#18 for when mother nature punches my gut

[wordsofrowan]

From Ashes to Ember

Chapter 18 - Passing of the Torch

I sat precariously on the railing of the Eiffel Tower, the wind gently tousling my hair as I awaited the arrival of Chat Noir. Grandmaster Su-han stood silently behind me, his eyes scanning the surroundings for any sign of Chat Noir. With each passing minute, my irritation and anxiety grew. 

Why now? Why did Chat Noir choose this moment to remain silent and elusive? The uncertainty gnawed at me, and I could sense Tikki's restlessness, her soul buzzing with unease as she searched for Plagg's aura. I shared her anxiety, feeling the weight of the impending task we were about to face. The fate of the city rested on our shoulders, and Chat Noir's absence was a sharp reminder of the unpredictable nature of our partnership.

"Is this Chat Noir of yours always this... unreliable?" Grandmaster Su-han's voice cut through the air, his words hitting me like a punch to the gut. I wanted to defend Chat Noir, to vouch for his reliability, but the truth lingered in the back of my mind. Countless times, he had let me down, failed to show up, or displayed an overly confident belief in my abilities. Anger bubbled within me, threatening to boil over, but I quickly pushed those thoughts aside, determined to maintain a semblance of composure.

"No, no he's not unreliable at all," I responded, my voice rising an octave. I attempted to exude confidence, but even I could hear the doubt creeping into my words. Grandmaster Su-han's impatience grew palpable, his foot tapping against the metal floor of the tower. Time seemed to stretch on, each passing second feeling like an eternity. I glanced at the clock, my eyes tracing the hands as they moved agonizingly slowly. Where was Chat Noir?

Just as despair threatened to consume me, a figure emerged in the distance, making its way towards us. It was Chat Noir, finally arriving after what felt like an eternity. Relief washed over me, easing the anxiety that had built up within me.

"Sorry, it took me so long, Bugaboo," Chat Noir apologized, reaching out to take my hand in his. However, before our fingers could intertwine, I snatched my hand away, a flicker of annoyance crossing my face. "I couldn't escape my civilian duties," he explained, his words laced with playful nonchalance. I couldn't help but roll my eyes at his antics.

"Now is not the time for that, Chat Noir," I snapped, my tone stern and focused. "We have more pressing matters to attend to." Finally, Chat Noir seemed to notice Grandmaster Su-han standing behind me, his eyes widening slightly as he took in the Grandmaster who was standing behind me.

Su-Han's piercing gaze bore into Chat Noir, his disappointment evident as he assessed the young hero. "Of course, it's just another child," he muttered under his breath, a touch of disdain coloring his words.

"Hey, who are you calling a child, you geezer!" Chat Noir retorted, his defensive tone betraying his wounded pride.

Sensing the rising tension, I quickly stepped in to ease the situation. "Relax, Chat. This is..." I began, but Su-Han interrupted me. 

"I am Grand-Master Su-Han, the Celestial Guardian of the Mother Box," Su-Han declared, his words carrying an air of mystery and power. The atmosphere crackled with curiosity and skepticism as our unlikely trio stood atop the iconic landmark, ready to embark on an extraordinary adventure.

"But you're the guardian, Ladybug," Chat Noir responded, his voice tinged with a hint of skepticism.

Su-Han stood his ground, determination shining in his eyes. "When the lion speaks, the cub listens! Fu knew not what he was doing, and this one here has no suitable training for being a guardian," he stated firmly, his voice filled with authority.

Chat Noir's response was swift and filled with defiance. "What a ridiculous joke," he scoffed, extending his baton and assuming a fighting stance, ready to face Su-Han head-on. "And trust me, I know all about bad jokes."

Su-Han raised a bushy eyebrow, his posture exuding confidence. "And just what do you think you can do against me, little brat?" he taunted, his voice laced with arrogance.

Chat Noir swung his baton with lightning speed, aiming for Su-Han. But before the attack could connect, I swiftly intervened, grabbing the middle of the baton and halting the strike. Chat Noir's frustration seeped through his gritted teeth as he looked down at me, a mix of contempt and annoyance in his eyes.

"What do you think you're doing, Ladybug? Do you honestly believe this guy? He's clearly an akuma!" Chat Noir exclaimed, his voice filled with disbelief.

My voice rose as I stared back at Chat, annoyance flaring up within me. "No, Chat, what are you doing? If you took a second, you would know that my Kwami has already confirmed that he’s telling the truth. And if you took a minute to listen to Plagg, you would know that he also recognizes the Grandmaster’s presence.” I saw Chat Noir's expression harden, an unreadable emotion flickering across his face.

"Maybe you are smarter than I gave you credit for, Little Girl," Su-Han admitted, begrudgingly acknowledging my reasoning.

I turned my head to acknowledge Su-Han when an unexpected movement caught my eye. Out of the corner of my vision, I saw Chat Noir's leg extend as he attempted to sweep my leg and make me lose my balance. Reacting swiftly, I evaded his leg, grabbed his arm, and flipped behind him, swiftly bringing him down to the ground.

"Stand down, Chat!" I commanded, my voice firm as I asserted my authority.

"Now you two will hand over your miraculous to me," Su-Han declared, extending his hand with an air of authority. "I will reassign them to carefully selected, responsible adult holders, as any rightful guardian would do."

Chat Noir's defiance echoed through the room, his voice laced with determination. "Over my dead body will I ever give up my Miraculous!" he bellowed, his eyes blazing with a mix of anger and determination.

Frustration surged within me as I glanced between Chat Noir and Su-Han. The weight of the situation pressed heavily on my shoulders. Taking a deep breath, I mustered all the conviction I had. "Stop it, Chat!" I yelled, my voice filled with anger and urgency. "The Kwamis have confirmed it. Su-Han is the real original guardian of the Box. Maybe Master Fu was wrong. Maybe that's why we haven't been able to defeat Shadow Moth."

Chat Noir's gaze bore into mine, his eyes reflecting a mix of disbelief and disappointment. "You're being ridiculous, Ladybug!" he retorted, his voice tinged with frustration. "You always find a way. Just trust yourself, Ladybug, like I trust you. If you ask me to give my Miraculous back, I will. But you're the only Guardian here."

Su-Han seized the opportunity, his voice dripping with calculated authority. "Then it's settled," he declared, a glimmer of triumph in his eyes. "Order him to give you his Miraculous back, and let's be done with this. Then you will renounce being the Guardian so I can retrieve the Mother Box."

I felt my grip on Chat Noir loosen, and before I could react, he freed himself from my hold, standing before Su-Han with a defiant stance. "You want my ring? Then come and get it!" Chat Noir taunted, his voice daring the Grandmaster to make a move.

"Chat Noir, calm down!" I pleaded, my desperation seeping into my voice. "This is a Guardian you're talking to. We need to find a solution."

Su-Han's eyes narrowed, a glint of determination flashing across his face. "Why do you think Guardians study for so many years?" he questioned, each word filled with conviction. "Just to hand the Miraculous out to whomever? No. We are specially trained to overpower Miraculous holders who have gone rogue, like you!"

With lightning speed, Su-Han charged at Chat Noir, his movements precise and powerful. "Celestial Storm!" he called out, his fists becoming a blur as he struck Chat Noir with a series of well-placed hits. Chat Noir crumpled to the floor, and Su-Han triumphantly stood over him.

"Master Fu was way nicer," Chat Noir groaned, his voice filled with pain and frustration

"And his Mira-Kung Fu was worse," Su-Han retorted, a smug smile playing on his lips as he grabbed Chat Noir's hand, inching closer to his ring.

In a split second, I swung my yo-yo, its string latching onto Su-Han's wrist, pulling his hand away from Chat Noir's ring. "Su-Han!" I yelled, my voice filled with determination. "I am Ladybug, Guardian of the Chinese Zodiac Box! And I say that Chat Noir keeps his Miraculous, and so will I!"

"You insolent little girl!" Su-Han's voice boomed with rage as he lunged for Chat Noir, his fury evident in his eyes. "Stream of Justice! Blast through and annihilate my enemy!" Su-Han roared, attempting to hurl Chat Noir towards me.

With lightning-fast reflexes, I leaped over Chat Noir's body, landing a powerful blow to Su-Han's chest. But to my surprise, it had no effect. Su-Han effortlessly evaded every attack from Chat Noir, effortlessly countering my own strikes.

Frustration boiled within me as I struggled to land a hit. "I don't know how he's doing it, but he's somehow anticipating our every move!" I shouted, my voice filled with a mix of disbelief and determination. Su-Han's skill seemed unparalleled, effortlessly countering every punch and kick.

With a confident smirk, Su-Han boasted, "My Mira-Kung Fu is like water! It adapts and finds its way anywhere! And you, my dear, are at the mercy of the currents!" As he finished his sentence, he swiftly delivered a side-kick, sending both me and Chat Noir crashing into a nearby wall. The impact was jarring, but it only fueled my determination to bring Su-Han down.

The battle raged on, an intense clash of wills and skills. Each move I made was met with a calculated counter from Su-Han, his agility and precision unmatched. But I refused to back down. With every strike, I pushed myself to the limit, determined to find a weakness in his seemingly impenetrable defense. I looked at ChatNoir, urgency in my eyes as I pointed towards Su-Han with one hand, my yo-yo held tightly in the other. My mind raced as I tried to think of a way to outsmart Su-Han. "Chat Noir, grab his staff," I commanded, my voice filled with determination.

Su-Han's words rang out, taunting us, "The claws of the hungry cat, powerless against the milkman's iron box." Determined, I swiftly threw my yo-yo beneath Su-Han, activating a net that trapped him in place. It was the perfect opportunity. In one swift motion, I snatched Su-Han's sack, securing it tightly in my possession. The look of disbelief on his face only fueled my determination.

"What?" Su-Han exclaimed, his voice filled with shock. Seizing the moment, I swiftly snatched Su-Han's sack, triumphantly declaring, "Got it!" His expression turned to disbelief as he tried to comprehend what had just happened.

With a mischievous grin, ChatNoir playfully added, "Bye-bye!" as he delivered a powerful kick, propelling Su-Han into a nearby wall.

I shattered the wall with my yo-yo, burying Su-Han under the rubble. Though he managed to free himself, he soon realized that both ChatNoir and I had vanished, along with his staff and the mysterious box.

Su-Han muttered a final warning, "If you challenge the clouds, you will face the thunder!" His words echoed in the air, a reminder of the power he possessed. 

Chat Noir and I sprinted through the darkened streets, our hearts pounding in sync with our hurried footsteps. The adrenaline coursing through my veins fueled my determination to put as much distance as possible between us and Su-Han. Finally, we found a secluded spot where we could catch our breath and regroup.

As we gasped for air, Chat Noir's voice broke the silence, his breathless words hanging in the air. "So like, what should we do? Should we detransform?"

My frustration boiled over, and I turned on him, my anger resurfacing. "And then what, Chat?!" I snapped, my voice laced with desperation. "He knows where I live! He knows who I am! I can't fucking run from him!"

The weight of my words hung heavily in the air between us. Chat Noir's eyes widened with a mix of surprise and guilt. He took a step back, his breath hitching as he struggled to find the right words. "Ladybug... I... I didn't know. I'm sorry," he stammered, his voice filled with remorse.

I sighed, my anger mixing with a tinge of sadness. "Of course, you didn't know, Chat. Because this is always some kind of game to you," I retorted, my voice filled with frustration. "Do you not realize how serious this actually is? My identity, my home, my life, everything is at stake."

“Ladybug! Chat Noir! Give me back the Mother Box and your Miraculous! Return them to the right hands!” I heard Su-Han's voice echoing in the air, demanding the return of the Mother Box and our Miraculous. The urgency in his words sent a shiver down my spine. Chat Noir and I locked eyes, a silent understanding passing between us. We had to protect these powerful artifacts at all costs.

“I want my cane back!” what I could only assume was an akumatized Master Fu yelled out, “and an apology!” In a swift motion, he painted the characters 雷电 (Léidiàn) in the air, summoning a dark cloud crackling with red lightning. Chat Noir and I swiftly dodged the dangerous bolts, our instincts guiding us to safety.

Su-Han, driven by his desire to obtain the Mother Box, lunged towards me, attempting to snatch it from my grasp. “Give me the box!” Su-Han grunts out, but I held onto it tightly, refusing to let it go.

“Never!” I shout back. Amidst the chaos, a bolt of lightning struck, causing both Su-Han and me to drop the box onto the field. It was a race against time as we both scrambled to retrieve it.

Unbeknownst to us, Shadow Moth, through Furious Fu, had noticed the Miracle Box and communicated his desire to possess it. "Furious Fu, bring me that box," his sinister voice commanded, setting the stage for a perilous chase.

Furious Fu leaped into action, pursuing the box with determination. Meanwhile, Chat Noir and I resorted to treating it like a football, kicking it back and forth, desperately trying to keep it out of Su-Han's reach. We were playing a dangerous game, aware that the fate of the Miraculous and the city hinged on our success.

In a moment of brilliance, Chat Noir managed to kick the box into the goalpost, exclaiming, "Gooaal!" It was a victorious moment amidst the chaos, but the game was far from over. Su-Han retreated, realizing the futility of his pursuit, while Furious Fu seized the opportunity to retrieve the box.

In a display of his mastery, Furious Fu painted the characters 瞬间移动 (Shùnjiān yídòng), invoking the power of teleportation. In the blink of an eye, he seized the box, forcing Su-Han to retreat. The threat had momentarily subsided, but the battle was far from over.

Shadow Moth reveled in his perceived victory, taunting us with his words, "One-zero, Ladybug."

 I couldn't help but challenge the fairness of it all, accusing, "Red card! He touched the ball with his hands!" The frustration of our efforts being thwarted began to weigh on me.

Su-Han, observing from the sidelines, couldn't resist offering his unsolicited advice, criticizing our every move “No! Higher! Watch out! No, not like that! Ugh! So slow! Come on! Not that way!”

Chat Noir, growing increasingly frustrated, fired back at him, "Hey, Mr. Bossy Pants! Would it kill you to help us out here?" It was a moment of shared exasperation, as we all yearned for a united front against the impending darkness.

“The art of Mirakung-Fu is a martial art designed to neutralize rebellious miraculous holders! Not to fight a supervillain created through the magic of the miraculous!” Su-Han says, his tone dismissive and nonchalant. 

I couldn't contain my frustration any longer, confronting Su-Han with the weight of our responsibility. "So we're supposed to fix your mistakes?!" I questioned, my voice filled with a mix of anger and disappointment. Su-Han's expression shifted, revealing a glimpse of shame, perhaps realizing the impact of his actions on the greater battle.

Furious Fu, his voice resonating with wisdom, gestured with his arms and hands, imparting his teachings. "Phantom Palms and the Awakened! The wise man moves mountains without touching them!" With a burst of energy, he sent both Chat Noir and me back, pointing towards Su-Han “You're next!” 

Su-Han's battle cries echoed through the air, each word filled with determination and strength. He unleashed a flurry of fighting techniques, shouting, "A hundred thousand dragon talons! The pagoda breaker iron feet! The rage of the sunscreen with ingrown nails!" His energy was overwhelming, but our plan was about to take effect.

With a swift stroke of his paintbrush, Furious Fu wrote 雕像 (Diāoxiàng) in the air, directing its power towards Su-Han. The characters landed on his forehead, freezing him in place like a statue. It was a moment of triumph as Furious Fu took back his cane, finally regaining control of the situation. Shadow Moth's voice resonated from his lair, acknowledging Furious Fu's success with a simple, "Well done, Furious Fu." Shadow moth’s voice resonated over Furious Fu as he spoke, “Now you must keep your word and bring me Ladybug and Chat Noir's Miraculous.”

"Very well, all I have to do is take the wingless bat’s bell.” Furious Fu said with a devious smile on his face. 

“No no not his bell! His ring!” But Shadow Moth’s cries fell on deaf ears. 

As Chat Noir and I huddled together, formulating our plan, he expressed his confusion, insisting, "I am not a wingless bat!" I rolled my eyes at Chat’s behavior. 

“Pay attention Chat.” I snapped out.

“But…” 

"Chat Noir, we can't defeat him head-on. We have to make sure he doesn't defeat us either," I explained, hoping he would understand. His eyebrows furrowed in confusion, but he nodded, trusting my judgment

“Yeah, you lost me, m’lady,” Chat said and I shook my head. 

“Just cover me! I have a call to make.” I took out my Bug-Phone and made a crucial call, setting the wheels in motion.

Meanwhile, Chat Noir prepared to distract Furious Fu, engaging him in a nimble swordfight. Furious Fu taunted him “The kitten can meow all he wants, but he will never roar like a tiger!”, underestimating his abilities and comparing him to a roaring tiger.

"Lucky Charm!" I exclaimed as the call ended. At that moment, I received a pair of bolt cutters. Looking around, I assessed the items available to me - Chat Noir's ring, a cage filled with footballs, my trusty yo-yo, and the newly acquired bolt cutters.

“What is she up to?” I heard Furious Fu ask as I made my way to the cage. He kicks Chat Noir away. He then uses his paintbrush to write 视力 (Shìlì)  on the ground.

“Vision!" He calls out, as I realize that he's onto me, “So this is your silly litter plan. I know what you're going to do!” He shouts as he starts running towards me. 

In a daring move, Chat Noir leaps onto Furious Fu from behind, stopping him in his tracks, “We’re not done yet!” Chat Noir yells out. With the bolt cutters in my hands, I break a lock and snatch a ball from the cage.

I hear Chat Noir shout out “CATACLYSM!” 

My heart raced as I realized the danger. I couldn't let Chat Noir go through with it. I desperately called out, "No!" hoping to stop him in his tracks.

Furious Fu, seizing the opportunity, grabbed Chat Noir and took hold of his activated hand, threatening to use cataclysm against him. My mind raced, searching for a solution to this perilous situation. “You're going to turn yourself into cat food.”

“Take this!” I yell as in a split-second decision, I flung my yo-yo towards Furious Fu, hoping to distract him and buy us some time. But he effortlessly caught the string between his teeth, a display of his formidable skills.”And that!” Undeterred, I continued my efforts, determined to regain control of the situation. With all my strength, I sent my yo-yo towards Furious Fu once more, hoping to keep him at bay.

But Furious Fu was relentless. Despite my best efforts, he caught hold of me, gripping my arm tightly as he lifted me off the ground. Panic surged through me as I dangled helplessly, searching for a way to turn the tables.

Then, a glimmer of an idea sparked in my mind. I swiftly maneuvered the football I had retrieved, wedging it between Chat Noir's activated cataclysm and his chest. It acted as a shield, preventing Chat Noir's cataclysm from causing any harm."There! Voila! We win!" I declared, a triumphant smile crossing my lips.

Even in our moment of apparent victory, he sneered at me, holding the yo-yo string between his teeth. He taunted, "You think you've won? We're just stuck now! I can't defeat you, but you can't defeat me either!

Confidence surged within me as I met his gaze, knowing I had a trick up my sleeve. With a calm determination, I assured him, "Oh, but my plan was never to defeat you myself."

Just as Furious Fu seemed to revel in our predicament, Marianne, our resourceful ally, stepped forward. She deftly plucked the paintbrush from Furious Fu's ear, “Sorry, But I need to borrow this,” She said as she broke it in two. “There, exactly like you said on the phone ladybug.” As the brush shattered, Furious Fu released his grip on both me and Chat Noir, the akuma's hold over him dissipating.

“Thank you, Marianne, that was perfect.” Expressing my gratitude to Marianne for her impeccable timing, I opened my yo-yo, ready to capture the akuma and put an end to its mischief. I captured the akuma with a skilled catch, confidently declaring, "Gotcha! Bye-bye, little butterfly!" To further restore balance, I threw the bolt cutters into the air and activated the power of the Miraculous Ladybug. The storm dissipated, and Su-Han was freed from his frozen state.

As Chat Noir, Marianne, and I all turned to face each other we let out a resounding “Pound i-” Chat quickly pulled his fist back realizing that his Cataclysm was still active. He quickly touches the ball at his feet. 

Sharing a moment of camaraderie Chat Noir, Marianne and I laughed in unison, exclaiming, "Pound it." The bond between us grew stronger, fortified by our shared triumphs.

I pulled out a charm from my yo-yo and handed it to Fu. “Here, carry this with you at all times. It will protect you from future attacks.” I could see gratitude and appreciation in his eyes as he accepted the charm, acknowledging its significance and the trust I had placed in him.

“And it will remind me of you every day. Thank you Lady Beetle and Mr. Bat,” Fu said with a big smile on his face. I watched as Su-Han approached Fu. 

“I'm terribly sorry. Forgive me Whiny- uh Sir. I- I mistook you for someone who has been long gone.” Su-Han bowed down in front of Fu and presented the cane back to Fu. 

“Don’t worry about it, it’s already forgotten.” Their exchange concluded with a mutual bow, marking the end of a challenging encounter.

 Hours stretched on as I stood there, watching Fu and Marianne board the train, their departure marking the end of a challenging and eventful day. Exhaustion tugged at my bones, a reminder of the battles fought and the risks taken.

Weary, I made my way back to my home, the weight of responsibility settling upon my shoulders. As I entered my room, a sense of anticipation hung in the air. Grand Master Su-Han, ever watchful and stern, awaited me, his presence commanding attention.

"That was very irresponsible," Su-Han's voice carried a hint of disappointment as I closed the door behind me. His words struck a chord within me, stirring a mixture of guilt and defiance. I knew I had pushed the boundaries, involving Marianne, a civilian with no powers, in the dangerous battle we had faced. It went against the very precepts I was sworn to uphold.

The tears threatened to spill from my eyes, the weight of Su-Han's words heavy upon me. But just as I was about to speak up, to defend my actions or offer an apology, Su-Han extended his hand, halting my words in their tracks.

"This has proven two things," his voice softened, a glimmer of understanding shining in his eyes. "The first thing is that you dare to invent your own rules. As reckless as it may seem, somehow they all work. You possess a unique ability to think outside the box, to forge your own path."

His words stirred a sense of validation within me, the affirmation that my unorthodox methods had their place. I looked down, a mix of emotions swirling within me, unsure of how to respond.

But Su-Han wasn't finished. He continued, his voice tinged with a grudging respect, "The second thing is that your natural instincts tell you who you can trust. An essential quality for a guardian. Whiny Chicken- uh, sorry... Master Fu may not have made such a bad choice after all."

His unexpected words of understanding and acceptance washed over me, filling me with a sense of relief. A smile slowly curved upon my lips as I looked up at Su-Han. "Thank you, Grand Master," I expressed gratefully, my voice filled with genuine appreciation. "Your words mean a lot to me. I will continue to trust my instincts and strive to be the best guardian I can be."

A warm smile spread across my face, gratitude flooding my heart. Su-Han's words, laced with reluctant praise, held a profound significance. It was an acknowledgment that despite my unconventional approach, I had proven myself capable and trustworthy.

The Miracle Box," Su-Han began, his voice filled with reverence, "is the mother of all boxes. It is the very first one that was created, housing the most powerful magic jewels known to existence. The consequences of it falling into the wrong hands are unimaginable." His words hung in the air, a reminder of the weighty responsibility we carried.

A mixture of determination and uncertainty flickered in Su-Han's eyes as he continued, his voice filled with a newfound trust. "But I am going to trust you, my young guardian. I will keep a watchful eye from a distance, guiding you when I can. Furthermore, I will take advantage of my time here in Paris to immerse myself in modern life. How can I be a good guardian if I do not make an effort to understand the world around me?"

A sense of gratitude and determination filled me as I listened to his words. With a smile, I carefully returned the Miracle Box to its secret drawer, a hidden compartment I had constructed to keep it safe from prying eyes. "Thank you, Master," I expressed, my voice filled with sincerity. "Your trust means everything to me."

Before Su-Han could respond, I reached into my bag and pulled out a carefully wrapped package. With a mischievous grin, I handed it to him. "But I have something for you too," I said, anticipation dancing in my eyes. "I think you're gonna need these."

Curiosity piqued, Su-Han took the package in his hands and unwrapped it. His eyes widened in surprise as he beheld a brand new pair of sneakers, a stark contrast to the worn and tattered pair he currently wore.

A chuckle escaped Su-Han's lips as he looked down at his old footwear. "Ah, these old things have seen better days," he remarked, a mixture of amusement and gratitude in his voice. "Thank you, Ladybug. These new sneakers will undoubtedly come in handy in this fast-paced modern world."

We shared a moment of camaraderie, the exchange of gifts symbolizing the bond we were forging as master and guardian. As we prepared to face the challenges that lay ahead, we knew that we could rely on each other's support and strength.

With renewed determination, I took a deep breath, ready to continue my journey as Ladybug. Armed with the trust of my master and the power of the Miracle Box, I was prepared to face whatever darkness threatened to engulf Paris. The legacy of the Miraculous rested upon my shoulders, and I vowed to protect it with all my heart.

XoXo Rowan

[ciggylungz]

Benefits

Rivals blurb: 2.8k word

Request: y/n & harry go to a bar and someone from harrys office flirts with her and he gets jealous

__

Work parties were never very exciting, so when Y/n and Harry had a combined company benefit party at one of the upscale lounges in London she was hardly excited. Her publicist had decided it would be good to do it together to get more hype and press on it by proving even though their companies split years prior there was ‘no bad blood’. She only agreed because some of the profits were going to different charities and that gave her the stamina to stick out a work event, and well free booze was a plus.

She had just enough time to make a pitstop home to change into a formal appropriate cocktail dress, pumps and fixed her hair before making her way towards the bar. Upon arrival she could already hear Harry’s distinct fake laugh, her eyes rolling automatically knowing he was cheesing up to some rich beneficiary to milk as much cash out of them as he could. She headed straight to the bar, ordering a vodka soda with lime deciding she’d need a little help getting through the night If she’d be trapped with that prick in such an enclosed space.

After two vodka sodas she was feeling a good buzz, good enough that her uptight nature seemed to unravel enough for her to entertain the gentlemen who decided to start talking to her, joining her at the bar. He wasn’t too bad looking, typical business man look with a crisp suit and hair styled with some sort of product that made it stiff. He was well groomed and she had recognized him as one of Harry’s employees. Mark was his name, and as long as he kept her drinks coming, she was more than willing to keep chatting with the man. Seemed like a good trade to her, booze for flirting- a win-win for both parties.

“How old are yeh doll?” the man was giving her the typical flirty eyes, she’d typically cringe at how thick this guy was laying it on already but she was too tipsy to care. “ ‘m 23, you?” the man had a sly smirk on his face at that, rubbing his chin slightly before taking a sip of his whiskey. “I’m 46, props to you fo’ havin’ such a big company at your age. I was just getting’ coffee for asshole bosses when I was your age. A business woman is sexy you know? You like older men hun?” his game was truly weak, almost embarrassingly so for someone of his age. She questioned if he could be a 40-year-old virgin, or he was just a terrible flirt. Yet she answered truthfully, not caring much since she’d likely never see this bloke again. “Depends, been with ‘em before but it’s not a preference or anything.”

His eyes flicked over the expanse of her body, his smirk not dropping at her answer as he licked over his lips. “Oldest you’ve been with?” his question made her roll her eyes starting to get a little tired of him now, knowing full well he just wanted to bang her which wasn’t going to happen. “I don’t kiss and tell Marcus.”

The pair weren’t aware of the irritated glare that was watching their every move, reading their lips from across the room as they talked. Harry was the peeping tom in question, staring the two adults down with a strange feeling in his gut and a tingle in his palms- like he wanted to punch his employee but- why? It’s not like he had any real reason to, but still a flare of…jealousy crawled up his spine and burrowed inside the ripples of his brain. He had been in this position before, when him and the girl were younger and he’d see her makeout with another guy or her boyfriend of the time or when he’d hear them fucking in a neighboring room while a young Harry grew overly irritated at the fact someone else was feeling what he’d felt before. He was being immature he knew that, but he didn’t care as he marched over to the pair acting casual despite his mood when he leaned against the dark wood of the polished bar.

Harry rubbed his pointer finger over the wood, collecting a small amount of dust on the digit before tapping his knuckles on the wood getting the attention of the bar tender and the pair he’d been practically stalking since he noticed them together. “Gin and tonic please, love and another one of whatever Y/n had. Put it on my tab, thank yeh” he was always a polite guy, his mother truly raised him well in that aspect and it was refreshing for Y/n to hear the man talking to someone kindly instead of the usual bickering they partake in.

Y/n turned to him on her swiveling barstool, giving him a tipsy soft smile and nod in acknowledgement not noticing the side eye he was giving the man on the other side of her. “Hello Harold” she greeted him using the name she knew got on his nerves, his name was simply Harry yet everyone assumed it was a shortened version of the rather old-fashioned name typically tied to it. Yet, he didn’t bother getting irritated or retorting with something annoying no- his focus was more on the man he had an itch to fire at the moment. He managed to keep his professional nature regardless, “Evening love, hello Marcus what are you lot talkin’ about?” Y/n was more confused on the pet name he’d used towards her than about the harsh gaze he was sending toward the man on her left.

Mark seemed to sense the animosity, knowing his bosses irritated look very well. He opted to respond to his employer with an awkward chuckle a shrug added to it, “Nothin’ much, business and such. Was admiring how she’s runnin’ a company so young just like you. Would be lying if I said I wasn’t a bit jealous.” His free hand went up to scratch the back of his neck, sipping his drink to have a way to cover his nervous lips whilst Harry stared him down. Y/n was honestly a bit amused at the situation at hand, wishing she had some popcorn to go with her fifth vodka soda to enjoy the little testosterone standoff happening. She’s seen Harry get like this a couple times, so she shamelessly added fuel to the fire.

“Yea, and askin’ me if I like older men then following that up with askin’ the oldest man I’ve slept with. It’s been a very professional conversation H, no need to worry.” She knew exactly what she was doing, and she got the reaction she wanted when Mark nervously fiddled with his tie and Harry’s jaw clenched, the action still noticeable in the dim lighting. Y/n was tempted to laugh at the surge of tension she had just created, opting instead to sip her drink as she waited for what was to come next.

Harry straightened himself up, turning to look at the man with a raised eyebrow. “Oh really? That hardly seems appropriate for a work event.” Harry was trying his best not to show the possessive feelings he was having, rather opting for a reprimanding boss act to fit the occasion. “erm…uh was just some casual banter Mister Styles. Might have had one too many, wasn’t using my best judgement…I apologize Y/n” he was rushing his words, obviously anxious to escape the confrontation which Y/n found even funnier. Harry gave the man a curt dismissal with a request to see him in his office on Monday, and in true Y/n fashion she decided to add a second dose of fuel to the fire- calling out to the fleeing man- “The oldest was 54 by the way!” this of course made Mark scurry away faster and Harry lower his gaze to the woman before him with a irritated yet quizzical look.

“54?” his tongue darted out to lick over his lips, a sting of gin hitting the tip of his tongue from the drop lingering on his bottom lip. Y/n shrugged, crunching a rouge ice cube between her back molars while she nodded. “Vegas, tequila, he had major sugar daddy vibes and 19-year-old me was into it.” Y/n was always rather shameless when it came to sex, she’s been sexually active for the majority of her life so the shyness of talking about it left her long ago. Harry snorted slightly, shaking his head with an amused grin at the girl. “Naughty! you’re somethin’ else Y/n. I’m gonna tell your dad.”

“I don’t think his heart could take it, he did an awful lot of blow back in the day so I’d appreciate it if yeh didn’t do that sir.” She rolled her eyes, taking a subtle jab at her less than respectable antics of her filthy rich father. “Seems like you were doing an awful lot of a different version of blow to me.” the man smirked at his own joke getting a light slap on his bicep in return. “Shut up, I haven’t forgotten when you got gonorrhea when you were 18. You’re just as bad as me.” Y/n poked his ribs making Harry groan at the memory, “I got that treated you asshole. I’ve learned to wrap it before I tap it since then and be selective with what I put my dick in now. For the record, all my std tests have come back clean since so fuck you.”  

Y/n gave him an innocent smile back, resting her cheek on her fist. “Is that an offer?”

The response wasn’t one Harry was expecting. Not by a long shot, he hasn’t been inside her in a little over a year so her response to his jab took him by surprise. His eyes immediately met hers, finding a curious glance coming from her orbs. Setting down his glass the man turned towards her, facing her completely before responding.

“If you want it to be.”

Y/n smiled at him, standing up from her stool to get closer to the man pulling him down by his collar to talk in his ear. “Your place or mine?”

__

  After a painful ten-minute taxi ride, they’d made it to Harrys home. They were well aware of looming neighbors and press so they kept it professional till they were inside the four walls of the mansion- rushing up to his bedroom like two teenagers scared of getting caught. Anxious rushing of feet up the stairs hands struggling to stay to themselves on the way to the king-sized bed waiting for them.

After what seemed like forever, the pair burst into Harry’s bedroom the door hitting the wall with a loud bang as the man lurched forward to smash his lips against hers. It was frantic, sloppy and rough- it was fucking hot.

“you drive me up the fuckin’ wall you know that?” His voice was gruff, heavy with lust and jealous rage. Shoving the woman onto his bed with little care, he knew she liked it rough. A fact confirmed to him after he’d seen the rather violent bdsm porn she had saved to her computer and the various sex toys-including restraints, collars and clamps in a box in her closet 2 years ago when she moved into her current home and forced him to help her put everything away.

Y/n let out a small gasp when her body flew onto the mattress, kicking her heels off after she had settled with a smirk painted on her pretty lips. “Do i?” her tone way teasing, hands moving to unzip her dress while the man moved to stand before her yanking the fabric down her body to leave her in only a silk bra and matching thong, his eyes shamelessly taking in the sight of her body- intimate parts only covered with think sections of emerald green silk fabric.

“Ya know I didn’t appreciate you tellin’ that bloke about other men fuckin’ you, was rather impolite y/n.” Harry gave her a stone cold glare whilst tugging his belt out of the loops of his dress pants, tossing it carelessly behind him as the woman dove forward to work the button and zipper of his trousers undone. “Why? You jealous? Are you jealous because I let other men and women fuck me? Are you mad that you never get to taste me, fuck me and cum with me like they do?”

Y/n’s comments were soon cut off by a ring clad hand wrapped itself around her neck with enough pressure to stall her speech. “You never know when to shut the fuck up huh? We both know full well, no one can fuck yeh the way I do. Now, are you gonna quit your blabbering so I can fuck yeh or do I have to shove this skimpy excuse for underwear down that gabby throat? Hmm? Because I like to hear your dirty moans but I’m not a fan of this snarky mouth baby. Are you going to behave or shall I go have a wank instead?”

The pitiful whine accompanied by a pout coming from the woman made Harry’s cock twitch, she was so desperate for it and he had her right where he wanted her. He soon felt her hands pawing at his crotch, tugging the material of his tight dress pants down his legs before returning to pull his cock from the flap in the front of his boxers. It had been entirely too long since he’d held her small soft hands on his prick, watching with baited breath as her right hand moved to rid herself of the sorry excuse for undergarments she had on.

“Want it in, H please”

He obviously couldn’t say no to that, not when she was giving him those eyes and leaning back to show the web of wetness dripping from her slit onto the sheets below her snapping when she swiped her finger through it to rub on his already leaking tip. She had his head swimming, chest heaving and balls pulsing with every move she made.

The man tossed her body further up the bed, getting between her legs giving her no warning as he sunk completely in. The pressure and harshness of the thrust took her breath away, an overwhelming fullness almost uncomfortable as he gave her no time to adjust before driving into her beautiful body. The sound of her wetness clicking when coming in contact with his hips and filthy groans of pleasure filled the space, the slapping of skin harsh in their ears with every nailing of his pelvis into hers.

“This what yeh needed? No one else fucks yeh so good you can’t breathe do they? Got your face goin’ almost purple, feel my cock in your chest don’t you baby?”

His words were filthy, yet held truth. He pulled halfway out to give her a chance to take a few breaths, the dark redness of her oxygen starved face starting to fade to a flustered pink before he continued his rough ramming. Her nails pierced the skin of his tattooed arms, screams of pleasure rawing her throat when she felt her orgasm about to reach it’s peak.

“Holy fuck!”

Her exclamation was loud, filthy and drenched in sultry bliss as the knot in her stomach unraveled. She tried desperately to climb away from his hammering hips, the stimulation making her entire body feel like it was screaming yet his hands kept her pinned to the bed fucking her relentlessly through her orgasm.

“Fuckin’ hell! Cummin’ hard huh? No one else can make you cum like this, say it. Tell me baby, admit it”

His teeth were clenched painfully tight as he spoke, Y/n struggling to get her words out with the surge of feeling rushing through her nerves managing to ramble out the words almost incoherently.

“That’s fuckin’ right doll, only I can do this to yeh.”

Even with his body on fire, he held his cocky persona pounding into her a few more times until he jerked his hips out just in time to spill his seed onto her heaving stomach. Watching the ribbons of thick white cum paint her flushed sweaty skin, her body trembling from her orgasm violently while being painted with her ‘enemies’ hot cum.

The bed shook when Harry dropped down beside her, breathless and worn out. a proud smirk painted on his sweaty red face when he turned to the woman who was looking at him already struggling to remember how to breathe. Placing a smacking kiss to her swollen lips, a strong arm tugging her into his sticky side.

For the first time in a long time, they felt content in each other’s grasp. Making them both silently wonder if these feelings weren’t just lust, but something else entirely.

[be-ready-when-i-say-go]

Real Life

Previously uploaded on my old blog, calumh-excess. Since edited and revamped. 

The aftermath of Calum has left the rest of South’s people in a nasty spot. And Michael’s in an even nastier. Still needing to help his mother, he continues pushing. The only thing he doesn’t heed warnings and Marissa’s watching the aftermath of such choices. She loves Michael, but can she save herself? 

Gang!MichaelxLatina!OC. CW: Gangs, descriptions of violence, brief smut/NSFW content. (18+) 

A Two Part Series. Part One: Purple and Blue.

Masterlist (on a semi-hiatus)

The pool hall is cloudy, cigarette smoke filling Michael’s vision and nostrils. He watches his two ball roll down the green wool before clinking against the other balls in the pocket. He straightens and hands the cue to his baby, Mars–short for Marissa. She proudly rejected his first attempt at a nickname, Doll, stating she’s ‘no one’s Doll’ but she ‘would happily be his baby.’ So that’s his baby, tan skin glowing in the harsh lights, huffing as she lines up her next shop. They’re playing a couple’s game, him and Mars against Calum and Penelope. It’s pretty even between the two of them, but Penelope’s shockingly good and Mars’ still pretty new to the game. So Michael’s picking up the slack. He’s set her up for seven, not too far and not too difficult. It should only take a minor adjustment to the left of the cue for her to sink it. She moves too far to the left and it bounces off the wall.

Michael knows all too well the pout that’s about to settle onto her face. He rubs her back before wrapping his arms around her waist and pulling her into his chest. “Next time, Baby. You’ll get it next time.”

She huffs, flicking her wavy hair over her shoulder. Her words fall with a twinge of an accent. “You’re just saying that, amor. We all know I’m shit at this.”

Michael kisses the exposed skin of her neck. He loves it when she calls him that. He likes listening to her phone calls with her mother. The conversation moves fast, English and Spanish mixing midway through sentences. It’s a reminder of just how comfortable she in around him, that in some part she’s never felt like she had to hide who she was. Though Marissa wasn’t quite the type to keep too much quiet. She inhabited space and didn’t care who didn’t like it. And Michael wanted her too, he wanted to be herself. 

But right now, he’s a little too focused on the smell of her perfume and the three balls that Calum and Penelope just sunk. They don’t really have stakes on this game. But it still sucks to loose, or be loosing. They haven’t lost yet. “Fuck,” he huffs. “You guys are fucking cheating.”

Calum chuckles, readjusting the hat on his head, keeping his head pointed slightly downward. His face is still pretty messed up, the skin still hues of blues and purples. Michael already knows how bad the damage was. They made him throw some swings, offered him one too many times the switchblade. He didn’t take it--not at first. But he could tell the heated gazes would only need one more sign of disloyalty to go on a rampage and throw him into the woes with Calum. And while Michael would do a lot for Calum, he wasn’t quite in a position to take a beating too. That’s what hurts the most--the shame in knowing that Michael could’ve done more but didn’t. 

Michael looks away when Calum glances up. Calum doesn’t blame Michael. He gets it. Michael had to do all that stuff. No sense in both of them being beaten into a bloody pulp. He’s tried to tell Michael to not worry about it, that he’s long since forgiven him. But whenever Michael catches a glimpse of the bruises, sees Calum moves a little too slow, face twisted in pain, that lump grows in his throat again. Michael doesn’t have enough mouths, enough time on this earth to apologize for what happened. But Michael had his own family to consider, his own debts, and the choice is never fucking easy. But Michal wishes shame wasn’t such a heavy burden. 

Penelope senses the tense moment happening. They happen all the time now between the two of them. She pops her gum loudly before speaking,  “The last things we are, are cheaters. Just admit it Cliffo, you can’t hang.”

Michael glances over to her, a small smile lifting his lips. “Nah, I still vote cheaters. You can go first, Mars.”

“Rather not,” she mutters, stepping away from his warm embrace.

“Baby, you can get the 5. I know you can. Let me help.” She sighs but nods. Michael guides her to the pool table. She lines up, bending over the table. Michael slides in behind her, moving her angle a bit to the right. “Remember to follow through. You stop sometimes too soon,” he whispers into her ear. She shivers a little against his chest.

With a gin, she whispers, “I hate you sometimes Clifford.”

“Oh, but you love me.”

She laughs, pulling back cue stick. Michael guides her direction, pushing the cue stick almost like trying to push it through the middle of the cue ball. The five ball glides down the wool and taps the ledge with just enough speed and angle to fall into the pocket. “Mira, maybe you’re right,” Mars chuckles quietly. “But only this time.”

 Michael guides her around the table, shot after shot sinking into their respective pocket. They clear the board, solids, stripes, and the eight ball. “They’re the cheaters,” Penlope states, her tone dripping with sarcasm. Mars flips her off, both girls laughing at the action.

A phone starts to chime. Calum pulls it off the countertop next to the table and kisses Penelope on the cheek. “Duty calls,” he laughs. Calum moved out of town and works at the pool hall and bar. It’s a hike for Michael, but he understands the distance. He’s not entirely sure what’s going on with Penelope considering her affiliation still with Block. But from what Michael’s gathered, some sort of legal battle’s going on so she can get guardianship of her siblings before moving in with Calum or least into the same town as him. 

“We’ll straighten up,” Michael states, one arm snaking around Mars’ waist.  

“Thanks,” he nods, sliding to the back, ID in his hands, ready to clock back into work. Michael picks up the plastic case the balls rest in and starts slotting them back into place. Staring down the black tray of the pool halls, all Michael can think about is how much blood was already staining the floors to the point some puddles looked black. A chill climbs down his spine when the memory takes over him. 

Calum was already pretty out of it, one eye already was swollen shut. Michael didn’t want to hit him. But then South grinned, his brow quirked up. “We got a deal, son. You telling me you’re backing out now.” Michael hated that debt was hanging over his head. He hated, even more, he was still so young to the gang. Maybe it could make things easier. But South was really putting in on Michael to show loyalty. If his mother hadn’t needed the surgery, he wouldn’t be here. And it’s not like he blames her. He blames South for making such an appealing offer. He blames South for swooping in when he was vulnerable. Michael really hates himself for opening up to South. He knew South was no good, but he had been cornered, played like a fucking fiddle.

Michael threw some swings. He tried to make them look harder than they actually were. South handed him the switchblade, the first one to swipe over Calum’s flesh. His hands trembled. He and Calum were close, even though he was a newcomer. The last thing he wanted to do was harm his friend. He’ll admit Calum took the beating well, never cried out, never said a word to plead them to stop. He sat, groaning and grunting with the punches. One particular blow landed in his gut and the curse that fell off Cal’s lips still keeps Michael up at night sometimes. It’s not so much the curse it sound, but the howl that followed. The echo of pain and yet the silence from Calum. There was a strange peace with him. Michael’s not sure he could’ve reached that point--if he could’ve found a peace in the midst of all the pain. 

“Hey, don’t tell me my boyfriend machine has broken?” Mars teases, gently placing a hand onto Michael’s back.

He shakes his head, trying to rid himself of those thoughts. It’s done. It’s over. He’s been forgiven. “Sorry, I’m alright, Baby.”

She nods, knowing that far away glaze to his eyes. He’s not okay. But she doesn’t push it. Instead, she rubs his back, and finishes putting the rest of the balls away. Mars splits the check with Penelope and they pay for the games. Michael leans into the table and lets out a shaky breath. Keep it together, Clifford. But it’s hard--it’s hard to keep it together when he knows for a fact that he should be letting it all fall apart. He should be sobbing. He should let the guilt overtake him. 

Later that night, Michael’s phone wakes him. He jolts at the sound of it ringing. He reaches to the nightstand and wipes the sleep from his eyes. What the fuck is going on? Seeing South’s number, Michael throws his feet to the floor. “What’s up?” he answers in a whisper, looking over his shoulder to Mars. She’s shifting, waking. He reaches out and runs his palm over her hair, to try and soothe her. Though he complains about the curls being pushed into his face first thing in the morning, he wouldn’t trade it for the world. He wouldn’t trade her for the world. 

“I need to speak with you,” South states. His tone is cool, calm.

“Just tell me when and where.” Michael covers a yawn, as South rattles off the name of a small diner not too far from him. The phone call ends and Michael walks around to her side of the bed.

“Be safe,” she whispers, sitting up. More falls from her lips, a prayer he’s come to recognize and he holds still as she signs the cross over him. He’s not religious by any means, but it’s second nature to her in some respects. 

Michael kisses the top of her head. “Always am.” 

He slides into some jeans, sneakers and a jacket, throwing a snapback on before walking out of the door. Michael knows his appearance helps him. No one singles him out, no one questions him. The long fringe, the glasses, the clothes, it’s all him. But he’s conscious about it. He likes to keep up the appearance. And sure, Michael should be free to wear whatever he wants. But recognizes the edge it gives him and the edge it gives South too. Michael can get into places that a lot of the other guys can’t. South can push weight in a lot of places that would normally be off limit.

Though Michael wasn’t a fan of the three a.m. calls, they are fairly common. At first, he got to a point where he couldn’t sleep. Too afraid to miss a call from South and too afraid to sleep in case he somehow fucked up and needed to get away. Micheal was sure at some point he’d never sleep again. He’d always be looking over his shoulder. He’d always be waiting for the other shoe to drop. It never did. And getting comfortable was probably dangerous too. 

But Mars made the thought so enticing. Coming home to a house full--either her family visiting or her cooking with the radio blasting. That’s enough to make him want to get too comfortable. That’s the life he’s always wanted and he can picture that with Mars. He can picture her teaching him the bachata or salsa and laughing when he fails miserably in front of her aunts, but knowing he was trying his best. That’s the thought, the picture, the dream, that he wants to give into. And yet this--this is his reality. Pulling into the diner parking lot. 

Michael spies South leaning against his car. The neon signs reflect off the slightly wet pavement thanks to the evening rain. Unusual, the rain, but it was more than welcomed. Mars loved it, said she always dreamed of running in the rain with her lover. And though they missed this opportunity, Michael made a promise to himself not to miss the second one. The forecast was predicting more rain tomorrow. 

Michael pulls up his sleeves, before stuffing his arms into the back of his pants and walks over to South. The diner is dark, the highway is fairly silent. “Going to my usual?” Michael chuckles.

South grins. “Someone’s happy.”

Michael shrugs. “I’m used to it.” And used to it doesn’t quite encapsulate the feeling. But it’s the only words he has, because he is used to his usual. Used to the early morning calls and the drives and the pushing. It doesn’t make it easier, just makes it more familiar. 

Looking past Michael, South shakes his head, a small grin playing at the corners of his mouth. “No, you’re not going to your usual. Our smugglers got busted bringing in new products. We’re a bit strapped at the moment. The club needs its weight and I’m trying to make sure none of our asses get caught up.”

The question lingers in the air. Michael knows better than to ask why he’s out by himself with South at the side of the highway. So he waits, hands still in his pockets, watching the watery reflection of the cake in the sign underneath his feet. Michael is the pusher. If suppliers get caught, he’s a close second. Though, South is very good at keeping his good people out of trouble. Michael is hoping this conversation takes a good turn. He needs to be considered one of the good people right now. 

“Don’t look so down. If shit gets any worse, you’re not gonna get named. On my word. But, look, tell me this isn’t true.” Michael looks up to South, nodding to signal that he’s listening. “I got some eyes saying they saw you hangin’ with Hood. Across the highway. He’s a traitor and I don’t give too many second chances.”

The only reason Calum got this chance was because of Block. The turf war yielded no new territory but it did create an interesting neutral ground within the city. Places that previously weren’t owned were split. Anyone could sell, anyone could use it as foot traffic. But they couldn’t fight. They had to keep it remotely cordial in those areas. It was area South was bound to loose of Block was pushed to the full extent of his manpower. And South didn’t really want to lose more men. So he had to agree to Block’s term. Calum couldn’t lose his life, but they could make a point. They could make him an example. And South used that leeway to the full advantage.

Michael wasn’t sure why Block cared so much about Calum--though Michael didn’t know about Penelope. But whatever the reason, South was quick to use it. And Calum was more than example, if Michael has anything to say about it. 

Michael’s heart races. He’s glad his hands are in his pants now or else South would be sure to see the slight tremble. He doesn’t want to throw out accusations that someone is lying. That kind of accusation if turned up false is going to get someone else killed and them him. And Michael can’t lie to him either. South can smell a liar from 100 yards away. A hand settles onto Michael’s shoulder and squeezes. Hard. Michael blinks, jaw tightening to hide the pain. South knows. 

Michael finally speaks. “He’s not one of ours. He chooses that hot piece of ass bitch over us.” God, he hates saying it. But it’s what’s going to save his ass. Right now, he needs that--he needs to save his own ass.  

“All women are good for is fucking and trouble. You should know that better than anyone,” South continues. 

“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?” The words fly out before Michael can think about the consequences. But he hates the way South grins, the quirk of his brow.

“Oh, you know exactly what I’m talking about. While I mainly fuck with black women, I’m no stranger to a mamacita here and there.”

Oh God, Michael’s stomach tenses, turns into a knot. It wasn’t exactly a secret who he was dating. An unfortunate side effect of his job is that close ties eventually got found out. But that didn’t mean he wanted Mars to have to be dragged into this. And for sure, he didn’t want her to be disrespected. His fists are clenching. This is South, he reminds himself. This will not go well for him if he does anything. Hell, he really shouldn’t say anything either. “That’s really fucking disgusting,” Michael spits.

South closes the distance between them, the shit eating grin replaced by a chaotic and devilish smile. “Make my fucking day. Say something else, please.”

He’s dead in the water now. But he doesn’t want to apologize. He shouldn’t have to and he won’t that’s for damn sure. It’s completely disrespectful what he’s insinuating. That somehow Mars was a stereotype, a fucking doll, not a complex human being with a rich and sometimes saddening background. She was not just her ethnicity, she was not just a woman. She was a person, she loved animals and was struggling with her waitress jig to find a way to attend school. It was just hard, she was sending so much money back home to help with her siblings. Michael offered up his apartment because he saw how much being at home was hurting her. That saved her some cash since he never asked for any type of composition, but she always snuck a couple hundred into his wallet for electricity and water. 

He stopped fighting her about it when it seemed her retaliation was to only sneak more money into his wallet with a very pointed pink sticky note on it, daring him to try again to make her stop. 

“All I’m saying is that maybe the women you associate only want to fuck, but not everyone is like that. For fuck sake.”

“A man of respect. I like that,” South says, loosening up his grip on Michael’s shoulder. “I want you to know, I really do like you. But you gotta keep to us and our business. Calum had interesting circumstances. But I’m sorry to report, those don’t pertain to you. So no more running around behind your man crush or whatever. If I hear about it happening again, I won’t be so nice.”

The slap to his back is firm, way too firm. Michael’s skin lights with a stinging fire. He nods. “Understood,” Michael answers softly. South gives a soft tap this time and then slides in through the driver side door of his car.

 Michael steps back, watching the low rider glide over the asphalt. Was Michael going to completely stop hanging out with Calum? Probably not. But now he had to be smarter. He needed to be safer. The prayer Marissa gives everytime he leaves rings back against his ears. Safer, smarter--that’s all he needed to do. He was still his own man at the end of the day. He was only it with South for a little bit longer. 

“Yeah, but how much longer?” Michael asks himself aloud into the quiet night. 

When he returns home, Mars is splayed out on the couch, the comforter from their shared bed wrapped tightly around her. She looks cute with her lips slightly parted, a soft snore falling from her mouth. She never believes Michael about the snoring, even with video evidence. But he never complains seriously about it. Sliding out of his Vans, and pulling the jacket off his shoulders, he fishes for his baby under the sea of cotton before sliding in behind her and pulling her into his chest. He’s too lazy to carry her to the bedroom. It’s sure to wake her anyway. He throws the comforter back around them and lets his eyes close. South may be heated about his affiliation with Calum, but they’ll just have to be more careful then. Michael’s not going to let him ruin one of the few genuine relationships in his life. Lord knows he doesn’t have many.

__________

“What time do you have to leave tonight?” Mars asks, tending to the eggs.

“No delivery tonight,” Michael says, removing the last of the pancakes. “Hey, easy on my eggs with that heavy hand you got.”

“Ay Dios Mios. You baby. It’s not that much, see.” She shows him the pan. “And what do you mean? Why else would South call?”

“Just wanted to talk. It’s nothing.”

She knows it’s nothing. When Michael changed shirts, she noticed a pink spot on his back. He didn’t have any other injuries. But clearly, the force of the blow was enough to leave something behind. That’s not a ‘nothing serious’ conversation. That’s a fucking warning.  She knows one when she sees one.“So things are good?”

He hums, snaking his arms around her waist. “Things are good,” he whispers into the crook of her neck, the stubble tickling her.

Marissa gives a smile, but the fear trickles down. It prickles her spine. How many warnings would he get before he wound up dead in a ditch? 

“Can we please add those strawberry shortcake creamsicles to the grocery list?” Michael asks as he grabs plates from the cabinet. 

“Would those even be out at this time?”

“Not sure. I just really have a taste for one.”

“Having one does sound good,” Marissa notes. It’s like the summers she had in the backyard, the pools and slip and slides slick with water to beat the heat. Coolers were full of melting ice and just cold enough drinks. The whir of her grandmother’s ice cream machine blurs in with the speaker that someone brought to play music 

Water hoses would spray them, or fill balloons and water guns for the games to be played later. She forgets the name of the icepops that came in plastic tubing and they’d freeze days before. But grape was always her favorite, staining her tongue and lips and even her fingers if she didn’t eat it fast enough. 

“Baby?” A squeezes her waist and Marissa blinks. Her hands are still wrapped around the jug of orange juice but not yet pouring. 

“Yeah?”

“You alright?”

“Yeah, I’m fine. What were you saying?”

Michael shakes his head. “No, no, what were you thinking about?”

“Just my summers. I sort of miss them. How things used to be back at home. Like as I kid you just never notice the bad because there’s always that next thing--birthday parties, going to school. After high school, it was clear what my parents wanted for me and I was trying you know. But there’s six of us and yeah.”

“The recreation center up the street has an indoor pool. We can invite a couple friends over, hang out. Bring your sisters too of course.”

The words almost fall, she almost asks who he plans on inviting, but she doesn’t. She nods instead. “I’d like that. What were you saying earlier?”

“Oh, just asking what time you wanted to go grocery shopping and if you picked up the extra shift on Saturday? Nothing major.”

_________

“Something on your mind, Baby?” Michael asks, stopped at a red light. They’re supposed to be heading up to see Calum and Penelope. But it’s in Mars gut that trouble is still lurking. 

“South knows, doesn’t he? This is why we’re going so far out.” Mars doesn’t even look at Michael. She knows the truth. “He told you to stay away.”

Michael reaches out for her knee, but the second his hand lands on the denim covered skin, she pulls it away. “Yes,” he sighs. He’s not sure what her deal is, why she’s pulling away from him. But he’s not going to piss her off even more. So he settles his hand back on the steering wheel. 

“You’d do this for Calum? Break rules?”

“I’d do it for you too if that’s what you’re wondering. I have done it for you.”

She huffs a chuckle, finally turning her gaze back to his face, the scratchy beard making a shadow on his face. “I wasn’t. I’m just concerned.”

“About?”

“Su vida,” she whispers. “South will not back down. I know you care; I know he’s your friend. I know your life isn’t exactly risk-free. But can you risk it even more? I-I worry enough as it is about you leaving late at night. My rosemary looks like it belongs to my grandmother. I have prayed so many times for you.”

Michael’s chest starts to ache. She cares. He knows she does and that she cares--he didn’t quite know to this extent. But to just leave one of his best friends all alone. To completely upend and cut off contact to one of the most consistent and loving people in his life–he can’t do that. No matter the risk. 

“I won’t lie to you, Mars. You’re asking for the improbable there.”

“So not impossible?”

“No, I could stop--the possibility of me stopping is there. The risk is high and I know I should. I could cut off all contact. They’re all possible. They just aren’t probable. It’s highly unlikely. Besides, South needs not see me or have anyone that sees me. My mom now lives up in this area. If anyone questions things, I’ll have cover.”

“So you’d lie? On your mother?”

“No.” Michael turns off, taking the exit that will lead straight into his mother’s neighborhood.  Mars watches as his jaw clenches for a moment. “I’d never lie about seeing her. I’ll just omit our pitstop afterward.”

Mars exhales, watching the houses fill out around her. The front yards, the kids playing footie. Maybe she ought to drop this, let him make his choices. But she can’t help but think about what could happen. She can’t bear even the imagined sight of Michael with a busted lip and bruised skin. She is not Penelope; she won’t be that strong. She won’t be able to put pressure on a knife wound. Her skin crawls at the thought of his blood staining her skin. She wouldn’t be able carry that weight and though it was a silly thought, because she does love Michael, she feels like she shouldn’t have to carry it. She shouldn’t have to be subjected to this. 

And though it it feels like she should stick it out. She should stay with Michael through the inevitable end. She was her own person. She deserved someone to understand that she shouldn’t be on the second end of the equation. How many more times could she pray for a soul that didn’t necessarily want to be saved?

“Just know I’m concerned,” she states. She leaves it at though for the time being, seeing as they pull into the driveway of his mother’s house. And she doesn’t want to start an argument, but she doesn’t want to end the conversation. 

Michael, turning off the car, looks as she pushes up from the seat and opens the door. She’s quick to pull the dish of buñuelos out from the back of the car. That’s a lot more than concerned, Michael knows. A lot more--but he steps out of the car and meets her at the front. 

“Hey, look at me. What is it?”

“¿Acaso te preocupas por mí? Estoy muy preocupada constantemente.” Marissa exhales, feeling a bit better to get it off her chest. But Michael’s look let’s her know he didn’t catch it all. He’s learned a few things, but is still slow to translate sometimes. “Look, I want to have a nice visit with your mother. I do, I really do. But we have a lot to talk about.”

Michael nods. “Whenever you’re ready, I’m all ears, Baby. I’ll listen.”

She takes another deep inhale and exhale. “I really want to stuff my face. I hope your mother doesn't hate me for it.”

“She’d be happy to feed you with whatever she has.”

The visit with Michael’s mom goes by just like all the rest. She offers them tea, biscuits, any and everything in her fridge. She does not take no for an answer and she’s even more delighted at the addition of Marissa’s buñuelos. “Oh, you have to send me the recipe,” she gushes, grabbing another from the tin. 

It’s nice, even though initially, Marissa is still tense. The laughs come easy and the treats don’t stop. For a moment she’s able to forget. She’s able to see Michael as the man that she knows he is, someone who loves his family, and is goofy, but so kind. That’s what she wants him to always be. Not the man she has to pray for, not the man that’s stubborn, not the man that she feels like sometimes doesn’t listen to her. And she knows initially she didn’t voice her concerns. But maybe after she did, things would change just a little. Maybe she wouldn’t feel like she’s fighting an uphill battle, which she knows she’s doomed to fail at. 

As Michael and Mars go to leave, the hugs last twice as long as normal. But Michael and Mars just laugh and give into the older woman. They let themselves be rocked by her love, side to side, and whisper how good it is to see her. Michael promises before they leave that he’ll be by again very soon. Mars prays for his sake he does not get caught so he can keep to that promise.

The bowling alley is packed, kids screaming at the opposite end of the building. It looks like a birthday party wrapping up. The table’s a mess of paper plates, pizza boxes and a quarter of a cake left. Michael thinks back to some of his birthdays. “Next birthday, we’re having a party here,” he teases low in Mars’ ear, arms winding around her waist. “Complete with the ridiculous party hats.”

“Michael, please.”

He laughs and adds on, “I want an Overwatch cake.”

Mars rolls her eyes, laughter falling over her lips easily. “Fine, fine, fine. An Overwatch cake it is.” Normally she melts right into his touch, she slots in perfectly to his chest. But she keeps herself pushed forward, it’s hardly noticeable to anyone else on the outside. But Michael knows the difference--he noticed it at his mother’s house, though she eventually did settle into him. He can’t lose her. He squeezes at her flesh, willing her understand that he’s being smart about this. Or at least trying to be smart about it. But he can’t lose them both. There are very few genuine people left in his life and he needs them. He needs them desperately. 

The bowling is the least of their fun. It’s the teasing. More than once Calum jokes about having to put the guard rails up for the girls. They decided to get boys vs girls. That earns Calum two sets of the meanest glares to land on him and the finger from both Penelope and Mars. Michael cheers as he lands his second strike of the night. He cheers, pumping his fist into the air, laughing as Mars glares at him. “We can get the guider too, the little rig for kids,” he offers as Calum wraps him up in a celebratory hug. Cal’s a couple pints in.

“You’re gonna need a ride home,” Mars huffs, holding the keys from her fingers. He’s had some drinks too. With the lopsided grin still on his lips, Michael walks over, bending over. He’s aware his breath is layered in beer but it’s okay. Her lips are soft against his, that’s all he cares about. Here with his eyes closed, fingers tangled in her hair, nothing else matters. She’s not worried about his safety, she’s not pulling away from him already. No, here, they are still the same. They give each other shit and the hugs, touches, and kisses are easy.

Mars wants to hang here forever, softly kissing Michael. Smiling as she does so because, god, is her boyfriend annoying but she loves him. She really does. She can love him even though others will say that his actions are morally wrong. She can handle that. He’s had to make his choices; he has to handle the consequences. She can be there for that. But would she ride this out even with her own destruction? Does this make her less than for having a limit? 

Three games later and after the boys are a good five pints in, they leave. Michael giggles in the passenger seat. “You’re beautiful, Baby. You know that?”

A soft blush takes over her cheek, the heat rising fast. “You might’ve mentioned it once or twice.”

“But it’s very true. You’re fucking gorgeous.”

They don’t talk that night, not like they need to. Instead they give into each other. Marissa can’t help but give into the way Michael presses her against the door of the apartment and teases her over her panties. The material of her shorts thin and loose anyway. And Michael loves it when she moans into his ear. The curses to God because he’s touching her just right makes his whole body feel electric and that’s all he’s ever needed. To feel electric with Marissa. Because in that electricity, they are safe. 

Marissa digs her nails into his shoulder, attempting to get closer in their heated kiss and Michael hisses at the pain. But he loves it. He loves this and he loves her. And there’s no way he’s losing her if she responds like this to his touch. There’s no way he’s losing her when she kisses down his stomach and takes him into her mouth. No there’s no loss here, just the sinking into the pleasure they both give each other.

“I love you,” he whispers into her skin. It feels like a prayer as it falls repeatedly, punctuating several thrusts. 

“I love you,” she returns. It’s with a sigh, and a moan, but she looks at him when she says it. And for the moment that’s all he needs. 

__________

The way South grins, Michael knows he’s fucked. The man doens’t even need to utter a sentence and Michael already knows the trouble he’s in. But South speaks anyway--and Michael for a brief moment wonders if South gets off on the knowledge that all he has to do now is look at someone a specific way and they shake in their boots. “How’s your momma doing?”

“Good,” Michael answers, “thanks for asking.”

“How’s Hood?”

Michael gulps. He wonders who the fuck is tailing him. South wouldn’t be bringing this up if he didn’t have proof. And one time is not enough. South’s always required pattern of behavior. He does not ask without a fair amount of evidence. “I wouldn’t know.”

“Bullshit! I told you he isn’t one of ours anymore. You think I’d come at you without evidence? Without something substantial?”

“No, I’m not saying that,” Michael opts. It’s still not the safe answer. But it’s biding time--that’s all he really has at this point.

“Then what are you saying? Because you’re implying someone’s a liar and I don’t take too kindly if you think it’s me.”

“I’m not saying it’s you.”

“You saying someone’s got it out for you then?”

“I’m not saying that either.” The only one that has it out for him is South, but Michael knows better than to say that.  

“Then tell me what the fuck you are saying.”

“All I’m saying is that I wouldn’t know how he’s doing.” In fact, it’s been three weeks since they last hung out. Michael was trying to cool down the trail on him. So whoever was watching him was either delaying the reports or doubling up on them, and that would indicate either pressure from South for results or that whoever it was was going for Michael’s position or life.. But admitting that would mean again, admitting that he had gone against South’s initial warning. So Michael keps is mouth shut. Because the technicalities wouldn’t matter here.

In the silence, Michael steels himself for the first swing. He’s even ready for the second one. More keep coming to the point where he looses count. Not that counting them is like counting sheep. But keeping up with the blows, even with a small margin of error, meant he hadn’t fully blacked out. And that’s what he needed. In the end, it’s not too bad. He’s able to drive himself home, though his ribs are on fire. Breathing hurts, just sitting hurts too.

He grunts, opening the door and swinging his legs out. Inside the apartment, Michael catches the sound of some shuffling. He watches the shadows over the walls as Marissa walks into the bedroom. He sighs. He can’t face Mars. She’s going to flip, but this isn’t exactly the largest apartment ever. He grits his teeth and makes his way to the bathroom. Before he can get the door close, he hears a gasp. He’s been caught. Michael watches her look in the mirror, the wobble to her lip, the tears filling her eyes.

“It’s not too bad,” he reassures. “I’ll be fine in a couple days.”

“A couple days my ass,” she whispers. Her hands tremble. She wants to run. She can’t do this. She told Michael she was concerned. She knew it would blow up in his face eventually. South is pissed and there’s no stopping him now. “What-what can I do?” 

Michael tries to tell her, he can handle it, but she orders him to sit on the closed toilet seat and he obeys the command. Her hands continue to shake as she helps clean up the busted lip and the bruise on his rib cage is bad, violently purple and red.

In bed, Michael resting on his back, Mars rests on her side, facing away from him. She understands why he does this. But how long will he defy South? How many more beatings are there going to be? This has to stop before it gets started. She can’t stand by and watch him get beat. He has to get out. She needs him to get out or maybe she needs to get out. And she wants to rip the thought out of her skull. She doesn’t want to leave Michael. But maybe she might have too. Maybe she might be forced to save herself. 

Sleep does not find her that night or the nights after really. It comes in waves, for an hour or two and then she’s back awake, staring at ceilings or walls, or closet doors, wishing she could’ve done everything differently with him. Michael watches the bags forming underneath her warm eyes. He is doing this to her, not that he meant to, not that he wanted to. But yet, here he is, his actions bearing heavy burdens on her.

“What are you worried about?” he asks, sitting across from her. The diner is shockingly dead for once, a harsh buzz from the lights above settles in around him. Though Michael figures in the next hour people will be leaving clubs soon; they’ll be gunning for something greasy.

The sigh is heavy from her lips. Michael reaches out for her hand. Her lips screw up, plump like he’s always known them to be, but somehow the corners are turned down. She does not quite meet his gaze. “I’m worried about you getting hurt again. I can’t handle that. I’m thinking about how much more of this I can endure. And I--I don’t even want to think about asking you to get out. Not if the result is you dead. I want you alive.”

“It’s a couple of bruises, Baby. I’ll be fine.”

“Por Dios, you say that now. But what happens when it’s more than just a couple of bruises. What are you going to do then, huh?” She slides her hands out from Michael, standing to greet the patrons that just walked in. 

Michael wants to promise her there won’t be a next time. He wants to promise that he can handle the warnings. But he’s already got plans to see Calum later this week. And the bruises still hurt. He can bear them, should it be at the expense of her? 

Michael cancels the plans--he can handle that. And maybe he hasn’t been playing this smart. He tries to see if Marissa wants to go to the movies, but she picks up a double and those plans never get off the ground. Instead, he makes sure to have a bath drawn for her once she returns. Her favorite is ready for dinner and for a blip in time things could be on the right track. 

But she doesn’t kiss him the same as before. And Michael doesn’t know what else to do when she rolls over in bed, away from him. They don’t share silly stories about their childhoods. And Michael misses all those stories about the casitas hanging on the walls. Or how Marissa couldn’t turn around in any room of the house and didn’t find some picture of the Virgin Mary or Jesus staring down at her. Michael misses hearing about the parties she missed throwing in the summer time, knowing the music could crush her skull but she loved it anyway. 

Michael misses the way when she got sleepy Spanish would slip out without her even thinking and rather than stopping her, he’d let her go on in the story. She’d be telling him about the birthday parties with family holding the pinata and the smell of food that filled the house for days. The whispers were all he really needed to feel close to her. 

___________

It happens and he knows it's happening too when he walks into the house to not even the muffled sounds of music. It’s on most of the time, always a soft tempo in the background, the soundtrack to her life. He knew it was happening all along. She touched him less, she stayed out more. They felt more like strangers in the apartment now. They past like ships, but instead they were sitting right in the living room growing further and further apart. 

He was losing her; he came home one too many times bruised and bloodied. But he wouldn’t stop. South wouldn’t get rid of him; he’d just make his life hell for sure. But he was too valuable. Though, occasionally, Michael feared his value would be of no use. At some point, South would get tired of the warnings and beat him for good. But at the same time, South needed Michael--they both knew under all this it was South keeping up appearances. Because as much as Michael was breaking the rules, South wasn’t one to normally keep troublemakers around longer than they’d prove they weren’t going to stop. 

But would it save Michael forever? 

It was stupid to attempt to ride the thin line until it cracked. But it was all Michael had. He thought South would crack first. Or maybe he had hoped that so much that he believed it to be true. When all signs pointed to Mars being the first to go, he somehow ignored it, assumed that she’d be there forever. But forever isn’t as long as he’d hope for.

Because Mass was on the losing end of it all, having to take care of him. Having to take double shifts sometimes because there was no way in hell Michael was in enough shape to get out and push his weight. Mars had to reached her limit. And it was right in front of his face. 

He watches her from the bedroom door, on her knees, throwing things into a suitcase.  “I can’t do this, mamá, mi corazón can’t take it,” she cries into the phone.

His eyes are blurry, his side still aches from last week’s run-in with South. The sob pressing at his chest lights his being with fire. Everything hurts. “Then go if you must,” he whispers, “but let me ask you one question. Can I convince you somehow to stay?” He’s positive she didn’t hear it but Mars snaps her head up at him.

The tears are streaking her face, light gray splotches of mascara dotting her cheeks as well. “What are you talking– No, no, Michael. Let me call you back.” She pauses, mother urging to her not hang up. But Mars is no longer listening to the frantic barrage of her mother. “Explain. What are you talking about?”

“Is there any way I can convince you to stay with me?” Michael asks, letting the tears slip down his cheeks behind his glasses. It’ll make a mess of his lenses. He doesn’t care though.

“Convince me to stay? Comó? How are you going to do that?”

“That’s why I’m asking you. Whatever I have to do, I will do it.”

Mars stands, running her fingers through her hair. Her exhale is long and heavy from her lips and mouth.“No, there’s nothing. You won’t leave. Not with the complications now and the medical bills. You can’t leave your mother high and dry. And I can’t sit here and watch him beat you! I can’t do that--I’m not strong enough for that. I-I didn’t sign up for that.”

He’s lost her. There’s no more fighting. But Michael still tries. He gives it one more push. “I’m sorry. It’s not easy for you. But there has to be something.”

“Michael, there’s nothing, nada,” she hisses, standing toe to toe with him.  “A fat nothing, zip, nil. Nothing.” The last word catches in her throat. Her body trembles.

Michael hugs her to his chest. “I’m so sorry, Baby. I am so sorry.” 

She cracks, fisting the cotton of his black t-shirt into her hands. She doesn’t want to do this. She doesn’t want to leave Michael. He’s caring, always listening. He’s there for the 2 am diner shifts when her feet feel like they should be falling off and her back is a mess of knots. He’s there for all the music she blares throughout their–well his– apartment. He’s there even when she can’t shoot pool to save her life. He’s there for the baking adventures, even though they end up with him covered in flour and cinnamon. 

She wants to hate him. She wants to despise him for going against South. But she can’t. Marissa understands why Michael did it. But she wishes she didn’t. It would make leaving so much easier. Her chest wouldn’t ache this much. Her voice wouldn’t be hardly going if she didn’t cry, because she couldn’t empathize with him. 

But she has to look out for herself too. She can’t keep sacrificing for a person that wouldn’t do the same in return, that won’t heed the warning she’s tried to give them. So she has to go. Staying would only destroy them both. 

Michael breaks the silence first. “Dance with me? One last time?”

Her chest compresses even more. Her throat feels raw as the sobs fall over it. But Mars nods. One last dance with him. She can give him that, and she can take that with her. That even to the bittersweet end, there was still so much fucking love between them. She’d never think of this, that it would be possible for her to be leaving but still want to stay and still have love to give. 

 Michael guides both of them to the living room, the place where all other dances were shared. She remembers the first time she asked him to dance. He was a little stiff, completely unsure of how to move what was expected of him. So she guided, gently encouraging and with a few laughs at his tense, awkward nature. And it’s not to say he’s a charmer now, but the aunties don’t tease him any more at parties-that’s for sure. 

It takes a few moments before his phone is paired with the Bluetooth speakers. But it’s as the cellos begin singing, and before the voice cuts in, Mars feels her knees go weak. The song she taught Michael to dance to, Esto Es Vida. It played on repeat for nearly an hour, but the smile on his face when he finally got it still makes her heart burst. 

They fit all too well together, arms winding around the other, her nestled so closely and firmly to his chest. His scent is all too familiar in her nostrils, a mixture of their detergent and his musky cologne. She can tell it’s residual from the last time he used it. It’s not as strong, just a faint note in her nose as her ears are filled with soft strumming.

Michael’s face is buried in the soft curls over hair, the lingering floral scent of her shampoo somehow feeling like flames in his nose. He won’t smell that thing again, not in fresh post fresh wash hair. It won’t be covering his pillowcases anymore. He won’t be able to still it for his own hair when it’s far too lazy to replace his own shampoo. God, is he really going to let her go? Is he really going to let her leave? But if there’s nothing he can do to convince,  he won’t force to her stay. That’s the worst thing to do, forcing her to stay in a situation that makes her uncomfortable. He’s never wanted anything but the best for her.

And this is his life, Michael thinks as he helps pack the rest of her things. He should be crying, alone, shouting at her to stay. But instead, he lifts the suitcase into the trunk of her car. He watches the brake lights pulling out away from him. The house is empty when he returns inside. He curls onto the couch, ribs still screaming at him for being in such a position. He puts the song on repeat, a bad move for him as his chest finally cracks and the sobs shake his body.

It’s Penelope that comes by in the late afternoon the next day. She only forces him to shower, noting the takeout boxes she’s left in his fridge. But mostly comes by because she knows her presence should remain more neutral than Calum’s.

“I knew I was losing her. And I still did nothing to stop her.”

Penelope’s a reassuring presence, but even she doesn’t know what to say. 

“I’m an idiot aren’t I? Just letting the girl I love walk away? But I want her happy more than anything. She deserves that, you know?”

“I know.”

“What do you think I should’ve done?”

“I think we make the best choices we can at any given moment. Something in you knew you had to let her go for now. Maybe it’s not forever and maybe it is forever. But either way, I think you made the best choice you could’ve in the situation.”

“But I want her back.”

“Wanting things ain’t a bad thing.”

“I should get ready,” Michael sighs. He needs to make a delivery. And if not for the fact that he wasn’t trying to be any further down on South’s shit list, he would continue his rant. 

“Okay,” Penelope states, standing. “Now promise me tomorrow, even if it’s the only thing you do, you’ll take your trash out?”

“One small thing for myself,” he repeats back to her. 

“Call me. Anytime.”

“Thank you.”

“Of course.”

On instinct, after dropping off the bag, Michael finds himself pulling into the parking lot of the diner. When he cuts off the car, he pauses, one hand on the door lever to let himself out. Mars doesn’t need a ride anymore. He shouldn’t be here. Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck. Michael strikes at his steering wheel, throwing his head back into the not too soft leather. His ribs are bruised, his Baby has left him, he’s cried his eyes out once already and he’s about to do it again. Michael closes his eyes, smashing his lips together as the tears roll.

There’s a knock on his window. When Michael snaps his eyes open, he sees Penelope standing, a sad smile on her face. He nods for her to slide in. Michael lets out a shaky breath. “I fucked up. Hard,” he whispers. “Like really fucked up.”

“I came here, just so you know, on a hunch you’d fuck up. Besides, this is real life. We fuck up sometimes.”

“You probably shouldn’t be here. Block and all”

“I’m not worried about him. He got his money. Anything else he wants is his problem. Not mine.”

Michael hums. Why did even talking hurt? Maybe it’s because he knows Penelope has more information that him. And he knows that she may not sure it even if he asks. 

“She will always love you.”

Michael nods, staring out to the parking lot in front of him, huffing. He’s going to cry again. Huge sobs. He can feel it. “I’ll probably never stop loving her. But I can’t get out. Too much is on the line.”

Penelope gets it. He actively needs the money, his mother’s medical bills are still piling up. He can’t afford to leave now. “No one’s telling you to abandon your mother. This life just isn’t made for Mariss. And it’s okay that it’s not. In all honestly, I don’t think we’re meant for the shit we’ve handled. You and I don’t deserve the shit we were handed. But we all make our choices. Real life has real consequences.”

“I never meant to hurt her.”

“We never mean to hurt the ones we love.”

“She deserves better. I’m no good for her but I want to be better for her. I want to love her. I don’t think I’m built to love anyone else.”

“And if you think that, then you’re going to need a plan. And you’re going to need to get further than we did. That’s for damn sure. But right now, I want to know one thing. Did you get anything? I don’t know if you saw what I left in the fridge?”

He nods meekly. “Yeah. thanks for that.” There’s a moment of silence. “Where is she staying?”

“With Calum and I for the moment.” 

That was a bad idea to ask. She’s not too far from him. He knows that way all too well. He can be there in fifteen minutes on a good day of traffic.  But he just has to make sure she had a place to rest her head. Going back home would never be an option for her, he knew that much. “Do you think Mars will ever take me back?”

“You’d have to ask her and not do whatever you did that fucked this up..”

“I didn’t listen soon enough. I kept thinking I could have it all. Wanted me cake and to eat it too.”

“Sometimes we can, sometimes we can’t.”

“Should I even be worried about that? Getting her back right now?”

“Probably not, no. You should be worried about your ribs and eating. Keeping your place clean. Showering. Keeping a low profile. Your mother. Keeping your head down.”

“You said choices have consequences. And I don’t want Mars to be one. I don’t want her to be a consequence.”

___________

Marissa holds the phone to her hear, catching just enough of her mother over the ruckus in the background to understand that her mother’s talking about some from the church. “Don’t start this--not again. The last boy you tried to set me up--”

“Ahh-Marissa that was just that one who wasn’t all the way there. How was I supposed to know he was married? He had no ring.” 

“I’m just saying your church boys don’t look like they’re going to make it to heaven. So I think I’d rather stick with my own bad judge of character.” She only needs to grab a card quickly and a couple bags of candy. The card for a family friend’s birthday and the candy because Marissa had been craving it for a week. 

The card aisle is quick. But as she stares down the candy aisle of this pharmacy, she knows it’s going to take her a minute. 

“What about--what’s his name? That white boy?”

She almost says his name but steps herself. “What about him?”

“While it beats me, you seemed happy with him. You ever think about reaching back out?”

Mars did--and she had. But it ultimately was ruining her so she had to stop for good. “I-I don’t even know if his number is still the same.” It was, but she didn’t tell her mother that. Penelope and Calum still had contact with him so that’s how she knew. 

Mars carries on down the aisle, trying to see if she can spot anything that jumps out at her. But some of the shelves are bare. An associate’s working at the end of the aisle and she doesn’t want to be in the way. “They don’t have it.”

“Have what, mija?”

“The big bag blow pops. I see laffy taffy, but I don’t know.”

“Sorry ma’am, I’m working on restocking--”

Mars looks up just as the associate finishes with the box they’re breaking down. “Michael?” she breathes. 

“Mars?”

“That’s his name!” her mother shouts. “Michael! I kinda liked him. Don’t tell your father that. But he always--” 

Mars mutes the call--she can’t hang up unless she’s risking her life. “What-what are you doing here?”

Michael taps the name tag. “I kind of work here.”

“At a CVS?”

“GameStop never replied to my application. So I figured maybe they weren’t interested.”

And he’s still the same. A bit sarcastic, but easy going. “But wait, a CVS?” And she whispers it, like saying it too loud would cause a panic. 

“It took me a couple years to get myself straightened out. But yeah, now at a CVS. And while it’s mundane and exhausting, I figured it was by time to get my life together.”

Marissa listens for a moment and her mother is still going. “Like him dancing at Jessie’s party. It still makes me giggle.” 

“But, uh, about the blow pops. I’m 90% sure it’s on my car to reshelf. And I can make it 100% my next priority if you’ve got five minutes for me to find it.”

“Oh you-you don’t have to.”

“I mean they kinda pay me to have to, so it’s not a problem.”

“I guess then, I’ve got five minutes to spare.”

Michael smiles, turning back to the cart at the end of the aisle and crouches down. “I can feel you staring. So go ahead--ask away.”

There’s a lot to be asked. But Marissa’s more shocked than anything to get one of them to come out coherently. Like how did Michael get out? Is his mother doing well? Where was he staying now? Would South be looking for him? But instead all Marissa can do is stare. The glasses have changed, but he still looks the same. And she’s not even sure he’d aged at all in the time it’s been. 

“Found it!” He calls tugging on the box to free it from the pile. He makes quick work to open the box with his blade and then hands a bag to her. “Also, if you don’t mind, maybe we could catch up over dinner? There’s this diner I used to go to all the time because of this really cute waitress.”

Mars grins. “I think I know the place. What time?”

“I’m off Thursday evening. Say seven?”

“Sounds perfect to me.”

[cherry-valentine]

So I recently read Killing Stalking over the course of two days. The first day was spent fleeing my home from flood waters and so I read the first half of the manwha on my phone in the parking lot of a grocery store. I was so absorbed in the story that I didn’t have time to worry about whether or not my house was washing away (it didn’t, and there was no damage, thanks for asking). I know I was pretty late to the party on this one, and it wasn’t because I wanted to avoid the series. To be honest it sounded like something I would love from the moment I heard about it, but at the time, I was busy and ended up forgetting it. I saw some pictures from it on Tumblr a few days back, was reminded, and decided to give it a shot. I have some feelings and random opinions on it that I felt like sharing. Most of these will include spoilers for the entire story, so be warned. Also: TW: ABUSE

But first, my non-spoilery plea to others who haven’t read it (and I guess the first thing I wanted to talk about): If you’re avoiding the series because you’ve heard that it glorifies or romanticizes abusive relationships, you can put that concern to rest. I honestly don’t know how anyone can walk away from the series with that take. The relationship portrayed in the series is nightmarish, and even the parts that aren’t so nightmarish are tense and very much realistic in the way abusive relationships actually work. Abusers aren’t abusive 100% of the time, and that’s what makes them so insidious. If they were terrible all the time, it would be much easier to hate them, leave them, and forget them. Instead, they are often kind, generous, and loving between incidents of abuse. This is to keep their victims emotionally attached to them. For many of these abusers, they may even feel actual love for their victims (a twisted, selfish love for sure, but I’ve always been of the belief that love can be a bad thing in certain situations). So even though there are moments in the series where the relationship seems to be going “well”, there’s always a sense of dread hanging over it, the feeling that at any moment, things are going to explode.

From here on out, there are !!MAJOR SPOILERS!! for the entire series.

A lot of people have identified the most sad or tragic or painful moments for them while reading, and those moments vary quite a bit between people. For me, the moment that gouged out my heart, the moment that was such a punch to the gut that I almost felt physical pain, was just a tiny thing. Toward the end, the first time Bum tries to go to the hospital Sangwoo is at, and the cab driver treats him like shit, Bum thinks “Why does everyone treat me like this?” And then we see flashbacks of moments when Sangwoo was kind to him. And... that right there. That got me. The fact that his abuser, the person who had treated him so cruelly, was also the only person who had treated him with actual kindness, broke my heart. The fact that he’d lived his whole life and experienced nothing but cruelty or indifference or betrayal. The only person who ever made him feel special, feel loved, was also the person who had tormented him. And it hurt so much to read, because I know that’s how many real life abuse victims feel. It was, in my opinion, the most tragic aspect of the series.

My last opinion might be a little controversial. Something I noticed when checking out the fandom for the series was how anyone who even hinted that they’d like for Sangwoo and Bum to be happy together was met with absolute hate and fury (slinging around lots of terrible insults like “failed abortion” and things I won’t repeat here - like yeah great idea explaining how abusive relationships are bad by being verbally abusive). Now, as a logical adult, I know it would be totally impossible for them to have a happy relationship (and indeed they didn’t). I didn’t even want them to be together. I just wanted them both to get a lot of therapy. The “headcanon” I came up with to make myself feel less depressed after the ending was that they both died and were then reborn into loving, nurturing environments where they grew up to be happy, well-adjusted people who would meet in college and have a healthy relationship. But I do understand the people who saw the less horrible moments and thought, “I wish they could just be happy together”. Because it did feel like these two thoroughly broken people had found a tiny, miniscule amount of happiness and love, even if it was clear it definitely would not last and definitely was not healthy. I get feeling that way.

And actually, the series plays a fairly clever trick on the reader. Just like real life abuse victims have trouble hating and leaving their abusers when those abusers are kind or show a more human side to them, Sangwoo became much harder to hate and dismiss once his traumatic childhood was revealed and he showed some kindness to Bum. It’s like the series was showing us exactly how abuse victims remain attached to their abusers, by making us stay attached to Sangwoo as a character. For the first half of the series I despised him, but the series tricked me into sympathizing with him and even feeling sorry for him and wishing he could be happy. And that. right. there. That’s how abusers get you. I thought it was a very smart way to portray this concept.

I also get that some BL fans DID romanticize and even fetishize the relationship. But, and hear me out please, I don’t think that’s a reason to totally dunk on those fans. Most of the fans who felt that way are probably fairly young, probably naive, probably exploring some dark fantasies for (perhaps) the first time in their lives. I think most people have something that introduced them to darker fantasies (rape fantasies, violent kinks, etc.). When you’re young, these are pretty thrilling to think about, and as long as you limit this exploration to works of fiction, it’s a safe way to dig into these fantasies. For most people, they grow out of them. The thrill wears off as they get older or they become mature enough to realize how horrible and scary those situations would be in real life. Some people keep those kinds of kinks all their lives, and as long as they limit it to fantasy and fiction, or consensual situations, that’s fine. But we need to understand that Killing Stalking, just by nature of having a very attractive character like Sangwoo, is going to be that piece of media that introduces a lot of younger people to those darker fantasies. And it’s not necessarily a terrible thing to let them safely explore those fantasies with this story. Because the story doesn’t encourage it. It doesn’t paint a rosey picture of this kind of relationship. It’s horrifying and ends in tragedy and trauma for everyone involved.

My “thing” that introduced me to darker fantasies was a movie called Boxing Helena, which I watched when I was most definitely too young. For those who haven’t seen it, it actually shares some themes with Killing Stalking (involving a sexy but psychotic man who had lots of issues relating to his mother and keeps a woman captive in his home, partly because she reminds him of his mother, and does horrible things to her - there’s even a scene where he brings another woman home and has sex with her while the captive woman is forced to watch through a cracked door. Sounds familiar, right?). It felt dark and dangerous and taboo, because it was also horrific. But it was exciting. Of course, I grew out of things like that, but it would have been absolutely no help to have a ton of people screaming at me that I was a sick pervert for finding the psycho guy hot (I mean it was Julian Sands in the 90’s, can you really blame me?).

If you come across younger fans who think Killing Stalking was sexy and say dumb things like, “I’d like to be in Sangwoo’s basement!” (actual comment I saw), don’t immediately harp on them and make them feel bad. They’re just exploring their own fantasies. It would be much more helpful to calmly and patiently talk to them and point out that it’s okay to like this stuff in fiction, but to be very careful about how they explore these feelings in reality. I’d be willing to bet that the vast majority of these people are just virginal teenagers who would never in a million years get involved in a dangerous relationship. So let’s cut them a little slack.

Note: When I refer to younger fans, I’m thinking 18-20 or so, and of course the younger teens who are going to read this whether we want them to or not. I am in no way suggesting that we should encourage younger people to read it. Just that, if you come across a younger person who has already read it, yelling insults at them over their naive opinions on it isn’t going to be helpful to anyone.

Anyway, that’s all I have to say about it for now. I just felt very strongly about it and felt like sharing.

[kurt-nightcrawler]

Together Again

John Allerdyce x Female Reader

Request: Hi! I love your your writing (especially the mother nature ones and crush honestly,,,,, art lmao) and I was wondering if you could write something else for John? Like honestly anything I'm just really starved for pyro content 😂 if you don't want to then uh dw 💜

A/N: if you guys want a blurb about wedding vows or baby making sex let me know!!

Warnings: teen pregnancy, swearing, mentions of sex, and some angst.

Word Count: 8.9k

“Hey, I know it’s been a while, but I miss you… and I know I shouldn’t… but I can’t help myself. I’m really sorry for everything I did. I hurt you, I acted out, I ruined all the relationships I had at the mansion…” His voice faltered as tears fell from his eyes.

“Um, you don’t have to call me back… I’m just really sorry for being such an asshole… You deserved better…” 

You jokingly scoffed to yourself.

Typical John, You mused. Never realizing his potential. 

“I love you…” 

The voice message ended. You felt your eyes watering. Despite it all, you missed him. You missed John so much. 

-

He joined Magento’s army, brotherhood, and left you. You didn’t want to side with either of them, Charles or Erik. 

You wanted to run away somewhere, live a small-town life, maybe in Europe or something. You hadn’t really figured out all the details, but you assumed that figuring it out as you went along would suffice. As long as you had John by your side, nothing could get in your way. 

But then he wasn’t by your side. And your entire world came crashing down. 

-

You had woken up to an empty bed. Unusual, since John was in it with you the night before. 

His clothes were gone, and it felt like he had never been there to start with. 

You got yourself out of bed, not even bothering to change out of your pajamas. You wanted to know where he went. 

You made it downstairs to the den, where your friends were seated with some staff members. 

“Ah, (Y/N),” Xavier said. “You’re awake. Please sit down.” 

You sat down on the couch next to Kitty. “What’s going on? Where’s John?” 

“Allerdyce left,” Logan stated with a bitter tone. 

“Left? What do you mean he left?” 

“Magento is forming a new brotherhood of mutants, and he’s planning to attack Worthington industries.” 

“Is this about the “cure”?” You asked. 

Xavier nodded, “John left to join him.” 

No… You couldn’t believe what you were hearing. “That can’t be true. He wouldn’t just leave and not tell anyone. He would have told me if he was thinking about joining forces with Magento!” 

“(Y/N),” You looked over at Bobby, “We had an argument in our room late last night. I tried to convince him to stay but—“

“No…” You were shaking. “You’re— you’re lying!” You stood up too quickly and you got a head rush. 

“I wish I was—“ 

You felt like you were going to be sick. You could hear the blood pounding in your ears. Your vision was blurry, and you were sweating. 

You ran to the nearest trash can and dunked your head in as you heaved. 

Kitty held your hair back and rubbed your back. “Let it out. Let it out, (Y/N)...” 

You puked your guts out until you didn’t have the energy to continue. Then, you turned over, moving your head out of the trash and started crying. 

No one knew what to do about you— and Magneto trying to kill a bunch of people was a bit more of a pressing issue. 

-

You didn’t want to go to Worthington industries and fight. You didn’t want to see him. You wanted to be left alone. 

Plus, with your mutation, the X-Men thought you’d be a good guard for the mansion if anything happened. 

It was a few days before anyone came back, and while they were gone you caught a stomach bug. Constantly vomiting, bad cramps, and your chest was extremely sore. 

You didn’t know what to do about it, so you kept a trash can nearby and drank lots of water and took some ibuprofen. 

When everyone returned, Bobby, Kitty, and Rogue, all ran to hug you, knowing you’d need it. 

“I punched him for you,” Bobby whispered. You held him tighter and let silent tears rain down your face as you hugged him. 

The three of them told you about the battle, and what happened to everyone, and a new addition to the team— Scott’s younger brother, Alex Summers, who had apparently been friends with one of the brotherhood members, but decided to switch sides and support his brother. 

He was in the medical bay downstairs with everyone else, getting checked out. 

“What have you been up to?” 

You let out a weak laugh, “Nothing much. I’ve been watching tv and puking my guts out the past few days…” 

Your friends nodded in sympathy. “You’re probably sick from all the stress…” Rogue commented. 

“Yeah, that’s probably it. When it’s a good time, I’ll ask Dr. Grey to give me some medicine other than pain killers.” 

“Good idea…” 

“I’m gonna go shower,” Rogue said, getting up from the couch. 

“Me too! Kitty replied. “Are you going to change Bobby?” 

He looked over at her, “Uh, yeah. I will in a little bit.” The girls walked off, satisfied with his answer. 

You patted Bobby’s shoulder. 

“I’m sorry I couldn’t talk him out of leaving…”

“He’s… He’s stubborn. I don’t think any of us could have convinced him to stay…”

“(Y/N)...” Bobby sighed.

“He never told me about even wanting to leave!” Your words stung in the air like venom. 

“He’s not coming back, is he?” 

Bobby shook his head, “I don’t think so. After the fight, the brotherhood just kind of wandered off… We have no idea where any of them went—“

“And that includes John…”

There was a pregnant pause before Bobby spoke up. 

“He really loves you.” 

“Not enough to stay,” You scoffed. 

“He just didn’t want you to get hurt… And while he’s dumb as shit, deep down, he meant well…”

“It’s just…” You snuffled your nose. “Three years, B. We were together for three years. He confided in me, and we trusted each other and we were gonna move out to the countryside in France or maybe Denmark…” Your cries interrupted your words, and all Bobby could do was hug you. Trying his best to comfort you. 

-

You weren’t sick with a stomach bug from stress— you were pregnant. 

It was simultaneously the best and worst news of your life. Everyone was supportive and kept reminding you, you didn’t have to keep it, you were only 18. 

You weren’t sure what you were going to do. John wasn’t there and you had almost no money. 

You didn’t want to raise a child alone, but you didn’t want to send them into foster care either. 

It was a messy situation, and with each week passing by, your baby grew, reminding you to make a decision. 

“I’m going to keep it. I’m going to stay here and raise my baby. It’ll probably be a mutant, so what better place for a mutant child to grow up?” 

-

Everyone was excited for you and your baby.  Kitty was excited to “be an aunt”, Rogue was excited, ablet a little nervous, with her no-touch rule, and Bobby just wanted you to be happy. 

You found out you were having a boy, and you were so excited, you cried. Jean and Ororo threw a baby shower for you and Bobby, Logan, and Scott helped redo your room so it could function for the baby too. 

Everything was going great. So great, in fact, you didn’t think about him most nights. 

You still longed for John, and you wanted him there with you, to see your baby at the ultrasound screenings, feel him kick for the first time, and decide on names. But you had to remain strong. With or without John, you needed to be a good mom for your son. 

Before and after his birth. 

-

No one was allowed on the roof normally, but you were especially not allowed in your condition. 

Yet you went up there anyway, for a moment of quiet and alone time. 

You had snuck up to the roof before in your 4 years at Xavier’s. Most times it had been to hide with John. Or just lay and star gaze— your head resting on his chest, and his hands either preoccupied with his flames, or they’d be in your hair. 

You placed a hand on your stomach, thinking it would maybe soothe you, but it didn’t really work. 

You heard footsteps, and you quickly looked over to see who it was. 

“Sorry— I uh, I didn’t think anyone was up here.” He started to leave. 

“Alex, no, you’re fine. You can stay.” 

“You sure?” 

“Yeah! Of course.” He walked over and sat next to you. 

“How’ve you been?” 

“Good, good.” He nodded. “How have you been?”

“Same as you…” You both awkwardly laughed together. 

“That’s good.”

“Mmhmm…”

Alex shifted in his spot awkwardly. 

“Are you uh… are you excited about being a mom?”

You laughed. He was so nervous. “Yeah. I mean, I’m nervous as hell, but I have all my friends around, more than willing to help me, and my life is secure and safe.” 

Alex nodded, shy and awkward, yet attentive. 

“Is… Is Bobby excited about being a dad?” 

You were shocked. “Bobby’s gay.” 

“I know, but wait— isn’t he— is he—“ Alex was so confused. 

“Bobby’s probably my best friend here, his old roommate, um, he’s the father…” 

Alex’s face was red as a tomato. “Oh…” 

He knew about Bobby’s old roommate, seeing as he took over his spot in his room. He didn’t know much, and he was pretty sure he died or something. 

“I’m sorry…”

“It’s fine. You didn’t know…”

“Did he… did he die?”

You rubbed your eyes. “No… he left to join the brotherhood, days before I found out I was pregnant…” Alex listened to your every word. He still didn’t know who this guy was, considering he too, joined the brotherhood during the battle at Worthington industries, but so did a ton of other mutants. 

“I don’t really know how to contact him now, and… I don’t really want to at the moment.” 

“You don’t have to…” Alex said.  “He left, and that’s his problem.” 

“Yep… And besides, I’m not alone. I have my friends and family here.” 

“Yeah, see! You’re doing great.” 

You laughed at Alex’s words. He was cute and dorky. “Thanks.”

“You’re welcome.”

-

You were crying. Crying in pain, in joy, in sorrow, in relief— you were extremely emotional. Your baby was finally born. 

Once he got all cleaned up, umbilical cord cut, and was in your arms, laying on your bare chest for some bonding, people started coming in. 

At first, it was just Bobby, Kitty, Rogue, and Alex. They had some flowers, balloons, and presents with them. 

“We got you some things…” Rogue began.

“Awww... how are you guys?” Kitty interrupted. 

“We’re fine. He’s asleep.” You glanced down at your chest. 

“He’s so small.” Alex’s eyes were glossy. 

“He’s all pink,” Bobby observed. 

Kitty hit him on the arm, “He just came out of her vagina!” 

You laughed, “He was a C-section.” 

“Oh, I was a tumor baby.” Everyone looked at Bobby like he grew a second head. “What?” 

Rogue rolled her eyes, “Anyway, we all got you a card and some gifts.” She set them down on the ledge near the visiting chairs and window. 

“You guys didn’t have to do that.” 

“Most of them are for the little guy,” Alex said. 

“Still! He’s gonna be so spoiled…” 

Your nurse walked in after you said that. “Alright mama, we gotta get him weighed and everything. Just get stuff for the birth certificate…” She set papers down on your table tray. “If you’re up for it, you can fill stuff out now, or have someone else do it for you… We’ll be back in a little bit.” 

“Aww, bye…” Your friends cooed at your son. 

You rolled your eyes, smiling. “He’ll be in the nursery, and you can go see him in a little bit. Then if he’s fine, he’ll be back here with me and you guys can hold him.” 

“We can’t stay in here forever. This room is too small, plus Scott and his posse wanna come say hi.” 

“Right, right.” You took a sip from your water bottle the hospital gave you and looked at the birth certificate and other papers with it. 

“So… What’s his name?”

“I don’t know…” You admitted. You hadn’t really thought of a name. 

Well, you had, but it was kind of stupid. 

You wanted to name him after John, his father because he was one of the few things you had left of John. You also wanted to name him after Bobby or Alex, because they’d been some of your best friends and there for you during your pregnancy. 

“Well, you have sixty days to think about it.” Bobby reminded you. 

“Yeah,” You yawned. “Oh boy… Sorry— Sorry, I just—“

“Nonsense. You gave birth like what maybe an hour or two ago? Take a nap. You deserve it,” Kitty told you. 

“Yeah, we’ll go down to the nursery and see if we can spot him.” 

“Okay, you guys sure?”

“Yes, mom,” Alex teased. “We’re sure.”

“Okay, okay.” 

“We’ll be back.” 

Once the four shuffled out of your room, you quickly examined the birth certificate. 

You took a pen and wrote down your name, John’s, and the perfect name for your son. 

-

“Johnathan-Robert Alexander (Y/L/N)! Get back here!” Rogue scolded. 

“Sorry Marie, I just saw a cool bird, and it flew away…”

She ruffled his hair, “Your mom is gonna be mad if we don’t eat lunch. I let you play outside for an extra twenty minutes.”

“Oh, okay…” 

It had been six years since your son was born. You named him after his dad and your two best guy friends. His nickname was Jr, or Junior, because of his initials. 

He took after you mostly, except he had John’s eyes and mutation. 

You and your friends all became X-Men and teachers at the mansion, and they all pitched in to help raise Junior, despite you telling them over and over again that they didn’t have to. 

It wasn’t easy. You were a young mom— there were some pity looks at the grocery store, people asking if Junior was your little brother, you had no biological family around, despite the X-Men making up for it, and you were single. 

Not the end of the world, but sometimes, late at night, you thought about John. 

You know he did what he thought was right, somehow. You just wish he didn’t leave. Keeping you safe, what bullshit. 

Sometimes you resented him and you were glad he was gone. Sometimes you cried and wished he was there with you. 

He would have been a great dad. Nervous, and a little unsure at times, sure, but you know he’d love Junior and do anything for him. 

You were grading papers when your phone rang. 

You didn’t recognize the number, and you had no idea who’d be calling you at noon in the middle of the week.  

It stopped ringing and you didn’t look at it again for the rest of the hour. 

You glanced over at your phone as you took a bite from your salad. The caller left a message in your voice box, which was weird since spam calls usually don’t do that. 

Maybe it was someone with the wrong number, thinking you were a lost loved one. 

Oh god! I better listen to the message!

You picked up your phone and went to your messages. 

Your finger didn’t even hover over and hesitate when it hit the play button. 

-

You were crying. Six years later. Six years later, and he finally reached out. 

You didn’t know what to do. 

What did he want?

You rubbed your temple. What if he’d been in trouble with some bad people? What if he was dying?

You quickly selected his number on your screen. 

“Would you like to call? Yes or no?” 

Your thumb hovered over yes. 

Why didn’t you just push it? What were you so afraid of?

“God…” You groaned. “What am I doing?” 

“No! No, no… I have to call him back. Urgh!” You ran a hand through your hair. 

“Whooooo…” You hit yes, out your phone up to your ear, and let the phone ring. 

You were sweating and your heart was pounding like a drum. 

What if he didn’t pick up?

“Hello?”

“Hi, John, it’s me… (Y/N).” 

-

You asked him to come to the mansion, to sit down and talk to you. He seemed nervous over the phone, but he agreed to come and talk. 

“He called you? After six years of nothing?” Kitty scoffed in disbelief. 

“My number isn’t the same as it was in 2006. Plus who knows what he’s been up too since…” Your words trailed off.

“Why didn’t you ask to meet up at like a Starbucks or the library?” Alex asked. 

“I want him to meet Junior.”

“Are you insane?!” Rogue asked, looking over at you.

“The mansion is a place we’re both familiar with, and he doesn’t have to see him right away…” 

The three all had unsure looks on their faces. 

“It’s my decision. And while you’ve all been more than supportive, I believe he has a right to meet his son. He doesn’t have to be in his life permanently, as much as I’d like that, but he should at least know about him. See him once, maybe.” 

“You’re right,” Kitty spoke up. “He deserves to meet his kid. We may not like him or want him around, but Junior is his son. We can’t change that.”

“Kitty’s right. John’s not the greatest, but he always tried when it came to you, and he deserves to meet his son.” 

“When is he coming over?”

“Tomorrow at 10.” 

-

“Hey, kiddo.” You slowly opened your son’s door and peaked in. “You ready for bed?”

“Yep!” He popped the p. “I fed George and Rock and Socks.” Those were the fish in his little aquarium. “I brushed my teeth, and I put my pajamas on!” 

You gave him a hug, “That’s great, sweetie!” 

Junior sat under his covers in his bed, and you sat on the edge. “What’d you do in your classes today?” 

“Well, Ms. Monroe read us a book about a farm where the cows found a typewriter and made the farmer change the farm up!” 

Wow, starting them young.

“And then she taught us about different types of plants. Did you know broccoli is actually a flower?”

“I did not,” You blinked. 

“Does this mean I don’t have to eat it anymore? People don’t eat flowers!” 

Oh, Junior thought he was so slick. 

“Actually kiddo, some flowers are edible. So, no, you can’t cut out broccoli.” 

He frowned, “But I don’t wanna eat flowers!” 

“Rules are rules… And besides, you wanna eat healthily and get strong, don’t you?” 

“Yeah!” Junior’s face lit up. “So I can beat Gabe when we wrestle!” 

Gabe was Scott and Alex’s 10-year-old brother, who also went to Xavier’s school. He was one of the few kids even close to Junior’s age, making them almost best friends. 

“See! That’s the spirit! Now, do you want me to read to you before you go to sleep?” 

“Hmm… Hmm… Hmm…” 

You laughed a little, “I’ll take that as a no.”

Junior yawned, “Hmm…”

“I’ll let you get some sleep, okay?” You got up, bending down to kiss his forehead. 

“Okay, mom… Goodnight.”

“Goodnight, sweetie.” 

You closed the door behind you as you stepped out. You stood there for a moment to take a breather. 

John was going to love him, you weren’t worried about that. You were worried if you still had feelings for him and you were acting irrationally. 

No, You decided as you brushed your teeth in your bathroom. I’m not acting irrationally. I’ve wanted to talk to him since he left. I have no anger or sadness left in me, and I just want to catch up. 

“(Y/N),” Professor Xavier spoke into your mind. “You’re making part of the mansion shake.” 

“Shit!” You dropped your toothbrush into the sink and tried to pace your breath. 

“It’s alright, dear.” 

You had geological manipulation, and while you had practically mastered it, you still struggled at times. 

You rubbed your face with a towel and sighed. 

You knew getting any sleep was out the door at that point. 

-

You must have fallen asleep at some point and gotten some sleep because you woke up almost an hour late. 

“No, no, no!” You were frantic, slipping on your clothes, trying to brush your hair and somehow rock half-assed bed head and no makeup so you could be presentable in under five minutes. 

“Hey, (Y/N), you slept through your alarm—“

“I know, Bobby!” You were running down the hall to get to your classroom. 

“So I got Junior dressed and ready for the day—“

You slowed down to stop and open your door, looking at Bobby. “Oh my god. Thank you so much…” You instantly wrapped him into a hug. 

“Hey, hey, it’s okay…” 

“I’m just so worried… about John and—“

“You’re gonna be fine,” He soothingly rubbed one of his hands on your back. 

“I got no sleep last night… I’m anxious about John coming back too. We’re in this together, okay?” 

“Yeah, together.” 

-

You stood peeking through a window, waiting for him. 

10:00 came, and a rugged, black Jeep pulled through the gates. 

You watched him step out of the car— brown leather jacket, facial hair, and he looked slightly more muscular than you’d last seen him. He’d aged, just like you, but not in a bad way, despite the fact he looked a bit tired. But then again, so did you. 

You left your hiding spot and went outside to greet him. 

“Hey!” 

“Hey!” He quickly checked you out, but it didn’t go undetected by you. “Wow, you look— great!” 

“You too.” You stood there, face to face, unsure if a hug or a handshake was appropriate. 

“So, how have you been?” 

“Good, um— well, a lot has changed since you left…” 

John nodded awkwardly. “But uh… I could give you a tour. Tell me about what you’ve been up to?” 

“Yeah, sure. Sounds good.” 

“So… Bobby, Rogue, Kitty, and I all became teachers...“ John chuckled. “What? Hard to believe?”

“No, no…” He shook his head. “Are Bobby and Rogue still together?” 

You laughed, “No way! Bobby came out of the closet and Marie sees some guy from New Orleans, I think his name is Remy? I’m not really sure… 

John smiled, “Yeah, he told me— junior year, he didn’t like girls.” 

“It hurt, Rogue,” You admitted. “But she understood.” 

“Well, that’s good, I suppose…”

“Yeah, yeah.” You wandered down the halls a bit, before speaking up. 

“So… what have you been up to?”

“Well, I lived in Genosha for awhile…”

“Magento’s hippie colony?” 

“Hey!” He jokingly scoffed. “It’s not a hippie colony!”

“Okay, Mister.” 

“Anyway, I uh, I started writing…”

You rose your brows in surprise, “Really? What do you write about?”

“Romance, mostly…” John was flustered. “Gothic romance. One of the people on Genosha knew a guy, he’s a literary agent—“

“Wait, are you…?”

“Yeah, I’m an actual published author. I only have two books out right now, the first one came out in 2008, and the other just last year.” 

You were baffled, all this time, and you could have contacted him sooner somehow. “I had no idea… congratulations! That’s amazing!”

“Thank you…” 

“Yeah, of course. You do anything else?”

“My mom died two years ago… I went to her funeral… I saw my dad.”

“How’d that go?”

“Not great… but, you know how it is.” You nodded in sympathy. “Anyway, what’s new with you? Besides teaching… Any new X-Men? Are you… seeing anyone…?”

“Scott’s younger brother joined the team, and he has another brother—“

“Mommy! Mom!” You froze. John noticed your shift in demeanor and glanced from you to Junior. 

“Junior, you’re supposed to be in class.” 

“I was, but then Stacy Brown, the girl with the lizard tongue, threw up, so Stacy got taken to Dr. Grey’s lab and Ororo let us leave early.”

“I know who Stacy Brown is, sweetie. You don’t have to tell me she has a lizard tongue. That’s not very nice to point out people’s mutations.” 

Junior frowned and sulked a little, “I’m sorry…”

“I forgive you.” 

John’s eyes kept moving between you and Junior. When did you have a kid? He couldn’t be any older than five or six. 

“Hi. Who are you?” The kid spoke to him. 

“Oh,” John crouched down to equal eye level. “I’m John… What’s your name?” 

“My name is John, too! Well, actually Johnathan-Robert, I was named after my dad and one of his closest friends, even though his name isn’t actually Johnathan. Everyone calls me Junior though, cause my initials are JR.” 

John was floored. He had a son. 

He had a son, and he left him. He left you. 

Oh, God… 

“Uh, Mr… Mr. John?” Junior asked. “Why are you crying?” 

“Uh, Junior, sweetie…” You trailed off. “He’s your dad.” 

“Oh! Oh, I’m sorry…”

John wiped his eyes and stood up, “What for?”

“I made you cry… I’m really sorry…”

“It’s okay. They were happy tears.” He rubbed his eyes. 

“Oh… Do you wanna see my fish? I have 3 of them in my room, they live in a terrarium!” 

“Aquarium,” You corrected him. 

“That’s what I said!” 

John smiled, “Yeah, I’d like that.” 

“Come on, then!” Junior grabbed his hand and led him upstairs. 

-

John moved back in. 

Not with you necessarily, but he wanted to be a part of Junior’s life. He felt like the world’s biggest asshole for leaving days before you found out you were pregnant. 

He joined the brotherhood because he felt like you were the only person who saw him as a decent human being. He didn’t agree with everything Xavier said and stood for, and he was tired of people comparing him to Bobby. 

He wanted to fight for what he thought was right. He wanted to be able to just do what he wanted without hurting the one person he cared about. Which is why he didn’t tell you he was leaving. 

But he knew he hurt you. He knew soon as the battle was over and he claimed one of the small homes on Genosha as his. 

He was scared to reach out the first few months. And then he assumed you left Xavier’s and he didn’t know how to contact you from there. He only just got your number because a graduate from Xavier’s moved to Genosha, giving him your number and telling him you hadn’t left. 

He didn’t even hesitate to call you. He didn’t even care if you cursed him out on the other line, yelling about how you never wanted to see him again. He just wanted to hear your voice one more time. 

What he wouldn’t have done to hold you in his arms again, feel your soft, pink lips against his, your bodies pressed against each other, becoming one. 

But he knew he didn’t deserve any of it. He didn’t deserve you. He knew he fucked up. 

And what hurt him the most was he thought he was worse than his own father. The one who beat him, called him a monster, sent him away to a foreign country, left in the care of strangers— he thought he was worse because he wasn’t there in the beginning. He wasn’t there for the doctor’s appointments, the birth, or his first steps and words. 

You talked to him. Tried to convince him he wasn’t bad, while still holding your ground and making him responsible for just up and leaving. 

“I should have gone with you. You know I would have. I would have followed you to the fucking moon if you asked.” 

“I know… I just thought keeping you out of all that was the best choice.”

“We were fucking kids John! We really didn’t know much. We still don’t! We’re 23 with a child.”

“You don’t have to forgive me. You don’t have to love me again. I just want to be in my son’s life, please.” He was trying his best to not cry again. 

“Most of the time you’re a great guy. I want you in Junior’s life… I just… I don’t know if we can ever go back to how it was before.” I still love you, but I’m not ready to rush into anything…

“Yeah, no, I get that. You have no reason to trust me, and no obligations to date me…”

You sighed, “I want us to be friends. Not for anyone’s sake but for our own… because as much as I should… I don’t hate you.” 

“Thank you.” His voice was breaking. 

“Friends?” 

He nodded, “Yeah, friends.” You wrapped him in your arms in place of a handshake. Neither of you said anything. Nothing needed to be said. 

-

John had been living at the X-Mansion for almost two years. He taught an English class or two and continued to write more gothic romance novels while spending as much time as he could with Junior. 

He became friends with Bobby, Kitty, and Rogue again. He became friends with Alex. He was friends with you, despite wanting more. 

But he knew he didn’t deserve it, and he was just glad to get what he could. 

“So… what do they like, do in Romania?”

You looked up from your lesson plan for the week and gave John a funny look. 

“What do they do in Romania? Aren’t you the one writing about vampires? You should know.” 

“Yeah, but you’re a history teacher!”

“I teach kids about the civil war, Marie Antionette, and the Han dynasty.” 

You sometimes worked together in the library or in one of your rooms or classrooms. John— writing the next chapter of his novel— and you, usually doing lesson plans or grading tests. 

“What are you writing about anyway?” You turned in your chair to watch John scribble words down in his notebook. He preferred to write down on paper first, then type it up. 

“Well, she’s making Von take her on a date since she’s been living with him for a month and he confessed he liked her.”

“Isn’t Von a vampire?”

John nodded, “Half. Anyway, he’s gonna like, take her stargazing on the rooftop. I don’t know what else they’re gonna do after that.”

You pondered for a moment, “We used to do that all the time…” 

“Yeah, um…”

You laughed a little, teasing him. “Do you base all your stories on our romantic endeavors?”

“Not all of them!” He defended. 

“That so?” John hummed in response. “What has the great womanizer, St. John Allerdyce, been up to in his love life the last few years?” 

“Not much,” He admitted. “I went on a few dates, a handful of hookups, but nothing really worked out…” He tried to shake the feeling of longing for you off, “What about you?”

“Same as you. Not much luck, especially with being a young mom, and raising a kid with two of her best friends who are guys, it tends to… scare people away…” 

John swung his legs to the side of the bed, about to get up. 

“They’re pussies,” He said while looking at you. 

You nodded, not noticing he got up, “Yeah, besides I’m busy…”

Your train of thought was forgotten as John’s eyes looked into yours. You weren’t speaking. 

Your eyes glanced down at his lips. They were soft and pink. 

You cleared your throat, trying to distract yourself from your thoughts, unaware John’s brain was on the same page as yours. 

He unexpectedly pressed his lips against yours. You were wide-eyed with shock as he did so. You weren’t expecting that. 

But you were glad it happened. 

He broke away too quickly for your liking. “I’m so sorry, I shouldn’t have—“

“Do it again.” 

“What?” John almost thought you were kidding. 

“Kiss me again, Sinjin.” 

And so he did. His lips collided with yours, your mouths moving in sync. 

His weight and force caused you to fall back in your chair, with John straddling your waist. Your hands were tugging on the hair at the nape of his neck, causing him to moan a little against your mouth. His hands were roaming up and down your body. 

You partially ground against his crotch, causing him to break his lips away from yours and curse. 

It didn’t last long, as he went back to kissing your lips like a horny teenager, pulling your shirt up off of you. 

“Wait, wait, stop.” John froze, looking you directly in the eyes, his face barely two inches away from yours. 

“Is everything alright?” 

“Buy me dinner first, before you undress me, okay?” 

You didn’t want to get carried away. You wanted a clear mind before you slept with him again. Kissing and going on a few dates and whatever else you were doing was enough at that moment. 

He nodded, in total awe of you— The small details of your face one could only see if they were this close— “Tomorrow at 7. Does that work for you?” 

“That’s perfect.” 

-

“So I need you— if you can’t that’s fine! You have lives of your own— but I kind of need someone to watch Junior for the night.” 

You really hated asking people to babysit, but it was Kitty and Rogue. They wouldn’t care. 

“Not that we won’t do it,” Kitty said. “But why can’t John watch him?” 

“Well—“

suddenly, Bobby burst through the door, screaming the girls’ names. 

“KATHERINE! ANNA MARIE! I HAVE HUGE NEWS!” 

“What is it?”

“John—“ He looked at you, and then stopped his sentence. 

“Oh… I’m assuming you told them.”

“Told us what?” Rogue asked. 

“John and (Y/N) are going on a date.” 

“Finally,” Kitty let out. 

You were confused, “What do you mean, finally?” 

“Are— are you serious?” Bobby asked in disbelief. 

You nodded. 

“You two are so in love, it’s sickening sometimes!” Rogue scoffed. 

“We are not!” You knew that wasn’t true. You obviously still had feelings and so did he, but love? You weren’t sure if it was that. 

“Please, he never stopped loving you, and you never stopped loving him.”

“Bobby…”

“(Y/N)...” 

You groaned. 

“Look, I’m not gonna push you into saying the L-word anytime soon, but the guy writes romance novels for fuck’s sake! You’re gonna have a great time no matter what.”

Yeah, you thought to yourself as John drove down the crowded New York roads. 

We’re gonna have a great time no matter what. 

You went to some restaurant that just opened. It wasn’t too fancy or too casual, but since it was new, you still needed a reservation. 

After dinner, you walked around the city streets, just catching up, looking at shops and apartment buildings and all the people. 

It almost felt like you were teenagers again. 

Holding hands, watching the sunset…

John pulled out his phone to snap a few pictures. You decided to try and photobomb, making dumb faces and peeking your head into view of the camera. 

John shifted his hands and arms so you were the camera’s main focus. 

The way the sun's rays reflected through the lens behind you making you glow, (John already thought you were most of the time), your goofy smile— he took a picture, but to him, it looked more like a renaissance painting. 

He glanced away from his phone to see you without a lense. 

You still looked like a heavenly being to him. You always did— strong, beautiful, intelligent, witty, and you were an amazing mom.

 He didn’t have anyone to use as a base for “mom skills”, but he didn’t need that to know you were amazing. Not just with Junior, but all the young kids at the mansion. 

Of course, there were times when you faltered or felt like you weren’t good enough, times where you would make the mansion shake on accident, but everyone had weak points. 

John didn’t see you as any lesser for them, he knew your life wasn’t easy. Even if he had never left, it wouldn’t have been perfect. 

But he couldn’t dwell on the past forever, despite how much he wanted to at some of his weaker moments. 

“Whatcha looking at?”

He blinked. “You… The sunset… You look like an angel.” 

You nervously laughed, “Stop it.” 

John put his phone away and got back to your side. 

“I’m serious, you’re beautiful…” 

Your gaze fell down to your feet, not unnoticed by John. 

“Hey,” He cupped your face with his hand, forcing your gaze on him. “It’s okay if you don’t believe me right now, but you will one day… I promise you that.” 

His hand faltered and you hugged him. 

“God, you’re so nice to me.” 

“I don’t deserve you.” He plainly stated. 

You narrowed your eyes at him and pointed a finger. “No self-deprecating talk!”

John laughed at your attitude shift. It was cute. “Alright, but that means nothing from you either.“

“Fine.” 

John kissed the top of your head, causing you to smile like a madman. It made his heart flutter a bit. 

-

Your first date was almost two years ago. It seemed so long ago, yet almost like it was yesterday. 

You woke up to the sound of your alarm. 

You immediately woke up, but John just groaned and stirred in his sleep a little. 

He had an arm wrapped around you, so you had to wiggle your way out of bed. “Come on, sleepyhead…” 

John groaned some more, his grip on you just got tighter. 

“If you don’t let me out, I’ll pee on the bed.” 

John’s eyes shot open, and you smirked to yourself, having been victorious. 

“That would be hot.” 

You gagged as you walked into your bathroom. “Gross!”

John followed you, “You know I’m just joking.” 

You shook your head, a smile evident on your face. “I know, I know.” 

You turned the sink on and began washing your face. John used the empty space in the mirror to brush out his bed head. 

You caught him starring at you a few times as you both went through your morning routines. 

“What are you thinking about?” 

“Nothing.” He kissed the crook of your neck. “Today’s just gonna be a good day. That’s all. I can feel it.” 

You let his words sink in for a moment. 

“Yeah, today’s gonna be a good day.” 

That’s when John knew. His instinct, gut, or whatever you call it, knew this was it. 

He casually walked out of the bathroom and grabbed a small box. You were preoccupied with applying some makeup. 

He came back in, on one knee in the doorway. 

You looked over at him, nearly dropping your brush on to the floor, your jaw slack. 

“(Y/N), I love you. And this isn’t some big romantic gesture, but love isn’t only seen in big romantic gestures. It’s the small things, the intimate moments. I did have something planned, but I really couldn’t wait. I love you… and…” John’s words trailed off. He was starting to cry. Your eyes were watering too. 

“Will you marry me?”

You nodded, “Yes, yes!” 

John got up and kissed you. Then he slipped the ring on your finger. 

You admired it, “Wow… it’s beautiful…”

“So are you.” 

You kissed him without missing a beat.

-

“You may now kiss the bride.” 

John didn’t hesitate with that. 

People cheered and some jokingly wolf-whistled. Junior made a sour face. 

Your wedding was magical, and despite having to say hello to every guest and dance at least twice, you were happy. So happy. 

John was happy too. He had a big smile on his face the whole time, no matter what and he was so excited to call himself your husband. 

Some people teased him and others were very surprised, claiming John was really out of his element. 

You knew better though. You both just loved each other, and after John spilled his guts on how much he loved you in front of everyone at the altar, he couldn’t care less who saw him like this. 

-

You just had a quick breakfast before you had to teach your first-hour class. You didn’t think anything of it as you were running a bit behind. 

You were fine though, and your schedule was going smoothly, your class was taking notes as you talked about the French Revolution. Students were asking questions when needed, and most of them were paying attention. 

Suddenly, you felt a wave of nausea hit you. You tried to keep it down, but you couldn’t, and immediately darted to the trash can near your desk. 

Your students were murmuring among each other, unsure of what to do. 

“Um… Ms. (Y/L/N)? Are you okay?” 

You used a tissue to wipe your mouth and applied some hand sanitizer. 

“Yeah— um—“ 

You couldn’t come up with an excuse though, for one of your students opened a portal and grabbed John and another teacher. 

John rushed to your aid, asking if you were alright. 

“Yeah, yeah, I’m fine.”

“I’m gonna take you to Dr. Grey. Piotr, can you watch her class for a little bit?” 

“Yeah, sure.” He replied, a little unsure and worried about your well being. 

John helped you out of your classroom, despite you insisting you didn’t need help. 

Thankfully Jean was in the lab, so you didn’t have to go looking for her. 

As you explained what happened, John sat at your side like a nervous puppy. 

“Babe, I’m not going to die. I probably just ate something bad and my stomach didn’t agree with it.” 

“Food poisoning is really serious—“

“It’s probably not that.” 

“You rarely get sick aside from the common cold or seasonal allergies.” He reminded you. 

Jean smiled, at how much John was worrying. It showed he cared. 

“Have you had anything else happen to you lately?”

“I’ve been a lot more tired, and more headaches, but that’s just aging, right?” 

“Probably. I’m gonna have you fill this out though, just in case.” Jean handed you a clipboard with a questionnaire attached. 

You read each question, leaving a checkmark or an x, depending on what it was. You handed it back to Jean and she read it over. 

“I’m gonna have you pee in a cup, just so I can test it for a few things.”  Jean opened a plastic wrapping and handed you a small plastic cup. 

“Bathroom’s on the right.” 

You came back quickly, informing Jean you left the cup in the bathroom. 

“I’ll go get that… and I should be back with your results soon.”

She walked out, leaving you and John alone. 

You checked your phone, seeing some missed texts from Kitty. 

 KITTY: Hey

 KITTY: heard you puked in class today :( you alright?

 (Y/N): yeah, I’m in Jean’s lab. She’s testing my urine for something…

 KITTY: oh my god! Are you pregnant?

 (Y/N): What!!?

 KITTY: that’s usually why they test urine. Although, when I’d go to the dr. they’d make me pee to see if there was like protein in my pee or something

 KITTY: idk

 (Y/N): There’s no way!

 (Y/N): Well...

 KITTY: *side eye emoji* didn’t you tell me your period was a little late?

 (Y/N): Yeah, but that’s normal! 

 KITTY: You’re almost 30

 (Y/N): So? Your period isn’t always regular, and we’re the same age

 KITTY: I’m a lesbian. You have a husband. 

 You turned your phone off. What if you were pregnant again?

Obviously, you were in a good place, you would be fine having a kid. (Plus, Junior had been asking for a sibling awhile back.) You just hadn’t really discussed it with John. 

Why mess up a good thing? You, know? You didn’t need another child, but you wouldn’t be disappointed. 

Oh god! You were definitely pregnant and what if John didn’t want more kids? What if your body couldn’t handle carrying another baby? What if—

“Sweetheart, you’re shaking.” John’s hands held yours, trying to keep them from moving. “Are you alright? Do you feel like you’re gonna faint?”

“I might be pregnant…” You whispered. You don’t know why you whispered it. 

“Are you sure?”

“My period is late— but even after five different kinds of birth controls it’s never really been on a regular schedule. Me throwing up could have been morning sickness—“ 

John couldn’t hide the smile on his face. You were rambling about how you were probably pregnant and how worried you were. He just held your hand, and calmly said your name. 

“(Y/N), you’re gonna be okay. You’re an amazing mom, and I’m gonna be with you through all of it this time.” 

You nodded, not trusting your voice. 

Jean came back with your results. 

“So?”

“You must have eaten something bad, or your period is coming up. Some women vomit during PMS.” 

“Am I pregnant?” You asked. 

“No, why? We’re you expecting that?” 

“Oh, no. We’re not— I just thought— cause you made me pee—“

Jean shrugged as she typed on her computer. “I did test for that. But no baby…” 

You nodded, asking what to do next. 

John sat, lost in his thoughts. He was so excited at the thought of you being pregnant. 

Do I want another kid?... 

When Junior had asked for a sibling not too long ago, John said, “No way.” 

Now?

“Just drink plenty of water, and bed rest. I’ll get someone to cover your classes for tomorrow after we disinfect your room. If you don’t puke or have any new symptoms within the next 48 hours, you can go back to teaching.” 

“Make sure she stays in her room, okay?” Jean said to John. 

“Yes, ma’am.” He half-joked. 

John led you up to your shared room, shutting the door behind him. 

“Lay on the bed. I’ll get you some pajamas, and then some water. How do you feel? Do you need more blankets? I’m sure I can get Bobby to cover my next class, I can cuddle with you if you’d like.” 

“No, Sinjin, I’m fine, really… besides, I can make another lesson plan, or finish my book—“

“Oh no, you don’t. Jean said you needed to rest. So, that’s exactly what you’re gonna do. Even if that means I have to sit and watch you.” 

“Creep,” You teased as you changed into your pajamas. 

“Edward did it with Bella,” He argued, while quickly texting Bobby, asking to sub for him. 

“Didn’t you say Stephanie Myer was an ‘embarrassment in the gothic romance community?’” 

“Besides the point…” 

“Okay, Edward Cullen.” 

John removed his shoes and socks and joined you in bed, “Shut up.” 

“Make me,” You teased, eyes bearing into his. John kissed your forehead. 

“I would, but you puked up breakfast not even three hours ago.” 

You frowned, “Then don’t cuddle with me! You’ll get sick.” 

“My body is like a furnace. Most diseases don’t last in me.” 

“I don’t think that’s how it works.” 

John shrugged as he draped an arm over you, rubbing circles into your skin with his thumb.

You shifted a little, trying to get comfortable, before settling on a position. 

“Hey, Sinjin…”

“Yeah?” 

“What if I was pregnant?” 

John’s hand stopped. 

“We thought I was for a minute, and you looked excited, despite the fact I was freaking out… Do you want another kid?” 

John flinched a little at your sharp question. “I mean… it’s your body. It’s up to you.” 

“No, no, we’re in this together. Do you want another kid?” 

“Honestly?... Yeah, I do. I know I was on the fence when Junior first asked, but that was months ago… I want to experience everything, and be there for you this time… do you want to have another kid?

“Uh-huh.” 

“Okay… Wait— when can we— Jean said 48 hours without puking—“

You glanced over at the clock, “10:43 AM. This Wednesday.” 

“Right. At exactly 10:43 AM, on Wednesday, we can have sex… Oh my god.” John laughed, somewhat disappointed and embarrassed by his words. 

“What?”

“We’re like an old couple, scheduling when to have sex.” 

You laughed, “Plenty of people schedule sex— remember when we were younger? We’d plan around when Bobby and Kitty wouldn’t be around so one of our rooms were empty—“

“Okay, okay… I’ll go to the store and get some viagra.” 

You snorted, “Don’t think you’ll be needing that big guy.” 

“You’re right. I’ll just get some extra large condoms.” John joked. 

“First off, that defeats the whole point of baby-making, and second, you need small at best.” 

“You wound me, woman!”

You smiled stuck your tongue out like a child.

-

When you were in better health, you and John didn’t waste any time— You went at it like rabbits. 

You thought you’d get pregnant on the first try, seeing as you weren’t even trying for Junior, but that wasn’t the case. You had to try a few more times before getting there.

Test after test, until finally, one said positive. 

You and John were so excited, not a dry eye between the two of you. 

“We’re having a baby!” John held you close, his hands down at your stomach. 

“I’m not showing yet, it’s too early…”

“I know, I know,” He sheepishly admitted.  “I’m just excited.” 

“We can’t tell anyone until the second trimester, or well, we’re not supposed to, because it’s such early development right now that something could go wrong, usually it doesn’t— but that’s what all the doctors and books and mommy blogs online say.”

John nodded, he’d read a few books, and some articles online, but he knew you’d already been to doctors before and just knew more. 

“When do you think we should tell Junior?” 

“How are we gonna tell Junior,” You corrected him. 

“He wanted a sibling. This should be easy.” 

You squinted your eyes at him. “If we start to struggle how to explain this to him, it’s all on you buddy.” 

“Alright.” 

-

John knew what was going to happen. He knew what a cesarean section was. He even watched videos, about it. 

But boy, oh, boy, seeing it in person was so much different. 

Your doctor let him cut the umbilical cord, which he was super nervous about. He was anxious about everything. 

Was your daughter safe? What if you woke up before you got stitched up? What if you had a sudden health complication?

His mind raced as he watched your baby get cleaned off and checked on. 

“Is she okay?” 

“So far. We’re going to take her to the nursery to get her weighed and measured and move her mom out of the delivery room. Stay with her, when the anesthesia wears off she’s gonna be pretty sore.” 

John didn’t want to leave your baby girl, but he wasn’t going to disobey your doctor. 

You made it into your recovery room without any trouble, and after a few minutes, your nurse left you and John alone, saying he could visit your daughter in the nursery soon. 

“I’ll wait until our friends and family get here.” 

Your nurse nodded and reminded you to press the button on the side of your bed if you needed anything, before heading out the door. 

-

You named your daughter after your other two best friends, Katherine Anne Allerdyce. John wanted to name her after you, but you argued what if you had another girl? 

He got all flustered and nervous at the idea, which you found cute. 

“Do you wanna hold her?” He asked Junior. 

He nodded and was told to sit down in one of the chairs. 

“She’s so… tiny…” He emphasized. 

Everyone laughed or chuckled at Junior’s demeanor. 

“She was born a few hours ago,” You reminded him. 

“Oh… Yeah.” 

Everyone else took turns holding her and cooing and doting over Kat. 

“Aww, hello… Hello Kat… Aww, you’re so cute.”

“Bobby she’s asleep.” 

“Hush let me hold my niece.”

John frowned. “She’s my child and I’ve held her less than you have.” 

You rolled your eyes, “Babe, let Bobby dote.” 

“Fine…”

Kitty pulled out her phone, “Let me get a picture of you guys! Bobby, John, and Katherine. I think it’ll be cute!” 

“Fine, fine.” John rolled his eyes but smiled nonetheless. 

He scooted closer to Bobby and grinned up at Kitty’s phone as the flash went off. 

“Ow!” Bobby winced. “Did you have to use flash?” 

“Aww… you blinked.” She pouted. 

“I was blinded!”

“Hush it, you big baby. Let me take another one.” Kitty positioned her phone to take another picture again. 

“No flash this time!”

“It’s not on!”

John smiled again and so did Bobby. Kitty took her photo and then admired her work. 

“Aww, you guys look so cute together!” 

She handed her phone to John so he and Bobby could look at the picture. 

John smiled. 

He looked tired, normal with age, raising a kid, and being up for hours while his wife gave birth. 

But he was happy. 

His life wasn’t how he thought it would be, but unplanned plans are usually the best ones. 

He had a family— not just you, Junior, and Kat— but Bobby, Kitty, Alex, Rogue, and everyone else at the mansion. He had people to fall back on and that supported and loved him. 

He looked over at you, talking to Alex while sipping from the straw of your hospital cup/water bottle they gave you. His heart yearned. Despite how tired you were, and how you couldn’t even walk at the moment due to giving birth not even 24 hours ago, John still thought you were the most beautiful and brave person he knew. His writing could never compare or encapture your character, no matter how hard he tried. 

But it didn’t matter. 

You both had what you never knew you wanted. 

And you were happy. 

[aoifeanamadan]

After School Special

Fandom: Minecraft YouTube rpf (mcyt)

Word count: 3888

Relationship: DreamNotFound (DreamxGeorgeNotFound)

Summary:

The sky is blue, the sun is hot and Dream hates George.

He really hated him, all smug and sarcastic and closed off. Where Dream was friendly, loud and outgoing, George was quiet and pretentious. It was like he thought he was above everyone else.

Needless to say, neither of them were over the moon when they found out they had to spend two months working together in weekend detention.

Support this work on AO3 :)

Chapter One: Spanish? 

Dream was an early riser, he always had been. It was nice to wake up to quiet suburbia, to see the world jostle into life. He witnessed the cellophane peace stretch and tear. The house was quiet before sunrise. It felt delicate, holy. It felt like it was all his. Dream could wander, tiptoe around the soft quiet. It was like he was the only person left on the planet.

Lie-ins felt wrong on a cellular level. They made him feel a dirty kind of guilt, the missed opportunity. Every day since he was a child, he was up before the sun. And every day he watched the sunrise while eating breakfast. It was gorgeous. Watching the sweet pinks and dusted oranges floating up from the horizon assured him he was there, he was human.

It felt right, millions of years of evolution proving him right. Once the sun was up, the house got moving.

He loved the mornings, seeing his family bleary-eyed and cotton-mouthed. It was a different kind of vulnerability, one coated in familiarity. It made him certain that they were all there. Real and familiar and the same as always.

On the first morning of his senior year, Dream missed the sunrise. I was nothing ominous or scary, he just overslept. His alarm clock’s batteries had run out the night before and Dream couldn’t wake up without the siren blare. His sister had to knock on his hardwood door as she passed on her way downstairs.

Dream wasn’t superstitious. Witches didn’t scare him, he thought spells were bullshit. But missing the sunrise on the first morning of his last year of school, it scared him a little bit. He didn’t realise it at the time, head stuffed with shitfuckshitshit I’m going to be late , that end of the world feeling that comes with waking up late on a Monday. But the thing that scared him was the uncertainty, the proof that things were changing soon.

Normally, once the house was moving enough, he could take a shower without feeling guilty for shattering the peace of the sunrise. It was always the same, hair first then his body, his teeth.

No matter how many times he washed and changed his bedsheets, the night always made him feel dirty. Seeing the water go down the drain felt like seeing the air rushing into his lungs, his blood pumping. It was certain, it worked. Always the same soap, the same shampoo.

That morning, he had to run to the shower. Dream liked routine, a plan, but he liked efficiency more. Even his shower routine was streamlined to be as time-effective as possible. He’d had the same shower gel since he was 11, fresh and clear.

It was just his luck that his Bubble Cucumber & Aloe Vera Hair & Body Wash would run out the first morning in 7 years that he was running late.

But, he adapted. The family soap felt gritty against his skin. It felt like there was a snail leaving a trail of lime behind it. Dream felt dirty, the night was ground into his skin. But, ‘a positive attitude was his most important accessory’ according to his mother, so he got on with it. He showered, he got dressed and he rushed his way downstairs.

His socks thudded softly against the carpeted stairs as he jogged into the kitchen, wearing shoes in the morning wasn’t right in his brain. He was pulling his jumper on over his head as he walked in, really it was inevitable that he’d walk into the door frame. There was a red mark on his forehead under his hairline. Fuck. His sister’s laughter only added to the heat building in the back of his brain.

Dream was a creature of habit, he knew what worked. And why fix what’s not broken? Two slices of white bread toast (with the dial at setting 2) with blackcurrant jam, butter on both sides and no crusts.  A glass of orange juice without bits. It was an easy breakfast, it worked. He never felt hungry before lunch.

The bits in orange juice were gross, the way they congealed on the side of the glass. Just the sight of gravity dragging them down the inside of the glass, leaving a trail of orange guts and gore, it was enough to make him squirm.

So, naturally, when Dream reached to pour the orange juice that morning, he was met with a stream of obnoxiously bit filled orange juice. Dream took his deep breaths, but the rise and fall of his chest made his skin rub against his t-shirt. The feeling of the shirt sticking to his wet, slimy skin was the final straw. He punched his hand twice, squeezed his eyes shut and stood up.

In hindsight, taking the carton and pouring it down the sink was an overreaction. But at the time, despite the protests from his sisters, it seemed like the only option. There would have been no issue other than a new shortage of orange juice, but Murphy’s Law was at play.

Just as Dream was going to throw the emptied carton in the bin, his mother walked in.

“Oh Clay, for God’s sake. I had just bought that!”

Dream got into Sapnap’s car five minutes late with toast in his mouth, ‘thoroughly sorry for wasting perfectly good orange juice’ but more sorry for being seen throwing it away.

“What took so long dude?” Sapnap was smiling from the driver’s seat. The second Dream got in, he put his head on the dashboard. Sapnap only got an exaggerated groan as a response. Dream didn't lift his head.

“Okay!” Sapnap, still grinning, started them on the journey towards school. His predictions about how their senior year would go were a welcome distraction from Dream’s building stress headache.

It was easy, it always was. Dream and Sapnap, Sapnap and Dream. They knew each other better than they knew themselves. Dream didn’t need to pretend to be excited or upbeat. He just had to be there. And he was. And so was Sapnap. And that morning, that was enough for both of them. To know they had each other, each in the other’s corner.

Sapnap talked the whole journey and Dream loved him for it. They understood each other, knew what the other needed. That morning, Dream needed a distraction while Sapnap needed to get the nerves of a first day back at school out of his system.

By the time they were parked, they were running behind.

Dream was late to his first class, physics. He got into school just as first the bell rang but the receptionist wouldn’t let him past. He tried to protest but was only met with a lecture about time management. They didn’t want to hear about his excuse, his mother’s lecture about food waste.

“Well, how could I ‘manage my time’ if my mother was the one keeping me back? What am I meant to say to my mother? I’m not about to tell my mom to shut up.” Dream was almost pleading by that point. His day had gone from bad to worse, to worse, to worse.

“I’d be careful before taking that tone with a staff member if I were you, Dream.” Dream wanted to hit back, stand up for himself, but he swallowed his words. The receptionist didn’t care what he had to say, they were just happy to get him in trouble. Drunk on power and projecting their highschool experience onto Dream. This wasn’t worth the trouble it would cause.

Dream just nodded, bit back his ‘Fuck you’, apologised and headed to the other office for a late note, appeased only with a muttered whisper of ‘total bullshit’ as he walked away.

Such was the tyranny of high school.

When he finally got into the class, equipped with his note, the teacher barely paid him any attention. He didn’t even want the note. He just told him to sit down in any empty seat, then he went back to his diagram of magnetic fields.

Dream surveyed the classroom and was met with a packed grid of chairs. He could see his friends, all the way at the back of the class. It felt like light-years away. They were all frowning at him in sympathy. Dream didn’t like it at all, he didn’t want anyone’s sympathy. Bad was the only one who wasn’t looking at him like he just told them his puppy died. He was tapping his watch and mouthing ‘Don’t be late’. Dream smiled back sadly and shook his head.

The only empty seat was in the front row next to Weird Sarah. Dream bit the inside of his mouth to keep from getting mad, and sat down next to her.

He turned to her, hoping to make some kind of friendship using the ‘positive attitude’ that his mother so valued, but was only met with the sight of her picking her nose at age 18. She turned to him and glared.

Dream thought that might be the final straw, after everything that had gone wrong. His head felt like a tea kettle, he was surprised other people couldn’t see steam coming out of his ears.

But, he counted his deep breaths and clenched his fists until he could refocus on electromagnetism, or whatever the teacher was talking about.

Dream had been so focused on not letting everything from the morning get to him then and there, and culminate into a public rage, he had forgotten to pay attention. He was completely lost.

The teacher must’ve noticed the look on Dream’s face, because it was then he chose to engage  Dream in the lesson.

“Dream, can you tell me how to label exhibit 6.3?”

The words felt like a death sentence. Dream just stared blankly back at him, turning red. Everyone was quiet, all witnesses to Dream’s public execution by way of embarrassment. He wanted to yell, to tell them all he wasn’t stupid he was just panicking. Instead, he sat there in the silence. Any other day he would have had some cocky, charismatic answer but that Monday he had nothing.

He could feel his classmates’ eyes burning into the back of his head, looking at him expectantly. Dream couldn’t have remembered the answer right then if he had a masters degree in electromagnetism. The silence was starting to become painful. He had to say something.

“No?” It came out as more of a question than an answer. The teacher looked at Dream, disappointed. It was too early for this.

“No Dream, you cannot, because you were too focused on staring at your blank notebook. Pay attention please.”

The teacher, Mr McCarthy, was a nice man. He was old - maybe fifty or sixty - with grey hair and frail shoulders. He had three grandchildren and two kids of his own. His youngest grandchild, Lucy, was the apple of his eye. He liked golf, reading and the Netflix programme ‘Too Hot to Handle’. He was a good teacher.

None of that mattered to Dream, who at that moment felt like his teacher might have actually been the devil.

The embarrassment was burning in his chest, in his hands. And he hated it. He didn’t get embarrassed. Dream did not get embarrassed. He got mad and angry and mean, but not embarrassed. So, he flicked the switch. The blood that was flowing to his cheeks changed course to his ears.

He felt it building up inside him again, the same anger from earlier was rushing back in to suffocate the embarrassment. This whole class was fucking bull, what did Mr McCarthy even know about jackshit?

Dream didn’t even hear him open the question up to the rest of the class. He only heard George’s response.

“It’s particle radiation.”

George said it easily, nearly muttering. He didn’t even have to think about it. The class went silent. Dream heard Bad mutter an “Oh no.”

One thing everyone knew about Dream was that he did not like to lose. Ever since he was a kid, everything was a competition. Who could brush their teeth fastest? Who could finish the storybook first? He once stayed up for 27 hours just to make sure he was better than Sapnap at Call Of Duty. He was competitive to the core. It’s easy to be like that when you’re used to winning. Every time he was the best at something, it fueled him to be the best at something else. It was an easy cycle, the blueprint never failed him.

Dream didn’t lose, but somehow George always found a way to put him in second place. Ever since they were kids. When they were doing races, George was faster. When they were doing rock, paper, scissors George was luckier. When they were doing spelling bees, George was smarter.

Dream still didn’t lose, how could he, but he also didn’t win. And that wasn’t acceptable.

George knowing the answer to Mr McCarthy’s question was his final straw that morning.

“Yeah, of course he would need to answer.” It was a mutter to Sarah, under his breath. Sarah didn’t even glance towards him. But, in the silence of the classroom, it was 1000 decibels. Everyone froze, thankful to have front seats to their own personal soap opera.

“What’d you just say?” George’s head snapped towards Dream, all aggression and thought out anger. He was giving Dream a chance to retreat. Everyone knew he wasn’t going to take it. Dream wasn’t the type to retreat.

“I said of course you would need to prove how smart you are to the whole class.” Dream was looking back at him, matching his anger. Nobody was talking.

“Boys,” Mr McCarthy, bless his soul, tried to intervene. It was a lost cause. No one even noticed him. “Just because you’re mad that you didn’t know the answer. Stop acting like a little bitch.” George was talking as if he was speaking to a younger brother, scowling at Dream. He sounded like he barely cared about what was happening. It looked like he would be cold to the touch, like a statue. It made it look like Dream was throwing a tantrum

“George!” Mr McCarthy had never heard George swear before. Dream had. Everyone in the class had. George had been swearing like a sailor since he was eight.

“I’m a bitch? Coming from you? You fucking weirdo-” Dream’s anger was only building. Seeing George look cool and collected while he felt his face heating up made it worse. He stood up, the clatter of the stool bouncing off the walls.

“Boys!” That was the final straw for Mr McCarthy. He slammed his book down on the desk as he yelled. No one moved. Dream was left standing, breathing heavily. It was like they’d been snapped back to reality, remembering that there was actually a teacher in the room. Even if it was only Mr McCarthy.

He pointed his bony finger at Dream and then at George.

“You two. Outside. Now.”

In life, there were some simple truths. The sky was blue, the sun was hot. And, Dream and George hated each other.

But, in the same was the sky had been red in the beginning and the sun would be nothing in the end, it hadn’t always been that way.

When they were younger, much younger, everything had been different. When they were kids, five years old, maybe six, Dream, George and Sapnap had been real friends, or as real a friendship could be at age nine. Sapnap had been the glue holding them all together. He was a mediator, no matter how hard he tried to start the joking fights he was always the one to end the serious ones.

Sometimes Dream thought that without Sapnap, he and George wouldn’t have made it past the age of 10 without killing each other. They were always fighting, over catch, snap, tip the can, even tic tac toe.

Things changed as they got older though. Where Dream and Sapnap got more confident, bigger, taller, stronger, George went quiet. He wasn’t shy, he just seemed mad. He was all snark and edge and frost. He retreated into himself totally, Dream never had any idea what he was thinking. By the age of ten, Dream was sure George hated him, so he decided to hate George back even harder.  

The more time that passed, the more he believed his story. That George had shut him out, and Dream was only acting in self-defence.

After all, George was weird. Where Dream was loud, the life of every party, the centre of the school community, George was quiet and pretentious. It was like he thought he was better than everyone else because he didn’t engage with the school.

Everyone wanted to be Dream’s friends, everyone except George.

Bad came into the picture in high school, all kindness and unconditional friendship. He was just what Dream and Sapnap had needed, he kept them human. Bad stopped him from being a bully. Sapnap had always said to be nice because it was the right thing to do. Bad said to be nice because empathy was a virtue, he explained his experience growing up, how just one person being nice to him could’ve changed everything. He made Sapnap and Dream kinder.

Where Dream hated George, all sarcasm and snark, George seemed to have a vague dislike of Dream. It was as if he didn’t even care enough to dislike him. Even if Dream didn’t want to admit it, on some level he knew that he hated George more than George hated him. This only spurred him on to hate George even more.

Sapnap tried to stop him. Him and George were still good friends. He didn’t let them talk about each other and never told them anything about the other. That was Sapnap to a T, as loyal as they come. No matter how many times he started fake fights, Dream knew he’d always be there if he really needed him.

But, standing out in the hall in the middle of what should've been a normal physics class, Sapnap was not there. Mr McCarthy and George, however, were right in front of him, and they were on route to the principal’s office.

A solid telling off later, his third of the day, George and Dream had received their punishment. For swearing and publically fighting during physics, they were sentenced to two months worth of weekend classes together.

It was that or four months of after school detention. Dream didn’t want to admit it, but he had George to thank for negotiating it down to what it was. Dream would never tell a soul, but it was a tiny bit badass to see George debating the principal while she was mid-rant.

Dream was a lot more grateful than he was letting off.

If he wanted to stay on as the first striker on the soccer team, he needed to be at every practice. And practices were after school, exactly when their detention was first scheduled. He couldn’t have Sapnap out on the soccer field without him to pass to, how would he cope with the loneliness?

George had after school commitments as well apparently, considering how hard he fought to get the mandatory attendance to the weekend classes the school ran instead. He argued that him and Dream could improve their schooling and learn to co-exist, instead of sitting in silence and letting their hatred simmer.

They were even allowed to pick the class, as a way to start them on their journey of cooperation.

Once they left the office, miraculously still alive, Dream turned to George. He tried to push down the automatic response of ‘Fuck this guy’ in order to choose the class they would take. Before he could even open his mouth, George was talking.

“We’re doing English.” Before Dream could reply, he was walking away. Asshole.

Dream chased after him down the hall.

“Hey, hey!” George didn’t even turn around until Dream was tapping his shoulder. Asshole.

“Huh?” George had the audacity to look confused. “What do you want now?”

Dream just looked at him in disbelief, shaking his head. He was so fucking obnoxious.

“Why would we do English? I wanted to do-” Dream hesitated. He hadn’t actually thought about what he wanted to do, too distracted by what an idiot George was for speaking for the both of them without consulting him. Dream realised his pause for too long. “-Spanish.”

Dream did not want to do Spanish.

“Spanish?” George was looking at him like he was an idiot. It made Dream want to double down even harder.

“Yeah. Spanish.” It didn’t even sound convincing to his own ears.

“You don’t do Spanish.” George was getting annoyed. Dream was proving everything that he thought about him right.

“I do!” Dream didn’t know why he was committing so hard to his lie. He didn’t want George to know he was right, God knows how smug it would make him.

“Speak some Spanish right now then.” George was challenging him. It caught Dream off guard. He hadn’t expected the exchange to go further than him saying he wanted to do Spanish, which he did not.

He would’ve spoken some, but never having learned a word of Spanish made that a bit difficult. He hesitated too long for it to be believable.

“No.” Dream’s brain was stuttering. He was trapped in his own lie. This was exactly what his mother always said would happen if you lied, you’d get trapped in it. “No?” George looked at him, smirking like an idiot. Asshole. Of course he would like watching Dream in misery, Sapnap was wrong about him.

“No.” They both stood there in the hall, Dream prayed for the bell to ring and give him an excuse to leave. The bell did not ring.

“Okay then. We’re doing English. For one, we both actually do it. And you need the help.” Before Dream could protest, George walked away. Dream wanted to punch him.

His mother didn’t take the news well. Most parents wouldn’t be over the moon hearing that their child was going to be in weekend detention for two months. Dream tried to spin it as a fun afternoon class but that plan was derailed when his dad came in holding the phone, with the principal on the other end of the line.

In school the next day, after spending twenty minutes complaining to his friends, Dream found George during lunch.

“Hey, I’m going to need your number.” Dream didn’t bother with manners. They were well past that point. He was just following the orders of his mother, who wanted them to co-operate completely. She figured Dream would need George’s number.

George looked up from his friends, eyebrows raised. When he saw Dream, he got up. They walked just a few steps away from the table.

“George, your number?” Dream just wanted to get it over with so he could go back to his friends and complain about the whole situation

“Oh yeah, it’s 08 fuck you 69.” George rolled his eyes, taking the phone from Dream’s hand.

He saved his contact under Gogy <3 and walked away. Dream was left scowling at George’s back.

[halothenthehorns]

All in the Family

Chapter 18: The Man with Two Faces

The result of landing on concrete stairs would cause anyone's head to ring. Let alone after being teleported in the worst version of apparition ever, for what, the seventeenth time now? All while hearing about your kid from the future while you were dead. James felt lucky his head was still attached as he sat up, massaging his aching neck muscles and having to give a very bleary look to these, once again, new surroundings. He found them the least fantastic yet.

The stone stairs they'd landed on descended in a perfect square all the way to the bottom, the only lighting source flickering about was the black fire from the only doorway out of this room. It should have been a rather calm place, certainly not as terrifying considering some past rooms, but there was an echo of death in this one that only the unicorn before had housed. The promise they did not want to be in here.

Wobbling to his feet, he did a quick headcount and still found everyone present, and the book laying innocently on the floor. He was exhausted, and despite the multiple opportunities he'd been given to talk to Evans, and more importantly, this whole instance had forced Remus and Sirius to make up, he was more than ready for this to be over.

Despite being insanely curious who had been on the other side of Harry's door, he still paused in confusion of that chapter title. Two faces? Was that supposed to be a metaphor? He hated those.

"Ha!" Lily shouted at the top of her lungs, and despite being completely wrong and feeling every moment of it, he still paused to watch her rub it in. "I told every one of you miserable lots it wasn't my friend, and I was right! It was that sniveling coward in it all for the gold!"

"I never disagreed with you," Regulus informed her superior smirk, "he was a perfectly viable option." He didn't see why she found herself so smart not falling for the red herring of a villain, it had been fairly obvious if it wasn't Snape it was him, considering the idea someone else entirely had been running in and out of this castle to get that Stone was utterly ridiculous.

"You just agreed with a Muggleborn," Sirius stopped whatever he'd been doing along the stairs to instead stare at his brother like he'd declared himself such a thing. "Our mother would faint on the spot...I'm so proud!"

"Shut up Sirius," Regulus snapped at him at once. "If she's right, she's right, I don't see it happening again."

Lily's haughty expression only grew at still somehow being the butt of their jokes and stalked as far away from all of them as she could.

"Damn it Sirius, you're not helping," James sighed as he watched her storm off.

"I was trying to congratulate him being a decent person, sorry that didn't come across," Sirius shrugged without much concern as he went back to performing his spell on the stairs to find out what was really down here. This was supposedly the place where the Stone was being held all this time, Dumbledore's enchantment, how come nothing was happening to them being in here? Yet no matter what spell he cast or enchantment he tried to invoke, he found nothing to disarm, let alone anything out of the ordinary from this place.

James just went back to reading, and immediately noticed something odd. "Hey, he's not stuttering this time?"

"Thank goodness we never had to try reading much of that," Remus muttered as he stayed where he'd landed and kept rubbing at his abused ribs. "It would have been a disaster."

"No Moony, pay attention," Peter rolled his eyes, "why wouldn't he have a stutter anymore?"

It took a moment for his heavy eyes to focus, but after a few sluggish blinks it clicked in for everyone.

"Why would he fake such a thing?" Alice whispered, checking every shadow now to make sure he didn't burst out of here next.

"Perhaps that centaurs warning should have been taken with much more concern than we previously thought," Frank murmured, "and with a much more pressing time concern."

"Don't start that," Lily tried to fret while shifting uneasily on the spot, all wands still drawn and now pointed to every shadow. "Harry himself said You-Know-Who wasn't in here."

"The man would be hard to miss, even with Quirrell's absurd turban," James tried to agree despite his own unease. He felt the most defenseless, holding the book now and unable to properly hold his wand in his injured hand. He trusted his friends to cover him if anything happened, and he'd drop this in an instant to help, but for now he tried to quickly keep going, only to be stunned once again at the next revelation.

"Bless my soul," James breathed, looking like someone had just punched him in the gut. He searched for her just like always, and she finally met his eyes back, until he was the one to look away. Having to swallow past five years of solid hatred, he looked back and said sincerely, "I, guess I really was wrong about him."

Her brow remained creased, she didn't quite smile back, but for once there was something akin to recognizing he was talking to her without that superior tone she so hated, as if of course she should want to speak back.

"Now don't go spare on me Prongs," Black cut in, ruining the moment and returning her scowl to him at once. His voice still sounded a bit shotty and as painful as James' hand felt, but James couldn't imagine anything stopping Sirius talking long, least of all a plant. "He's still been a ruddy arse to Harry all year, plus those other kids! Someone needs to give him a good kick up the-"

"He went out of his way to save my kids life!" Potter defended at once, and it took a moment for Lily to fully process that. James Potter was defending her friend Sev. "I think that may mean he's not the totally irredeemable bug we found him." Well, in his own way.

Black looked to his other two friends for support, but both of them seemed more than happy to not pick sides on this.

James chose to keep going, and found his resolution wavering at once. Snape hated his kid, for what? Because of him? Was he really going to carry on a grudge to his kid? He knew if roles were reversed he certainly wouldn't like Snape's kid, but he'd never go out of his way to humiliate one like this teacher had been doing.

This was an idea he'd nurse at a later time, for now he was much more concerned with Quirrell doing wandless magic, and monologuing!

Protective instincts kicked in, and he was hardly paying attention to a word he was saying, only focused on the idea that Harry could die from this! Quirrell could have easily killed him by now, or take him off to You-Know-Who! He couldn't even bring himself to glance up, far too invested in this, to see that the others were just as concerned.

The mirror of Erised finally made Sirius stop his incessant checking of the room, they all froze for a moment at that! There must be some secret they were missing, no way would Dumbledore put something in place that showed your deepest desire, which in this case, would be where the Stone was!

Remus had to clear his throat hard past his confusion, but quickly stated, "there must be a trick to this we hadn't understood, it's Dumbledore after all! When's he ever done the obvious thing."

"You've far too much faith in that man," Lily told him, but there wasn't much derision in her voice. A lot of the teachers here had grated on her nerves, constantly not expelling the Marauders and all, and most recently their headmaster had even helped keep something under wraps that the Marauders had all been arguing about. That's all the school had worked out anyways, no matter how wild the explanations of this got.

Lupin's smile turned both relieved and genuinely enthusiastic for the explanation they all got. Black threw his head back laughing at once when Quirrell in fact stated the entire problem they hadn't considered.

"What he most desires is the use of the Stone, not the actual location, therefore he'll never find it," Regulus mused to himself out loud. "That's quite brilliant."

"I just wish the Mirror was in here again," Pettigrew sighed. "Why wouldn't it be?"

"Who knows, but considering you still haven't even told us what you'd see in there, it can't be that important," Black rolled his eyes.

Pettigrew gave him a little glare, then glanced at Potter quickly and waved him on to change the subject.

Quirrell transitioning into stating You-Know-Who had in fact been at the school during the time Harry had overheard him being threatened was possibly the scariest part yet. Their headmaster had still been at the school at that time, it seemed ridiculous You-Know-Who had gotten in at that time, right? Quirrell just kept going though, seemingly talking to himself, but then getting an answer. This was crazy, they were convinced everything was out to kill Harry Potter!

He now had the Stone in his pocket? Regulus at once took back what he said about brilliance, if the thing could just appear like that anyways! This kid had just been sentenced to death, they were all sure of that.

All of them, because no one wanted to hear of You-Know-Who murdering an eleven year old child, while sticking out of the back of someone's head!

None of them had ever actually seen You-Know-Who. He was a ghost story, the figure their parents spoke of that was trying their very lives, but inside the confines of this castle, they were safe from him. Now that illusion was ruined, they got more of an idea than they'd ever wanted of his features, his future.

"How is that thing possible!" Frank hissed backing as far away from that book as he could go. "Vapor! Even ghosts can't take over bodies of another!"

"If you find out, do let us know," Regulus murmured, unable to wrap his mind around the fearsome Dark Lord, the powerful bringer of their world, into this. A shadow of a creature, not even human. This was like magic of nothing he'd ever heard, it wasn't natural. Wasn't that the idea though, the promise he'd been offered, to go forward in life with one who had already conquered death. Was this the end of that quest?

He could still see the look in Bellatrix's eyes, the vivacious gleam as she told of her first duty as a Death Eater, serving the Dark Lord. She kept grabbing her arm in reverence, though never revealed what could be under her sleeve, she kept stroking the spot and promising him this could all be his as well very soon. Why should he have said no? Looking on at Sirius now, a mingled disgust and fury such a blight could exist, he honestly felt himself in that moment it was very clear what his answer should have been.

Yet this was no more easy an answer than not taking his cousins offer to go someplace special with her this summer. Because the Potter's had been murdered, and had apparently been nothing but weak willed saps about it the whole time. He'd rather die than be such a useless wizard, and serving the Dark Lord was the only way to make sure he fulfilled his life's roll.

"That's a lie!" Sirius thundered so loud, for a moment Regulus was sure the roof would cave in. "How dare he ever-" Lupin grasped his shoulder hard, Pettigrew was white knuckled and grasping Potter's elbow, who looked faint at his own words. Then as Harry shouted much the same, Potter still managing to keep going to see his kids reaction was all Regulus could think, the Dark Lord himself admitted he had not been telling the truth in that moment. Potter had fought back and what's more, the Muggleborn stood her ground to protect her young, which someone of lesser magic should never have been able to do. So what was the truth? How had the Dark Lord become this way? What was he agreeing to follow?

His mother would curse him if she heard he'd been asking all these questions, but this is why he'd never spoken such things aloud, he'd seen Sirius do this first. His father would be far more than disappointed hearing Regulus had been consorting with Muggleborns, even agreeing with one of them, and not defending the Dark Lord's will now as he bade Quirrell attack Harry and there was uproar all around. Instead he kept his silence, just like he always did, and chose instead to watch these events play out.

Lily found herself leaning against the wall, pale and shaking from hearing of a death now marked for her more vividly than ever. No distance in the world she put up would make hearing this any better, she'd be sacrificing her life for a child she had refused a connection to up until this point, she suddenly felt as cruel and heartless a monster as Voldemort. Alice was suddenly there, grasping her hands and promising her this wasn't set in stone, but Lily could picture it, now more than ever. Could no longer pretend she wasn't entertaining a future with a child in her arms, and a death for his future as surely as her own.

The struggle of Harry against Quirrell was terrible to listen to, the pain that child must have been feeling as his own scar seared him while he found the one way to harm his opponent echoed around this room as if they could still hear the screams. His, falling, his passing out, and Potter just stopping there, surely Harry had died, and You-Know-Who would rise again as if this were nothing.

"James?" Peter whispered, staying close and trying to offer all the comfort he could, but it felt like he wasn't even there. He just remained frozen, gaping down at the book and still pale as a ghost.

"Prongs," Sirius said forcefully, and that did snap him out of it, like only Sirius could. His head swung towards him, but his eyes remained unfocused.

"Harry he..."

"It's alright Prongs," Peter soothed, patting his shoulder and reaching forward like he was going to take the book, "we still have time to fix this, I'm sure Harry's death-"

"He didn't die," still slightly devoid of just a bit of sanity from hearing it all, James finally looked properly at all his friends. "There's still more left, he's going to be fine!"

Remus felt a bit concerned for his health, but Sirius was quick to play along. "Of course he is, he survived when he was a baby, right! Ten years later, bah, he'll walk away with another cool scar!"

"You're incorrigible," Peter grumbled to all of them, but James looked just slightly heartened and kept going, having to wait hardly at all to find Padfoot to be right.

"Ya hear that Evans? Hey, Lily? Harry's survived, he thinks Dumbledore's turned into a Snitch," Alice kept gently trying to coax a reaction out of the red head who seemingly went comatose.

The girls words did seem to put something back into her, she snorted in surprise and glanced back around her, finding Alice with the brightest most encouraging smile of anyone, and Frank waiting patiently for her to come back to her senses before offering, "there you go, see, Dumbledore did come and fix everything. I'm sure we were just being paranoid before thinking he set all this up." Well, he was clearly trying for comfort.

He was a big guy, broad shouldered with white blond hair and sharp blue eyes, but he always spoke in a soft, kindly voice as if afraid to startle anyone. Lily appreciated that right now. Whatever his goal, it had worked, Lily refocused her energy on a child she couldn't yet lay claim to no matter how attached she felt to him, and realized there was someone right now she could question. As soon as they got out of here, she'd have something to say to Dumbledore.

She held her tongue though, not really looking for another argument which she was sure she'd get from Lupin at least, the way he'd been defending the man of late. Instead she listened intently to the, informative, passage between Harry and Dumbledore in the hospital wing.

At least he started with the important information, that Quirrell was gone, and the Stone was safe. Potter seemed to have a hard time saying the words Harry had nearly died doing so, and finally Lily understood what he had seemingly grasped at once from all this. This was a child not yet born, but could someday exist. Why not, at least for now while traveling through his world, learn to understand him.

"The thing?" Regulus demanded, askance at once. That mirror itself had been a stupid explanation as far as he was concerned, genius indeed! If you left any room for it to be pulled back out by anyone but yourself than you were a fool! "He really did set all this up for that Potter kid to find out about all of this? Go down there and what, prove himself?"

"Don't be ridiculous," Lupin scoffed. "He's impressed Harry found out about Flamel, that's all. He would never try to get Harry dragged into this!"

"Sure seems that way," Frank disagreed as he thought back through it all. "That door was ridiculously easy to get through, those challenges certainly were easy for a bunch of first years, clearly the only problem You-Know-Who had was getting past Fluffy, though that admittedly was no one's fault, Hagrid seems a bit of a blabber mouth."

"Easy! Harry almost died there at the end, Dumbledore said it himself!" Potter fired right back.

"You-Know-Who being on the back of Quirrell's head was not part of the challenges, likely an unforeseen event at all, I'm sure the man's never had You-Know-Who slip into this school like that before, let alone at all."

"You're just looking for someone to blame because You-Know-Who nearly came back," Remus snarled. "Dumbledore's not a Seer, this isn't his fault, and Harry's a very nosy kid who got in and got lucky. Don't you put this on anyone else!"

"Okay," Peter cut in before anyone could return with something else. "We could argue about this all day, but for the love of Merlin, James is almost done. Can we please let him finish and go back to arguing about this in the real world."

Remus turned away, clearly thinking his point had been made, while Frank rolled his eyes heavily at such a daft idiot blindly following anyone. He wasn't saying Dumbledore was pure evil, but some accountability for the man who clearly had a plan from the beginning would be nice, having Hagrid pick that thing up in the first place right along with Harry Potter felt like no coincidence.

James was at least grateful to Peter for that, but was stunned stupid only a few moments later when again their headmaster encouraged Harry to call Voldemort by his name.

"But, why?" He wondered aloud, clearly only to his friends attention now, the other four were just shifting impatiently and waiting for this to be done rather than dwelling on something so ludicrous to them. He'd done it on a rare occasion when he was trying to prove something, but never so casually.

"Don't know, I suppose I've always done it out of habit," Sirius muttered. Now he thought about it though, Dumbledore was right. If they kept refusing to acknowledge the real name, they may even grow fearful enough to start flinching like twits along with everyone else, though thankfully the four of them had never delved that far into it.

James eyed that for a moment, before going on cheerfully through the rest of the conversation calling him Voldemort as well. Evans, Frank and Alice, looked at him like he'd gone nuts, but only shifted uneasily at something so unfamiliar happening right in front of them. Regulus was the only one who flinched, outright ducked like he expected someone to pummel him just for being in hearing range of this, but was ignored.

The idea of him coming back again, just in another body, was truly terrifying, and James certainly hoped that didn't happen until someone found a way to keep, Voldemort, as far away from Harry as it was possible to be. Dumbledore's statement was certainly helpful to him, he'd set out himself to make sure he never full returned!

Then Harry asked a really good question, why him, why the Potters? Sadly he cursed Dumbledore's name colorfully for the lack of response, earning a glare from Moony but not much else. He certainly hoped Harry lived to be old enough to hear the answer.

At least it was explained what exactly had gone on with Harry and Quirrell's inability to lay hands on him. His voice went soft, he dared not look to Evans, but no matter his mind telling him otherwise his eyes betrayed him and he glanced over to her.

Her face was impassive, and though she'd been trying not to show it, James had seen hints the past few times she was growing to care for at least the idea of Harry. He couldn't tell now what this had done for it, but he certainly hoped she didn't find it as repulsive anymore, that was his kid, their kid! And she was his saving grace, the reason they were getting this experience! He'd be sobbing and bouncing off the walls in her place, sadly all he got for his efforts was more questions in wondering why he couldn't have done that for her and Harry.

Dumbledore stating he'd left his Invisibility Cloak in anyone's possession was laughable to him right now, but no matter the circumstances of that he was just happy it had somehow landed where it was supposed to with Harry. Considering he was feigning any knowledge of it right now though, he couldn't do more than exchange meaningful looks with his friends, but couldn't quite get all the way past it.

"Snuck down to the school kitchens eh? Thought you didn't have this thing now," Alice frowned at him.

"I don't," James shrugged as carelessly as he was capable of. He was fairly good at it when not confronted by Evans. "Must get it in the next year or so, looking forward to that at least!"

He did not appreciate Harry asking about Snape's hatred, terrified it would erupt something between Remus and Sirius again, but Dumbledore's answer was very thankfully diplomatic, and the two simply shifted awkwardly but seemed able to make no more fuss about it. James honestly just hoped it would never come up again, he didn't like the calculating look he caught on the other group.

"You, saving Snivellus' life!" Peter thankfully broke the tension by bursting out laughing, and thankfully only the three of them knew it as his too high pitched, nervous giggle while trying to shield something. "You'd sooner snog the man!"

"As if I needed more nightmares Wormtail," James made a disgusted face at him while giving him a grateful smile and loudly moving on.

Ron and Hermione's entrance was a bit adorable, they were all happy those kids made it out as surely as Harry. Harry and Hermione's conversation about Dumbledore's desire to have all this happen certainly wasn't helping the tension though, so James quickly moved past that, and the news of a Quidditch defeat as that would make no one feel better, and found himself genuinely touched at what Hagrid did for Harry.

"That is the best gift ever!" Sirius whispered, his eyes gleaming with want right now. He'd love to get his hands on that photo album, see pictures of them in their future, proof of Evans and James' wedding for one.

His best mates small smile completely agreed, the four of them already knew they couldn't hold a grudge for what Hagrid had unintentionally done to Harry, this gift more than made up for everything, even the dragon, Sirius grudgingly decided.

"You have got to be kidding me!" Alice's brows shot up in absolute outrage when the End of Term feast held Dumbledore giving points to those kids. She'd clung to disbelief through all three, surely Dumbledore really wasn't doing this.

"I think it's sweet," James chuckled. "Harry deserves a reward for saving the world from, Voldemort, and he would have gotten those points if he'd played Ravenclaw anyways."

"He lost those points because he was sneaking out of bed at night, nothing to do with the Stone!" Frank protested.

"At least they only tied Slytherin for the cup, and didn't outright, oh, never mind," Regulus rolled his eyes heavily as Dumbledore and Potter finished.

Alice and Frank wanted to still be mad, they honestly understood why Slytherin would feel snubbed for this happening, but at the same time they couldn't hide a beaming pride Neville got those last points, that their kid stood up for his house like that. It really made them understand why the Marauders were hooting and high-fiving Harry's accomplishment, even if they held themselves back from doing the same.

Potter's mood sobered at once, all of them feeling downcast this was ending with something as depressing as Harry having to go back to those Muggles who didn't deserve to have such a kid in their presence.

James found himself finishing the last pages with a spring in his voice though, an honest feeling of hope. He'd take the information given in this, and the first thing he'd do when he got back was see to it this didn't have to be his future.

[itmighthavebeenintentional]

Shackled - Ch 12

Summary: After nearly ten years, Sam Winchester calls Miriam Bard to collect on a life debt. Unfortunately for Miriam, Sam leaves out a few important details.

WARNINGS CHANGE EACH CHAPTER, PLEASE CHECK EACH TIME. 

Warning: implied loss of family, grieving, depression, cursing, mention of emotional manipulation/mind fuckery/psychological manipulation, emotional exhaustion, depression

Word Count: 2945

Author’s Note: You made it this far; thanks for sticking with me! I can’t tell you how lovely everyone has been throughout posting this story. I’m going to hopefully start posting my next story “Walk Me Home” sometime within the next week, so if you’d like a tag, let me know. I’ll be posting the preview again tonight. Thank you all for lovely words and flailing, and here’s hoping I’ll see you again at the next story. 

Thanks to @fangirlxwritesx67​ for all the flailing. It means so much to me, I don’t have enough or proper words. @cracksinthewalls​​ , you kept me going, you kept this story going. Like. Babe. Seriously. @thoughtslikeaminefield​ , I would have no Dean stories without you, probably would not have even entered the fandom without you. This story was first and foremost for you, and it’s only right the last thanks on it be for you. 

I love you all.

Please read/heed the warnings. 18+ ONLY. 

In case you missed it:

Ch 1 | Ch 2 | Ch 3 | Ch 4 | Ch 5 | Ch 6 | Ch 7 | Ch 8 | Ch 9 | Ch 10 | Ch 11

Masterlist

Chapter 12

Miriam swam back to consciousness as gentle fingers probed her face. The pain flared once, a bright flame that consumed every cell of her body before extinguishing all at once. She gasped, her lungs unrestricted and easy, and grabbed at the closest thing she could reach. Her wrists were whole again, functional, and she sat bolt upright, her eyes wide and wild as fear shot through her gut. Strong arms, for some reason clad in a tan trench coat, supported her as her head swam crazily. 

“Miriam, I presume. I’ve got you, everything’s alright now. Dean is cured. You’re safe.” She looked into his eyes and saw the sincerity and strength there. She nodded slowly, willing her heart rate to calm. She took slow, measured breaths until the spinning stopped. 

“Miriam!” Then Sam was in the doorway, rushing over to help her up, Dean following closely behind. What with Sam and the other man already pulling Miriam to her feet, Dean stood a safe distance away, unsure of his reception. 

Miriam thought this wise of him. 

She wobbled unsteadily long enough that Sam insisted on taking her back to her room to rest. She was too wiped out to argue and gladly accepted his support. She glanced back at Dean as Sam led her from the room, and she was startled at the depth of sorrow and pain she saw there. 

Then she turned the corner with Sam and realized the pull she felt from Dean, that insatiable hunger for the darkness, was almost completely gone. 

Almost.

…

Miriam lay on the bed, staring up at the ceiling, resolutely ignoring Sam’s instructions to sleep. Though she doubted she’d have any new visits from the demon, she could feel her other nightmares waiting at the edge of her consciousness, with a few new additions from her recent misadventures with the Winchesters to add a little spice to the mix.

A soft knock on her door pulled her out of her miserable reverie, and she sat up slowly. She wasn’t in pain, the angel (Castiel, Sam had explained) had healed her completely, but she was unsteady with exhaustion and shock.

“Come in, Dean,”

He entered hesitantly, still unsure of his welcome. He’d showered, shaved, and changed into a t-shirt, sweats, and a gray bathrobe. She had to admit he looked a lot better for it. Considering how appealing she thought he’d looked before, that was saying something. 

They studied each other for a long moment, seeing each other as they really were for the first time in nearly a decade. Dean still stood tall and firm, wearing his “comfy clothes” better than most models wore a suit, but she could see the weight of the world dragging at his shoulders, staining his expression with grief and regret. 

But there was less ferocity to him now. He’d lost the feral hunger, the malevolence of his earlier presence that had drawn her in so strongly. She’d never call Dean Winchester soft, not in a thousand years, but this Dean, the real human Dean, was appealing to her in a way she hadn’t expected. Despite everything that had happened, he still exuded a sense of strength and confidence that had little to do with his appearance and more to do with a natural gravity that spoke of protection and safety rather than danger and oblivion.

Then again, she thought, maybe I can just see the light on the other side of the darkness now. Maybe that said something good for the both of them.

But it hurt, looking into that light. Looking away from the darkness without shielding herself meant admitting that life without Aaron wasn’t just possible, that it was necessary. 

She’d taken care of him for so long, leaned on him without realizing she was doing so. Now her universe was off-balance in the worst way, vertigo without promise of reprieve. Every day felt like freefall, and she hated that swooping sensation that tore through her gut whenever she opened her eyes and realized he wasn’t just one bed over.

But he was gone. And she wasn’t. 

And now she had to decide what she was going to do with those facts, because she couldn’t continue her dim, half-existence anymore, no matter how much easier it was than facing an Aaron-less life.

And right now, in this moment, that meant addressing her own personal ex-demon.

Miriam offered him a half-smile and indicated the chair by her bedside. He wavered, his jaw working as his frown deepened, but she let him have his internal debate without interruption. After a moment, he made up his mind and sat heavily in the chair, elbows resting on the arms, hands dangling over his lap. He glared down at his socked feet as if angry they weren’t supplying him with the right conversation starter.

“How are you feeling?”

He started at her question and turned incredulous eyes on her, mouth gaping.

“How am I feeling? I nearly killed you, and you’re worried about...Miriam, god, I...I…”

“I know,” she said. He dropped his face into his palms, fingers digging hard into his forehead. His hands strained, veins standing out starkly under his skin, and her heart broke for him.

Dean was a good hunter, a good brother, a good man. He’d been seized by a literal demon, and if anyone besides possession victims could understand that, maybe even forgive it, it was Miriam. And, miracle of miracles, for once she knew the right thing to do.

She arranged her pillow behind her and reclined. Then she lifted the covers, opened her arms, and cleared her throat.

“Come here.”

He looked up at her with red, confused eyes. He straightened up and opened his mouth, and she knew he was about to refuse, say something manly or defensive, or both. She beat him to the punch.

“We are both done, Dean. I’ve got nothing left. I hurt you, you hurt me, we both did horrible things. Now is not the time to make comparison lists of sins. We’ve got tomorrow to tear ourselves new ones. Answer me one question right now, and you’d damned well better tell me the truth.”

He nodded slowly, watching her with wary eyes. 

“Aren’t you tired, Dean?”

He stared hard at her, waiting for something else, maybe a rebuke or an insult, but when he realized she was finished, he sat for a moment, thinking. Then his shoulders slumped, and he scrubbed his fingers through his hair.

“Exhausted,” he finally answered. 

She nodded.

“Then take your damned robe off and get over here. And keep your hands where I can see them, sir.”

Turns out, Dean Winchester wasn’t too bad at following directions, once properly motivated. 

Dean fit into her shoulder with the perfection of a worn-out child cradled in trusted arms. As his face relaxed, Miriam thought she saw the briefest glimpse of that sweet, carefree little boy in his smiling mother’s arms. 

Something tugged loose in her chest, and she knew then she’d done the right thing by coming here, no matter the damage she’d sustained. She glanced across the room to see Aaron staring back from the mirror. A tiny smile lifted the corner of his mouth. 

“I love you,” she said. She meant so much more, and she knew Aaron understood that. 

Dean shifted in her arms, murmuring something on the edge of dozing, and his frown returned. She moved automatically to smooth her thumb over his furrowed brow, massage the anxious crease that had formed between his eyes. Still drowsing, he nuzzled closer, his freshly shaven cheek sliding over her collarbone. Unable to resist, she pressed her nose to the crown of his head, inhaling softly.

Miriam had done a few hunting jobs in the Northwest, near the coast, and she’d fallen in love with the forests there. Unbelievably tall trees, disappearing upwards until you almost fell over backwards trying to see the tops. Damp and lush, there was a green, mossy smell that hung in the air and mingled with traces of fresh earth and mist.

Dean smelled as if he’d just stepped out from under those trees. Clean, a hint of cedar, and something warm and spicy. She hesitated, a new kind of want blooming in her chest as she held him close, reveling in his solid heat. She pressed a kiss to his temple and smiled when he curled tighter into her embrace.

“Hands where I can see ‘em, missy,” he murmured, eyes still closed. His arm slid under hers until it curled protectively around her back. “Sleep, Miri. I’ve got you.”

She took a deep breath, and settled into the exhale, resting her cheek against his damp hair.

Yeah, she thought, a welcome lethargy spreading through her thoughts. You do.

…

“Sure you don’t want to rest another day or two?” Sam asked. She didn’t have to look up from her packing to know his face was lined with concern. Dean leaned in the doorway, arms crossed, pretending he didn’t want to say the exact same thing.

“Sorry, Sam, another day of rabbit food, and I might starve. Gotta get some meat before I waste away. Dean, you’re welcome to come with if you aren’t worried about ruining your girlish figure.”

Dean barked a laugh from the doorway, and Miriam straightened up in time to see him wipe the smile off his face under the heat of Sam’s stern glare. She grinned, and Dean winked.

“Gonna go pull your car around. Meet you out front?” Without waiting for an answer, Dean straightened and nodded, disappearing from view.

“You really could stay a little longer,” Sam repeated, his voice low and earnest. For the first time since she’d met him, he seemed small, diminished by worry and uncertainty. Dark circles stood out starkly under his eyes, and his entreating smile was probably the weakest she’d ever seen it.

“Sam, I-” she paused, hesitating, then closed the space between them, reached up, and pulled him into a full hug. After a moment, Sam’s good arm wrapped around her shoulders, pulling her tight against his chest as his head bent down, his nose resting on top of her head. She held him close, waiting for Sam to pull away when he was ready.

“I can’t,” she murmured into his hair. “Not right now. It’s too fresh. I need to...deal with it. Actually deal with it,” she added as he leaned back far enough to give her a sharp look. She noticed he didn’t pull completely away from their embrace, though.

“I’m going to figure some things out, I promise. Again, you strong, heroic men didn’t magically fix my issues. But maybe you gave me the push I needed to do that for myself.”

“You’re welcome back here anytime,” Sam said. He pressed a chaste kiss to her forehead and stepped back, releasing her. He gazed down at her face for a moment, and she could see he was choosing his next words carefully. 

“I’m glad you’re going to...deal with it. I get what you’re working through. Not that I’m a paragon of mental health, but I’ve been there. A couple of times. If you ever want or need to talk about everything that happened, about anything at all, you can call me.”

Miriam felt a mischievous smile stretching across her face. “Everything? Well, Sam, when you were gone, there was this one thing that Dean did in one of my nightmares that-”

“Not everything!” Sam yelped, and she laughed, feeling the ever-present knot in her chest loosen just a little more. He chuckled, shaking his head, and squeezed her hand. 

“Don’t lose my number, Miriam. I’ve...We’ve got your back.”

…

“Sure you don’t want to stay for another round of Sam’s ‘queen-wah’ salad?” Dean smirked. His green eyes sparkled in the sunlight, and she was surprised at the pleasurable twinge she felt upon receiving that smile. 

“Get your ass off my car, Winchester,” she ordered, feigning exasperation. He pushed up from the hood and opened the back door, lifting the duffel from her hands and tossing it in the back seat.

“Where ya headed?” Dean asked, sticking his hands in his pockets and rocking back on his heels. He stared at the ground between them, and she couldn’t help but smile. After all they’d been through, even after chastely sharing a bed for the last three nights, she felt awkward around him, too, though both were too stubborn to admit it aloud.

“Maybe Washington state or Oregon, check out some of the rainforests. The couple of times we had jobs over that way, walking around under all those giant trees made my issues seem pretty small. Could help me put some things in perspective. Anyway, I’ve got some time off saved up. I think I’ve earned a real vacation.”

He finally met her eyes, and the corner of his mouth turned up. He took a step closer.

“Yeah? Sounds pretty...majestic.” He dodged her blow easily, grinning. “I’m kidding. Some time off sounds pretty damn good, come to think of it. Don’t really remember what that’s like. It’s one disaster after another around here.”

“I kinda got that feeling,” Miriam said, pushing the back door shut. She stepped up to him, holding her arms open in invitation. Though he still hesitated, in the end, he relented and allowed her to pull him into a close hug that sent little flutters through her stomach. Just as she started to pull back, Dean’s arms tightened, holding her against his chest.

“We both need to take some time,” she said quietly. He nodded, turning his face inwards, pressing his lips to her temple. “We’ve got a lot of baggage to sort through and shit to deal with and other metaphors about mentally healing. Darkness to yank out by the roots and all that.”

He pulled back, his face drawn with concern. “Miriam, I need you to know. Those dreams you had, I didn’t...I could see them all whenever you came inside the trap.” His complexion darkened, and if she didn’t know better, Miriam would have thought Dean was actually blushing.

“But I didn’t send them to you. When you were outside the dungeon, outside the devil’s trap, I couldn’t do that.”

She nodded slowly, feeling some of the sunlight's warmth leeching away. She’d come to that conclusion herself, after listening to some conversations over the last couple of days between the boys and their guardian angel. 

“I know. And that’s something I’m going to have to work through. There’s darkness in me, and it really, really liked the darkness I found in you.”

They both glanced significantly down at his right arm, their eyes drawn to the dark, ugly mark, before looking up again.

“I just...wanted it to be easy, like you, the demon you, said. I was, I am so tired, and I just wanted to be done.” She could say the words now, as she couldn’t say them only days ago. 

Such a simple thing to say, she thought, and I had to nearly die to admit it.

“Awfully strong drug for any hunter,” Dean agreed, and though she hated that he knew the feeling well enough to understand, part of her was not-so-secretly glad that for the first time in months, she no longer felt alone in her pain.

“But I can work through it. And I think you can, too. I have no clue how, for either of us, but I’m willing to work on it if you are.”

He nodded slowly, and his eyes flicked to her lips for just a moment before his eyebrows raised questioningly. He looked ready to be rejected, braced for her dismissal, but for the life of her, she couldn’t think of a single decent reason to do so.

This time, the only pull she felt was Dean’s arms drawing her closer.

The kiss was soft, simple, and sweet. His hands, scarred and so gentle, slid over her jaw, threading into her hair. He tilted her face to the side, finding a better angle for both of them, and her hands found their way to his waist, tugging him further into her space. After a moment, they broke apart. Dean’s eyes were still closed as she stretched up to kiss his forehead.

“We can work on that, too,” Miriam said. Dean licked his lips, swallowed, and nodded as he straightened. They released their hold on each other reluctantly, and Miriam slid into the driver’s seat before she did something irrational like change her mind.

She cranked the car, stared out the windshield, and sighed. She had to go, needed some time and space to work through her thankfully no-longer-literal demons, but…

She really wanted to come back.

“Hey, Dean,” she said suddenly. He dropped a hand to the hood of her car, leaning down so he could see her through the open window. “You like cowboy movies?”

“Yeah, why?”

“You ever seen The Quick and the Dead?”

His face transformed from sad to wondering to glee in less than a second. “Wild West shootout, Sharon Stone at her hottest, Gene Hackman at his bad ass-est?”

Miriam giggled. “That’s not a word, but yeah. Got a copy?”

“No, but I can get one.”

She smiled, feeling warm and light down to her toes. “Give me a month or two, try to take some time off yourself. Call me when you’ve got a copy of the movie, and maybe we can have a movie night. I’ll bring the popcorn.”

The warmth of the kiss he brushed across her cheek lingered for hours.

[aion-rsa]

Bo Burnham: Inside Songs Ranked from Worst to Best

https://ift.tt/2JMbiJl

The musical of the summer was supposed to be a life-affirming celebration of one of New York’s most vibrant neighborhoods, full of color, romance, and big group dance numbers. Instead for many viewers, the musical of the moment was filmed and performed by one man, alone in isolation from the comfort (or discomfort, really) of his own home, with songs centered on techno paranoia, mental health, and the fear of aging. Maybe after a year stuck in their homes, audiences could relate to the existential dread and general anxiety on display in Bo Burnham: Inside more than a conventional movie musical.

Billed as a stand-up special, Burnham’s latest musical comedy endeavor finds the former wunderkind holed up and feeling more uncomfortable than ever. Writing, editing, directing, and performing from a claustrophobic studio, Burnham’s stand-up special skews more toward being a straight-up musical, and not because the special is light on jokes and missing an audience. Rather this has all the hallmarks of a musical narrative and plays closer to experimental cinema than sketch comedy.

Burnham expresses his characters’ inner-thoughts, fears, and desires via song throughout a contained narrative, in this case the narrative being one man trying to occupy himself during a pandemic. It has ballads, charm songs, comedy numbers, “I Am” and “I Want” songs, and a big reprise. By capturing his personal pandemic experience and putting the whole affair to song, Burnham has created one of the most compelling (and catchy!) accounts of life during 2020.

To celebrate the musical that we all needed after a year in our homes, we’ve decided to rank every song from Bo Burnham: Inside. You can stream along via the Inside (The Songs) album on the streaming platform of your choice.

20. I Don’t Wanna Know

Merely an interlude, “I Don’t Wanna Know” doesn’t quite work outside of watching the special itself. However, it is a clever way to address the fact that modern audiences do not have the attention span to sit through a film at home without checking their phone or complaining about a runtime.

19. Bezos II

While certainly meant to poke fun at the real-life Lex Luthor, it’s not that fun to listen to Bezos’ name repeated. Stil, Burnham does elicit a few laughs with his over-the-top mock congratulations. “You did it!”

18. Any Day Now

A Sesame Street-like mantra that plays over the credits, “Any Day Now” suggests this could all end either hopefully soon or on a depressingly vague far-off date that will never come. We’d like to think it’s the former, but it’s safe to assume what Bo thinks.

17. All Time Low

While this number gets docked points for its short runtime, it absolutely packs a punch with its four-line, single verse. After Bo admits that his mental health is rapidly deteriorating, he describes what it’s like to have a panic attack set to a chipper ‘80s dance backbeat. Unfortunately, we don’t get to ride the wave long enough, and judging lyrics, that’s probably a good thing for Bo.

16. Content

This strong opening number musically sets the vibe for Inside, letting us know that we’re in for some synth-heavy throwback beats that would be best listened to underneath a disco ball.  Also incorporating silly backing vocals, a hallmark of many of Inside’s best tracks, Burnham declares he’s back with some sweet, sweet content. “Daddy made you your favorite,” he sings, and he ain’t wrong. 

15. Bezos I

Unlike the reprise in “Bezos II,” “Bezos I” gets by off its increasingly deranged energy, with Burnham roasting fellow tech billionaires and working himself up into a manic frenzy by song’s end. Musically, it sounds like the soundtrack to an intense boss battle on a Sega Genesis game before ending with a sick little synth solo and Burnham hilarious squawking. It’s arguably the only acceptable thing that Bezos has ever been associated with.

14. Unpaid Intern

While “Unpaid Intern” is one of Inside’s shortest tracks, it absolutely makes the most of its time. The jazzy tune scorches the exploitative nature of unpaid internships before Burnham breaks out into a laugh-out-loud worthy scat routine. It unfortunately ends too soon.

13. Shit

Inside’s funkiest jam sounds like Burnham wrote the lyrics for a new Janelle Moane album cut. Bo show’s off his vocal dexterity and plumbs the depths of his depression in a surprisingly danceable fashion. Throwing in a little faux crowd interaction helps bring home the fact that we have all felt like this at one point or another during the pandemic.

12. Sexting

This slow-jam details the complications of sexting, throwing out hilariously too-true punchlines like “the flash makes my dick look frightened.” “Sexting” feels like one of a few songs that could most easily appear on previous Burnham specials. Proving that Inside’s musical textures do not come exclusively from ’80s synth pop, the outro of the song expertly mirrors modern pop trends by throwing in some trap-influenced “yahs” at the end of Bo’s lines.

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11. How the World Works

Influenced by comedian Hans Teeuwen and children’s entertainment in general, “How the World Works” finds Burnham going back to the well by playing the ignorant, smarmy white guy who is oblivious of the real issues plaguing nonwhite Americans. What’s even better though is Socko calling Burnham out on forcing others to educate him for his own self-actualization instead of doing the work on his own for the betterment of others.

Socko pointedly asks “Why do you rich f—— white people insist on seeing every socio-political conflict through the myopic lens of your own self-actualization?” Not to keep things too heavy, the song ends with an absurdist bit where Burnham returns Socko to the nether place that he goes when he’s not attached to Burnham’s hand. Scathing and bizarre, it’s a great piece of social commentary. 

10. FaceTime With My Mom

While most of the music of Inside feels directly transported from the 1980s, “FaceTime With My Mom” seems only inspired by the past decade’s musical trends, updating the sounds in much of the same way that the Weeknd and Dua Lipa have. This is Bo Burnham as a hitmaker, and his attempt is convincing. “FaceTime With My Mom” earns easy laughs by getting to the seemingly specific, yet universal things that all our moms do over video chat. 

9. Goodbye

Every good musical needs a good closing track, and Burnham nails it with “Goodbye,” pulling off a reprise that weaves in many of the special’s signature musical moments and touches on the special’s core themes. A forlorn piano ballad before it soars through Inside’s best motifs, “Goodbye” caps a triumphant musical achievement, coming back to “Look Who’s Inside Again” just to punch you in the gut one last time. 

8. Problematic

Addressing his past work and some aspects that have not aged well, while also skewering celebrity apologies, “Problematic” is self-aware critique by way of an ‘80s workout bop. From the specific Aladdin confession to the overall apology for being “vaguely shitty,” Bo has never made accountability sound so good.

7. That Funny Feeling

This is Bo Burnham’s version of Father John Misty’s “Holy Shit,” a laundry list of all the stupid things that are signaling the fall of culture and civilization as we know it. If Misty hadn’t gotten there first, we may have had this one ranked higher. Still, Burnham manages to come up with a sticky chorus that you’ll be humming the next time something makes you feel like you’re living in the uncanny valley.

6. White Woman’s Instagram

Perhaps the special’s most playful moment, “White Woman’s Instagram” uses the musical cues of an inspiring empowerment anthem to poke fun at the predictably, perfectly curated feed of a “girl boss” Instagram. The song is greatly enhanced by the accompanying visuals, which find Bo recreating the meticulously staged and glamorous portraits that women pass off as their everyday lives.

However, Bo always likes to sneak in some sentimentality, and imagines a genuinely heartfelt post to his white woman character’s deceased mother. Don’t worry, the emotional moment doesn’t overstay its welcome, and we’re soon back to laughing at horribly derivative political street art.

5. All Eyes on Me

The droning synth and pitch-down vocals make “All Eyes On Me” oddly hypnotic and beautiful. The song seems to be addressing Bo’s depression along with his need for validation and attention, a juxtaposition that many performers deal with. It becomes clear that Burnham isn’t addressing an invisible audience, but himself, trying to will himself up and out of his dreary mental state.

4.  Look Who’s Inside Again

A classic “I Am” musical song, “Look Who’s Inside Again” just may be Inside’s most emotionally resonant track that seems to hit closest to who Bo Burnham was and who he is today. This is the song that I will most likely regret the most for ranking so low.

“Well, well, look who’s inside again. Went out to look for a reason to hide again,” perfectly describes the cycle of depression and will, for me, be the special’s most lasting moment. The downbeat ending “come out with your hands up, we’ve got you surrounded” is heartbreaking enough to send a shudder down your spine.

3. Comedy

The special’s real first number is absolutely packed with hooks, from the “Call me and I’ll tell you a joke” bridge to the “Should I be joking at a time like this?” change-up. This is Bo really flexing how far he’s come as a musician, expertly utilizing autotune and a key change (us “stupid motherf***ers” can’t resist them).

“Comedy” also finds Bo comfortably in the lane that we’re most used to seeing him in, playing the egomaniacal white messiah with a wink. “Comedy” is the tone-setter and it’s so good that it lets you know that you’re in good hands for the next hour plus.

2. 30

Either I’m ranking this song too highly due to its personally relatable nature or the fact that I haven’t been able to get “All my stupid friends are having stupid children” out of my head, but I really don’t care. “30” is Inside’s biggest earworm and addresses the existential terror that comes with no longer getting pats on the back for being a young wunderkind.

“30” also examines generational differences, showing how 30 year-old people are more infantile than ever. However, at the end of the day it all comes back to those shimmering keys and that irresistible refrain. Apologies to my friends with children.

1. Welcome to the Internet

No matter how deep and emotionally rich some of Inside’s other tracks may be, “Welcome to the Internet” is the one that will live on the longest. If this were a traditional musical, this would the antagonists’ showstopper; a vaudevillian romp through the alluring chaos that is the internet. Speeding up and slowing down the pace to mirror the manic, addictive nature of surfing the net, Burnham pitches the negative aspects of online culture as they are: a feature, not a bug. Promising “a little bit of everything all of the time,” “Welcome to the Internet” is almost as enticing as the dark tool itself.

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The post Bo Burnham: Inside Songs Ranked from Worst to Best appeared first on Den of Geek.

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[taetaesbaebaepsae]

Love Me Less

A/n: This was up on Patreon a week before I posted it here, I release fics around a week early over there and have some Patreon exclusive drabbles, fanart, so feel free to check it out at my Patreon. Commissions are also always open. I’m going to be doing profiles and such for characters here too, so stay tuned!

Summary: Jimin is an undercover cop, and you know he’s lying to you. But he’s trapped in a huge mess, and he doesn’t want you in the crossfire. Multifandom Mafia AU (BTS, EXO, Got7)

Warnings: Some violence, mention of drug use, angst

Word Count: 2892

Jimin winces when the door shuts too loudly, but it doesn’t matter anyway, because you’re sitting at the kitchen table and there’s a bag packed by your feet and his heart sinks to his toes. Suddenly he’s so tired he can barely hold his head up, and you’re looking at him warily and he can’t help thinking about how this all started.

Jimin couldn’t help but notice you bartending at this little place near the freeway, a dive bar called the Dirty Dozen and owned by Min Yoongi, who was well known for playing all sides of the game, letting certain gangs drink free depending on who owned the area that month. He’d been trying to blend in, trying to be just another thug ordering soju from you, but he couldn’t help catching your eyes when you brought him a drink in these little cut off shorts, asking you about the tattoo on the long line of your thigh.

It’s second nature, flirting with a bartender, especially one that looks like you, and your easy smile made the two years he’d already been undercover seem just a little bit lighter. It’s fun and casual and easy, and he tells himself it’s just for intel, buying you soju so that your tongue gets looser, maybe you’ll slip out something about Kim Yugyeom since he was always hanging around you at the bar.

A month later, he has a drawer at your apartment and he’s spending four nights a week there, barely making it out of the house to meet with Namjoon and Hoseok because he just can’t stop kissing your upturned mouth.

Hoseok gives him a wary look the sixth time he shows up with your nude lipstick on his collar, and throws a few pictures on the interrogation table. Jimin only glances at them, sees they’re mostly of you with those long thighs draped over his lap at the bar, and looks up at Hoseok expectantly.

“What? You gonna tell me you never got some strange while undercover?”

Hoseok shrugs, sits down across from him, slumped in the chair a bit, legs spread wide.

“Sure. But that’s not what this is, and we both know it.”

Jimin leans back in his chair, smirking a little, putting his hands behind his head. He hasn’t even seen Jung in a couple of months, not since he’d given him the poke and stick “Nevermind” across his ribs, telling him if he’d be telling people that he’d done time, no one would ever believe he got away without a mark.

“It’s not? You know something I don’t?”

“I know you’re spending an awful lot of time at her place.”

Jimin shrugs. “That Yugyeom kid from the Im gang is sweet on her. Sometimes he tells her stuff.”

“Yeah? You think he’ll keep doing that after you threw him up against the bar wall last night?” Hoseok says, deadpan, and Jimin laughs a bit.

“What can I say? I’ve always been a bit territorial.”

“Just tell me you aren’t getting too deep, Jiminie,” Hoseok says, softly, and Jimin loses his smile, sighs and places his forearms on the table.

“Maybe I am. I don’t know. It’s hard to tell, Seok. At first it was just a pretty smile and long legs and intel, but now… I’ve been in this what? 18 months now? It’s easy enough to believe a street kid from Busan chose a different path. Hell, sometimes I believe it myself.”

Namjoon comes in, then, with a huge file, and Hoseok groans.

“Fun’s over. Christ, look at that paperwork.”

“It’s good news,” Namjoon promises, throwing it down on the table with a thud. He looks as if he’d had one too many late nights, his white button up wrinkled and stained with coffee, hair mussed and too long at the collar.

"Good news?" Hoseok looks skeptical.

Namjoon slides a photograph out of the file and flashes them at Jimin.

"This is your girl, yeah?"

Jimin stiffens a bit. It's you, all right, piggybacking on this muscle pig's back, he'd recognize those legs anywhere.

He nods. "Who's the beefcake?"

"Lee Hoseok. He was high up in Hyunwoo's crew until he went ghost a couple of months ago. Everyone thought he was dead along with Hyunwoo, but turns out both of them have been in lock up over in Daegu. Turned themselves in, been ratting out all their friends for weeks. We just got the file."

Jimin groans. "So you're telling me the crew I've been trying to bust for a fucking year and a half just rolled over? Just like that?"

"Just like that," Namjoon agrees, but he's rifling in the file again and Jimin knows there's more.

He slides a photograph across the table to Jimin.

Jimin looks it over curiously. The guy is tall, lean but his suit is expertly tailored and there are muscles there, for sure. His first undercover stint had been in an underground fight club and he hadn't broken the habit of sizing people up. Probably not too strong, but fast, likely, well balanced. His hands look manicured so he probably didn't get his hands dirty, and that suit…

"New player? Family ties, I'd guess?"

Namjoon nods. "Good eye. He's Kim Junmyeon's cousin, and mostly we'd dismissed him because he stays quiet, to himself. Lately he's been seen with Do and Zhang, though, and the rumor is that he's up to take over for Kim."

"He looks young," Jimin muses. He's handsome, full mouth, charming smile.

"He's only a few years older than you. We'd expected Minseok for next in line but he's been in the spotlight so much, been arrested five times this year. This kid... Jongin... he's clean. No record at all."

Jimin throws the photograph down on the table. "What's this got to do with me?"

"Turns out he drinks at your girl's bar. Not only that, Min says he tips double when she serves him."

Jimin frowns. "Min's giving intel again?"

Hoseok snorts. "Yoongi would sell out his own mother for a few thousand won."

Namjoon nods, his eyes going wide and bright like he gets when he's chasing something.

"Your girl has all the connects. She used to live with this Lee Hoseok and now someone from Im's crew and Jongin have the hots for her? You've gotta stick with her."

"She's popular," Hoseok grins, and Jimin wants to punch him in his perfect teeth.

"So you brought me in to tell me to use my girlfriend for intel?"

"Oh, she's your girlfriend now?" Hoseok teases, but Jimin ignores him.

"She's got ties to three of the major players in Seoul, Jimin. You know how to pick em."

Jimin leaves soon after, popping the collar of his leather jacket against the wind. He's pissed off, having them tell him to stay with you as if he'd ever had any intention of leaving.

Hoseok was right. He'd been in over his head since the moment you'd smiled at him and now that he knew you lived and worked in a snake's den, it made panic claw up his throat to think that he couldn't protect you.

First, Kim Yugyeom with his predator's eyes and wolf's smile and now the fucking future head of the Kim crew?

Jaebeom and Hyunwoo were small potatoes compared to Kim, dabbling in carjacking and marijuana mostly.

Kim had his fingers in all the pies, heroin and cocaine smuggling, black market guns, whores, every crime you could think of, they were committing...and most of them got away clean.

Only a couple of them even had records and it was for petty shit like battery or simple assault.

Jimin would have stayed with you anyway because of the way he felt waking up with your long leg looped over his hip, the way you'd grumble and tuck your face into his neck in the mornings.

But now? He had to make sure you were safe, no matter what that meant for him.

It's less than a month later when everything falls apart for Jimin, and he can't tell you a single word of it.

Jimin manages to track this low level crew boss, a foreign kid, not even 21, goes by Lucas to an opium den.

He catches him outside the abandoned building, has the arrest warrant based on pictures and intel already. There's no one in the alley so Jimin cuffs him on the spot as he whines in protest. Then he hears a familiar verse and drops the kid on the ground, cursing.

"Well well well," Yugyeom drawls. "Park Jimin the piglet. I can't fucking believe it."

"Don't fucking try me, Kim. I could bust you right now."

"Bet you won't. Bet you won't want that pretty little thing of yours knowing how clean you really are, yeah? She wouldn't like you as much."

Yugyeom is grinning, eyes glassy from alcohol or weed or god knows what and he's getting closer to Jimin.

"Don't-" Jimin warns, already instinctively spreading his legs, in a fighting stance while barely realizing it.

"Baby likes it dirty," Yugyeom continues. "She likes to slum it, I should know."

Jimin's hands are itching to clock him, right on the chin because Yugyeom isn't protecting himself at all, too drunk or stupid to block, but he waits for him to get closer.

Yugyeom is tall and lean, has a higher center of gravity and the closer he gets the better, and they always do, the tall ones, think because they tower over Jimin they have the advantage.

But they're easy, always go high, swing wide without protecting their middle and when Yugyeom swings, Jimin ducks and punches him in the gut, a sharp jab that takes the younger man's breath.

While he's gasping for air, doubled over, Jimin grabs him, swings him around and puts a knee in his lower back, taking him to the ground easily.

Yugyeom is still laughing and Jimin presses down on the back of his neck, grinding his face into the gravel.

Lucas is staring wide eyed at them, having turned over on his side, but Jimin ignores him.

"What the fuck are you laughing at?" Jimin growls, and Yugyeom's snorts, blood spurting from his nose when Jimin presses down harder.

"Now I get to do whatever I want. You can't fucking touch me."

Jimin's heart sinks and he hauls them both into the station but of course, Yugyeom is right, he sings like a canary and now he's an informant and Jimin can't touch him with a ten foot pole.

Now instead of shoving him into the bar wall for palming your ass when he slips a tip into your back pocket, Jimin has to grit his teeth and ignore it.

Jimin buys a ring after nine months, keeps it in a sock in his underwear drawer because he can't get down on one knee when he's lying to you.

He starts to drink more than he should, stays out too late because he can't bear to come home and lie to you about where he's been.

The third or fourth night he gets home and you're already asleep, you wake when he plops down clumsily on the bed, turning over and trailing your hand across his chest.

"Baby," you murmur. "What's wrong?"

There's something stuck in his throat, all the secrets he's been keeping from you and he snakes an arm around you, squeezing you tight.

He can't bear to say "nothing" because that'd just be another lie so he tugs you on top of him and kisses you silent.

When he's got you flipped onto your back, buried inside you, he says the one thing he can, the one truth he can tell you, over and over.

"I love you, jagi. You know I love you, yeah?"

But of course, love isn't enough.

He ends up here anyway, with you looking at him with hollow, wary eyes.

"Jagi-" he starts, but you cut him off.

"Is there someone else?" You ask, your voice low and shaking.

Jimin scoffs. He's barely noticed other women even exist since you'd come into his life, but when he puts himself in your shoes, he supposes it isn't a far stretch.

"Not since the moment you smiled at me, jagi," he says earnestly, and your face softens.

"Then what is it? What's going on?"

You stand up, come around the table to wrap your arms around his waist and Jimin wants so badly to tell you everything, to pour out all the secrets that burn like acid in his throat.

"You're leaving me," is all he can choke out, his voice hoarse, and you sigh and rest your forehead against his chest.

"I don't want to," you admit, locking your hands at his back.

"Then don't. Jagi. Y/n. Please don't."

You shake your head against his chest and Jimin's heart cracks right down the middle when you look up at him, tears standing in your eyes.

"All you have to do is tell me the truth."

His throat works and you sniffle.

"Jiminie...please. I don't care what it is. We'll work it out just...just tell me."

He feels tears rolling down his face and he doesn't bother to stop them.

"Please," he pleads, and you release him, put a hand on your suitcase and Jimin wants to rip it from you, throw it across the room but all he can do is stand there and watch you, a sob catching in his chest.

He can't watch you leave, stands with his back to you, and when he hears the door close behind you, quiet and anticlimatic, something inhuman rips from his chest and he grabs onto the back of the dining room chair when his knees give out.

Jimin lets himself wallow, turning off his phone so that he doesn't call to beg you to come home, crying into your pillow because it smells like your shampoo, going only as far as the corner store to replenish the soju he replaces all his meals with.

It's Hoseok that finally nearly breaks down his door and Jimin stumbles to the door and jerks him inside, rubbing at the stubble on his chin and blinking at him blearily.

Hoseok looks around at the bottles of soju littering the table and Jimin gives him a look.

"Don't, Jung."

Jimin expects him to berate him, tell him he was stupid for falling in love and losing all their intel, but he doesn't.

Hoseok just puts a hand on his shoulder, pulls him into a hug, and Jimin can't stop the tears that are always so close to the surface.

After Jimin is sniffling instead of sobbing and Hoseok has gathered all the bottles to throw in the garbage, he sits down at the kitchen table.

"Jimin...I came to tell you something."

"Fuck," Jimin mumbles, rubbing a hand across his face and taking a long sip of the glass of water Hoseok had brought him.

Hoseok nods. "Jongin is spending four nights a week at the Dirty Dozen."

"Let me guess," Jimin says tiredly. "Only the nights Y/n works."

"Bingo. Joon has been going in your absence, he's gotten close to the other bartender. Y/n is living with her and Joon says…" Hoseok pauses and Jimin drops his forehead to the table.

"Just spit it out, Jung." He says miserably, keeping his head on the table.

"Joon says Y/n went home with Jongin a couple nights ago."

Jimin had been bracing himself for what his friend would say next but he hadn't been prepared for this, how it took the very breath from his lungs.

"No," he wheezes through the pinhole that has become his throat. "No, he's wrong, it's only been a couple of days, she wouldn't-"

"You've been mia over two weeks, Jimin," Hoseok says softly.

Jimin gasps in a breath, lifts his head.

"We've got an unmarked car following her. We'll watch out for her, you don't have to-"

Jimin barks out a bitter laugh. "Shut up. Just shut up, Seok. Of course I do."

Hoseok sighs and nods. "I told Joon you'd say that. Word of advice?'

Jimin looks at him.

"Shower first."

So Jimin ends up right back where he started, sitting at a table at the back of The Dirty Dozen breathing in the fog of tobacco smoke and the errant joint, watching you walk toward him with a bottle of soju and a shot glass.

"Hey," he says dumbly, and you give him a ghost of your easy smile that makes his heart skip.

"Hey, Jiminie. Long time no see."

You pout the shot and go to leave but Jimin takes your wrist.

"Ah, leave the bottle."

You frown at him, and he wants to tell you he has to stay a certain level of drunk so that he doesn't beg you to come home, break down when Jongin inevitably shows up and arrest him the second he smiles at you, to keep the steady ache in his chest just numb enough.

You leave the bottle, though, going back behind the bar, and sure enough, Jongin has already slipped in while Jimin was distracted, leaning across the bar with a big smile.

Jimin takes in a shaky breath and downs the shot, thinking he had a lot of long nights ahead of him.

[katybaby00]

Life as I knew it

Pairings: Young!Dean x reader (underage), Dean x reader (tiny) age gap, season 3 Dean.

Warnings: NSFW, (MoC), tiny bit of angst of you squint, definite slow burn, slight dub-con, smut, that’s it. 18+ there is the sex!

Authors note: alright! So before you read you must know that this is my first story I’m ever posting. So yes this is an original piece! I’ve wrote before when I was like 13-14 but that’s just... scary to think about. So!! My inbox and page are always open for your requests and criticism as well. Also everything in italics are flash backs! Enjoy my loves!

Word count: 5,176

(GIF is not mine)

You knew it was wrong. You knew that working woth the Winchester’s was a bad idea.

Your father, Clint, was a wonderful man. Sweet, kind, honest, and trustworthy. He had grown up with John Winchester. They were inseparable, "attached at the hip" as my mother, Grace, used to say. My mother and I had always stayed home when my father went on "business trips". That's how I had grown up with Dean, him being only 5 years older than me. My mother and I were always over at John and Mary's home. My mom and Mary became close friends. Mary and her would talk about where my dad was when John was busy with us kids, not wanting him to know of his "job". Dean and I became very close very fast. Him and those damn green eyes. I developed a very large crush on the boy at a very young age. I guess it just never went away. John had no clue about the hunting life until the night Mary died. He started hunting and dragging his boys along with him.

Naturally Sam and Dean spent a lot of time around my family. It was mainly the boys and my mother and I, because John would almost always convince my father to go with him. When I turned 11, my father died. He was in a car accident involving a drunk driver. We always thought he would go out hunting. My mother died at the hands of a demon when I was 15. I have been on my own ever since.

~Present~

Another town. Another demon. Another case. Time just seemed to blur by. Drinking, fucking, and hunting. Rinse and repeat. Nothing special. Being 25 now, I knew I wasn't going to settle down and have the "apple pie life".

Quietly my phone started buzzing on the bathroom counter, Bobby Singer, "What the hell could he want at this hour?" I thought out loud. "Hey Bobby, how have you been?" I said while spitting my toothpaste into the sink. "Hey Y/N, I was wondering if you have heard from Sam or Dean?" "No Bobby, Dean is an ass who left me on my porch crying, and Sam is too tall for his own good, so it's been a couple years since I have seen or heard of them. Why?" Bobby sighs on the other end, "I was afraid of that, they got into some trouble down in Mississippi, haven't returned my million phone calls. Was wondering if maybe you could pop on down and check on them?" I could hear the silent pleading in his tone. I know this is going to be a bad idea. "Yeah, I guess i can. Anything for you Bobby. I'll call if things get too out of control." He laughs happily, "Okay Y/N, thank you, I owe you one." "Damn right you do Singer. Now, what town?" "They are in Ocean Springs, at the Siegel Select Gautier motel, right off Route 90. That's the last I heard. Room 19. Let me know what you find." You write down the address on an old piece of paper from the motel. "Thanks Bobby."

As you head out on your quest to save these fucking Winchesters, you turn up the radio and blast some boy band that's got you hooked. Your phone starts buzzing in your pocket. Dean Winchester... "Son of a bitch!" Picking up the phone you put it to your ear, "Y/N, I need your help, it's Sam." You scoff into the phone, "I swear to god Dean! You always think you need me to help clean up your mess! Ever since we were fucking kids! But since it's Sam... I guess I have no choice. Right?" Dean is hesitant at first and then he finally breathes, "Y/N, I'm sorry for all of the things that have happened in the past. I'm not the same person I was back then and I am so fucking sorry for everything," He takes a deep breathe, "please help me?" Taking a deep breathe, you sigh, "Dean I'm on my way now. Bobby called me and said you probably would need my help. So I packed my shit and I'm on my way. Don't get mushy and shit about it." Dean chuckles into the speaker. "Okay. You know I don't do that chick-flick bullshit. I'll see you when you get here. Bye Y/N." You pause, "Bye dean," He hung up the phone, "I love you...".

Pulling into the motel in this shit-hole town, you see the Impala in all her glory parked in front of room 19. Parking right next to the beautiful car. Getting out of your shit-box truck Bobby had given you for your 16th birthday. You patted the top of baby, "Hey sweetheart. You look good." You said as you walked past the car.

Tomorrow is your 18th birthday. Ever since your family died and you were left alone you never really celebrated. That was until this year. You were sitting on the front porch listening to the summer breeze wrestle the trees when you heard the sound of a familiar engine rolling up your driveway. As usual, Dean was behind the wheel and Sam in the front seat. They looked older. Dean looked very… mature. Sam is still the tall and goofy giant he has always been. I have missed them. Mainly Dean.

Stepping out of the car Dean grabs you in a big hug lifting you off the ground. You breathe him in and your stomach clenches. Whiskey, gunpowder, and leather. “I missed you D.” He chuckled deeply and you felt the rumble in your chest, “I missed you too sweetheart.” The nickname makes your cheeks heat up. He put you down and Sam wrapped you in a hug and you both said you missed each other. “What are you guys doing here?” Following them to the trunk. “We wouldn’t miss your 18th birthday for the world Y/N, and besides, you’ve always made the best pie.” That made Sam let out a chuckle. “You guys really didn’t have to come, it wouldn’t be the first birthday I've spent alone.” Trailing off you started walking to the house. Sam stops in front of you, “Y/N, we know how hard it is spending birthdays, christmases, and thanksgivings alone. This is a big birthday for you and we wanted you to have a good one. So that's why we are here.” He looks at you sincerely. Dean comes up next to you, and puts his hands on your shoulders, slightly rubbing, and it sends shivers down your spine. “Thanks guys. I appreciate it.” Smiling genuinely.

Once inside and the boys being settled into their spare rooms. You grab your mother's old cook book and get to work on one of the boys favorite to have when they used to come over. Sam comes to stand in the doorway leaning against the frame, “Hey, you need some help?” You turn around and look at him, “As long as you don’t get in my way Winchester, you can chop some tomatoes.” “Sounds like a plan boss.” He says while he shoots you a wink. Sam has never made you uncomfortable. Being almost the same age you guys had always been best friends. That is one thing that has never changed, and hopefully never will.

Finishing up dinner you call for Dean to come eat but he doesn’t respond. That’s odd, you thought. “I’m going to get Dean, I’ll be right back.” Walking up the stairs you go past your room and then Sam’s. As you get to Dean’s door and are about to knock you hear grunting on the other side. Taking a few steps back and then putting your ear to the door you hear Dean breathing heavily. Grunts and moans coming from his mouth. “Oh… fuck… Y/N.” You take a couple steps back from the door. Never in a million years would you think that Dean fucking Winchester would be interested in you. Knowing EXACTLY what he is doing in there. You knock. “Shit, h-hold on. One second.” “Hey D, dinner is ready.” Dean slaps his hand on his thigh, probably hoping you didn’t hear what he had just been doing. “Yeah, okay, I’ll be down in just a second.”

Sitting at the dinner table you try not to stare a hole through Dean. wondering that maybe you probably just imagined the whole thing. ‘Damn you are really going to have to get a hold of this crush Y/N’ which you thought you had said in your head but apparently the whole table had heard. “What was that Y/N?” You’re in shock. You don’t know what to say, “O-oh n-nothing, just thinking.” Sam leans over and puts his hand on yours. “Whatever it is, you can tell us, we are practically your big brothers.” He said with a chuckle. Well damn Sam way to punch me in the gut like that. Dean sits at the end of the table nursing his beer. “Do you guys want dessert? I made pie.” Dean immediately perks up. “Hell yeah we want pie. Are you kidding?” Getting up to grab the pie off the counter, you can feel someone staring holes into the back of your head. ‘I wonder who that could be‘. Turning around you catch Dean's eyes staring right at your ass. “You know what. You boys enjoy your pie. I’m going to go shower and get in bed. It's been a long day.” You gave Sam a goodnight kiss on the forehead and patted Dean's shoulder.

After showering and putting on some cozy pajamas you walk back to your room and find that your bed is not so empty. “Dean?” He jumps when he hears you. “What are you doing… in my bed?” He stares at you and walks towards you. He wraps you into a big hug and kisses the top of your head. “I just wanted to be the first one to tell you Happy Birthday.” Looking over at the clock on your nightstand you realize it’s 12:02, “Oh D, thank you.” “You should get some sleep sweetheart. You’ve got a big day tomorrow. Goodnight Y/N.” You squeeze him back. “Goodnight D.”

You awoke the next morning to the smell of fresh coffee, bacon, eggs, toast, and pancakes. Wondering who was cooking that amazing food in your kitchen. Turning into the kitchen your eyes go wide at the freshly squeezed orange juice, fresh cut strawberries, pineapple, kiwi, and cantaloupe. Taking a strawberry off the table you take a bite and look at everything else. “Oh! Good morning Y/N, how did you sleep?” Sam came into the kitchen wearing his grey sleep pants and a white cotton shirt. “Happy birthday Y/N. I see Dean has out done himself this morning.” “Yeah, you’re definitely not wrong. Speaking of Dean. Where is he?” Just as you said that he comes into the kitchen in plaid pajama pants, black T-shirt, and a kiss the cook apron. “Good morning sleepy heads!” He bellowed in excitement. “D, did you do all of this by yourself?” He grabs you in a side hug and squeezes a little. “I sure did. It’s your 18th birthday. You deserve nothing but the best sweetheart. Now sit and eat. We've got plans today.” You sit in your usual spot, grabbing eggs, bacon, and pancakes topped with strawberries. You dug in and caught Dean stealing quick little glances at you while you shovel your face full of the delicious food. Sam is looking between the two of you, almost knowingly. “So guys, what’s the plan for today? I need to know so I can either wear shorts or a dress.” Dean chokes a little on his eggs and washes it down with a gulp of coffee. “Sorry about that,” He chuckles, “we have decided that you’re going to go hunting with us. Simple salt and burn. For your birthday.” Tears welled into your eyes. You sniffed because you always thought your father would have taken you. But now you’re sitting here with the Winchester’s, they tell you that you’re going hunting for your birthday. Your mind was trying to wrap around it. “I would love that so much!” You jumped up wrapping your arms around Dean’s neck and he pulled you into his lap. Making your cheeks heat up. You kissed his cheek and walked over to Sam wrapping your arms around him too. “Well come on guys let’s go!” “Woah, hold on there Y/N. we have to get all of our bags and things packed. I need to make sure baby is in tip top shape before we just hop on the road. So Sam is taking you into town to get you some boots and some pants and other things that you might need.” You chuckle and walk to the hallway closet, open the door, and flip on the light, “Dean, trust me. I am more than prepared for this occasion.” He walks up to the closet that is covered with warding symbols and sigils of all kinds. Guns, knives, lore books, and holy water line the shelves neatly. Your dad’s journal at the very top. “You did all this yourself?” You nod. “Well I’m impressed. Right Sammy?” Sam clears his throat and walks over to the closet where you and Dean are standing. “This is most definitely impressive.”

Walking up to room 19 you sigh before you knock knowing who is on the other side. Knock. Knock. The door swings open before you have time to even get a word out, you are wrapped in a rib crushing hug. “Oh my god! Dean. let me go. I can’t,” gasping for air he loosened his grip. “Breathe. I missed you too.” Saying those words felt like a kick to the chest. You knew he didn’t feel the same way you always have. Maybe when you were younger. But definitely not now. “Alright. Let’s get down to business so I can get out of here.” setting your bag down on one of the dusty motel beds. Dean frowns. Not knowing what to think. “Why do you say that? Haven’t missed me?” You chuckle turning to look at him, “Dean. You can’t be serious? It’s been 7 years, you have obviously already forgotten. So I won’t bring it up again. We can talk about it when you remember how you left.”

He just stares at you. He walks over to the fridge, grabs a beer and tosses you one too. “Alright,” he began, “Sam fell into hell, h-” You choke on your beer and spit it onto the floor. Interrupting him. “He WHAT?!”, Dean fucking Winchester. You better be pulling my fucking leg because if you aren’t I swear to god I will shoot you.” Dean stares at you with wide eyes. Thinking of his response carefully. You can practically see the gears turning in his head. “He fell into hell. More like Adam dragged him down with him. He slipped and now he’s down there. I have been up day and night thinking of what I can do to try and save him. He told me to go and have a normal life, go find Lisa and Ben. But, I can’t give up on my baby brother like that. He didn’t give up on me when I was in hell.” You walk over to him. “Don’t you think you should at least try to have a normal life? For Sam?” He looks at you, tears in his eyes. You’ve never seen this man cry. “I want him back. I don’t want to just give up like that.” “Dean if he told you he wanted you to try and have that life. Then I think you should at least give it the old college try. Go find Lisa and Ben.” He stands, turns to you and pulls you into another hug. “I don’t want Lisa or Ben, I want you.”

When you arrived in some small town in Texas you stepped out to stretch your legs. “You guys hungry? We could get pizza?” Your mouth starts salivating at the thought of a greasy piece of pizza. “That sounds really good.” “You guys can get a pizza, but make sure you grab me a salad too.” Sam says. You laugh at the green giant. Following Sam and Dean into the motel room you see that there are only 2 queen beds. “Rock, paper, scissors for who gets the beds. Whoever loses takes the floor.” Dean looks at Sam with question all in his eyes, “How about the losers have to share a bed?” Sam deadpans. You roll your eyes and stick your hands up, ready to win. In the end Sam won and you and Dean ended up sleeping together.

Later that night while you were about to hop in bed you see Dean put a pillow next to him in the middle of the bed. “Wow Dean. I don’t have cooties you jerk.” “Oh, no, sorry. It’ll just be… safer this way.” You’re definitely confused but you just shrug and climb into the scratchy sheets. Back pressed against the pillow and you can hear Deans breathing start to even out. You slowly sit up to see that he’s asleep and you let the silent tear roll down your cheek.

In the morning you stir awake but only to find that Dean had thrown the pillow to the floor and is down cuddling you. You can feel the slow rise and fall of his chest and his breath fan across your neck leaving goosebumps in its wake. You try to move. To untangle yourself from his hold. To no avail of course, everytime you would try and get away he would just pull you closer. Not realizing until he pressed his hips to your ass. He was hard as a rock. You let a slight whine fall from your lips which must have woke him up because as soon as it happened his whole body went stiff pushing away from you. “Y/n, I-I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to.” You jerk away from his grasp. “Thanks for making me feel better Dean!” Slamming the bathroom door you sit down and cry into your hands. ‘How could he not see it. How could he just push me away. I’m 18. I’m not a child anymore. I haven’t been since my parents died.’ You get up off of the floor and open the bathroom door to see Sam gone, and Dean sitting on the edge of the bed, hands in his hair. “I’m going to take a shower, or do I need your permission since you think I’m still a child.” You say as you walk over to your bag on your side of the bed. “Y/n, I never said I thought you were a child. I’m sorry about cuddling you this morning. But I can’t do that to you. You just turned 18 yesterday. I would be taking advantage of you.” “Wow Dean. You know you would think that all the experience you have with women you would know when one was interested in you. I know that I just turned 18 Dean. But guess what? I don’t care if you’re older than me. You could be 10 years older than me and I wouldn’t care. But seeing you literally push me away this morning gives me my answer.” Grabbing your clothes out of your bag you walk into the bathroom slamming the door before Dean could say another word. When you come out dressed and ready to go Sam is back and greets you before walking into the bathroom. “I’m going to grab coffee. Need anything?” Dean just shakes his head. You scoff and walk out.

While in the car with the boys you in the backseat Sam and Dean are discussing the plan for tonight. ‘Simple salt and burn Y/n. Simple salt and burn.’ Trying not to psych yourself out. ‘Everything is going to be fine. It’s all going to be okay. Easy peasy…’ “Y/n,” Sam starts. “I know the first hunt can be a little scary but trust me if you’re anything like your dad you will be just fine.” Giving Sam a genuine smile you look in the rearview mirror to see Dean staring at you. “I’m really glad you guys decided to take me hunting for my birthday. I know how hard the decision must have been.” “Why do you say that?” Well, maybe because Dean thinks I’m still a child and the only reason I felt anything for him is because I have always been alone, you thought to yourself. “Because you both,” adding emphasis on the word both just for Dean, “see me as a little sister, and you would hate for something to happen to me just as bad as I would hate for something to happen to you.” Sam gives you a side smile and Dean just lowers his head and sighs.

It was simple enough. You did just fine. Even Dean was surprised that you handled it so well. You did great research and handled your own. Dean climbs into the driver seat and Sam slides into the passenger side. “Alright Y/n, congrats on your first kill. Now how about some juicy burgers and a beer to celebrate?” Sam looks back at me and smiles. “I’m totally in! Can we try that bar I saw on the way into town?” “Of course we can, birthday girl.” “Dean, my birthday was yesterday.” You deadpanned. Making Sam raise an eyebrow. “Everything, okay with you guys?” “Fine.” You both say. “Hey D? I still have one more thing I would like to do for my birthday.” “Oh yeah, and what’s that?”

“Y/n, you can not drive my baby this fast you’re going to wreck! Do you even have your license?” You laugh speeding along down some backroad Dean had pulled off on so you could drive. “Of course I do D.” You lied. “Okay. That's enough. Pull over so I can drive. You’re done driving for the rest of your life.” Pulling over you jump out of the driver seat and give Dean a giant hug. “Thank you so much. I have always wanted to drive your car. Since I was little.” “You’re welcome sweetheart.” That damn name. Sam gave you a hug too, He whispers in your ear. “You know you’re lucky right? Dean doesn’t even let me drive his car. Unless absolutely necessary.” That makes your body heat up, you had no idea that even Sam hardly ever got to drive Dean's car. Later the next day you had finally made it home collapsing on the couch and breathing in the scent of your home. “Are you guys going to stay another night or head back out?” Dean is standing in the doorway talking to Sam. As you turn the corner you see them standing there. A hurt look on Sam’s face. “Bye Y/n. I’m really glad that I got to see you and spend time with you on your birthday. I’ll see you around.” You gave Sam a goodbye hug and turned to Dean. “I’m really glad that you guys came and spent time with me. It really means a lot. I know that you have to go and save more lives. So i will see you and Sam around sometime.” Turning to go back into your house Dean grabs you by your upper arm and spins you right into a bruising kiss. His mouth melts against your own. It ends too soon. “Y/n, I love you. But I can’t drag you into this life.” He turns and walks down the steps, down the sidewalk and into the impala. “Dean wait! Please wait! You can’t leave like that!” You fall onto the ground and watch through blurry eyes the impalas taillights fade out of your view.

“Dean. I thought that you didn’t want me? You said you loved me but I thought you meant as a sister. I thought that’s why you told me you didn’t want to drag me into this life. Was because I was like a little sister. Not that you actually loved me.” Dean took a deep breath and grabbed you tighter. “Y/n I love you so much. I always have. That’s what I was going to tell you that night I was waiting for you on your bed. But I thought you didn’t feel the same way I did so I pushed you away. Please don’t hate me for waiting this long to tell you. I was just scared that you would reject me. I-I’m so-.” You crashed your lips to his and pulled his face closer to yours. “Dean Winchester. I have loved you since I was 13. Don’t you ever push me away again.” “I promise Y/n I won’t. Never again. I love you so much. I want to have the apple pie life with you. I don’t want anyone else but you.” “Okay D.”

The kiss continued to deepen as he made his way down to your neck and then your collarbone. He ripped his leather jacket off and then yours. Hands reaching the hem of your shirt and pulling it over your head. Only breaking the kiss for a few seconds before fisting your hands in his hair and bringing him closer if that was even possible. He broke the kiss and took his shirt off and your hands clung to his biceps and shoulders and chest trying to get a feel of his god like form. He grabs the back of your neck and pulls you apart. “Y/n please tell me that you want this and it’s not just me. I want you and I want all of you.” Breathing heavily you grab at the back of his neck and pull his face close enough to feel the heat from his body, “Dean Winchester, if you don’t fuck me like you mean it I’m going to shoot you in the leg.” At that, Dean kisses you and you jump up to wrap your legs around his waist. He grabs at your ass and thighs desperate for any type of friction. His cock is pressed right up against your clit causing just enough friction to make you whine. He grunts in response and tosses you onto the bed and climbs over you. “God Y/n you’re so damn beautiful. Can’t wait to taste you.” You sigh in response and he goes to work. Tugging your shorts and panties down your legs in one swift motion. He climbs up your body and unclasps your bra, tossing it to the floor. Fully naked and exposed underneath him. He groans and runs his hand down your body. From your lips, to your neck, down to your nipples, to your stomach, and finally down to your aching pussy. “God you’re so wet. This all for me?” “God, yes Dean please. I need you.” “Already begging sweetheart? I thought you were stronger than that.” He sinks two thick fingers into you and you clench. He starts slowly thrusting and curling his fingers right into your sweet spot, kissing down your neck and along your collarbone. “Dean.. I.. ah!” You came clenching around his thick fingers. “Fuck Y/n. I need to be inside of you.” He lines up with your entrance and inch by glorious inch he sinks into you. Stretching deliciously along your folds. Bottoming our he lets out a low groan and falls to his elbows next to your head. He’s deeper than you thought possible. “Fuck baby. You feel so fucking good wrapped around my cock, so tight.” “Dean. Please move!” He slowly drags out of you almost all the way before he snaps his hips forward and and scream leaves your lips. He sets a bruising pace. Your pussy clenching tight around him. You can feel your stomach heat up and the coil tightening. Threatening to snap any minute. He’s so fucking deep. His breathes are coming out ragged and sharp. “Y/n I don’t know how long I can last with you squeezing me like that.” He groans out. Know one has ever been able to fuck you like this. Your orgasm hits you like a cement truck you clench around him, white spots flooding your vision. Not soon after his hips falter and he’s cumming deep inside you. His moans in your ear are the hottest thing you’ve ever heard. He rolls off of you and pulls you into his side and falls asleep.

The next morning you wake up blushing from the events that had occurred the night before. Turning over trying not to wake Dean. You roll out of bed and take a shower. The hot water runs over your aching muscles from last night's previous activities. You take a deep breath. ‘What if he doesn’t feel the same?’

Coming out of the bathroom the steam follows and you see the groggy man in your bed stirring. “Good morning D. Did I wake you up?” “No sweetheart, I just got up. What time is it?” He rolls over and checks his burner phone and groans. “It’s only 9:30. Man I was hoping it was later.” You smile and climb into the bed and snuggle up next to him. “D?” “Yeah Y/n?” “What are we going to do about Sam?” “He told me he’s always wanted me to have a normal life. So I think that I should do just that… with you. Because, you see, baby, I love you I have since we were kids. I thought that since I was older and you were a little younger than me that you would have a thing for Sammy. But you didn’t. It was me all along and I didn’t realize that until your 18th birthday. I’m sorry Y/n. I’ll never leave you again. I promise.” You cuddle up closer to him and pull him tight. “I love you too Dean. Always have. Always will. No matter what, and if a normal like is what you want then a normal life is what you’ll get. I promise.” Dean rolls over and kisses your cheek and scoots closer to you. Grabbing your hip and pulling you closer to him. “I know I’m not one for the mushy moments right?” You sigh and nuzzle into his chest. “Yes Dean. I do. I haven’t been since my parents. I never thought I would love anything ever again. Not until you came along. You waltz in on my 18th birthday and suddenly all of those winks, nicknames, and lingering looks made sense.” Dean just pulls you closer. “Of course they made sense Y/n. I never thought it would work until you practically slapped me with your words. But it worked, and I ain’t ever letting you go.”

Tags::

[thewritewolf]

Marinette March Day 5 - Garden

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As it turns out, Marinette has a green thumb. But that doesn’t mean she doesn’t jump the gun sometimes...

@marinettemarch

Enjoy!

Read on Ao3

In the pleasant warmth of the early spring day, Marinette took the opportunity to work on her little balcony oasis. It had been left barren during winter when she had moved all of her plants into her room to keep them alive, but the weather was expected to stay warm and sunny. Not only was she glad to have the extra space freed up in her small room, she knew her plants would prosper in the sunlight.

“Wow, Marinette! You really do have a green thumb, don’t you?” Tikki emerged from a particularly vibrant bush just before the watercan could reach it.

“Thanks! I’ve always enjoyed tending to plants and helping them grow.” She winked at her kwami. “Maybe if the designing doesn’t work out, I can open my own flower shop.”

Tikki giggled and landed on her chosen’s shoulder. “I’m sure you won’t need to, but it’s nice to know you have other talents if the worst comes to pass.” Her grin settled into a smile of almost paternal affection. “I couldn’t have chosen a better wielder of the miraculous of creation.”

“You’re almost as sweet as those cookies you love so much.” Marinette turned and cradled Tikki as she planted a kiss on her forehead. “But seriously - That means a lot to me. Thank you!”

After she finished watering her plants, she took a few minutes to bask in the fruits of her hard work. The plants didn’t hold her attention for long as there was still design work that needed to be done, and pieces that she was eager to return to. She returned to her room and in that enclosed space, she missed the cold wind that blew through the city…

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Alya’s phone vibrated as she was in the middle of writing a new article for the Ladyblog, pausing only briefly from her fevered writing to glance at the name, fully expecting to set it back down again and return to work. An eyebrow quirked up as she saw who the text was from - Marinette. She knew better than to text Alya during her prime writing time, so it had to be something serious. Her heart dropped as she saw the text and the accompanying picture.

The cold snap had come out of nowhere, the last bitter attack by a rapidly fading winter. Most people had been annoyed but otherwise unaffected by the sudden freezing temperatures, but this time Marinette’s industriousness had proven her downfall. She had moved all her plants outside and, judging by the pictures, not even her legendary green thumb would be able to revive them. Alya put a hand over her chest in sympathetic pain.

But it wasn’t her nature to just idly sit by while her friends suffered. Pulling up her contacts list, her lips thinned in determination as a plan came into focus…

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Sitting alone in her room, surrounded by the empty pots that once housed the plants that she had coaxed from seeds, Marinette wasn’t in the mood to do much of anything. Tikki had done her best to cheer her up, but this loss had come as a big punch to the gut for her. There was only so much even tiny gods could do for her right now, and eventually Tikki had decided to let her grieve, at least for the time being. Not even the breaking of the cold spell over the last couple days lifted her spirits.

It was in this state, sitting on her chaise and hugging her knees to her chest, that she heard a knock on the trapdoor to her room. It was probably her mother, come to check up on her. She’d helped empty out the pots when it became clear that none of the plants would make it, so she was very much aware of how heartbroken she was.

“Come in, the door’s unlocked,” she croaked out.

To her surprise, it wasn’t her mom that walked into her room. Instead, the girl squad filed in, each one holding onto a different potted plant. The five new plants now sitting on her desk were a small consolation after losing her garden, but she appreciated the gesture nonetheless.

“Aw, girls, you didn’t have to!”

Alya grinned at her. “Oh, we aren’t done yet. We got a bunch more downstairs and the whole afternoon to help you get them all transplanted and moved up to the balcony.” Marinette looked around at the girls’ faces and saw them patiently waiting for her to tell them where to start. Falling easily back into her leadership role, she did just that.

Although her room needed to be cleaned afterwards, Marinette couldn’t care less as she basked in the restored splendor of her garden made through the kindness of her friends.

[katecarteir]

blood in the water: epilogue

Taglist: @honkhonkrichard, @hufflepuffkaspbrak, @fatbottomedcurls, @reddie-for-anything, @reddiesetrichie, @beepbeepbitchard, @lemonadeandrice, @lunacuore, @fivxharmony

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Eddie Kaspbrak walks up towards his high school, smiling almost to himself. He continues walking until he stands beside the proper looking boy who was sitting on the metal railing outside the front of the school. The sun was hitting Stanley’s Devil jacket at the just the right angle to make it shine in the light. Stan titled his head back and smiled at Eddie. “You going in?”

Eddie looked up the banner hanging above the high school. CONGRATULATIONS GRADUATES, CLASS OF 2018. He shook his head. “Lately the least amount of social interaction I’m forced to go through is better.”

It had been nearly two months since the night of prom had shaken all of Derry to its very core, and Eddie still couldn’t go anywhere without the eyes of everybody falling onto him. He supposed that shooting your own mother in the back and killing her had that affect on a boy. Or maybe it was mother turning out to be the psychopathic killer that made the town dread sundown that was doing it. It was a toss up, really.

“Besides,” Eddie shrugged, a smile suddenly tugging at his lips. “We’ve got a more important ceremony to go to tonight, don’t we?”

Stan grinned almost toothily at him, reaching out to knock his hands against Eddie’s shoulder. “Yeah, we do.”

Eddie exhaled hard and stared back at Derry High School, accepting then that he would never be going back inside.

xxx

Eddie took his seat beside Patty and Stan as Wentworth Tozier moved onto the make shift stage in the Deep Float. He tapped on it and looked out amongst his members. “Welcome, welcome! This meeting is a long time coming, I think we all know.” He said with a voice as sicky as honey. The man still boiled Eddie’s blood, but he’d accepted recently that maybe he was in no position to judge other people’s parents. “My wife and I have put this off longer than we should have, but we felt it was important to give us all the chance to recover from the events that took place.”

Eddie fidgeted with the sleeves of his father’s too large Devils jacket that was now his, and looked around, noting with a pang in his chest all the missing people in this room. The Devils had lost more than a few young recruits in his mother’s scheme, and Eddie almost felt guilty about it. Almost.

“If what happened as taught us anything,” Wentworth carried on. “Is that our children- the next generation of Devils- have at last grown beyond what we are able to teach them. They have become their own group, they lead themselves. They took it upon themselves, and they found out the truth and ended the horror when we could not. I think the time has come for a change in how we do this around here. How can I stand here now and demand the respect of a group of children who are stronger and braver than I am?”

Stan gave half a smile, tangling his hand with Patty’s, who reached out and took Eddie’s hand in her free one. Eddie’s heart raced in his chest.

“My family and I discussed it and we’ve come to the only solution we possibly could,” Wentworth said. “We’ve always done things a certain way around here, for as long as the Devils have existed in Derry. If the past few months have taught us anything, it’s that this is a new world- and the way we used to do things doesn’t work anymore. There is only thing I can do to help the progression of the Devils naturally: I am stepping down as leader.”

Eddie sucked in a harsh breath, feeling Patty squeezing his hand harshly. There were whispers moving through the room, but Wentworth held his hand up for silence. “And there is only person who has the true training to take the lead here, one person whom I firmly believe can take the next generation of Devils and turn them into something better than we have ever been before.”

Maggie and her close guardsmen stepped aside and Richie Tozier stepped forward onto the stage. Eddie’s breath caught in his throat and he clutched at the chest of his shirt as though his heart might leap right out of his chest.

His boyfriend smile out at the crowd, rubbing at his healed wound on his stomach that Eddie knew always hurt him when he got anxious. “I tried to argue this, you know, in case you were wondering” Richie said out into the crowd. “Don’t think I did a whole hell of a lot, besides you know…. almost die. My lovely parents here seem to think I’m the right decision so I’ll try my best to be that.”

Patty yanked her hands free from Eddie and Stan to cup them around her mouth, shouting “We love you, Richie!” throughout the otherwise silent room. Richie turned to her, eyes dancing and smile so pure and genuine and alive that Eddie thought he might cry.

It started quietly, at first, the slow rising clap throughout the Devils but soon it was smashing through the room and Eddie was definitely crying now as he clapped along. Richie had his hands pressed to his cheeks and he might have been laughing, but Eddie couldn’t hear him over the applause.

Richie met Eddie’s eyes through the crowd and beamed. He stepped down from the podium and dodged through the chattered people. Eddie didn’t even realize he’d stood up until he was launching in to Richie’s arms, feet off the ground, legs around his waist.

“Fuck…” Richie groaned as though it was punched from his gut. “I fucking love you.”  

It wasn’t anything close to what Eddie Kaspbrak thought he was life was going to be like… but it was still good.

[mattbrothersscriptwriter]

My Top 20 Films of 2019 - Part One

I’m back and prising open this tomb of a blog like I’m Lara bloody Croft, let’s do this thing.

2019 was a huge year for movies and thanks in part to my ever obsessive Letterboxd account, i chalked up 150 total 2019 movies seen, which is... too many. Thanks again in part to the rise of Netflix originals, broader theatrical releases and a handful of festival showings (Sundance London, Edinburgh International Film Festival, Frightfest etc), I saw as much as I could. STILL some I didn’t catch (Rocketman, Shazam... Cats...) but as always, for my full breakdown, jump over to my Letterboxd ranking here - https://letterboxd.com/matt_bro/list/films-of-the-year-2019/

20. The Death of Dick Long

I honestly didn’t know what to expect from this, partly because it’s from one half of the ‘Daniels’ duo, who made the equally expectation-defying Swiss Army Man and also because I saw it at Sundance London back when there was no poster, trailer and barely a logline. Some vague word of mouth from Sundance proper was about it. And that’s how I’d recommend seeing it - as blind as you can - as it’s many surprises are unlike anything I’ve really seen before.

It’s a triumph of carefully balanced tone and pitch perfect black humour. Essentially a Fargo-esque tale of two idiot hillbillys who get involved in the mysterious, titular death of their friend Dick Long (played in a cameo by director Daniel Scheinert), things slowly unravel as they realise that in reality, covering your tracks and getting away with a crime is, actually, pretty damn unlikely. The tension that mounts as hidden truths inevitably begin to come to light can rival any straight thriller and the humour always comes from a place of character. But the genius comes in the film’s ability to maintain said tone with a straight face once a very specific spoiler comes to light. It’s deliberately absurdist but you still find yourself swerving from laughing at it to being wholly invested at the sincere pathos and tragi-comedy on display. The film, for all it’s surreal trappings, never punches down at it’s characters, treating them as flawed and vulnerable as any of us, and the leads Michael Abbott Jr and Andre Hyland remain a wholly tragic and relatable pair - against all odds.

19. The Farewell

Lulu Wang’s immensely crowd pleasing indie sensation manages to be many things - a witty comedy, an ode to family, an examination of another culture’s traditions and a character study of the American-Asian experience. Like most really great movies, it’s universal appeal comes from it’s specificity - telling a unique story based in a human truth that taps into themes we can all relate to: alienation from one’s own family, feeling like you don’t belong, truth and honesty within our closest relationships and our own mortality. Or more specifically still; how we would want to face death should we be fortunate/unfortunate enough to know that is is coming.

Awkwafina really is a revelation here, showing off her dramatic chops with a heartfelt performance that utilises her strengths as a funny everywoman and as a tortured individual trying to understand not only her own relatives but herself as well. The whole cast are equally impressive, especially Chen Han and Aoi Mizuhara as the clueless couple getting married and of course, Zhao Shuzhen as Nai Nai - delivering a touching portrayal of a grandmotherly figure we can all recognise. Definitely one of the most moving films of the year for me, it’s a marvel that never succumbs to easy schmaltz or signposted resolutions.

18. Pain and Glory

I’m a big admirer of Pedro Almodovar’s body of work, having studied him since college but I’d be hard pressed to say I was a proper fan. I went into this off the back of it’s buzz and came out more profoundly moved than I first predicted. This very self reflective piece tackles a lot of Almodovar staples - Spain throughout the decades, the pain of love, film-making, mothers! - but is so strongly rooted in a career best Antonion Banderas, here playing a thinly veiled and somewhat fictionalised version of Almodovar himself.

Like The Farewell, it is deeply personal but incredibly universal, dealing with life long regrets and suppressed trauma and memory. Cruz the Muse is back in magnetic form and the tenderness in both the flashbacks and present day make for a surprisingly comforting watch about an awful lot of self-examination. It also cannot be understated how strong Banderas is here, possibly the most human I’ve ever seen the man known for playing gun toting mariachis, sword wielding masked heroes and... sword wielding, um... cats. It’s possibly his most mature and unflashy role in years but he reminds us why he’s such a consistent and evergreen movie star ten times over here.

17. Dolemite Is My Name

Eddie Murphy is back baby! This was hands down one of the most joyful and life affirming films this year, so much so that I’m gutted I didn’t see it in a packed cinema instead of on Netflix. Still, it’s a huge win for the streamer. Before now, it’s been easy enough to write off a ‘Netflix’ movie as one of three things - the modern equivalent of going ‘straight to video’, a blank check passion project for a headline grabbing filmmaker (Noah Baumbach, the Coen Brothers, Martin Scorsese) or a big blatant push for awards glory (Roma). But this breaks through and hits the sweet spot, being the sort of mid-budget biopic the studios used to put out, a comeback vehicle for one of our most missed stars and as a straight up killer piece of film making all round.

From the writers of Ed Wood and the director of Hustle and Flow, Murphy stars as Rudy Ray Moore, a true over-the-hill underdog who stubbornly chases his dreams of reaching stardom as a middle aged man, who refuses to be put down in the face of mass criticism and overwhelming odds. It’s an empowerment story about pursuing what you believe in and saying fuck you to the haters. It understands that the only judge you need to answer to is yourself. It’s a testament to the power of a minority voice, in finding the unstoppable force who will fight to be seen - not just by his peers but by society at large. 

I’m a sucker for films about a group of people stretched outside of their natural talents who strive to create something that wasn’t there before. Whether it’s Ed Wood or The Disaster Artist, Brigbsy Bear or Bowfinger - these movies never fail to strike a chord with me. I think championing a belief in yourself, often in the face of huge pessimism or swarms of naysayers, is so incredibly important and seeing these central figures who probably shouldn’t have succeeded, manage to do so, is so touching. The scene in the limo when they read the shitty reviews of their movie and all take a moment to arrive at the conclusion of ‘fuck them, we made a movie, it’s ours’ is an antidote to everybad review any creative endeavour may end up receiving. If it’s important to you, that’s all that matters but like all art, even if you reach one person and affect their life for the better, then it’s all been worth it.

Shining a light on the rise of Blaxploitation also helps to champion an era of outsider art that reflected the lives of millions and gave many more than chance to see themselves represented on screen as their OWN heroes and not just reductive stereotypes. Plus... Snipes is also back baby! Cripes it’s Snipes!

16. Monos

What a gargantuan feat this film is. Shooting in some of the most inhospitable locations ever seen, this tense, survivalist story of a band of young soldiers slowly imploding whilst they guard an American hostage is elemental and animalistic - a 21st century Lord of the Flies for sure.

Moises Arias is unrecognisable here as the eventual alpha Bigfoot. A former Disney star, he is most fondly remembered by me as the polar opposite Biaggio in one of my other favourite films of the decade, The Kings of Summer. The rest of the cast are fantastic too, from the captured Dr Watson (Julianne Nicholson) to the morally torn Rambo (Sofia Buenaventura). With some of the most breathtaking cinematography of the year to yet another stunning Mica Levi score, this feels like a lost Herzog masterpiece from the 70s. In other words, the kind of impossible thriller that you see all too rarely these days.

15. Once Upon a Time... in Hollywood

Any new Tarantino is a cause for celebration, especially as he approaches his long-threatened ‘final’ 10th movie. I’m a massive western guy so I’d been loving his detour into the genre through both Django Unchained and The Hateful Eight but was definitely looking forward to his depiction of 1960s Hollywood. And Tarantino being Tarantino, the western influences manage to find their way into most, if not all, of his filmography.

OUATIH certainly ended up a divisive piece. Too much of an aimless character hangout for some, not enough dramatic bite for others. I was initially left a bit cold myself, knowing I’d enjoyed what I’d seen but wondering if it would go up or down in my estimations upon a second viewing. While that second viewing still hasn’t taken place yet, I tend to believe it will be even more favourable knowing where it’s all heading. I’m in the camp that loved where this film ended up and thought it stuck the landing wonderfully and in DiCaprio and Pitt, the film found a truly dynamic and compelling central friendship fuelled by two A-listers back on A-list form. The two veterans instantly deliver some of their best work in years (DiCaprio is 10x more alive here than he was in his Oscar winning turn in The Revenant) and 2019 would go on to be Pitt’s year, alongside Ad Astra. Margot Robbie is luminous in her limited screentime and while some were disappointed she wasn’t more of a major player, he Tate is arguably the lynchpin of the whole piece. Perhaps more as a symbol than a person, sure, but the scene where she gets to witness the joy her big screen clowning brings others (complete with tactfully judged real life Tate footage) is magic.

At first glance, this could seem like QT regressing somewhat but there are moments in here that stand out as some of his best work, from DiCaprio’s stroppy meltdown to Pitt’s visit to Spahn Ranch to the whole bloody climax. If it ends up being the odd duck of his filmography (Four Rooms aside) then it will end up all the more interesting and I am already captivated.

14. Stan & Ollie

Easily the most underrated film of the year in my eyes, I sort of understand most people’s dismissal of this charming biopic as grey pound fodder and even I admit that it falls into a sub-genre quickly approaching cliche: ageing Golden Age Hollywood movie stars have one last stab at fame and redemption by reviving a stage act in the UK - see also Film Stars Don’t Die in Liverpool and Judy. But this is so sweetly put together in every sense and manages to transcend the biopic trappings to create a more loving portrait of two old friends accepting that they love each other. It’s about male, platonic love and that in itself is rare enough.

Steve Coogan and John C. Reilly are incredible as Laurel and Hardy respectively, both disappearing into the roles completely. Shirley Henderson and Nina Arianda provide brilliant comic support as their two very mismatched wives. The decision to focus on the duo’s later years, rather than to speed chronologically through their early days and movie making prime (glimpsed in the opening flashback) means that the film is free to draw pathos from a life long lived. There are mere hints at the history between them; chasms of time that hold so much importance yet are left to us (and to the actors) to speculate about, to draw from and to imagine. The performances are so strong that you can feel the weight of their professional careers in a sideways glance or a barbed retort or an exasperated sigh. It’s so much more interesting and allows practically the whole film to feed off this feeling that their entire lives are about to reach an impasse that we’re about to witness. This is the emotional resolution to the story of Laurel and Hardy and it’s wonderful to know that this is how it went down in real life too - that two lifelong colleagues couldn’t see how much they meant to each other until it was all about to come to an end. 

Ultimately, it’s a story of loyalty and friendship in the face of a fast approaching curtain call. It’s bittersweet and truly sad, watching these two iconic titans perform to tiny crowds and hopelessly chase the dream of a comeback they both know, deep down, is long dead. It also contains two of the most tear-jerking scenes of the year: the very public bust up after one of their shows (”You loved Laurel and Hardy... but you never loved me”) and the ‘turn’ in the climax that wrong footed me so suddenly, despite it’s arguable foreshadowing, that I was almost immediately weeping. A truly touching British film of the highest calibre, it’s much more affecting that you might believe.

13. The Favourite

How does it feel like a million years since I saw this? Man, 2019 was long! Yorgos Lanthimos’ biggest hit yet, this is full of wild, punk energy and gives the period piece a real anarchic streak. Easily the best three hander in years, the ever evolving dynamic between Rachel Weisz, Emma Stone (hot off an Oscar win) and QUEEN Olivia Coleman (heading directly into an Oscar win) is a joy to watch. The dialogue is biting, the visuals sumptuous and the debauched attitude running through it makes it a wicked fun time. It’s influence is already being felt too - just check out that teaser trailer for the new Emma!

12. The Art of Self Defense

Unfairly shafted to VOD, I caught Riley Stern’s follow up to the ace Faults on the big screen whilst in Edinburgh, along with a fellow filmmaker and we had an absolute blast. Playing like a capital D dark comedy mash up of Fight Club and The Foot Fist Way if directed by Yorgos Lanthimos, Jesse Eisenberg utilises his weedy, beta male persona into an effective portrayal of a guy sick of being shit on in life, who takes up karate lessons after a traumatic mugging and slowly descends into a cult-like world of aggressive toxic masculinity. 

It’s a fantastic satire of perceived manliness, with some of the funniest stuff I’ve seen all year instantly flipping into something completely shocking. It’s another great showcase for Imogen Poots, who seems to be most often caught playing students despite being in her 30s (looking at you, Black Christmas) but it’s Alessandro Nivola who utterly owns this movie as the intimidating dojo leader; a truly twisted creation that, in a just world, would be generating some serious awards buzz. Mark my words now that by the time the Sopranos prequel movie The Many Saints of Newark lands later in 2020, we’ll suddenly all be talking about him.

11. Us

Another one that feels about three years old already, Jordan Peele’s Get Out follow up finds him with free reign to really get crazy (”you wanna get crazy?”) as he uses his blank check on another bitingly original horror social satire. Leaning a bit more heavily into both the straight up genre elements AND the often-times confusing social allegories, Us is a cabin in the woods slasher that evolves into a Twilight Zone ‘what-if’ scenario before going all out with it’s underlying metaphor.

The results can occasionally be mixed but the sheer ambition on display here is invigorating and it’s captivating to sit back and let a writer/director present something to you as unique and multifaceted as this. His love for horror fuels a tense plot that constantly looks to re-shuffle the stakes every twenty minutes, Lupita Nyong’o is mindbogglingly good as two very different versions of ‘one’ character and Elisabeth Moss is the supporting standout of choice, making 2019 her year with this alongside the brilliant Her Smell... (let’s not mention The Kitchen).

COMING UP - a Canadian stuntman, a wheel of knives, space baboons and every superhero ever

[astressedwriter]

Savior//Batfam

**Warning- Violence and some swearing

a/n= This was 100% inspired by Ruby’s entrance in spn

This was Jason’s biggest fear after coming back from the dead. He was in the exact same position, the Joker standing above him, with a crowbar in hand. 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8 blows with the crowbar, just as the next hit was going to make contact with Jason, a girl in a cloud of smoke appeared behind the Joker, she easily grabbed a dagger from what appears to be a thigh holster and launches it at the Joker, the mystery girl’s knife embedded itself into the Joker’s stomach. Jason glanced at the Joker, seeing the clown staring at a slowly growing red spot under his shirt, Jason took his opportunity and kicked his right leg out, knocking the Joker on his back, but when he looked back to where the girl had been standing there was nothing there, but a dissipating cloud of black smoke. Jason let his head fall back onto the concrete floor, no longer looking up, he then heard the door being kicked in and multiple pairs of footsteps coming towards him.

Dick got to Jason first, not paying any attention to the bleeding out clown laying on the floor,

“Hey Jay. How you doing?” Dick asks softly, going into what his family so lovingly called ‘mother hen’ mode. Jason shrugged, taking Damian’s outstretched hand,

“Fine, hurts like a bitch though.” Jason stated, rolling his shoulder and grimacing. Jason made eye contact with Bruce, who was standing above the Joker, who was, sadly, still alive.

“Hey man, I know what you're thinking, but 1. I don’t really do knives, and 2. If I had thrown a knife at him, he would be dead.”

“Then who threw it?” Bruce asked, but Jason could tell he believed him.

“I don’t know if I was seeing things or what, but some chick appeared like, ten feet behind the Joker, in a cloud of black smoke, threw the knife, then disappeared.” Damian, Dick and Bruce shared a confused look. After that incident, Jason stayed at the manor for a little bit, healing, while Bruce had banned him from patrol for a week. Jason complied, but not because he cared what Bruce wanted or said, because he was 1. Terrified and 2. Wonder who the girl who saved him was.

---On the other side of Gotham---

“Father, I will handle the goons you go and take down Scarecrow.” Batman nodded and threw himself towards Scarecrow and Damian turned and stabbed a goon in the thigh then connected his katana with their temple.

“Hey, baby bat.” One of the bigger goons taunted, making a crying face, Damian turns to face him with a scowl on his face,

“I’m 17!” He growls and makes a deep cut on the idiots stomach before landing a kick to his face and stabbing blindly behind him, shoving his sword through another goons shoulder. Damian is forced to the ground with a kick to the side, he looks up at the goon, who is holding a pistol, aiming it right at Damian’s heart. The man smirked and cocked the gun, placing his finger on the trigger. Without warning, a sword with a jet black blade is protruding through the other side of man, the tip facing Damian. When the man falls dead to the ground, he is met with a girl, hold two katana’s, one blade was jet black the other was pure white, both handles were a navy blue. The girl is wearing a mask that covers her mouth and her nose, but Damian can clearly see the girl has pale blue eyes and long dark hair, pulled up into a ponytail, the girl was gone in a cloud of black smoke before Damian could determine whether her hair was dark brown or black. Damian looks around in shock, but quickly brings up his sword to block an incoming strike from a pipe. He stabbed the pipe guy in the stomach, a place Damian knew he would survive through. Five or Six more goons ganged up on Damian and he quickly forgot about the girl, going into warrior mode. There were way more goons than Damian had first thought. One punch to his face, one kick to his gut, one cut to his leg and Damian was on the ground kicks and punches coming from every direction. Then one less punch and one less kick hit him, then a couple more disappeared, then all at once, all of them. Damian opened his eyes and watched as the same girl as before was whipping through the goons. Her sword made a deep cut across one’s face, another goon got a sword to the hear and another one was kicked where the sun doesn’t shine before having his throat slit. This went on and on, until there was only ten or fifteen left. Damian finally came to his senses and jumped up, joining back into the fight. Stab, slash, jab, duck, repeat, until there were none left. He looked to his right to see the girl standing there, even though he couldn’t see her mouth, he could tell she smiled before disappearing once again in a cloud of black.

When  Bruce got back to Damian, he found his son standing in the middle of a bloody battle field, and right away Bruce could tell Damian hadn’t done this. His son had been really good at following the no kill rule lately and there was the fact that Damian looked a mix of shocked and confused.

“Damian? What happened?” The boy slowly turned to face his father,

“You know that girl Jason was talking about?” Bruce nods,

“Yeah, I just met her.”

---1 Week later---

Tim was sitting in the batcave at some ungodly hour of the night, researching this mystery girl that had saved two of his brothers. Tim growled in frustration and slammed his face into the keyboard. He never meant to fall asleep that way, but that’s what happened, and when he woke up, the computer had a profile pulled up on it.

Name: Unknown, nickname is Shadow

Age: Believed to be around 18

Hair color: Black

Hair length: Her waist in a ponytail, only way it’s ever been seen

Eye color: Pale blue

Skin color: Naturally tanned

Height: 5’7

Last known whereabouts: Gotham City

Known associates: Green Arrow, Arsenal, Wonder Woman, Martian Manhunter, Katana, Deadshot, and Cyborg

Then it shows a picture of a girl, wearing a red mask that only covered her mouth and her nose, with black hair that goes just to her waist, pulled up into a ponytail, in the middle of a fight, with Green Arrow by her side. He almost fell over in his chair he was so excited, he found her! He looks at the clock to see he had been asleep for three hours, as it was now 6:30 in the morning, he knew for a fact Damian would be awake, so he sprints all the way to Damian’s room and knocked quietly on the door. The door opened to reveal Damian, shirtless with bed head, looking slightly annoyed.

“Sorry. Did I wake you?” Tim asks frowning, he didn’t want to receive the wrath of a woken up Damian Wayne.

“No, but if had come ten minutes earlier you would have. What do you need, Drake?” The tiredness in Damian’s voice is very obvious. Tim smiles,

“I think I found the girl who saved you and Jason.” He spills out excitedly, Damian raises an eyebrow and follows Tim to the batcave.

“That’s her.” Damian states as soon as he see’s the girls picture. Tim smiled, but then a thought crossed his mind,

“What?” Damian asks, crossing his arms.

“When I fell asleep, the computer was on Google, not the Justice League’s files.” Damian’s eyes widened slightly,

“I’ll go get Father and Todd, they are going to want to hear that some random girl just broke into the batcave.” Damian wakes up Jason, which was not a pleasant experience, then went to his father's office. It only took five minutes or so for Damian to get Bruce and Jason to the batcave.

“Last night I was looking for the girl who saved Damian and Jason,” Tim launched right into it when Jason, Bruce and Damian walked into the cave, “About three-thirty a.m I fell asleep on the desk, with the page on google, when I woke up, it was on the Justice league’s files.” “So you think this girl wants us to know who she is?” Bruce asks incredulously. Tim shook his head,

“That’s the thing, we still don’t know who she is, there’s no name.” Jason sighed and shook his head, grabbing his phone from his pocket.

“I’m calling Dick.” He said, before he pressed the phone to his ear and walked off.

“I don’t think she’s a bad guy.” Tim says, drawing the attention to him.

“I don’t either, but I would still like to know who she is, I mean she obviously has training to be able to fight off 50 or so goons that not even Damian could take down.” Bruce says, placing his hands on the desk, looking at the computer.

“She’s worked with a lot of heroes.” Bruce mutters. He looked behind him, at Jason.

“Jason, call Roy when your done, ask him if he knows who this Shadow girl is.” Jason nods and goes back to his conversation with Dick.

“Roy doesn’t know who she is, he just knows her as Shadow, but he did give me a phone number to reach her at.” Bruce nodded.

“We should wait until Dick gets here.” Damian suggests and the others nod.

“What are we waiting for me for?” Dick asks from behind them, making them all jump.

“Roy got us a phone number for the girl who saved me and demon spawn.” Dick creased his eyebrows,

“She saved Damian too?” Looking to his younger brother for confirmation, when he nodded Dick sighed.

“Alright. Let’s do it.”

“Hello?” The voice on the other end of the phone call asked when she picked up.

“Um, hello. This is Nightwing.” Dick states awkwardly when it became apparent nobody else was going to answer.

“Hello, Dick. What can I help you with?” Shadow asks casually, while they all share shocked looks.

“How do you know my name?” Dick asked defensively.

“Diana gave me access to the Justice League’s files, I know every superhero’s real name.”

“Oh, okay. Well, in the past two weeks you save two of my brothers and we, meaning my family and I, would like to meet you.” Dick hesitantly says. They all heard the shocked intake of breath. It was ten or so seconds before she answered.

“Sure, I’ll be at the manner in an hour.” Then they heard the beep indicating that she had hung the phone up.

“I want to know where she was trained.” Damian spoke up after a minute of silence, Bruce nodded, agreeing.

“I want to know why she saved us.” Jason’s statement sent the group back into silence.

They all went their separate ways for about 45 minutes, then they all met in the living room closest to the door. Fifteen minutes later, the doorbell rang. Dick was the one who answered the door, smiling at the masked girl and steps aside to let Shadow in. When she saw Damian, who was still shirtless mind you, she also saw the stitches in his side and the bruises all over his chest, she frowned slightly even though they couldn’t see it.

“Do you mind if we ask you some questions?” Bruce asked, the girl shook her head and Bruce asked his first question,

“Will you take off your mask?” Shadow laughs and peels the piece of red cloth off her face, Damian felt like he couldn’t breath for a moment because, A. He recognized her, he didn’t know where from but he did and B. She was beautiful. Bruce studies her for a moment, then nods.

“What’s your name?” Shadow glances nervously towards Dick, which confuses them all.

“Ember.” And with one word, Dick’s entire world flipped upside down. Dick’s legs gave out and Damian barely caught him.

“Dick!” Bruce and Jason yelled making their way over to Damian, Dick and Tim. Ember ran up to Dick, you could practically feel the worry radiating off her.

“Hey, hey. It’s alright, I’m here.” She mutters soothingly, running her fingers through his hair.

“Sissy?” Dick asks like a small child.

“Hey, big brother.” Dick instantly sits up and pulls Ember in for a hug. Damian gasped out loud, making Ember and Dick pull apart.

“I know you.” Damian states, and Ember pales slightly, moving closer to Dick. Damian’s hands automatically grab his hidden dagger.

“Whoa! Damian, calm down. How do you know her?” Damian seems to realize what he did, and put his dagger down, but still keeping it out.

“She was the big guns. The person the League called in when they couldn’t get a job done. She’s better than everybody, everybody.” Shock. That’s what was showing on everyone’s face.

“I got away Damian. When Talia got you out, she got me out too.” The girl states in a whisper, barely meeting Damian’s eyes.

“Mother took me to my father, where did she take you?” Damian questions, apparently not deeming her a threat, and putting his dagger up. Ember smiled, which told the group it was nowhere bad,

“She took me to Diana.”

“Why?” Is Bruce’s only question.

“Because Talia knew Diana was the only person she knew who wouldn’t judge me for where I came from.” That definitely sounded like Diana.

After the reveal that Ember was Dicks sister, he insisted that she stay with them. She fought, but eventually broke down and agreed. She had been staying there for three months, and her and Damian had gotten the closest out of all of them except Dick. Not to mention the endless flirting that makes Dick and Bruce very uncomfortable and Jason very amused.

“Damian!” Ember yelled across the batcave.

“What!” He yelled back.

“Your costume doesn’t make any sense!” He stopped training with the dummy and walked over to Ember, sweaty and shirtless.

“What?”

“Well your Robin right? Robins are Red black and brown. Where the hell did the green come from?” Damian laughed at her, and she stuck her tongue out at him.

“Well, Dick picked the colors, Bruce picked the name. You know, Dick’s original costume didn’t have any pants? I got Bruce to let me pants.” Ember laughed,

“Can I make a few adjustments?” Damian raised an eyebrow but nodded, she squealed and jumped up and down. She shooed him away, sending him back to his training. An hour and a half later, Damian was called over by Ember. She set the new costume out, it had a detachable hood, a black eye mask, a skintight onesie basically, that was mostly red, but had some black and dark brown detailing, then he had a detachable cape that was mostly black with a little red detailing, and finally his gloves were black. He nodded, thoroughly impressed.

“I like it.” She smiled up at him.

“Good, so I had some extra time and I made my own, official costume.” He gestured for her to show him it. She quickly walked to a changing wall and walked out in a almost all black, skintight onesie, the sides were all white fishnet, her shoes were heeled thigh high boots, but the heel pulls off into a dagger. She has a hood too, but hers has a mouth/nose mask, the hood itself was black but the mask was white, she had fingerless gloves that were black with white detailing. She also had a utility belt that held extra daggers and a communication device. Overall, he was drooling over her in it.

“I definitely like it.” He states, his eyes still roaming her body. She snaps her fingers, gaining his attention then pointed at her eyes,

“Damian, my eyes are up here.”

“Whoa!” Dick yells when he entered the cave, “That costume is awesome!” Then he see’s Damian’s new costume. “Did you design these?” Ember nodded, then she walked back behind the changing wall.

“They’re really cool.” Dick comments.

“Thanks!” She yells as she slips on her shirt and walks back out.

“I’ve got to go meet Babs for lunch, I’ll be back in an hour. Don’t get in too much trouble!” He yells over his shoulder as he walks away. Ember shook her head, but smiled nonetheless.

“You know…” Damian trails off, making Ember whip around and notice how close they were, “I really liked that costume on you.” Damian’s eyes flickered down to Ember’s lips, then back up to her eyes,

“You know…” Ember trailed off, “I really like you without a shirt on.” Damian smirked at her, then smashed his lips onto hers.

[justanothercinemaniac]

Epic Movie (Re)Watch #204 - The Untouchables

Spoilers Below

Have I seen it before: Yes

Did I like it then: Yes.

Do I remember it: Yes.

Did I see it in theaters: No.

Format: Blu-ray

1) Al Capone at the barber.

First of all, this scene establishes Capone’s position in the world of the film. The press treats him as a legitimate businessman despite his immoral standings (he’s a KNOWN bootlegger, he doesn’t even hide it), which means it’s going to be all the more difficult to take him down. He’s totally in control of the scene and the fear we see in the barber’s eyes when he accidentally cuts the mobster shows just how dangerous he really is. It’s a great first taste of the gangster.

2) The second scene - of the shop blowing up and the little girl going up with it - does well to draw in audience sympathy. Despite all his showboating Capone is a monster who kills whoever gets in his way. A bully on the worst scale. He literally murders a little girl as collateral damage because someone doesn’t want to serve alcohol. That’s just fucking evil.

3) As I’ve noticed with many mob movies, The Untouchables has a woman problem. Patricia Clarkson is great but here character is nothing more than the dotting and supportive housewife. Like, there’s no conflict to her AT ALL. Her husband is doing work which puts her and her family at risk but she’s always supportive/understanding. Can’t have the woman questioning her man now can we. It’s kind of annoying. And then the only other two female characters I can even think of - the mother of the murdered girl and the woman at the train station - aren’t even characters really as plot devices. They’re just there to up the stakes for Ness.

3.1) ARE YOU KIDDING ME!? I just googled this shit and for one thing Eliot Ness didn’t have any children during the time this film is set and two HE DIDN’T HAVE A HAPPY MARRIAGE! They ended up getting divorced a few years later IN THE 30s! But the film decided to drop that ripe conflict and interesting character interaction to instead give us a cliché dotting wife trope!?

4) Kevin Costner as Eliot Ness

The best movie heroes don’t see themselves as heroes and aren’t portrayed as invincible/mythological but as just normal people trying to do good. That’s exactly what Ness is here: a good man doing his best. While at the beginning of the movie he’s a bit of a boy scout, it’s his development from that into a man who is willing to go further for a good deed which makes him interesting. This is a guy who pins up a headline of his first really big failure, who is able to remove any sense of ego and pride to ask for help when he needs it. He HATES it when he has to kill people (as seen when he has to shoot one of Capone’s goons in Canada) and just wants to get home at the end of the day. Costner portrays all of these qualities very well, making Ness an honest and down to earth character. Writing a character to be that is one thing, but Costner actually portraying that helps the audience get invested in our protagonist.

5) Sean Connery as Malone.

Connery was won his only Oscar (and it was the only time he was nominated for an Oscar) in this part and you can see why. From his very first scene Malone is striking and memorable, taking complete command of every scene he’s in. Robert DeNiro as Al Capone is a tough guy to go up against, but through Connery’s performance you believe Malone can really help take him down. That’s how strong a performance he gives, being the standout player in an already great cast. And one of the key things about Malone is that he’s not all about bravado. He’s not a trope, but a character. He has fears, insecurities, but he’s able to push past these to do the right thing. This just means Connery’s performance is all the more layered as he plays out Malone’s decisions and conflicts. It’s absolutely great.

6) The church scene.

I think this scene is largely memorable because of how powerful the cinematography is. It’s a unique visual; the characters are kneeling/in a state of submission but by towering over the camera they’re given power in the shot. But it’s more than just an amazing shot (which that is), the scene also clearly sets up the stakes and goals of these two cops. You clearly understand Ness’ morals and convictions here while Connery’s always amazing performance as Malone really helps to carry the scene.

7) I love the way Malone tests George Stone/Giuseppe Petri (played wonderfully by a young Andy Garcia). He wants a real fighter, someone strong in their convictions, not someone who could easily be pushed over by Capone. So seeing how reacts to blatant racism is very telling of this. Also I just love that THIS is the way Giuseppe (I think I’m going to call him Giuseppe in this post) handles it.

8) I go to school in Chicago, so I recognize a ton of the bits in the film which were actually shot in the city and I always get a kick out of it. Like, “oh, I walk down that street. Oh, I’ve been there. Cool!”

9) The ease with which the titular Untouchables handles the first liquor raid reminds me of a quote by Edmund Burke: “The only thing necessary for the triumph of evil is that good men do nothing.” Everyone KNOWS where the liquor is, Capone’s not HIDING, just no one wants to take him one because of his power and because they don’t care. It’s not hard at first, it just gets hard once you actually make a move.

10) The dinner scene.

I think this is DeNiro at his best in the film. The dinner scene is ripe with tension as soon as Capone picks up a bat. You KNOW what’s going to happen with that bat. He’s Al Capone for pete’s sake! The slow pacing of the scene as well as what is basically a demented version of “duck duck goose” (as Capone makes his way around the table, we’re waiting to see who he’ll wail on with the bat) really ramps up the tension, while the total brutality of the scene’s outcome raises the danger/stakes for our heroes.

11)

Ness [in shock at the suggestion]: “Try [Al Capone] a murderer for not paying his taxes?”

I was originally going to use the “Dramatic Irony” gag from Netflix’s “A Series of Unfortunate Events” but it doesn’t really work in the context so instead:

12) This line always stuck with me.

Canadian Mountie: “And surprise, as you very well know Mr. Ness, is half the battle.”

Ness: “Surprise is half the battle. Many things are half the battle. Losing is half the battle. Let’s think about what is all the battle.”

13) The entire shootout in Canada actually works very well. There’s a grand amount of tension in the scene before anyone even fires a gun, just when we’re waiting in the shack. Then the fact the mounties kinda screw up Ness’ plan creates interesting conflict because anything that can be done to throw off a well thought out plan is interesting. But what works the best is the fact that the ensuing skirmish between Capone’s men and the authorities is just so damn entertaining to watch. The music, the action, all of it makes it feel really heroic honestly. I dig it.

14) I really like Malone’s trick that convinces Capone’s guy to turn on him. It’s really intelligent and the fact that the movie kind of takes it seriously (with the music and the focus on Capone’s living goon) actually makes it pretty funny.

15) Wallace’s death packs a considerable punch, primarily because he was the best on the team. He was the most honest, the most earnest, just a good man. Even better than Ness you could argue. So the fact that he’s the first to die and in a truly awful way just drums up a lot of sympathy/reaction from the audience.

16) If you want to understand the impact Wallace’s death has on the story, look no further than the following scene. The fact that Eliot just straight up goes to confront Al Capone is A) a powerful choice by the character and B) very telling of his emotional state that he does something so reckless.

17) I love how pissed Malone gets when it seems like they’re done going after Capone. When he’s in, he’s all in. His own personal stakes are so high by now. What would the point be of all of this, of Wallace’s death, if they’re not going to go all the way? This whole moment could really be considered the low point of the film, meaning a big change needs to happen.

18) A lot of my notes lately have been about scene and in some ways how one scene leads to another. The death of Wallace leads to Eliot making a hasty move as well as the crumbling of the investigation. The crumbling of that investigation leads to Malone confronting his police pal about Capone (more on that in a moment) which leads to the next scene which leads to the next scene. The best structure of a film is an invisible one and the organic nature of this plot means just that. It’s pretty great.

19) As I mentioned above, the scene where Malone confronts his cop friend about Capone is really great. Not only is it organically born from what’s happened but it’s pure stakes. If a character - ANY character - can leave the scene without getting what they want and not being totally devastated the stakes are too low. NEITHER character can yield to the other without being totally fucked, to the point where they have a fist fight trying to hold on to their stakes.

20) Malone being stalked by one of Capone’s men in his own apartment is INCREDIBLY effective as a scene of suspense. The use of point of view camera angles in this shot is great. The audience is given the information we don’t think Malone has and we’re worried for him. Much like the shark in Jaws, it seems like he’s about to get jumped on by a bad guy before he turns around with a friggin’ SHOTGUN and utters one of the greatest lines in film history.

Malone: “Brings a knife to a gun fight.”

21) Following this, Malone’s extended death sequence is absolutely gut wrenching and another strong example of Connery’s excellent acting. It speaks once again to stakes. He’s holding on as desperately as he can, as long as he can, until he can tell Ness what he died for in the first place. Until he can do one last thing to help put Capone away. It’s just totally heartbreaking and I love it.

22) The Union Station shootout.

This is by far the most iconic moment in the film I think. First of all, let me mention two personal things about this scene: I walk those steps REGULARLY and one of my teacher’s at school is a sailor in this scene (I just don’t know which one, I think the left one walking up the stairs).

A perfect example of high stakes from slower tension, not only does the scene take its wonderful time building up to the shootout but the violence itself is also in suspenseful slow motion. The inclusion of the baby buggy not only adds a slight ticking clock element to the pre shootout scene but also a grander scene of immediate stakes as the action unfolds. NO ONE WANTS TO SEE THE KID GET HURT! It’s just really freaking great.

23) The final encounter with Ness and the man in white who killed Malone always felt a little extra to me. On the one hand it ties up that loose end and is very entertaining to watch. At this point I’m more interested in what is happening in the court room with Capone though. So…I don’t know. The movie is pretty great so I guess having it in doesn’t hurt it. Also Eliot killing him in basically cold blood shows a lot of development for his character. As does…

24)

Eliot [on how he convinced the judge to change juries]: “I told him his name was in the ledger too.”

Lawyer: “His name wasn’t in the ledger.”

25) And this is a final good note.

Reporter: “They say they’re going to repeal prohibition. What will you do then?”

Eliot: “I think I’ll have a drink.”

Eliot was never fighting for prohibition. He was fighting for the law. He was fighting against a bad man who was killing people and alcohol was a part of that. And I think this last line represents that perfectly.

Despite whatever issues I may have with it’s female representation, The Untouchables is an absolutely excellent film. It is wildly entertaining, able to be fun and dramatic at the same time. And although Sean Connery gives the best performance in the film, he is a part of an ensemble with no weak link in its bunch. From DeNiro to Costner to Garcia, they’re all great in the film. All in all, The Untouchables is just a great movie.