

"Look, you're bleeding. You need some help. Do you have your documents with you? What is your name?" you tried.

Your eyes trying to find any visible pocket in his (ABSOLUTELY STRANGE) clothes to look for a wallet, some ID, anything.

But he seemed to misunderstand great part of your sentences, trying to attach to what he could really understand.

"Björn. I'm Björn, son of Ragnar. And who are you, woman?"

Woman?

What a bad educated dude!

He had a pretty dragged Norwegian, with a strong pronounce. You could even say he was Norwegian by his way to talk. However, there was something strange...

It wasn't the tone you were used to hearing.

It was something you were used to reading. On poetry and old historian books, to be honest.

Was that man this drunk to keep the character even in a situation like that?

"Look... Björn, right? I don't know how you ended up in my garden, but you need to get up and leave. This is my property and... Is this a cut? Mother of God! How did you cut yourself like that?" you questioned, shocked when he tried to use your support to get up, not resisting to your suggestions, but showing a long cut from his shoulder through his chest, opening the strange clothes he was wearing, crossing his body until the middle of his belly.

A deeper cut and you would have a Norwegian body in your garden to explain!

You couldn't leave him like that...

"Shit!" you cursed, passing one of his hands over your shoulder to guide him towards your door and stopping in the middle of the way: he was ridiculously taller than you and try to support him was stupid - Björn would have to lower himself to find any kind of support in your shoulders.

"Can you walk?" you asked.

And he nodded, standing perfectly as if his chest wasn't opened from one side to another. His eyes looking around, confused.

"Where am I?" he asked.

"On my garden," you mumbled, walking towards your door and opening it with your key Björn took from your hand as soon as you finished using.

For a second, you thought the game was over and now he would try to push you inside, steal something, anything like that... But he just started looking at your keylocker, messing with it as if he never saw a keylocker in his life!

He fucking smelled your keys! And before he could touch your house keys with his tongue, you took it from his hand.

"What are you doing?!"

"What is this, woman?" Björn asked, looking at you confused once again.

Whether that man was a huge actor or he was really questioning what was a key!

"These are my keys... Come in at once," you said, pushing him inside "I don't want my neighbors to see you coming in."

He got into your house and then, his face frowned even more. Everything seemed strange to his eyes and for a moment, he didn't touch anything, as if all the things in your house could potentially kill him.

But Björn heard the sound of your keys once again and it caught his attention. So, he turned back to see you using the keys to lock your home, impressed.

"What do these tiny “keys” serve for?" he asked, pointing the keylocker in your hand and you sighed.

"You put it here and swirls it like this and then, tharan!" you said, opening your door "Is open. Then you do it again, swirl it to the other side and then, bang!" you showed him the door was closed and he tried to open it by himself, impressed that tiny little fragile thing was really a key.

"No one can cross this door without the key... what's wrong with you?" you asked.

Seeing how his fingers slid through your door and he knocked on some points before looking at you.

"A simple battering ram could cross this easily... Too thin!"

A BATTERING RAM? What in the actual fuck?

"You're strange!" you said, leaving the keylocker on your table and leaving towards the bathroom. "Do not touch anything! I'll pick up something for helping you with this cut and then you will leave!"

It took some time for you to find the medical box in your bathroom. You weren't used to getting yourself wounded, so you didn't even remember where it was.

When you came back to the living room, Björn was messing up with your fake fruits. Curious, he took a fake apple to his mouth and before you could tell him to stop, he bit it, spitting the piece of Styrofoam and frowning again that strange shocked way.

"What kind of apple is this?"

"Is not an apple, you moron!" you said pulling the pieces from his hands, guiding him to the couch where he sat, looking surprised by the softness of your furniture. "Where are you from?"

"Kattegat," he answered, moving his ass against your couch, causing his body to bounce over the soft movable. "This is comfortable... Is made of furs?"

"No," you twisted your face.

You knew that city, Kattegat. But he didn't look like someone from a civilized place. Who in the damn Earth doesn't know what is a couch made from?

"When did you arrive?" you asked, trying to remove his strange leather coverage from his chest.

There was still that cotton... Thing... Over his body. Because you couldn't call that strange thing a shirt.

It was thick and looked like something handmade.

Looking closely the cut in his chest wasn't really deep. And the dude had some pretty nice tattoos, to be honest.

"I don't know," he answered your question, picking up one of the gauzes you used to clean his wound, smelling and almost sneezing with the smell of the alcohol. "I was messing with the necklace I found in the back of my cell when it opened a dark hole and then I saw you... What's this terrible smell?"

You looked at him shocked.

"This is alcohol... aren't you feeling anything?"

You were cleaning his wound with pure alcohol and he wasn't even showing a reaction...

You would be yelling like a goat being slaughtered with a drop of alcohol in a cut of paper. But that man was feeling nothing against that enormous cut?

"It burns a little... Why is this place so different? I never saw a place like this," he insisted, rubbing your couch, looking all over your place while you were still trying to process all the few information he gave you.

"You said... You were in a cell?" you tried to assemble the puzzle his words were.

"Those bastards... My younger brother's men invaded my camp and took me a prisoner. But not before a good fight!" Björn justified, clenching his fist before relaxing a little again "I was thinking about how I could flee from Ivar and I found that necklace on the ground of my cell. Probably some woman he locked there to die..." he sighed " I messed with the pendant and thought about how I wanted to be far away from there... And then everything became too fast for me to describe. In the following second, you were there, waking me up. You didn't tell me... where am I?"

Ok... Now how do you tell a crazy Norwegian he's somewhere in the south of England?

"Let us say your wish was... realized." you said, getting up "Lay down and take some rest. I think you tried to ate my apple because you're hungry so... I'll bring you some food. Try to rest a little..."

"You didn't tell me your name," he pointed, with reason.

"I"m Y/N," you answered.

"Thank you for your hospitality, Y/N. I'll remember to ask my men for your weight in gold to pay for your generosity," he said, laying down in your couch, still impressed with how soft it was.

You almost cracked with his words.

Your weight... in... gold? From when this man was?

You had already heard about Björn before, but well, many Scandinavian men and women would name their children after the Viking heroes like Björn Ironside and the fact he said he was a son of a Ragnar could be exactly the reason why his father named him after the historical figure - to make a joke with the fact his name would be Björn Ragnarsson as well. Right?

The curiosity took you and you took your computer to your bedroom, starting to search for his name around, trying to have any kind of clue of the story he was telling you.

Surprisingly, the iconic Ironside had vanished after being captured by his younger brother Ivar - an event that generated the execution of dozens of slave women since the only thing that remained in Björn's cell was a female necklace with inscriptions in Old Norse that some scientists translated as saying "Make a wish" behind its pendant. The young women were executed for Ivar believed one of them helped his brother to flee.

Björn was never found again in history, but the remains of the necklace could still be seen, preserved, in a museum at the city of Kattegat, Norway...

"Birthplace of the legend... Oh, you gotta be fucking kidding me," you giggled, continuing the article to find something that really shocked you.

Some lines down, a picture of a drawing of what would be Björn Ironside, supposedly made some few time before his disappearance, was looking like a painted portrait of the man in your living room.

Your mind took a turn and you giggled, disbelieving yourself. But before you could figure out if you were insane or the man in your house was a living fossil from the Viking Age, the sound of something breaking called you back to where Björn was supposed to be sleeping.

Instead, he was standing in front of your table's secret drawer - that somehow the curious bastard found and opened WITH YOUR KEYS! - completely shocked, seeing that shitty thing your sister gave you in your last anniversary as a joke about your loneliness, lying exposed over your carpet.

"What are you doing messing with my..." you froze when he pulled a short sword from the leg of his trousers, pointing it on you, straight to your throat, in a precise movement.

"What kind of a witch are you, woman? Is this what you plan to do to me? To cut my manhood while I sleep in your soft bed of furs?"

"What??" you giggled, not knowing exactly if you were laughing of his idea or just for the nervousness with that terrible day. "It's not real! This shit is a vibrator! My sister gave me!"

"Your sister gifts you with men's cocks? What kind of place did I fell into?"

"Is fake!" you tried, looking at him "It's a... a damn toy. Is a joke, Björn! Just like the apple you bit, is fake, ok? She was trying to make a joke on me. Now put this shit down!"

Definitely, that wasn't a fake sword!

And definitely, that man couldn't be a common drunken.

"Don't come any closer..." Björn said, pulling down the sword to touch the vibrator on the ground with its tip, almost burning your face in red.

"For the God's sake, stop it," you mumbled, seeing as he was poking the thing with his sword until it started vibrating on the ground, causing the situation to become even more embarrassing. "Holy fuck..."

"What, in the nine realms, is this shit?" he said, shocked.

And it was the last drop you needed.

Your day was shitty, your life was a mess and now you had to deal with a living fossil in your house. Enough!

"Ok. I'm done. You wanna kill me, then kill me, is a favor you do to me, but this is going too far!" you said, walking towards him, picking up the vibrating THING in your floor, turning it off and hiding it into the drawer again, locking it with your key and sitting on your couch "What a freaking insane day!"

"Why do women have things like that?" Björn asked.

His face totally frowned, looking around.

"Did the men cease existing? Is that it?" he asked, not seeing any male creature around, trying to deduce what was clearly confusing him.

"You are a living Viking, aren't you?" you asked, looking at him.

"Of course, I'm a Viking! What do you mean? What is going on, woman? Explain yourself!" he demanded, as the prince you knew he was.

"Sit down, your highness... This is gonna be a long history," you said, pointing him a chair "And for the love of God, do not touch anything anymore, ok?"

You slid your hands through your hair, trying to prepare for the long speech. But first, you got up, pouring yourself some whiskey.

Pure. No ice.

This would be a really long night.

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#imagine vikings #history vikings #bjorn #bjorn ironside #bjorn imagine #bjorn x reader #bjorn ragnarsson #bjorn’s baby bears #sister wives #5CW #5CW Event #5CWBjorn #short fiction #shoot

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sleeping-is-for-the-weak-nerds · 6 years

Text

OKAY, PART 3, HERE WE GO!

((You guys really like this au apparently.))

“Hey Pat, how are y-- what are you wearing.” Roman stopped when he saw the jacket Patton had on. Over the cute dark lavender dress with black ruffles, Patton had traded his usual grey kitten sweater to a denim jacket with the phrase “If lost return to Virgil” on it on one big iron on patch, that actually looked to be sewn on.

“Oh hey bro-bro! Virgil said that since we’re heading to the planetarium today for a field trip, he wanted me to wear this!” Patton chirped, jumping in place in excitement.

“Ah, I see.” Roman said, mentally giving Virgil a admirable nod in approval, since his brother got excited and ran off a lot, even though they were in their junior year of high school. Then his eyes narrow when he hears one voice he was sick of come around the corner. Or, well, he thinks it makes him sick. His stomach flips, his cheeks go red (though no one can tell due to his tawny skin), his breath shortens, and his heart skips a beat. Sounds like a stomach ache or a heart attack.

“--And we get to see all of the constellations, including, apparently, a brand new one, which is exciting for multiple reasons, one being--” Logan.

“Blah blah blah, do you ever shut up, Microsoft Nerd?” Roman spat out, making the red-head shut his mouth as his cheeks went a nice rosy hue.

“Do you ever use your brain, you bull-headed--”

~~**~~

At three in the morning, Roman sits up in realization, after the dream he had.

“It’s probably nothing,” he said, raking a hand through his curly hair.

Logan looked at him, his eyes shining with what he knew to be love as they danced around the ballroom.

“I had a nice night, Roman. Thank you.” Logan said.

“I had a wonderful evening as well, Logan.” Roman said back. The two leaned in, and--

Roman shook his head to dispel the dream from his head, his stomach flipping, his heart pounding, his cheeks burning. It’s almost as if--

Roman freezes. Everything clicks into place.

“Oh no. I like Specs. Oh god. Oh no.” He sprints down the hall, grateful for his track skills, to his brother’s door, and slams it open.

“Patton, you’re never gonna believe this.”

~~**~~

Logan was a little miffed, and a miffed Logan is not a Logan to be around, everyone in the school knew that.

Roman’s been off all week, and he even abruptly stopped arguing with him something Roman’s never done before, ever.

Patton has also been weird, giggling every time Logan asks about Roman, not that he’s worried about the oaf.

Logan huffed, and set his chin atop his palm, staring at the top actor/track team captain, who was messing around with his friends from the theater department.

Roman put a spoon on his nose and made multiple silly faces, all while quoting Shakespeare in a horrible British accent.

Logan smiled and chuckled at the handsome man, and--

Logan’s mind screeched to a stop at what he just thought. He didn’t...like Roman, did he? He thought back to all the fights and took in all of the symptoms.

Flushed face, irregular heartbeat, his stomach felt like it was in knots whenever Roman smiled, his mind wondered to Roman a lot now that he thought about it, like his muscles, and whenever he spoke Spanish, oh, that especially got him, and oh god he liked Roman Gomez,an prick is mó riamh*, what the fuck.

Logan abruptly stood up and went to the Student Council room where Virgil ate during lunch with Patton. He slammed open the door and said only one thing.

“Virgil, we have a problem.”

*According to google translate, this means ‘the biggest prick ever, but correct me if I’m wrong, my family’s from Scotland, and I’m trying to learn Scottish Gaelic, so idk if they’re the same. Also, no pictures, since @officialwaterfairy got to the Patton picture before me, a legend, truly. Oh, and yeah, Patton and Roman’s last name is Gomez. I thought it fit them both. Roman is indeed the track team captain and the leading actor for the plays. How he does it, I’ll never know, all I know is that while Roman being on the football team is cool and all, I wanted to see something different.

Taglist:

@officialwaterfairy @sammy-is-obsessed @wildhorsewolf @fuckmymentalhealth @puns-and-patton @onalllevelsexceptphysicalimlogan @roxiefox24 @lordvoidghost @curlycutiekinz @vir-gull @mandeebobandee @ravenclawangst @khadij-al-kubra @allycat31415 @punsterterry @the-fandoms-are-takin-over

#high school au #moxiety #logince #logan sanders #ts logan #patton sanders #ts patton #virgil sanders #ts virgil #roman sanders #ts roman

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