#JOHN WAS DOWN THE ROAD FROM HIS HEAVEN

[scottstiles]

i think last night tipped me a leeeetle into mania

[1-ker0sene-1]

Poly 141 x Reader

Home is where you are

"What ye think she made this time?"

Johnny mumbles, dropping his head back against the seat behind him. Blinking tiredly up at the ceiling of the truck, a daydream clear in his eyes. Simon next to him stares out the window, sweat seems to practically seal his balaclava to his face.

"We'd be lucky if anything. It's three in the fucking morning.."

Kyle says from the passenger seat. Pursing his lips a bit.

"She should be sleeping.."

Price chuckles from the driver's seat, hand on the steering wheel, paying close attention to the road.

"She knows we're on our way home. If she made something. We'll be thankful."

His other hand is resting on Kyle's knee, his thumb rubs slow circles against him.

Simons foot taps on the floor of the car silently, brows tight together. The man just wants to go home, shower, eat whatever heaven you cooked and sink into that california king mattress. With all of you, all five of you together.

"Steaks."

He mutters.

"Hm?"

Johnny questions with a hum, Simon clarifies.

"On days we come home.. it's either steak or shepherds pie. She made shepherds pie last time so it's gonna be steak."

They all salivate at the damn thought.

"It's tha little things with ye huh Simon?"

Johnny smiles warmly, leaning on his shoulder.

It was another thirty minutes driving before they finally pulled into the secluded driveway. Their safehouse. Their home. Where you are. Filing out of the truck, bags over their shoulders. Covered in grime and dried blood, they didn't even let themselves clean up at base before going home to you. Walking forward, Simon slings an arm around Kyle's shoulder. Tucking the sargeant into his side as they walk to the house. Both Johns walking behind them, Price giving the younger a good slap on the back.

"Home, boys. Let's enjoy it while we can."

Price comes forward to unlock the front door, pushing it open for the four of them. Mumbling out a reminder to take off their shoes inside. Leaning down with a grunt to pull off his boots. The others doing the same. They can already smell what you're cooking, Simon was right. The smell of steaks is pretty clear, garlic butter, some kind of steamed vegetables and spices.

The house is clean. Warm. Low lighting, some candles lit. Everything about it screams home. John opens his mouth to call out for you, but he can feel his spine practically melt hearing you hum in the kitchen.

Johnny is the first stumbling forward, hopping on one leg as he throws off his remaining shoe. Eager to get back to you. Grinning as he comes around the corner into the kitchen. He melts. Seeing you there, in your chair dishing up their plates of dinner.

".. Hey lass.."

He mumbles, feeling like all the air left his chest.

You turn your head when you hear him, the brightest smile spreads across your face. Tossing the fork down from your hand as you turn towards him.

"Hey soldier-"

You beam. You don't even get another word in before Johnny rushes towards you, you let out a puff of air as he crashes into you. Laughing against him as he squeezes you to his chest, his face buried in your hair.

"Fuckin' missed ye hen.."

He whispers. You return with one of your own.

"I know baby.. I missed you too.."

You lift your head, kissing the scar on his chin.

"This bloke botherin' you love?"

You already know that voice immediately, smiling as you turn to look at Kyle. Who is quick at your side with Johnny, his hand cups the back of your head. Pressing a long kiss to your cheek. Taking a deep inhale of your scent through his nose. You smile warmly, your hand finds his bicep, giving a soft squeeze.

"There you are Kyle.."

You murmur, turning your head to press your own kisses across the bridge of his nose.

"Always here."

He chirps, kissing on your skin. His eyes bore into you, drinking you up. Johnny huffs, mumbling something about stealing all your attention. Earning a small tug on his mowhawk from you.

"Alright you two- showers. The both of you. You need it-"

You chuckle, giving them both a hug. Giving Johnny one more kiss on the jaw. Letting Gaz get one more kiss on your face. Watching them head past you down the hall to the bathroom. Kissing on eachother, bumping into walls. You shake your head at them with a smile.

Eyes flicking back to the entrance. You find Simon staring at you, his shoulders slack and sinking. Eyes half lidded and tired. The rest of his face under the balaclava. Your eyes soften, holding out your hand to him.

"Oh Si.."

He takes the invitation. Coming over to you. He would tower over you in height. But instead he falls to one knee in front of your chair. Hands resting on the arm rests of your chair. Your hands immediately cradle his head. Leaning forward to press your head to his.

"You're home.. it's alright now .. no more Lieutenant.."

You whisper against him. Your fingertips lift the edge of the balaclava, pulling it over the nape of his neck. Over the back of his head, nails dragging soothingly up his scalp as you take the fabric away. Making him shiver in vulnerability. Putting his mask aside on the counter.

Seeing your Simons face eases the both of you, cupping his jaw and lifting his head.

"I know doll.. I know."

He mutters, you kiss his temple. Caressing his skin. Threading your fingers into his hair.

"Go shower with the boys sweetheart.. I'll be in there soon."

You coo at him. He chuckles deeply, kissing your head between your brows as he gets up. Bumping your foreheads together one more time before walking to the bathroom.

"You're not gonna say hello to me John?"

You joke, turning your head to watch said Captain. Who was holding his hat in hand, leaning against the wall watching you. He's been watching you the whole time.

"Just seein' you with our boys darlin'.."

Pushing away from the wall he walks over to you. His eyes full of exhaustion, longing, warmth. Tossing his hat on the counter behind you. He leans down, callous hands hold your cheeks. Bringing your lips to his.

He's not as sneaky as he thinks. You know of his little demand to the boys. He's the first to kiss you. Each time they come home.

You kiss him back feverishly, as much as you've been calm and steady for them. You missed your men like hell. Your hands find his shoulders, squeezing them tightly, beginning to work on the knots of tension in them. Emitting a deep groan from John into your mouth. You smile against his lips, feeling the scratch off his beard.

"Everyone's alright?"

You whisper against him. He nods, his hands finding your hips. Slightly lifting you from your chair and towards himself.

"No one's broken. .. Kyle's a little stressed. Y'know how he is.."

You nod, eyes still closed, continuing to brush your lips together.

"And you?"

"Just tired.. But I'm home. That's what matters."

John mumbles, kissing you deep again. Dipping his tongue past your lips, a soft sigh slipping out of you. Arms pulling him closer.

"Taking good care of our boys John.. You always do.. Making sure you all come home to me again... Our strong Captain.."

You can feel him sinking at your praise. The older mans knees want to buckle at your voice.

"Let's get you in the shower baby.. Hm? Get you washed and relaxed.."

You mumble against him.

You yelp as your lifted into the air by his arms, laughing openly as he carries you like a bride. Burying his nose to the crook of your neck. Carrying you down the hall, to the bathroom door. Where you can already hear the chatter of the men in the shower waiting for the two of you. John is grumbling against your skin.

"We need you darlin'. "

"Our boys and I need you bad.."

[ceilidho]

take me home, country road

[ao3]

prompt: 1800s price/reader…. reader flees to his town where Price is the sheriff after a murder in her previous town only to be mistaken for the mail order bride that Price just sent for ….and he’s not interested in hearing any of her excuses when she tells him that he’s got the wrong girl (part 3) part 1, part 2

-

“Neglecting your husband already?” he asks when you pull away from the arm curling around your waist. It’d migrated there from your back during the walk away from the courthouse. 

“You know I’m not—I’m not some horse that you can just…break in,” you seethe, glaring up at Price. Your arms are crossed tight over your chest, putting the slightest boundary between you and him. It’s more of a mental boundary than anything, a self-soothing gesture; you know it hardly even registers to him because the man still looks down at you with that unimpressed expression, like dealing with a particularly vexing child. 

“I hadn’t noticed,” he says dryly, looking you up and down. It’s a scorching, hungry look and it makes you shift from foot to foot. 

The two of you stand outside the front door of his house, the front door still shut tight. You put up a fuss on the walk from town as the reality of your situation finally sunk in, squirming in his hold until he threatened to just load you over his shoulder and carry you off. His tone leaves little for you to doubt. Nothing about him brooks skepticism; until the end of time, you’ll look at John Price and think, this is a man of action. This is a man that will move heaven and earth. 

You clam up after that, lips pursed shut though turned down at the corners. 

It’s a bigger house than you might’ve expected for a single man, but perhaps it was built with a wife and children in mind. The thought makes you swallow. A wooden two-story thing with a porch out front and an adjacent stable for his two horses with a pen around back. Speckled Appaloosas that look up at the sound of his boots and keys, attentive for all of a few seconds before losing interest. 

You know without asking that Price must have built this house with his own two hands. It’s not shoddy by any means, but his house has that indefinable quality that some places have. Organic. Homegrown, almost. It’s hard to put up against the houses of your youth, but then again, you grew up in the cramped quarters of the city, apartments thick with the scent of sewage on bad days and dust on the good. The two are hardly comparable. It’s even harder to put up against the estates that you’ve spent the better part of the last few years cleaning and learning inside out, but at least his house doesn’t make your stomach turn at the sight. 

There’s a moment when you first turn to him where you wonder if he’ll look for approval in your face, some sign to set him at ease, but when you meet his gaze, it’s steady and impenetrable. Quietly self-assured. It’s incongruent with the machismo you were raised around, the constant need to impress or transcend. It puts you on edge. It makes you almost feel like baring your teeth.

Your comment had come from seeing the horses and the house and the porch with the two rocking chairs, your hackles raising every step closer. Price built his house big enough for children because he anticipated a baby in his future. Children he’d have with his wife, which, though a fuzzy memory as far as memories go, you quietly stepped into the role of not half an hour ago. 

You’ve thought about it before. Motherhood; marriage, domestic living, settling down with a man to start a family. The reality of your life has always made it seem like a problem for the future. Years chipping away like flakes of faded paint off the walls of your bedroom, still living with your aunt and uncle well into adulthood, trying desperately to scrimp and save and stay afloat. Disappointing but not surprising that you’d never been considered the marriable sort, not with scrubbing other people's toilets for a living. 

And now look at you, ring on your finger and whisked home to be bedded. A shiver roles down your spine at the thought and you scowl at Price instead of sinking into the strange thrill. 

When he wraps a hand around your wrist to pull you towards him (his fingers easily overlapping; another thrill), you snap.

“That is quite enough with all the touching!” 

His eyes narrow. “I’ll have more than my hands on you by the end of the night.”

A more proper woman would gasp. You barely hold yours back. 

You know in the back of your mind that you’ve already lost any semblance of an upper hand in this situation. It has long spiraled out of your control. His ring sits on your finger all nice and pretty, and though you signed your marriage license under a different name—your own rather than the name of his actual intended—that Price hadn’t even bothered confirming, you are, for all intents and purposes, his to touch as he pleases. 

“I’m—” your eyes dart around, the urge to bolt a sharp and sudden compulsion lodged in your chest, “—I know I said yes, but I—there’s always the possibility of an a-annulment if we don’t…if…”

You flinch, startled, when he pulls you into his chest only to cup your face again. He has big hands with callused fingers, rough against your skin. Up close, you can see the way his beard is cropped closer than his mustache and mutton chops. It gives him a grim air, almost somber until you catch his eyes staring down at you with an affection that feels unearned, meant for someone else. 

“Deep breaths, darling, there’s nothing to fret about just yet. You’ll work yourself into a state like this,” he murmurs, dropping his head to sip a kiss from your lips again. 

You’ve been in a state since the moment you walked into the sheriff’s office and laid eyes on this man. Turned around and knocked sideways, like you’ve walked into a storybook without noticing. If only it hadn’t all been so sudden, you might’ve been able to approach the situation with a clearer head. You might’ve been able to think up some other way out of it beyond giving Price a fake name and waiting anxiously for your true identity to be painstakingly drawn out over the course of a week. 

“Don’t know why you keep working yourself up,” Price says softly, then slots your lips together for another tender kiss. “Figured you might be a little skittish, but…’m gonna be such a good husband for you, honey. Not gonna want for nothing.”

His slow kisses drag out longer than back in the courthouse, languorous and decadent. As if he has all the time in the world now. In a way, he does, now that he’s helped collect your belongings from the inn and brought you home. When you think of pulling away, the hand wrapped around your wrist lets go and slides to your back, pulling you flush against his chest. Your breasts flatten against his chest, pulse skittering like mad when you feel the hardest of his chest against yours and the muscle holding you in place. 

You can’t help the whimper that escapes your lips when the hand on your cheek slides to the nape of your neck and grips, holding you in place. The kiss deepens, the heat on your cheeks feeling palpably hot, vision swimming until your eyes have no choice but to flutter shut. Your suitcase sits forgotten somewhere in the dirt, toppled over onto its side. You pant low, hot breaths into his mouth when he breaks the kiss, letting his lips just hover over yours.

“There we go, darlin’,” Price mumbles against your mouth, sliding the hand on your low back down to grip the plump flesh of your ass through your dress, lips twitching when you make a broken, affronted sound. “Isn’ that better? Not thinkin’ so hard?”

You can’t think at all, in truth. When he kisses you again, your thoughts evaporate up into the clouds, the tongue licking into your mouth dispelling any ideas or notions you might’ve had. It disappears into the heat and lust and the fingers digging into your backside, groping at the flesh there without shame or compunction. You go with him when he clutches you closer, gasping again into his mouth when you feel something hard press against your low belly. He grunts when you twitch against it. 

“John—John—” you gasp, pulling your mouth away and whimpering when he chases after you, letting him steal another wet, slick kiss before your trembling hands clutch at the fabric of his shirt. “Enough—it’s not—it’s not proper—”

“No prying eyes around here,” he grunts. “‘Sides, who’s going to tell a man he can’t kiss his own wife?”

Trembling all the harder at his words, you dig your nails into his shirt sleeves and hope you pinch the skin underneath. All twisted up inside. The ring on your finger glimmers when it catches the light, brighter even than the sun this close to your face. When Price feels your nails dig into his arms, he groans, fingers pressing harder into your bottom and making you squeak. All the pent up lust finally trickling out of him and into you. 

“C’mon, honey, let’s get you inside.” He finally lets you go after giving your bottom lip one last wet suck, pulling it into his mouth while his half-lidded eyes stare into yours. It’s somehow more intimate than kissing. 

You’re still reeling when he turns around to pick your suitcase off the ground, certain that your knees will give way and send you tumbling as well. Every point of contact on your body sizzles, aches. You watch from outside of yourself as he turns back to you, suitcase in his hand now, eyes still dark and fixed on you. Hungry. Your eyes widen when they flit down to find a thick bulge at the crotch of his pants. 

Like a cold bucket of water has been dumped over your head, you hiss and back up three steps when he takes a step towards you. “Oh no, you don’t take one step closer! I won’t have anything to do with—with that!”

You must look like some feral barn cat, back all puffed up, teeth bared to the man trying to coax you towards him. Price must see it too because he grins, amused. “Still spittin’ mad, huh? Felt those claws in me before, darlin’…gonna love feeling them with nothing between us.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” 

Price doesn’t bother clearing anything up, but you intuit it the second he takes another step in your direction, whirling around and sprinting towards the house. It feels counterproductive to seek shelter in the man’s house, but dusty plains stretch out in every direction apart from back into town, where you know not a soul will lift a finger to help you. His house is the only shelter you’re going to get.

You hurry up the porch stairs, tearing open the door before glancing over your shoulder to find Price not far behind. He advances on you at a walking pace, but each stride of his long legs matches two of yours, making you shriek and scurry up the staircase. You dart for the first open door you see, slamming it shut behind you and leaning your whole weight against it. Glancing down, you perk up at the sight of a lock on the door before flipping it.

It’s not long before the sound of boots clomping up the staircase meets your ears, headed straight in your direction. You shake when you hear him pause right outside the door, then startle when he tries the knob. 

“You gonna let me in, darling?” Price asks, grin in his voice. Even raps his knuckle against the door for good measure.

“No,” you snap. 

“Not even for your things? Got your suitcase right here.” You hear him set it down, a little clunk against the wood floor. 

“I can manage like this. I’ve slept in my dress before.”

He pauses. “Have you?”

You tilt your chin up proudly despite the door blocking his view. “Yes, and I don’t mind doing it again. You can just stay on the other side of that door until you…until you put that thing away.”

“Can’t do much about that thing, darling; it’s sort of grown on me over the years anyway,” Price chuckles. “Well, not much I can do with it behind this door. I’ll go tend the horses ‘till suppertime comes ‘round and then come back to tend to you.”

“Licentious…reprobate,” you hiss through the door. 

He laughs, the sound deep in his throat. Your stomach flips. 

The stairs creak under the weight of his boots as he descends back downstairs. You wait until you hear the front door open and shut behind him, until the house is completely quiet save for the blood pumping in your ears before you hastily unlock the door and dart a hand out just to pull your suitcase in. You shut and lock the door as soon as it passes the threshold. 

It takes a while to settle your nerves and for the trembling to subside. In the meantime, you sit on your bottom at the foot of the door, with your back still pressed firmly to the wood, and take stock. There’s a bed in the room, one you hadn’t noticed in your mad scramble to lock yourself in. A bigger bed than the one you’d slept on back at the inn, but just as sparse, with gray flannel sheets and a blue quilt folded and draped over the end of the bed. 

The rest of the furniture in the room—two end tables, a chest of drawers, a desk, and two chairs situated in the corner of the room—appears so consistent in its design that you have to wonder if Price made them by hand as well. Hardly a reason to question it. You think to yourself that you’ll have to ask him how he finds the time only to quickly shake that thought away. Can’t be getting too chummy, certainly not if you don’t expect to be around in a month’s time. Hopefully less than that. 

You chew on your lip at the thought of fleeing in the night.

It trickles into your thoughts while you open your suitcase on the bed and riffle around for your nightwear. Price will likely keep you under lock and key for at least the first week of your marriage, giving you little opportunity to take off any time soon. If only you’d held your tongue and played the demure bride, he might’ve had some cause to trust you. Certainly not now, after your most recent display. 

Your own stupid fault, as usual. It’s not the first time your temper has gotten the better of you. You’ve faced worse consequences for it. 

Outside the window on the far end of the room, a horse whinnies. You pause, remembering that Price hadn’t gone very far. When you glance out curiously, you see him letting the horses into the pen, giving one a good rub down the bridge of its nose. The horses seem to melt under his touch. 

It’s strange watching him from far away. From a distance, it’s hard to reconcile him with the man that bent you over his desk not an hour ago and tanned your bottom. You cringe at the memory. It’s not that Price doesn’t seem like a man that would take his wife over his knee if he saw fit to do so, but you still can’t imagine yourself as that woman. When you think about it, it feels like a play, something you saw happen to someone else. Not you wailing and squirming like a cat in heat. 

As if feeling your stare, he glances up at the window and winks when he catches your eye. With a squeak, you leap away from the window, scurrying back over to the bed. 

A couple hours pass in restless contemplation, practically biting your nails to the quick. Eyeing the windowsill like you still might go over there just to check on what Price is up to outside. You hear him come back into the house once or twice, tensing up at the sound of his boots, only to be left vaguely disappointed when you hear him leave and the screen door slam shut behind him. 

You spend so long holed up in the bedroom that you miss lunch entirely. Below you, you hear Price puttering around downstairs in the kitchen—the sound of a knife chopping vegetables and then the sizzle of meat on a pan. The hunger pangs nearly make you break, but you’ve gone without food before. 

Your heart skips a beat when you hear him ascend the staircase again and place something just outside of your door. He doesn’t try coaxing you out this time, just heads back down the stairs and out the front door. Again, you ignore the pang of disappointment; ignore the urge to open the door and holler down the stairs for him to stay gone. 

He leaves anyway. 

Curiosity needles at you though, so you open the door up a crack when you’re sure you’re alone. There’s a plate at the foot of the door with vegetables and meat, slightly cooled but still fresh, the plate still warm. He must’ve known you wouldn’t try coming downstairs and fixed you up a plate. 

You eat in silence at the desk, bad mood ripening. Angry at yourself and everyone else. Even John. Especially John. The audacity of fixing you up a plate, of thinking of you in the first place. Irritated enough to stand boldly by the window this time, hand clutched in the curtain, tracking the movement of his shoulders and hips when he moves with the horses and fetches water from the well. You lose sight of him a couple times as he finishes up the day’s chores around the house, but the flutter in your belly always settles when he comes back into view. 

It’s easy to let yourself admire him from afar, somehow less humiliating without his eyes on you. He’s a solid man, body carved into its shape from the rough labor that’s part and parcel of living out on the frontier. A wide back tapering down to lean, narrow hips and thick, muscled thighs hewn from lifting and pulling and all manner of physical work. You bite your lip when you remember what it felt like to cling to that back and dig your nails into his arms. 

You give your head a shake. It’s dangerous to let a thought like that latch on. 

In the few hours between lunch and sunset, you occupy yourself by reading one of the books stowed away in your suitcase. Then get bored and refold your clothes. The horses bray when they’re taken into the stables for the evening. The crickets out in the bushes in the yard chirp as the sun sets pink in the far distance. It’s quieter out here in the plains than back in the city, you think, something you haven’t yet had the time to appreciate. 

When Price comes in for the night, you’re firm in your resolve to keep the door shut. If lunch at the door was just an attempt to butter you up, he has another thing coming. In a house this big, there’s likely a guest room or somewhere else to sleep—a sofa or a sleeping bag tucked away under the stairs. He’ll just have to make do while you take the bedroom. There’ll be no sharing a bed with the man that grabbed your backside like a piece of meat. 

He doesn’t come up the stairs right away. Like before, you hear him rustle up supper, spatula scraping against a pan and knife coming down on a chopping block again and again. Not enough time has passed since lunch for you to feel more than peckish. You’re thankful for that when you hear him sit down to eat. 

The knock at the door startles you. You hadn’t heard him come up the stairs. “Ready to talk now?”

You stare balefully at the door. “No.”

“We have to figure this out sometime, darling.”

“No, we don’t.”

“I’m sorry if I gave you a fright earlier, but, honey, that’s how husbands kiss their wives. Nothing improper about it.”

“I’m not frightened, I’m just not—we don’t need to do any of that,” you huff, embarrassed all over again. “You’ve hardly given me any time to even think. I didn’t know you from Adam this morning and now we’re married.”

Price sighs, the sound muffled through the door. “What am I going to do with you, honey?” It’s said to himself, a fond exasperation that puts you on edge all over again. He has no right to be amused with you, no right to be delighted and charmed by your ire. 

“Well, you can sleep somewhere else for the time being. I’d prefer the bed to myself.”

He lets out a low, dark laugh. “There’s not a chance in hell that I’m sleeping anywhere but with my wife from this point on. You oughta come to terms with that quick.”

“Well then, you can sleep out there because I’m not unlocking the door!”

He lets out a mean sound, almost mocking. “Yeah, ‘bout time I addressed that, huh?”

His words make you frown until you hear a floorboard creak as Price does something on the other side of the door. Then the doorknob jiggles. Horrified, you watch as the door unlocks and the knob turns, your husband’s body filling out the door frame. You’d forgotten how well he could fill one out. He almost has to duck to come inside, mused hair from working outside all day brushing against the top of the frame. 

“Always put a key on the top of the door, just in case,” he explains, pinching the little silver key between his thumb and forefinger before shutting the door. Your heart jumps when he locks it behind him. “Ready to talk now, honey?”

[coff33andb00ks]

Mountain Mama - LH

Lewis Hamilton x unnamed ofc summary: You can take the girl out of the country, but can you ever really take the country out of the girl? songs: Take Me Home, Country Roads by John Denver and Is This Love by Bob Marley & The Wailers a.n.: am currently soft for Lewis and had to write to get him out of my system spoiler alert it didn't work warnings: discussions of prejudice and racism, pure disgusting fluff, author unabashedly shows her love for country music, author also is fully in love with one sir lewis Hamilton now

She wasn't worried about her family liking Lewis. Her sister had already met him and was doing her part to talk him up as the greatest man that ever lived to the rest of the family. She knew there was a wary level of respect between her parents and Lewis after their unofficial meeting over FaceTime. He'd been a little shy but very sweet, telling them a little about himself, and later her mother had said well he seems like a nice young man.

High praise from mama, who'd called her last boyfriend dried up dog shit.

Her father hadn't said anything about him. He didn't follow formula one, only knew about it because of her photography, so he didn't know who Lewis was. But when he'd texted her to tell her he'd watched a bit of the race after she'd confirmed Lewis was coming home with her during summer break she knew he was at least trying.

So here she was, behind the wheel of the rental car, driving to her parents' home with Lewis in the passenger seat and Roscoe in the back. Music was on, the windows were down, and with each mile she traveled closer to home she felt both more relaxed and more anxious.

She needed them to like him. They didn't have to love him, call him the son they'd always wanted, or even add his name to the Christmas card list. They didn't need to learn everything about him. She just needed them to like him enough to want him around when she came home for a visit. She needed them to like him and understand how very much she loved him.

They would bristle a little bit. Especially Grandma. Because he was older. Almost 40 and never married? Hm… And all those tattoos… She could hear Grandma clicking her tongue in disapproval over the tapestry of artwork that covered most of his body. And her father's eyebrows would hit his receding hairline when Lewis inevitably dressed as though he'd just stepped out of Vogue to go down to the diner in town for lunch on Friday.

"Babe." Lewis spoke just loud enough to be heard over the music. She glanced over at him, saw his playful little smile as he lifted his phone.

"No," she laughed when the song playing ended and another began. Immediately recognizable because it was one of her lifelong favorites. The one her grandpa had sang on summer nights around the bonfire when he was a few slugs of moonshine deep.

Lewis held up his hands and swayed in time to the music. "Almost heaven, West Virginia… Blue Ridge mountains, Shenandoah river…"

And she had to sing along, because she always did. Because it was her favorite, yes, but also because he always sang it. The man who shook his head in disappointment over all the other so-called embarrassing songs on her Spotify never failed to belt out John Denver with his entire soul.

She slowed, turning onto the path that wound through the trees, anticipation growing as the trees grew further apart, spreading into the dusty lawn she'd learned to ride a bike on. A turn and she saw it. Home. The front porch where she'd sat on her grandma's lap sipping lemonade. The ever present barn cat sitting on the top step, black tail twitching. Her dad's truck was parked crookedly near the back of the house and she could just see the sheets rippling in the breeze on the clothesline in the back yard.

Stopped, song still playing, she stared at the place she'd grown up, trying to view it as a newcomer. The grass needed mowing, the barn needed a new coat of paint. The roof on the old smokehouse was sagging a little. The porch railing looked crooked. But for every imperfection she saw a beautiful memory. How many millions of dandelions had she picked when the grass got a little tall? Up in the hay loft of the barn her name was carved into the top plank. The smokehouse, which had always held the lingering aroma of curing meat, had been the best spot during hide and seek. And she'd been leaning against that porch railing when she'd had her first kiss.

Her throat tightened with emotion.

Home.

"C'mon, mountain mama," Lewis said softly, unbuckling his seatbelt.

She wanted to apologize for not growing up rich, for not having a stately home to show him. She knew she didn't have to. Lewis didn't care about that, and he hadn't grown up much better than she had. He only cared about seeing where she'd been raised and meeting the people who'd raised her. What had he said when she'd asked him to come home with her?

I already love that little town because it made you.

She climbed out while he got Roscoe out of the backseat, and was opening her mouth to tell him they could get their bags later when the screen door banged.

"Is that my baby finally come to see me?"

It wouldn't matter if it had been two weeks or two months or two years, she would get that greeting. Not even bothering to close the car door she broke into a run, jumping the top step and laughing through tears as she was wrapped in her grandma's arms.

"Oh I miss these hugs." Grandma kissed her cheek, gripping her shoulders and holding her at arm's length. "Look at you. That boy of yours is treating you right, huh?"

"He is, Grandma," she promised, looking back to see Lewis closing the car door.

"Oh." Grandma squinted her eyes a bit. "He is handsome."

She giggled. "Heart of gold, Grandma."

"What's his name again? Louis?"

"Lewis."

As if he knew they were talking about him he glanced to the porch, smiling. Roscoe was already making his way to the steps, looking warily at the cat.

"Go on, get," Grandma said, shooing the cat away.

She swallowed the lump in her throat. Grandma's shoulders were a little more stooped, her hands a little more shaky. Why oh why did time have to go by so quickly? Pushing away the invasive thoughts of her beloved grandmother not being around forever, she slid her hand into Lewis's once he was on the porch. "Grandma, this is Lewis. Lewis, this is Grandma."

"It's so nice to finally meet you, ma'am." He extended his hand and as soon as he smiled she knew her grandma was smitten.

"Oh honey aren't you sweet." She shook his hand. "Well, c'mon in – is that dog house trained?"

"Better than some humans," he promised with a grin.

They'd barely gotten into the house when her father came to greet them. He wasn't nearly as smitten as grandma, and she recognized the old macho act he'd played on all her old boyfriends. Then her mother came hurrying out of the kitchen, bringing with her the aroma of lemon meringue and peach cobbler.

There was overlapping chatter. Greetings and questions and the beginnings of an interrogation. Roscoe was cooed over by Grandma, given a begrudging welcome by her dad.

"I straightened up your old room," mama said when Lewis excused himself to go get their bags. "And got new sheets for your sister's old room."

"Is she staying too?" she asked in confusion, squatting to give Roscoe ear scratches.

"Of course not – you know her and Dale are almost finished the new addition on the back of their place? The twins will have a nice big playroom."

"Are the twins staying?" Why would mama need to do anything to her sister's room?

"No… It's for your boyfriend."

She froze. Oh god. Of course her mother would think… "Mama…"

"It's not fancy or anything but I don't think he'll mind do you? It's got plenty of room for him and Roscoe."

At that, Roscoe nudged her hand, silently begging for more scratches. "Mama, I thought he'd sleep in my room."

"Oh. Well you two can switch." Her mother shrugged.

"Jesus, Kathy, she wants to sleep with the boy," her father said loudly.

Surprise, Mama, I'm not a virgin!

"I don't think your dad likes me."

She looked up from unpacking her suitcase. Usually she didn't, usually she just rummaged to get what she needed, but she'd wanted a break before the rest of the family arrived for the cookout. The time change was affecting her a little and she wanted to get a nap in.

"What makes you say that?" she asked, setting her toiletry bag on the dresser.

"He calls me boy." Lewis was standing at the window, hands in his pockets, looking out at the back yard. Where her father and brother in-law were firing up the grill.

"He doesn't mean… He calls anyone younger than him boy," she promised.

"I get it. Really, babe," he said, looking over at her. "It just rubs me wrong."

"Do you want me to talk to him?" she asked, crossing the room.

"Will it change anything?"

"He's not like that, Lewis. He's southern, yes, he's a good ol' country boy, pickup truck, cold beer, guns and 'Murica, Toby Keith and Hank Jr, but he's not racist. If he's told that the way he says something is offensive, he stops saying it." She slipped her arms around him from behind, pressing her face to his back.

"It'll just make him like me even less," he sighed.

"No, babe… If he didn't like you, you wouldn't be in my bedroom."

He chuckled, covering her hands with his and interlocking their fingers. "Not only am I boy, I'm the asshole that deflowered his little girl."

She snorted at that. "Please, like I was an untouched virgin."

"How you were able to have sex way out here is a mystery to me."

"There are so many spots where you can go to be unseen," she told him.

Lewis hummed, unwrapping her arms and turning to face her. "Were you shagging farmer boys in the woods, babe?"

Leaning up, she pressed a kiss to his lips. "Once, yes. Most of the time it was in the cutoff down the old service road. Or out at the powerline."

"You weren't seduced in a bed?" He shook his head in disappointment. "I'm so sorry."

"And where was your first time, hm?"

He rolled his eyes. "Coat closet."

"That's even worse than a pickup truck."

"Didn't count, I wasn't in love."

"Oh see you didn't tell me that." Pulling on his hands, she walked backwards towards the bed. "That changes everything."

"Hotel room? Back seat of a car?" he guessed, letting her pull him along.

"A penthouse, actually," she murmured as she fell onto the bed.

He hesitated briefly then joined her, holding himself above her. "Penthouse? In Bumfuck Virginia?"

"You said it only counted if I was in love, right?"

"Mhmm."

"Penthouse. Monte-Carlo. Afterwards he took a bubble bath with me and we danced to Bob Marley." She watched his eyes soften and leaned up to meet his lips in a kiss. "He was the first one that made me feel loved."

"Does he still make you feel it?" he whispered between kisses.

"Every day."

"If he ever doesn't make you feel that way, will you tell him?"

"Yes." She kissed him again.

"Promise?" he whispered.

"Promise."

The food was delicious, and she was so happy her parents had made vegan alternatives for Lewis she could have cried. He seemed happy too, and during the meal she watched him talk with her dad and Dale, heart swelling each time he turned to praise her mama's cooking. Roscoe was parked between them, his gentle snoring just barely noticeable above the music playing.

It was a balmy evening, lightning bugs flashing as the sun sank low, and she watched Lewis's head drop back with a groan after he finished a third helping of Grandma's peach cobbler. "I think I hurt myself eating, ma'am."

Grandma glowed, patting his hand. "It's how I won her Papa," she said with a twinkle in her eye.

Lewis chuckled, rubbing his abdomen with his free hand. "If I was twenty years older…"

She beamed as Grandma giggled, so obviously charmed she looked twenty years younger in the golden glow of the sinking sun. "Oh bless your heart, honey, I don't think you could handle me."

"I can barely handle her," Lewis told her in a stage whisper.

And she knew her family liked him. Their laughter was natural, the conversation flowed. Her twin nephews kept coming over to him, asking him questions about his tattoos, his jewelry, and she fell in love all over again at how patient and gentle he was with them.

When he insisted on helping with cleanup she saw the warmth of approval in her dad's eyes. The twins said they would help, too, and she could only look on as they followed him back into the house, Roscoe taking up the rear.

"He's a good one," Grandma said.

"He's alright." This from her dad, and it was the best she knew she could get for now.

"I like him a lot, honey. You ain't looked this happy in a long time." Mama squeezed her shoulder on her way past, and right behind her was her sister, flashing a grin as she helped gather the platters.

"You wanna take a walk?" her father asked.

It was a callback to her childhood. Dad always said it was to work off what he'd just had to eat, but she had figured out in her early teenage years it was his way of checking in on her. Their walks after dinner had been when they'd bonded, and as she fell into step next to him and they strolled beyond the barn she realized how much she missed these walks.

"I didn't want to like him."

She pressed her lips together to keep from asking why. Always best to just stay silent and let him get all his thoughts out in his own way.

"He's a little older than you. But I think that's what you need. Someone to keep your head from floating with the clouds." He sighed, snapping a leaf off the old oak tree as they walked under the branches. "And… You know how people are around here, honey."

She nodded. "But not you, dad," she whispered.

"I don't give a shit, you know that. But even Dale said something, and… I know you always worry about what people think."

"I used to," she said.

"You always hid away from the world. And I let you. Thought I was protecting you from how bad it can be sometimes." He twirled the leaf between his fingers, sending it swirling. "You're out in it, now. Can't protect you anymore."

"I don't need protecting, daddy," she promised.

"You telling me your knight back there doesn't protect you?" he asked, stopping at the fence to the back pasture. "That bo – sorry. That man loves you, honey."

"I know. And I love him."

"People around here will talk." He propped his arm on the fencepost and looked out. "Ain't got nothing better to do."

"I don't care what they say." And she didn't. She used to, yes, used to care too much, pretending to be someone else so she'd be accepted. The only people whose opinions mattered were inside the house and standing beside her.

"Good. Because I want him to come around more often."

"You like him?" she asked. She knew he did, but she needed to hear him say it.

"Yeah, he's alright," he chuckled. Throwing his arm around her shoulders when she groaned, he pulled her in close.

"Dad…"

"Rest easy, honey. I like him. Long as he treats you right I'll never say a word against him."

They stayed at the fence and she let herself be her dad's little girl for a few more minutes, watching the sunlight fade. Walking back to the house she could hear music still playing, but now instead of her dad and Dale's country it was the smooth beats of reggae and she was smiling as she entered the kitchen to see Lewis dancing with the twins to Is This Love.

He spun to face her, face lighting, and ducked to speak to her nephews then held a hand out to her, drawing her to him. His lips met her forehead. "I wanna love ya, I wanna love and treat, love and treat you right…" he crooned softly as they danced in her mama's kitchen.

"You better," she whispered. "Because I think they like you more than me."

His laugh was warmer than any sunlight, and she didn't mind at all when he kissed her then broke away to ask her grandma to dance.

She missed all of this, the love and the comfort and all the memories.

But she couldn't wait for the love and memories to come.

[renren-006]

Deans Playlist | Dean Winchester x fem reader

plot: exactly as it says. songs dean likes and the times you heard them with him.

a/n: sooooo i wanted to write something for dean and it hit me with the idea when Night Moves played on the radio the other day so here it is lovelies!

taglist: @rosecentury

Night Moves - Bob Seger

The first time you heard this song was on one of your first road trips with Dean. The two of you had just started hunting together. you both met when you were younger, our fathers being hunter friends, those in the business know everyone. After Sam left and Dean's father John was around less and less he figured he could use a hand, although he never admits he wanted company and truly hated the silence of working alone. He knew you were hunting and there was something in your area, that's how the whole working together started. 

Now you sat in the Impala months later, window rolled down as the night air swooped into the car. Segers's voice flowed out of the radio, and Dean turned up the music. You looked back over towards him smiling slightly. 

“What's this song?” you asked him, he gave a look of shock before his face morphed into that grand smile. 

“Night Moves,” he told you, smile still present. “Dad used to play it at night for Sammy”

“You miss them?” you asked. His smile falters a little bit. Asking Dean sensitive questions sometimes made the rest of whatever car ride you were on longer than it was. This time Dean just sat there driving for a bit, letting the song play out.

“I do,” he told you at last, as the last lines of the song played out from the car's radio. You nodded your head before turning back to watch the countryside fly by. The song finished playing and the radio was turned back down so all that was heard was the rumbling of the car and a slight noise from the radio. 

 

Spirit in the Sky - Norman Greensbaum

You knew this song, remember your dad enjoyed listening to it. While the song had a religious undertone, you liked the vibe of the song. Your father had never been a huge religious man but he always thought even though he was a hunter he would end up in “god's great palace”, as he would say.

“You think there is a heaven?” you asked Dean who was sitting across from you. He looked up from the research he was doing. 

“What brought on this question?” he asked you back.

“The song. Dad liked it, figured you must like it too” you told him. He nodded his head smiling a bit. 

“Greenbaum a good artist” he responded, “i never thought about heaven”

“Never?” you were a bit shocked. 

“I know what's on this earth, after that i'm not too concerned with heaven or hell”

“Ah, that makes sense,” you responded. You sat back in the booth letting your head fall back and listening to the song end. Dean continued rustling through the local newspaper, glancing at you ever so often. He loved watching you think, didn't matter what it was he liked watching. He knew this topic must have been something you thought about often.

“You think there's a heaven?”

“Hm, not sure. I mean Dad thought so but after all I've seen I'm not sure” you told him still resting your head back. Once the song was over you lifted your head back up to see Dean watching you. “If there is one, I'll find you don't worry”

“I wasn't worried,” Dean said fast. He looked back at the pages in front of him. A part of Dean knew that if he was gone and there was only science he would lose his mind. Another part of him hoped you would be there with him so he wouldn't have to be alone again. 

“Sure you weren't Dean”

Heat of the Moment - Asia

This was one of Dean's favorites, and you knew that because he would never ever keep the radio silent when it played. It was one of those awful sunny mornings and you were still miraculously asleep in the backseat when Dean started blasting this song. You didn't remember if you woke up with a start because of the song or the nightmare you were having, either way, you woke up to an absolutely stunning smile from Dean. 

“Morning baby” he said to you before turning back to the road drumming his hands on the wheel as he did. 

“I hate when you do this” Your voice was groggy when you spoke. Dean only laughed from the driver's seat. “Tell me you at least have coffee” As requested, Dean's hand went to the center console where there was a cup of coffee waiting for you. Gas station coffee was always horrible but it did the job, Dean knew you well enough to remember to grab you a cup on his fast trip inside before he rolled out early this morning. 

Simple Man - Lynyrd Skynyrd

The radio was playing while you sat in the car, dean fixing something about the car elsewhere. It was another lazy day at Bobbies, taking things easy after a recent hunt Dean and yourself did. You had a book out while he did his thing. Dean rolled out from under the car looking your way, he smiled at the sight of you reading. 

“What book is it this time?” Dean asked. 

“It's one of Bobbies wifes old books” you told him, “it's a romance”

“I should have guessed,” he said laughing slightly. He came over putting his arms on the hood and leaning toward you inside the car. You scooted forward. 

“How's the car looking?” you asked. 

“Babys all good to go,” he told you. He led down further kissing you. “How's my girl doing?”

“She's good, sad that the car gets more attention sometimes,” you told him. He laughed, pulling his arms into the car and on either side of you. You smiled at him, putting your book down.

“I see. Well darling, how shall I show you attention today?” den asked, a mischievous smile dancing on his lips.

“I can think of a few things”

Carry On my Wayward Son - Kansas

You smiled when the song turned on. You glanced back at the younger Winchester brother riding in the back. Sam gave you a smile. Your attention retired to Dean's face, the man driving the car. After this last hunt, you thought that would be it for you. Dean had been gripping the wheel since you got in and drove away. You rested your hand on his arm, and you could see the muscles in his arm relax.

“Don't you cry no more” you said to him, letting the lyrics sink in for him. Dean smiled at you.

“Always sappy,” he told you. 

“Always. I'm not sappy though, you just don't do emotions very well” You responded, hitting him with a little snarky response. Your hand had left his arm at this point, the tension was back. 

“Nah I do emotions just fine” Dean defended, Sam snickers from the back seat. 

“Want to talk about how you thought I was dead then?” You asked him. You were a bit forward with the question, knowing that not two hours ago you almost got killed by a werewolf. You were still in a haze about the whole experience but you knew Dean handled it worse than you. 

“Never,” He said, the steering creaking from his grip. Again you put your hand on his soldier, helping lighten the grip. 

“Case and point” you whispered to him. There was no reaction from him, he was still upset you brought up your near-death experience. Sam cleared his thoughts uncomfortably. “Sorry Sammy”

“Don't be. You only said the truth Y/N” Sam responded nodding at you with silent understanding. Sam knew his brother as well as you did. Dean still looked as if he wanted to fight the world. This will be talked about again tomorrow. You heard the last of the song die out before the car ride got quiet again. 

+ One song you like

Lost Angel - Heart

Dean plugged the tape into the cassette spot in his car. The sound of Heart played beautifully out of the Impala. You looked over at him, smiling. 

“I love this song” you told him happily. The last few days had been hard, not only for the fact that the two of you had finally done something about the budding tension between the two of you, but also the hunt was rough. The two of you not only had just started the relationship you both knew was inevitable, but had been so worried about the other dying right after that you became narrow minded. Dean almost got himself killed because he was hyper focused on your safety. There were conversations had after that hunt about everything. 

“I know you do darling, the only reason I played it” He said to you. Smiling that cheeky smile around you. This man was going to be the end for you. 

“That's sweet Dean,” you told him sliding over in the car and kissing him on the cheek. The song continued to play, and you hummed along and silently sang the words. Dean was enjoying every minute of your happy fueled mood that the past day's event left his mind.

[samwinchesterswifu]

Dark Side of the Moon (Dean Winchester x Reader)

Requested: No

Season 5 x Episode 16

Warnings: none :))

MINORS DNI

A/N: I'm having such a good inspiration going back and re-watching the show. Including little moments that could have happened if either boys had a partner.

Word Count: 615

Summary: Unaware of being dead, the reader takes a moment to indulge in a memory that she had long since forgotten.

Completely unaware of the current situation unfolding, she finds herself in the entrance of Bobby’s house. However, she was dressed like how she used to when she was 16. A baggy white t-shirt and loosely fitting jeans. The shirt seemed to stretched out, and a cheap cologne came from the top hem of the t-shirt. Realizing it was the old cologne Dean used to wear when they were-

“Y/N?” 16-year-old Dean pops from the kitchen to greet her with the biggest grin on his face. His voice still slightly high from not hitting puberty quit yet.

A small grin forms on her face, she hadn’t seen this version of Dean in years. The Dean she knew.

“Come on, I got this situated on the couch,” Dean motions to follow him. She gives a small nod, following him into the living room.

Next to the couch was a small side table pulled out. A hot cup of tea, presumably fresh, and a thick lore book with a bookmark sticking out on top.

Dean sits on the edge of the couch, one leg stretched out, the other on the floor. He pats his lap, motioning for her to lay down. Doing what he asks, she gently lays her head on his leg. She looks up to Dean briefly, another wide tooth grin forms on his face. This was their favorite summer activity. Bobby was gone, and John had probably left the three of them there away on a hunt. The windows were open slightly, allowing the fresh breezy air to swift in.

Dean picks up the lore book and begins reading were they had left off previously. While at the same time, he began to pet her hair. Hearing Deans soothing voice, she began to drift off to sleep.

However, she was rudely awaken by the sound of rushing footsteps coming from the kitchen. Jolting up from her spot, younger Dean was not responding to what was happening. Merging around a corner, she spots a much older Dean, and much older Sam. The two stopping in their tracks looking between her and the Younger Dean that was left on the couch.

“Guys?” She asks, confused on how they got there.

They quickly explain everything, how Roy and Walt had killed them and they were in heaven living out their greatest moments. Hearing that, a deep blush forms on her cheeks.

“So this is yours..?” Her Dean chuckles lowly. Surprised but also understanding. She could only muster up a small nod.

“Is this what you guys used to do when I wasn’t around?” Sam asks honestly bewildered at how slow Dean used to be with her around.

“Yeah,” She admits with an embarrassed tone on her voice.

Another chuckle is heard from Dean. He walks towards her. Cuffing the side of her cheek and giving her a sweet kiss.

“I miss these moments too sweetheart,” Dean whispers. His green eyes shining like how they did whenever he was happy.

Suddenly, the world around them started to shake, and a bright light flashes into the windows. The boys mention for her duck and to stay quiet. They explain its Zacharia looking for them and that they had to find the next road. Discussing quickly, the boys make a decision to try the front door.

They all move towards that area. Sam opens the door and mentions that it was the correct move. Before leaving with them, she takes one final look back at the young boy the couch. He was in the same position, reading a loud the same book. She smiles, happy to have had a chance to relive that memory.

[scoobydoodean]

Everybody leaves you, Dean. You noticed? Mommy. Daddy. Even Sam. You ever ask yourself why? Maybe it’s not them. Maybe, it’s you.

(5.16 "Dark Side of the Moon")

Just. A quick post on this, because I think that some fans, right along with Dean during this interaction, have been tricked into believing that this is true. They have been tricked by this dialogue into believing that Dean is a clingy, overly needy person who pushes every single person he loves away by needing too much or just by being too much in general.

This is not true.

Mary didn't leave because her four year old was a burden, and if she had, that wouldn't have been Dean's fault at four years old. Mary died because she made a demon deal before she even had kids.

John didn't leave because Dean was a burden. John's absences from Dean (AND SAM's) life happened because of John's issues—because he coped with trauma through vengeance and lost sight of his family until the end, when his last act was to sacrifice himself to save Dean's life.

Recognizing that Mary and John leaving Dean had nothing to do with Dean being a burden in real life, the idea that Dean is always being left behind and that him always being the common denominator implicates him breaks down.

Dean and Sam's relationship is a particularly complicated one—made so by multiple deaths, parentification in childhood, childhood neglect, and terrifying apocalyptic destinies. To make Sam running away at 12 or going to school about Dean being the problem is to vastly undersell the conflict Sam had with John. In fact, even with Sam clashes with Dean directly in the early seasons, he is usually using Dean as a stand in for a fight he can't have with their father—and we see the actual blow up occur between father and son in 1.20. Strife between Sam and Dean about living in each other's pockets also isn't one-sided when that kind of strife rears its head. In fact, Dean was the one relieved to be away from Sam a little earlier in the season, from 5.02 to the end of 5.04. Dean called his family chains in 5.03 and was very directly referring to Sam.

There's good and bad among Sam and Dean's feelings about each other, but we know from 5.22 "Swan Song" that the idea sold in 5.16 "Dark Side of the Moon"—that Sam doesn't have happy memories with Dean—is a flat out lie. Happy memories with Dean are literally what breaks Lucifer's control over Sam's body, flipping a switch in Sam's head as memory after memory of being on the road with Dean rushes fondly through Sam's mind.

Zachariah leads Sam and Dean through heaven like rats in a maze. He knew where they were the entire time they were in heaven. Sam and Dean were lead to believe they could hide, but Zachariah always knew where they were. He popped up in certain areas to drive them from one place to another, in a loop through memories selling the story Zachariah wanted to sell.

He pushed them away from the happy memories Sam has with Dean (as seen in "Swan Song") and toward memories where Sam was away from their family (two of which specifically represented escape from John) to sell the narrative that Sam doesn't care about Dean. Zachariah tries to sell this narrative because 5.04 "The End" culminated in Dean feeling he and Sam were both stronger together than apart. Zachariah is deliberately trying to break Dean's belief in that family bond to drive him away from his family and toward despair. He wants Dean to stop believing that he could ever be enough to keep Sam from saying "Yes". Zachariah wants Dean to see himself as disposable because Zachariah wants Dean to make himself a disposable vessel. Zachariah wants Dean to feel completely unloved and alone.

[presleyluvschris]

Wildest Dreams

pairing(s): jj maybankx fem!pogue!reader

authors note hey lovelies :) im moving away from my boy right now and its been super hard on me, sorry i haven't been posting for you guys. i thought a lil jj fanfic on wildest dreams would take me to comfort beyond levels.

poll from what it looks like- wildest dreams won. I finished the ending of this bizarre rollercoaster for you all..at 1am <3

word count ↱ 1.7k

warnings pure fluff, grammar, and i believe that is truly it. if i missed anything, please let me know.

masterlist

enjoy 🤍

-----------------------------------------------------------------------

"hey!" you heard the window open beside the counter. It was your boss. "new table, 10 o'clock."

you were wearing a white dress over your usual waitress uniform. sweat glands were across your forehead, trickling down your face and into your neck. you were working an extra quick shift at the wreck today. it was the last day you would see your beautiful blonde boy before you left for your dads job in an entire new state.

you groan and finish wiping the counter, leaving your wet and white stained rag to fall to the floor.

tucking your notepad and pen back inside your pocket, you head for table 13 as your boss instructed as your last for the day.

you head out of the kitchen and back into open air as the wind brushed past your face, leaving you feeling cool from the hot and humid atmosphere of inside.

the outside was bustling with people everywhere.

despite the busy crowds, you plaster a smile on your face as you approach the table, taking orders left and right.

you write them down and go back into the kitchen to dial the orders and after a while, you go out again to serve the food.

after a while, you we're finally done with your shift.

you look down at your feet, taking your uniform off and wiping the sweat from your face.

"y/n?"

as you hear the familiar voice, you look up to see your favorite blonde standing behind the counter.

your face instantly lights up with a smile as you run over to hug him, almost so tight it makes the two of you twirl.

he puts you down gently

"you ready, pretty girl?"

you grin so wide it makes your cheeks burn a little.

he takes your hand in his as you both walk out of the wreck, heading towards john b's twinkie. you both get in with excitement, as jj starts pulling out of the parking lot and on to the main road

"lets get outta here."

the wind from the un-rolled car window beats upon your face like a fresh new beginning.

its the same feeling you got every time you and jj drove to a new spot, new restaurant, new date.

he said lets get out of this town, drive out of the city, away from the crowds.

after way too many jams to your favourite marley playlist, the twinkie stops in its tracks.

"we're here. JJ breathes, as he gets out of the van, going up on the other side to open your door for you.

you step out onto the sand and you feel warm inside. JJ takes your hand and leads you out onto the sandy beach.

you giggle as you fall into the base line of water. jj sits down in the sand and watches you laugh and smile. it was his most favorite thing ever.

he gets up from the sand after a while and reaches out his hand for you to grasp as you pull yourself up with a laugh.

he tucks a piece of your hair back behind your ear. you always loved the way he made you feel like a little girl again. you feel your throat and stomach swarm with little butterflies.

he towers over you as you rest the side of your face on his shoulder, barely being able to touch, but you do. something that never failed to make you feel un-deniably safe.

you look up in his eyes in awe of the beautiful water color feature, mixed with tan skin that radiated his blonde hair that felt like home, but excitement all at once.

i thought heaven can't help me now. nothing lasts forever, but this is gonna take me down. he's so tall, and handsome as hell.

"you wanna do something fun?" he graps your hand and rubs it back and forth with his thumb, making you giggle a little more.

"of course." you smile, as a blush appears on your cheeks making your face feel tingly and warm.

he leads you to a little white wooden house across the shore that was filled with life guard equipment.

he takes your hand as helps you step up by the door.

he knocks twice, no answer.

he looks back over his shoulder to see you giggling, concealing your smile with your hand. he throws you a wink and pulls back the door as he steps inside.

you follow him in, carefully shutting the wooden door behind you.

the two of you lock eyes and snicker a little.

you we're already two steps ahead of what he was thinking.

he hands you a board as you try and conceal your grin spreading across your face.

the two of you leave the small shack with your boards after jj smashes the lifeguard's tips in his pockets because he couldn't resist himself.

you laugh and follow him out, sitting in the water watching your blonde boy kick back another wave.

he's so bad but he does it so well. I can see the end, as it begins- my one condition is..

after the two of you have way too much fun in the midst of saltwater, you swim back with your stomach on your board, the warmth of the sun pressing into your scalp.

you make your way back into the sand and toss your board to the side, jj catching up to you and laying his board down next to yours.

he walks with you back to the twinkie away from the water to change out of wet clothes. He shuts the car door closed as you pull on a flowy sundress, lace peaking up from the back of your white bra, stuffing your bikini in your backpack.

jj takes his hand in yours again and rubs your back with a smile as you make your way back over to the damp sand, pressed by gentle waves creeping in.

the sun begins to fade into the horizon as it paints colors of burning yellow and oranges.

the two of you sit down in the sand.

theres a silence in the air for a while, only echoed by the soft sounds of the beach.

"i don't want this night to end", he whispers, looking down into the water.

you look into his eyes as tears begin to block your vision.

"can you promise me something?" you look down again, your words stamping the air.

there was a light silence again as he begins to read your face.

he breathes in.

"of course darling," he caresses your face with his thumb, cupping your cheek in one hand.

"will you remember me when i leave?"

he plays with the strap of your sundress as he takes his hand in yours.

"oh love.." he kisses the top of your forehead gently.

tears fall from your face, that you felt like had held you captive for so long. He wipes them away with his thumb.

"we will see each other again all right? i dont care what it is.." he looks down at the sand and then back into your eyes. They sparkle from the colors that painted the sky above the sea.

you lean over to press your lips against his on your knees.

it was a long, passionate kiss. one that felt like retaining that promise.

he pulls away a little before wrapping his strong arms around you, pulling you in for a gentle hug as you rest your face on his shoulder.

"forever and always, darling."

you wipe your eyes and nod, reaching for his pinky as he keeps you retained in the hug.

he locks his finger into yours.

"pinky promise." he whispers, tucking your hair away from your face.

you look into his face as warmth fills into your cheeks, matching the color of your lips.

say you'll remember me, standing in a nice dress, staring at the sunset, babe. red lips, and rosy cheeks. say you'll see me again, even if its just in your wildest dreams.

after many long deep talks and staring into the stars, you both make your way to the twinkie, jj opening up the door for you as you get in.

you hold his hand as he keeps one arm on the steering wheel, driving down the road.

after a while the twinkie stops to the side again.

you breathe out shakily and stare at your front door from the van.

"you ready?"

you feel tears overtake your throat again and nod slowly, staring.

he helps you out of the twinkie, and walks you to the front of your house, following you inside.

you step into your room with him and gently shut the door behind you.

he gets up from your bed and towers over you, taking his shirt off, dropping it to the floor, revealing his toned chest.

you barely even swallow.

you press your mouth into his as you gently make out with each other against the door, the feeling of jj running his fingers through your hair.

I said no one has to know what we do, his hands are in my hair, his clothes are in my room. And his voice is a familiar sound, nothing lasts forever.

eventually the two of you make your way back over to the doorway.

he puts his hand on the wall, looking at your face.

tears fill your eyes and they drop themselves on the hard wood floor.

he pulls you into one last hug, rubbing your back into small circles.

you choke on your sobs, tears streaming down your face as he steps away from the door frame and into the cold night air.

crickets chirp in the background.

"i love you, princess", he whispers softly before kissing the top of your hand and letting it drop to your side again.

you cover your mouth with your hand as you loose your breath in your chest, tears falling past your cheeks and into the rim of your ears.

the door clicks shut.

[avonne-writes]

Would you feel inspired to write something for #38 Multiverse? I imagine them falling in love with each other in every universe 🥹💓

Thank you so much for the prompt, lovelies ❤️ This is exactly why I have "In Every Universe" on my blog!

I'm so sorry but this got very angsty... This is a multiverse of two new and wildly different AUs. Tell me if it’s too much and I should delete it. I uploaded it to AO3.

Warning for angst, MCD and suicide.

~~~

It's no harder to die in sunshine than in rain. It’s a fat fucking lie that tragedy avoids the light. In fact, in John's experience, heat and blue skies bring more pain striking at unsuspecting hearts than a storm or nighttime. This is why today is so fucking perfect - not a cloud in sight above the wide plains of the desert. The wind whips past his ears as he pushes his chopper to speed on towards the valley as fast as it can go.

The road is straight and empty. A path devoid of life.

Nothing makes John feel more alive than staring that gaping nothingness in the face and accelerating. The sun tilts towards the earth with sharp, cheerful rays the colour of the marigolds in the front yard of John's Ma. The marigolds he trampled to death when Gale told him he was going to 'Nam, the marigolds that grow in the park where his love rests now. It's the same hazy, warm sunset that shone when Gale’s Huey was shot down.

A light John will never forget. Fire under blue skies, his own bird straining to stay up high. The same heat that rose from the pyre of Gale's helicopter wreck that day will see John off on this last flight. His bike's engine roars like a cry of rage, and he laughs even as the tears spill out his eyes.

"That’s what you get for being sentimental." Gale's deep drawl says in his mind. Then a kiss, the last one, pressed hastily to his lips behind a jeep in the deep, silent night, his gift for remembering a simple date in the calendar. Not much.

If he had known, he would have given his own life instead, but he couldn’t, so here he is now, rectifying that mistake even if it doesn't bring Gale back. Down to the exact date. Still sentimental to the bone. He promised Gale they would ride these roads together one day - it feels right to end it here.

John lets his focus slip as his bike flies towards the end of the road, the wind in his curls, sunshine warming his side, and Gale’s voice riding with him, "still with me?" His dog tags feel heavy on their chain. He blinks, and his sight blurs. Reds and blues and marigolds rust together into one glistening swirl of colour. Light shatters in his eyes, and the blood in his ears deafens him to the screech of his skidding bike, do you hear me? John John -

"Bucky!" Gale's voice rings loud and clear through the sudden silence that snaps into clarity around John. He closes his eyes for a moment to fight down a wave of nausea, then sits up with a groan.

Around him, all he sees is a sleek, dim cabin with dark furniture and an oval window like a ship's, only larger. Outside, the night sky. A strip of teal light lines the feather-soft bed he’s sitting on, and ink black clothes as soft as silk rustle as he bends his arms. Somewhere off to the side, he hears the sound of a shower running.

Is this the afterlife?

"Gale?" He calls out tentatively, his heart stumbling painfully over every breath, scared to believe but helpless to hope.

"Finally." Gale mutters.

John's lips twitch into a smile. This isn’t the heaven he imagined but nothing matters, as long as they're together wherever they are. He’s sorry it took him so long to make it here. He’s sorry Gale had to wait two whole years for him to follow.

"I know that you're sorry, but come over here already, will ya?" Gale says impatiently.

"I'm coming!" John jumps up, then promptly falls back on the bed when something yanks him down. Something flexible around his neck with a transparent mask dangling from it, connected to the headrest behind him. He’s curious, but there’s no time. He needs to get to Gale, he waited long enough. He needs to hurry.

"Damn right, hurry up." Gale says, then part of the seamless black wall hisses open to reveal a doorway with rounded corners. Warm air and steam rushes out, and a golden glow radiates from the space inside.

John extricates himself from the strange tubing and pads towards the light on bare feet. Perhaps, the space he’s in is Purgatory, and he’s headed to Heaven now. He just needs to follow the voice of his love. His heart swells with joy as he steps inside.

Behind the curtain of steam, Gale laughs that stifled chuckle of his that John has always loved ever since they met at the country fair three years before they went to war. It's him. John's best friend, his love, his man - everything. John rushes towards him but he stops dead in his tracks when the air suddenly clears at the press of a button and Gale turns to face him head on.

He looks older than John has ever known him, closer to thirty than the twenty-one of his death. There’s light stubble on his jaw and twin scars on his cheeks. Silky-smooth, sleeveless blue pajamas cover a frame a touch too thin but familiar. His hair is long enough that he could pass for a hippie, well over the regulation cut he said he would grow out again once their tour was over. But he never got to do that, not John's Gale, so he doesn’t understand -

"Whoa!" John exclaims.

A pair of hand-sized... things flare out behind Gale's ears. They look like iridescent palm leaves. They twitch, ripple, then fold away as Gale winces and turns to the mirror on the wall.

"That bad, huh?" He says. Then, whispered in John's ears, disappointed. His lips don’t move, but John hears him as clearly as if they were standing inches away.

John's heartbeat speeds up. When one of the appendages on Gale’s head flares out again, John jumps.

Irritated, Gale's voice says without uttering a word.

"It’s just a goddamn haircut, not the end of the galaxy. No need to panic." Gale says, holding a device up to his hair. Blond locks fall to the shiny grey floor with a swish. "I thought you'd like it."

Insecure. Sad. The whispers echo in John's ears. When Gale shakes himself and gives him a faint smile from the corner of his eyes, the murmuring changes to hopeful. "Come here and tell me how much I should cut."

John takes a step closer, then another, until he’s close enough to touch. His trembling hand finds Gale's shoulder. When it connects with solid, warm muscle and the jut of an unbroken bone, skin healthy and not burnt, John's breath hitches around a suppressed sob. His eyes water again.

"Buck." His voice cracks. He raises his fingertips to Gale's cheek. Saltwater runs down his own. "Is it really you? Are we in heaven?"

This time when the flaps flare around Gale's head, he expects it and only jumps a little before he leans in for a kiss, long and desperate because he spent two years wishing he held Gale longer the night before his death. He never wants to let go of him again. It barely even registers in his brain that Gale keeps whispering feelings close to his skin even though his lips are pressed to John's.

Confused, confused, happy, affectionate -

John figures it's something about this place that lets him hear Gale's thoughts. They're one in God - must be, if their souls are tangled like this. A shared heaven. Peace. The pain of John's grief is nothing compared to the slowly spreading happiness he feels.

"How about this?" Gale mumbles, pulling John's hands to his hair. It’s longer in the back and shorter on the top, an unusual style but John likes it, but he doesn’t know why Gale is so preoccupied with his hair. Don’t they have more important matters to discuss?

"Gale." John says quietly, running his thumbs over Gale’s cheek scars. He wonders how they got there. He didn’t think they’d still have marks like that after they die. "Do you remember Vietnam?"

Gale draws his eyebrows into a severe frown. Irritated, John hears him again. "Don’t tell me you named that mutt and smuggled him aboard."

"What?" John replies. His pulse starts racing with his confusion again. "Aboard?"

The appendages behind Gale's ears flutter wildly as Gale stares at him with those bright blue eyes of his. His expression is one of surprise and bafflement before a look of realization passes through him.

Alarmed, exasperated, John hears in his ears, then, calm. Pitying.

Gale's voice, when he speaks again, is patient and reassuring. "Is that where you come from? Viett-namm?"

He takes John's hands and pulls him gently towards the bedroom, too gently not to be suspicious. John's scared now. He doesn’t know what's going on or what he did wrong. Perhaps he only hit his head and didn’t die like he wanted, and these are the last fever dreams of his mind. Or, what if he didn’t say the right thing and he’s expelled from heaven?

"What are we doing?" He asks, chest rising and falling rapidly from the fear he tries and fails to control.

"We're just going to lie down, and you'll put your mask on." Gale says. "Calm down. Tell me about Viett-namm."

"I don't want to." John swallows, sitting on the mattress when Gale pushes him down. "You died." He grabs Gale's hand again. "Figured I'd follow you."

The anguish washing over John doesn’t feel like his own, but Gale’s face is kind and unreadable as he keeps pressing on John's shoulders until he lies down.

"Tuck these in." Gale says, sitting by John's hip and touching something around John's head.

"Ah!" John yelps when he feels a part of him flutter. He has those feeler things too, he realizes, gobsmacked. He reaches up to touch them, and they flare out against his pillow again.

Fond, heartbroken, he hears before Gale reaches up and tucks the things away again. When John tries to raise his hands to them once more, he pushes them away. They keep swatting at each other until Gale cracks a smile.

"Stop playing with you antennae."

"Yes, sir." John grins, but Gale just gives him a confused look as if he doesn’t understand.

He pulls the tubes around John's head again, then tries to put the mask on him, but John resists. "Wait, wait a second. What the hell is going on?" John tugs at the device. "What’s this? Where are we, Buck?"

Gale gives him a sad look and strokes John's face. "I'm not your Gale."

When John gapes at him, he slides the mask over John's face. He presses a button, and a sweet smell fills John's nose. Like a meadow. His limbs grow heavy, and he tries to protest and fight this strange, alien Gale off, but his strength drains from his limbs, and all that's left to him is to blink at Gale through drooping eyelids. His fingers flop on Gale’s thigh.

"My Bucky likes to use this device to see things happening to him in other times and other places. But this thing -" Here, Gale’s jaw clenches. "- is so goddamn old that sometimes it fails to wake him up properly. So you need to go back to sleep." He leans over John and strokes his head.

When John's antennae flare open again, he gives John a fond, amused smile. "In every universe, huh?"

The world starts darkening around the edges. Shadows cling to John's vision, narrowing it down to Gale's face, then only his eyes. A drop of wetness trickles down John's cheek.

"Gale..." is all he manages to say.

"He's waiting for you in your world." Gale says quietly. "Just go to sleep."

He's dead, John wants to say, but the words don’t make it to his lips. His eyes close, and he can’t open them again.

The soft touch of a kiss brushes his forehead. I love you, Gale’s voice whispers, but John isn’t sure if he really hears it.

Darkness descends, and he leaves.

[xxsksxxx]

Almost Heaven

Summary:

Mulder’s attempt to find more exciting cases to investigate while stuck in the bullpen turns into another weekend trip to the forest.

Meanwhile, Scully is faced with a tempting offer that could change both her future and their lives.

This story is complete, and I’m going to post one chapter a day.

AO3 | Back to the Beginning | @today-in-fic

Chapter 3: Drivin’ Down the Road, I Get a Feelin’

Interstate 66 Saturday, November 28th, 1998, 7:30 am

Scully turned her face towards the car window, trying to cover a yawn. They were already outside the city, heading west. Leave it to Mulder to knock on her door at 6:30 in the morning, eyes bright and restless like a five-year-old on the way to the ballpark.

You could’ve said no, her inner voice pointed out helpfully. She smiled to herself. Not likely. She loved their little adventures nearly as much as Mulder did. Not that she’d ever admit that to him. Scully gave him a sideways glance. Mulder was humming along to the radio, chewing on a sunflower side. She watched him reach into the bag between their seats, pulling out another seed and licking the salt off of its shell. No, there were certainly worse places to be on a Saturday morning than being in a car with Mulder.

And he’d brought her her cup of coffee, of course. Perfect, like always. She took a sip of the still-hot liquid and felt the caffeine enter her bloodstream, waking her up a bit more.

Scully loved their little routines as of late. They’d always been close, but since their return from Antarctica, things have shifted. She glanced into her cup, watching the coffee swirl. Now Mulder brought her coffee each morning just how she liked it. And he never left the office without giving her shoulder a little squeeze or brushing her arm before wishing her a good evening. And of course, the calls where they now talked about more than just work. She’d told him about her Sunday lunch with her mother just a few days ago, both of them laughing about the stories her mother had told. And they’d begun to end those calls with wishes for sweet dreams, good nights, and long pauses. Scully closed her eyes against the warm rush that made her face flush and her heart race.

It wasn’t like she wasn’t following her own routines now, either. She didn’t even ask when she touched him wherever she felt like it these days. Scully was surprised he hadn’t called her out yet on constantly checking him over, brushing through his hair, feeling his back and chest, or just grabbing his arm. Picking up the phone after the first ring each night probably wasn’t secretive either, she sighed. Whatever was going on, it seemed to be an underlying agreement between them that they keep doing it—unfortunately, without talking about it.

What else is new? she wondered. Their unspoken communication was great, but sometimes she wished Mulder would also use words. And you’re talking to him about it? her inner voice questioned, and she sank deeper into her seat, taking another sip of her coffee. No, she wasn’t either. That was true. But that needed to change. She was tired of running in circles.

She leaned sideways in her seat, pressing her shoulder into the back so she could watch him fully. “So, where are we going exactly, Mulder? I believe you skipped that part on the phone last night.”

Mulder turned to her briefly before turning his eyes back to the road. “Does ’Country roads, take me home’ ring any bells for you, Scully?” he grinned.

She gave him a confused look. “What does John Denver have to do with our little trip? Please don’t tell me some farmer has seen his ghost in a national forest.”

Mulder laughed and then puckered his lower lip into a pout. “No ghosts, Scully. Just some good old mystery.” He pulled out another sunflower seed from the bag and put it on the tip of his tongue. “Only two more hours, and we’ll be there. You’ll get to visit the beautiful state of West Virginia. It’ll be fun,” he added, wiggling his eyebrows.

Scully sighed and turned towards the vents, trying to adjust the airflow. The windshield wipers were working at a steady pace to keep the constant rain off the windshield. “I hope you’re not planning on us traipsing around in this weather, Mulder. Nothing says ’fun’ like being soaking wet.”

“Think of it as an adventure. I know you like adventures.”

She glanced at him, feeling almost giddy with their easy banter. “My idea of a fun adventure involves less rain and more heat. And maybe a nice, cozy cabin with a fireplace.”

Mulder raised an eyebrow and winked at her. “Keep talking, Agent Scully! What about the heat?” he wiggled his eyebrows.

“Be careful what you wish for. I might be willing to turn up the heat—and you might not be able to handle it after all,” she playfully replied, not shying away from his look.

Mulder blinked, but was the first to break eye contact, his eyes refocusing on the road. He took another sunflower seed, chewing thoughtfully. “Ever heard of the West Virginia Mothman, Scully? I plan on making his acquaintance today.”

Scully kept watching him, a small smile playing on her lips. “I can’t say I have, Mulder. But if it’s got you fascinated, I’m not sure, it’s something I want to meet in the first place,” she quipped.

Mulder smiled at her indulgently. “Oh, you of little faith. Wait and see. We’re going to meet Mr. Murphy at ten, and he’ll show us to the clearing where he saw the Mothman.”

A clearing in the forest and a Mothman? So much for that fantasy of a weekend getaway, she sighed, leaning back in her seat. But secretly, she couldn’t suppress a smile. She loved it when Mulder got like that. His enthusiasm was utterly contagious and was one of the many things that had made the decision to stay on this weird assignment all those years ago surprisingly easy. She shook her head at herself. Mulder’s passion for the unexplainable might be charming, but one of these days it will get us killed, no doubt.

“You know, Mulder, sometimes I wonder if your mysterious creature sightings aren’t just your way of getting me alone in the middle of nowhere.”

Mulder chuckled, his eyes still on the road. “And what if you were right?”

Scully’s smile widened, and she leaned her head back against the headrest, closing her eyes. “Then I’d say you’re more of a romantic than I would have thought,” she joked lightly, but her tone held some seriousness.

Mulder glanced at her, a genuine smile on his lips. “Who knows, Scully? Maybe I am.”

[dishoneykisses]

And more to be added!

Wrap Me Up In New Fixations by Sirmoulin (E, Complete, 25,827K)

Relationships:

Poly141 - Relationship, Kyle "Gaz" Garrick/John "Soap" MacTavish/John Price/Simon "Ghost" Riley

Tags:

Scent Kink, Polyamory, Hand Jobs, Anal Sex, Oral Sex, Fluff and Smut, Double Penetration, Multiple Orgasms, Overstimulation, Creampies, Aftercare

Summary:

Taking care of curly hair was a process, a pain in the ass really. But at least the shampoo smells nice.

Four chapters of Gaz getting dicked down because the 141 thinks his hair smells good.

Ghost is annoyed (Thread) by Arson (E, Short Thread)

Relationships:

Ghost/Konig

Tags:

Summary:

Ghost is annoyed that König's dick is bigger than his, so he makes it his business to show the taller man that it can't possibly be better than his own.

Trans man Soap (Thread) by iammadeofpages (E, Short Thread)

Relationships:

Ghost/Soap

Tags:

dysphoria, self deprecation, lots of pussy talk, cunnilingus.

Summary:

People say it's not a problem. They always fucking do. As if the lie won't have to come out at some point? Like ignoring it works.

Ghost being so /done/ (Thread) by Raven (E, Short Thread)

Relationships:

Price/Soap, Ghost/Soap

Tags:

overstimulation, trans!soap, brat tamer!Price.

Summary:

Thinking of Ghost being so /done/ with bratty Soap that he just sends him to Price so that the Captain can bend him over his knee and wreck him.

Edge (Thread) by Bailiah (E, Short Thread)

Relationships:

Ghost/Soap

Tags:

Summary:

Ghost being more turned on than ever, and Soap absolutely not helping

i'm afraid i'll go to heaven by casiferfans (E, Complete -multiple parts -, 7,787K)

Relationships:

John "Soap" MacTavish/Simon "Ghost" Riley

Tags:

Mutual Pining, Sexual Tension, Resolved Sexual Tension, Accidental Voyeurism, Rough Sex, Possessive Behavior, Top Simon "Ghost" Riley, Bottom John "Soap" MacTavish, Banter, Blackmail, Protectiveness, Biting

Summary:

"It’s information,” Price spit out, beginning to pace back and forth. He tacked on, “Information on us," as if his original anger and statement didn’t make that obvious.

“So blackmail,” Ghost supplied. Price gave a jerky nod in affirmation. “Okay. What in the fresh hell does it have to do with me?”

It's Tactical by WhisperedWords12 (E, Complete - part of short series, Stand alone - 1, 979K)

Relationships:

Rodolfo Parra/Alejandro VargasJohn "Soap" MacTavish/Simon "Ghost" Riley

Tags:

Hand JobsBlow Jobs, Teasing, Dirty Talk, One Shot, Stand Alone, Voyeurism, Past Accidental Voyeurism

Summary:

“I’d advise you not to look,” Ghost said.

A thud against the car, the vehicle swaying slightly.

“What in the bloody hell—“ Soap cursed, hand on his weapon, looking to the side mirror. Alejandro had Rudy pinned against the car by his hips, was biting hungrily at his bottom lip.

“Told you not to look,” Ghost mumbled. “Unless that’s your thing. I won’t judge.”

Backseat Driver by WhisperedWords12 (E, Complete, - part of series, stand alone - 5,249K)

Relationships:

John "Soap" MacTavish/Simon "Ghost" Riley, Rodolfo Parra/Alejandro Vargas, John "Soap" MacTavish/Rodolfo Parra/Simon "Ghost" Riley/Alejandro Vargas

Tags:

Foursome - M/M/M/M, Car Sex, Established Relationship, Overstimulation, Multiple Orgasms, Hand Jobs, Anal Sex, Anal Fingering, Fingerfucking, Praise Kink, Voyeurism, Explicit Sexual Content, Bottom John "Soap" MacTavishTop Simon "Ghost" RileySwitch Alejandro Vargas, Switch Rodolfo ParraPlot What Plot/Porn Without Plot

Summary:

Ghost gave Soap a look that was dark and just a little bit hungry. “Get into the back seat,” he said, his voice low.

Soap swallowed, confused. “The back?” he asked. He had a very distinct problem that he was trying to hide. There was no way he was going to be getting into the back with the other two right there.

But Ghost nodded, eyes back on the road. A hand reached out from behind him on the door side, squeezing his bicep. It was Alejandro, leaning forwards in his seat. “Come here, Soap,” he said, tugging gently on Soap’s shirt.

When Soap looked into the backseat he saw that both Rudy and Alejandro wore a similar expression to Ghost’s

Soap finds out about dick piercings by Bob Mcee (E, Short Thread)

Relationships:

Ghost/Soap

Tags:

Summary:

Soap finds out about dick piercings and has a meltdown about it. Ghost has been pining for him since he first saw him and uses this to try and make a move on him.

TW: NON-CON Tempting Obsidian by WhisperedWords12 (E, Complete, 11,555K)

Relationships:

John "Soap" MacTavish/Simon "Ghost" RileyJohn "Soap" MacTavish/TentaclesJohn "Soap" MacTavish/Simon "Ghost" Riley/Tentacles

Tags:

hreesome - M/M/Other, Tentacles, Aphrodisiacs, Drugged Sex, Possessive Sex, Explicit Sexual Content, Rape/Non-con Elements, Extremely Dubious Consent, Medical Experimentation, Restraints, Choking, Prostate Massage, Oral Fixation, Non-Consensual Voyeurism, Overstimulation, Multiple Orgasms, Multiple Penetration, Asphyxiation, First Time Bottoming, Anal Sex, Canon-Typical Violence

Summary:

Soap falls in the field, only to wake up in some kind of medical facility.

And what are captured soldiers for, if not to be used in scientific experimentations? Unfortunately, this one’s side effects come as a surprise to everyone.

Uhhh (vagueing) by Mosser (E, Short Thread)

Relationships:

Ghost/Soap

Tags:

Summary:

Nsfw ghostsoap face riding

Quick by Bob Mcee (E, fluff, Short Thread)

Relationships:

Ghost/Soap

Tags:

Summary:

Ghost has a high libido and Soap is a raging asexual

Johnny, I swear by Dilf doney (E, Short Thread)

Relationships:

Ghost/Soap

Tags:

Summary:

“Johnny, I swear to go— hnn!” Ghost cuts off with a choked moan, pressing his forehead into the bed.

real slow and steady by bailish (E, Short thread)

Relationships:

Ghost/Price

Tags:

Summary:

Real slow and steady, luxuriating in it, all the while knowing exactly how the sound travels between where he is and Price’s office, knows damn well the captain can hear him

thoughts by Jae (E, short thread)

Relationships:

Ghost/Soap

Tags:

Summary:

Ghost who absolutely will not recieve during sex. Like anything, at all.

omegaverse by Limerence (E, Short Thread)

Relationships:

Soap/Ghost

Tags:

Summary:

Soap & Ghost are undercover in an omega brothel, when it happens.

[charcubed]

Hi. I tend to forget that tumblr exists and just shout all my thoughts about The Winchesters on Twitter @CharCubed, which is a problem, but for once in my life I'm posting something here!

Here are some broad Thoughts on where I've landed of what this season 1 finale of The Winchesters offered–

• I very much want season 2 of this show SO badly. I want to see how they all continue to build their lives now that we know tragedy need not be their end! THIS IS THE HEALING SHOW. That whole cast gets to write their own story... "the only thing that's worse than how it starts for a hunter is how it ends" is no longer the case, as Carlos already said... and Dean helped to free them? That fucks.

• In regards to those possibilities: now that Dean would no longer be framing the prequel as a story he's telling, it frees the prequel up to no longer be doubling as Dean's story through revealing mirroring–which is very much what it's been doing for 12 episodes. Now the monster plots and the storylines for those characters in The Winchesters can also be diversified, so every episode no longer has to include, for example... [checks notes] a situation where a character is literally and/or metaphorically trapped and has to confront their trauma, break cycles of violence, and speak truths to be freed. It's been very Loud and very much Like This Constantly because it's Dean's story, but now it won't have to be anymore, which is an interesting thing to contemplate! (To be clear, for those unaware of my history of yelling about this show: I love that it was Like This. This show is fucking genius.)

• Initially, this finale had some alarm bells pinging in my brain but then I parsed the Reasons for those things. Mary told John she had "Something to say," right? And then she never says it. That's a Chekhov's gun that's never fired and it's of course paralleling how Dean has "something to say" to Cas too. Them not speaking that truth is a problem. In addition, we also got a montage eerily akin to the 15x19 one. But these callbacks / parallels to s15 all loudly indicate something very specific: The Winchesters is an unfinished story, and this finale (like the rest of this show) is mirroring and revealing truths about the prime narrative of SPN. For one thing, with the prequel they originally expected to have 22 or so episodes and ended up having 13 to work with. For another... this is the START of their story, not the end. So along those lines, what can we deduce about the end of season 15? (Hint: that finale is not an ending either.)

• Speaking of which: We learn that everything Dean was just doing takes place in the ~heavenly~ time period before Sam “dies." This all functionally happened right after Dean died as he drove down that road. He is restless, unmoored, grieving, and–this is key–considers his "ending" to be an unhappy happy one. He's fucking around and finding out, looking for and unpacking (through his narration) what he needs and wants for HIS happy ending to look like. He found out about the Akrida being a failsafe from Chuck and couldn't resist meddling to save everyone. It's also worth noting that Dean says to Jack something like, "If you have to kick me out of Heaven then that's fine." Between the lines is the thought of "please kick me out of Heaven, I'm causing problems because I'm grieving and I'm not done, I don't want this 'peace' but would rather have freedom." That in itself is a massive subversion of the SPN finale, to say nothing of the previous 12 episodes we've received.

Anyway. So in terms of Dean's story, we now know that this all takes place smack in the middle of 15x20 timeline-wise. This checks out because Bobby's presence connects to him being the only one we saw in 15x20. And... what I personally consider to be Jack's incredibly fucked up or ~potentially taken over by Chuck~ vibes are, in that sense, consistent with 15x19 as well. (I'm so sorry but please let me drop this cursed "Alex Calvert playing Chuck" joke by Jensen from August 2022 which haunts me.)

So: nothing about the concept that @chuckwon at the end of season 15 has been confirmed or denied in canon at this point. The idea that Chuck LOST, as Dean says here, is simply what Dean may still be thinking (which makes sense). But nothing has fundamentally changed about the state of how season 15 left things in the prime narrative yet... largely because that's not what this story is / was about.

In terms of what this finale presented to us, I think "Chuck won" potential was all deliberately left open. And I continue to Call Bullshit on the finale accordingly. A Chuck won plot line COULD be used in a future sequel to great affect, or it could NOT be used in a future sequel. That will be totally up to the future authors / team behind that potential sequel to see what story they choose to tell, and where it all may or may not go. But until then (on that front) right now it's the same shit, different show, and deliberately literally nothing about that potential has changed.

• I LOVE all of the above now that I've parsed it all in my brain. It makes perfect sense. Much like we were never going see the gay angel pop up in this show and kiss Dean (with apologies to anyone who somehow thought otherwise?)... leaving other things open like this is fantastic and the objectively correct call. Dean's story is HIS story to be furthered elsewhere, whereas this show belonged and continues to belong to its cast of characters who must take center stage. But through this story within a story narrated by Dean himself, we learned a hell of a lot about his state of mind as it actively stands in 15x20. Or more accurately: the entire show reinforces and reiterates comprehensively and repeatedly that the SPN finale was wrong and bad and not the end of the story at all, and now canonically and openly and in no uncertain terms that that's how Dean feels too.

• AND THUS: season 1 of The Winchesters works as deeply clever and layered commentary on Supernatural's ending and presents the stepping stone for a sequel continuation for Dean and his family. It's also the beginning of a new chapter with endless potential for The Winchesters' cast of characters who are not tied to fate or main timeline.

I fucking love it here.

Truly, madly, deeply: ALL HAIL ROBBIE THOMPSON.

And seriously, I really hope we get a season 2 because I adore all of the prequel's characters on their own merit and I want to see what their story can become :')

[simplegenius042]

Music Monday and Moodboard of WIP + Phrase/Dialogue

Tagged by @icecutioner @inafieldofdaisies @socially-awkward-skeleton @derelictheretic and @shallow-gravy

Tagging @direwombat @strangefable @rhettsabbott @voidika @josephseedismyfather @josephslittledeputy @imogenkol @cloudofbutterflies92 @skoll-sun-eater @cassietrn @carlosoliveiraa @adelaidedrubman @g0dspeeed @wrathfulrook @afarcryfrommymain @aceghosts @turbo-virgins @shellibisshe @deputy-morgan-malone @softtidesworld @starsandskies @ladyoriza @la-grosse-patate @florbelles @sleepyconfusedpotato @titiagls @minilev @yokobai @thewanderer-000 @omen-speaker @justasmolbard and @alypink + anyone else who wants to join. Taglist here.

(Update: So if you happened to have been pinged again, sorry, I edited/corrected a mistake and suddenly that made the tags inoperable so I had to make them functional again).

One song for A Radioactive Calamity Of Love, Bombs & Gore, The UnTitledverse and The Silver Chronicles each and two moodboards for a WIP in The UnTitledverse and The Silver Chronicles.

A Radioactive Calamity Of Love, Bombs & Gore is a Fallout fic series, and Fallout is mostly set in America, and what better to describe the best parts of America than John Denver's "Take Me Home, Country Roads". While I know there's a Fallout version for this song sung by Spank, I'll save that one when analyzing its role in What Happened To Vault Number 76? As for now, John Denver's version encapsulates Ortega "Ore" Brantley and Marissa "Ress" Bishop's journey, as well as my Fallout protagonist OCs. Narrative-wise, this song describes both Ore and Ress' acknowledgement of their beginning roots (Appalachia and New Reno in New California respectively) and the comfort these homes bring, but also how they'll never lose sight of their true home, and how no matter their father, Arcane Urias, attempts to persuade them otherwise, they'll always trail their roads back home.

"Almost heaven, West Virginia Blue Ridge Mountains, Shenandoah River Life is old there, older than the trees Younger than the mountains, growing like a breeze

Country roads, take me home To the place I belong West Virginia, mountain momma Take me home, country roads."

What better fic from The Silver Chronicles is suited for Vance Joy's one-hit wonder than my Six of Crows fic How Good Is A Heist If It's Improvised? A song that acts like a relatable tune about pop culture but is a cleverly disguised bittersweet tale of love and longing mixing with the emotional turmoil of escapism from reality, and my fic which acts like a comedic modern-ish retelling of the Dreg's heist against one of Ketterdam's richest motherfuckers filled with action, drama and romance but is in fact very depressing in reality only made humorous (dark or light notwithstanding) through the perspective of the fic's only two unreliable narrators, my traumatised criminal OCs Isiah Popov and Gemini Teal. Anyway, enjoy!

"Here's this movie that I think you'll like This guy decides to quit his job and head to New York City This cowboy's running from himself And she's been living on the highest shelf

Ah ooh-ooh-ooh, ah oh And they come unstuck

Lady, running down to the riptide Taken away to the dark side I wanna be your left hand man I love you when you're singing that song And I got a lump in my throat 'Cause you're gonna sing the words wrong

I just wanna, I just wanna know If you're gonna, if you're gonna stay I just gotta, I just gotta know I can't have it, I can't have it any other way

I swear she's destined for the screen Closest thing to Michelle Pfeiffer that you've ever seen."

The Time Guard is an original work set before, around and within the canon events of The UnTitledverse. It follows Timekeeper, a droid who's purpose was to observe the Time stream and properly utilize the Time Watch only when absolutely necessary. Despite using it during dire circumstances in the events of the Jagged Instincts Novelisation, the Time Court, overseen by the Time Bureau Authority's supreme leader, Judge Khronos, and with the prosecution lead by Leviticus, declared Timekeeper had stepped out of line and also lost the Time Watch to a Time Vortex in the process. So Timekeeper is demoted as expendable and decides to found a team that will do Khronos' dirty (and often life-threatening) jobs to get in his good graces again, calling it the "Time Guard". A multitude of characters in the beginning of its foundation (and even after) come and go, though two have never been more linked than a Carmine scout drone designated "J.O.E" and Edward Carmine's most loyal security drone subordinate, designated "K.I.L.L.J.O.Y", not only coming from Jagged Instincts, but also after The Perfect Storm saga, and they're relationship during The Time Guard can be summed up as "cheerful naive optimist and brooding angry pessimist forced into a get-along brother shirt". So here's the closest song I believe emphasizes.

"Ah such a beautiful day, uh Yeah, the sun's shinin' in a beautiful way, uh Gonna take a shower, brush my teeth, and-" "Life is ultimately meaningless."

"Uh, uh, but I'll get out of the house. Get on the road, top down, hands out. Put on my favorite song and nod to the rhythm." "The planet's being destroyed by your carbon emissions."

"Oh! But I, I, I'll head to class Try my best on every test till I pass And my grades are screamin' in my face (Hey!)" "Ninety-eight percent of what you learn is a waste."

"I get to hang out with all my friends My friends are the friendliest friends Can't think of a better way to spend my time." "Your brain is flawed, and all your friends will die."

"Never mind, I'm alive in the greatest nation, so proud of-" "The exploitation of the natives?" "This graceful bird means freedom for all!" "Tell that to the slaves, and bald eagles aren't bald!"

"I can live in the moment, milk every second." "At any time, you could get clinical depression." "But I'll just be happy, no matter what's in store." "It's quite genetic, and we have no cure." "Uh, at least

We are young ("Not for long") Life is fun ("It only goes downhill") We gotta make the most of it, make the most it ("Or you'll regret it") We are young ("For now") Life is fun ("To some people") We gotta make the most of it, make the most of it!" ("Good luck")

And lastly two moodboards + an excerpt phrase/dialogue for WIPs from The UnTitledverse and The Silver Chronicles.

rules: show a moodboard and an important phrase or dialogue from the current fic you are writing!

WIP: The UnTitled Stories - Prologue

If I may... I'd like to ask you a question. One which has plagued me ever since I was introduced to it. What do you think dictates humans: The mind? Or the body? This was a query originally formed by French philosopher Rene Descartes in the 17th century; one that drove him to develop a concept called dualism. A concept that elaborated the distinction between the mind and body as separate entities, whereas the mind procured thought, mental processes and housed consciousness, the body focused on structure, our instincts, the neurons and the brain itself. Descartes had implied the mind could control the body, but the body could also influence the mind when it needed to, though ultimately had no control. However, despite Descartes' famous words, "I think, therefore I am", modern psychologists didn't believe it to be that simple. Humans worked like a machine, our organs merely cogs serving a function in the system. To take out even one has irreparable consequences, a disruption that could lead us to falter and break down and supposedly become useless, or our certain demise, which earns the same results of uselessness. Now, to deprive humans of one of these components leads to total system failure, regardless if its because of disuse or death. In other words, neither the mind nor the body can continue without this system. On that note, if this system is keeping the human body functioning, the question re-contextualizes from whether the mind controls the body, and vice versa, to instead what this system is trying to keep operating; itself, or our consciousness? The complexion of this debate can be hard to wrap your head around, especially if your introduction to it came from a source as dubious as mine had been, but this did not diminish my personal affinity towards it. To be clearer, I had been led to believe that if the system exists to function, then it must be to either support itself or the battery that drives it, not both. It's believed that by determining the dominating source that dictates humanity, a whole slew of concepts and functions will become clearer to understand, easier to deduce an explanation and an answer. To cease the uncertainty in our lives, which is the only thing that makes everyone equal in this meritocracy. By identifying the force that drives us, we can better understand ourselves, making arguments like free will and determinism, instincts and self-control, nature and nurture, our ability to change and adapt in socialization, perception of our identity and sense of individual self, among other things... well, clear cut. Or at least, that's what I had been told to believe. Not so much now. Though if anyone had asked me about my opinion on the matter back then, riding as a passenger on that bus, and if I felt inclined to share, I would have spouted my blind agreement to the belief. That never happened though. I had been lead to believe that to reach the conclusive answer to the dictating source of our actions; whether it was the mind or the body, I had to be placed in an academically social environment that would push my boundaries for the next three years. Determine the dominating victor of either consciousness or reflex, and take satisfaction in the answer to my curious nature. And though I would later discard this goal... the fact remained, it had been my original intention, one I had gone to such costly lengths for as demonstrated in our first year. And the fact remains that, while on that bus, on our way to this very school, I had every intention to follow that pursuit through til the very end. That is, of course, until I had met you…

WIP: Silva's Hope [Content Warning: Descriptive depiction of a violent death]

An ugly croak escaped from the Peggie's lips, his mouth agape like a lake trout. But instead of suffocating from a lack of air, he was choking from the dagger that pierced through his throat. Silva gripped the handle as she dug the blade further into the man's esophagus, blood seeping out of the opening. The red flowed down, staining his shirt and her gloves. The Peggie swung his arms out weakly, one hand managing to futilely claw at her wrist. She paid no mind to it. Is this all I am good for? She twisted the blade, gritting her teeth as she kicked the Peggie's knee down, swiftly sinking her knife down further. His grip went slack, and his eyes began to glaze. But she wasn't done yet, not with the burning fire eating through her veins. Is this all I'll ever be? Her free hand caught the man's blonde hair. She dug out the red-stained silver blade and slashed it across his throat, widening the cut. A source of fear? A beast with bloodied hands? She stabbed the blade against his head, pulling it out, then puncturing again, repeatedly, like a butcher chopping thawed meat. I gave you a chance, didn't I? A chance to turn back, to put the gun down, to turn a blind eye while I made my escape... Pulling the blade out, she tried to breathe, to calm the rage engulfing her heart, cascading over her mind. But it refused; it demanded it's release, to have her take it out on the man who's eyes have glazed. ...And yet, he did not choose to value his life, instead the words of his Profeta. Fraudulent lies that outweighed common sense, self-preservation, and moral understanding. Her teeth gritted, breathing rapidly, ignoring the bullet that inflamed the skin in her thigh. She raised her knife, red dripping down onto her head and shoulder. Looking down at the Peggie, she shouted out the wrath stuck in her voice, and broke through his skull. If this is the path they all will follow, then she won't waste time giving them chances they won't take.

[starlite-png]

Imagine Dean getting killed by azazel during stanford era.

John finds the impala crashed in some backwoods road, deans long dead body frozen in the snow, killed by a slash in the stomach just how mary died. He's devastated, obviously, and wracked with guilt because he'd sent dean alone on a hunt just like he had for months. Thinking that he was keeping Dean safe while he hunted for yellow eyes.

John wraps deans body in a cloth, puts him in the back of the truck, and calls Sam.

Sam meets him at the cemetery in Lawrence. He greets his father with a fist to the face, starts yelling, and doesn't stop until he screams his throat raw. John tries to blame sam of course, "If you'd been here, he wouldn't have been alone, etc." The arguing goes on for a while, but eventually, they stop. They bury Dean next to his mother. The idea of burning him, admitting that he's gone forever, it's just too much for either of them to bear. They agree to hunt down Azazel together to get revenge for Dean.

He's ripped away from his heaven as John and Sam hold onto his memory too tight, like all of a sudden they care. Sam carries the amulet, John his gun, and they repair the Impala. Dean is tethered to them. Forced to observe their endless arguing, blaming each other for his death, and coming to blows on more than one occasion. Dean is a spirit now, and though he's glad to be able to help them in subtle ways, he grows more and more bitter over time.

The thing about Dean, though, is that he didn't know it was Azazel who killed him. Hed been dead on impact, the stomach wounds were a sign to John, not him. So, when he died, he died in relative peace. He was tired, alone, unwanted. He was ready to be done.

When he opens his eyes, it's to his childhood home, he's four again, and his mother is waking him up from a nightmare. For a while, he's at peace. Until John finds the body.

[mortimerlatrice]

KinnPorsche Music in Context: Episode One

It needs to be said: I started thinking about how a few of the songs used as KinnPorsche background music had incredibly apt or punny titles months ago. It’s been sort of poking around in my head that it might be some light, surface level meta to collect!

Ho boy was I wrong. I don’t know what I expected because absolutely nothing in KinnPorsche is just surface level. In episode one, I have already found several hysterical jokes, commentary on the shifting power dynamics, water symbolism, and many more gems.

Here is the link to my episode one Spotify playlist. I know there are quite a few playlists out there, but even scouring three of them, I still found additional songs that were not cited or mentioned.

There are 37 (yes, you read that correctly, 37!) songs in episode one and that's in addition to a handful of reprisals, so the insanely long list is under the cut.

For other episodes (as I get to them), go here!

We start, of course, with our beloved theme song, เพียงไว้ใจ (or PhiangWaichai) by Slot Machine. There’s plenty of thoughts on this, I’m not digging into it.

Introducing Kinn – Quantum Sonata by FormantX.

Kinn and Big head into the Italian’s den – Our Final Mission by Christoffer Moe Ditlevsen. This is the last time Big will join Kinn on a mission as his head bodyguard (I’m not crying, you’re crying.)

Introducing Don and the Italian gang – Waltz for Little Italy by Bireli Snow.

Introducing Porsch – Diggin' the Drama by The New Fools.

Kinn making accusations and  Porsche mixing drinks hoping to get lucky – Covert Affairs by Christoffer Moe Ditlevsen.

After Kinn's iconic "I'm more like my mom," we are introduced to the song that makes the most appearances this episode: Concerto No. 2 in G Minor, L’estate (Summer) composed by Antonio Vivaldi. Now here’s where the KinnPorsche crew start to do what they do best: give us things to obsess over and over analyze.

The concerto has 3 movements and to be honest I’m not 100% sure that they pull from only one of them for the show. Remember when I said I wasn’t musically inclined? If anyone wants to chime in, please do.

Another fun thing about this Concerto? It is traditionally associated with or accompanied by a trio of sonnets (one for each movement). Oh, did I mention Vivaldi was Italian? Themes.

Anyway, the sonnets translated from Italian to English:

I. Allegro non molto– Under the heat of the burning summer sun, Languish man and flock; the pine is parched. The cuckoo finds its voice, and suddenly, The turtledove and goldfinch sing. A gentle breeze blows, But suddenly, the north wind appears. The shepherd weeps because, overhead, Lies the fierce storm, and his destiny. II. Adagio; Presto– His tired limbs are deprived of rest By his fear of lightning and fierce thunder, And by furious swarms of flies and hornets. III. Presto– Alas, how just are his fears, Thunder and lightening fill the Heavens, and the hail Slices the tops of the corn and other grain.

Source

Porsche and his fanclub at Hum Bar – Late Nights by Daxton.

When Yok calls Porsche over to the bar – Mysterious Madeline by Lucas Pittman.

As Kinn is driving over the bridge and they realize they're being followed (and when Porsche is making eyes at the woman across the bar) – Road of Fury by John Abbot.

Big and Kinn fleeing into the tunnels when Big is shot and Kinn is being chased down – They Are Coming by Hampus Naeselius.

There is a brief snippet here with a snare drum and a cymbal (I think?) when Porsche is cheekily asking Kinn for money and pissing in a bottle, but I couldn’t isolate it enough to find it. Any help would be appreciated!

Here, we’re introduced to the perfect fights song, Absolute Power by Hampus Naeselius, when Porsche beats down the street thugs and drives off with Kinn.

She Knocks by Lukas Amil plays when Porsche is being a brat and leaves Kinn at the gas station.

When Porsche comes home to Chay bandaging up Arthee – In Rain - Indigo Days. Can you say water symbolism?

The Joys And Sorrows of Life by Johannes Bornlöf gives a little hope when Porsche and Arthee are sitting and talking about finances and how much they could make off Kinn’s watch.

Porsche at the underground fighting ring has three songs in quick succession: Back to Where it Began by Rockin' For Decades,

Second Hand Slide by Lucas Pittman,

And Around the Bend by Pip Mondy as he turns the fights to his favor. [It is worth noting that they use a sort of stripped down version during most of it, but I couldn't find that version, so they may have done it themselves]

When Porsche comes home to Chay and Arthee celebrating making so much money off the watch we get Gentleman at Heart by Indigo Days. I think this one’s interesting because I’m actually not sure if it’s about Arthee or Porsche…

When Don finds his men tied up and (maybe dead?) – Let Me Introduce Myself by Rune Dale. This comes right after the scene where Korn chastises Kinn for his decision to enrage Don instead of “giving him gifts.” This is Kinn telling Don exactly how he plans to run things and how very different he is from his father. Kinn's mother must have been ruthless with a good sense of humor.

When Kinn asks Chan about finding Jom/Porsche, we're back to Vivaldi’s Concerto. Like the shepherd, Porsche's Destiny hangs over his head.

College Porsche and his stolen pastry get Moonshiner's Turn by Martin Landström.

Jom is approached to act as "a waiter who's actually the greatest boxer undercover,” our dear theater kid gets Concert Hall Hideout by Stationary Sign.

A moment later when Porsche realizes he's been caught? Cheese! by Alexandra Woodward. [This one is not on the Spotify playlist but I did find it on Epidemic Sound.]

When Porsche calls Chay, worried that Chay may be targeted or even taken by Kinn? Extraction by Christoffer Moe Ditlevsen. Which is a truly horrible double entendre because the very next song is

Clogged Up by Jerry Lacey. I'm not even dignifying this scene with a response.

Kinn sweet talking Yok (with veiled threats) – Infiltrator by Christoffer Moe Ditlevsen.

Porsche’s kidnapping – Honor the Brave by Hampus Naeselius. 

Kinn reading Porsche his own biography – Beryllium - Farrell Wooten. Beryllium is, according to a brief google search, a natural metal that is expensive, brittle, and dangerous to work with (toxic).

Porsche's fight theme – Absolute Power. Except who has the power this time?

Brief reprise of She Knocks as Kinn once again watches Porsche walk away from him (or throw himself off the boat in this case).

When Korn and Kinn discuss how to force Porsche, and moving into the next scene when Porsche finds Chay cleaning up after another break-in, and through to Porsche finding Thee being beaten up – The Stakeout by Christoffer Moe Ditlevsen.

When the loan shark tells Porsche that Thee still owes despite Porsche believing they had paid things off, leading to Porsche forcefully kicking Thee out of his and Chay's life? Ghosting by Christopher Moe Ditlevsen.

When Porsche finally tells Thee to leave and after, when Porsche goes home alone to clean up his ruined house, we get one of my all time favorites – Bitter Heart - Instrumental Version by Memi. Although the soundtrack presumably uses the instrumental version, I would argue that the lyrics were taken into account when choosing it:

“Suddenly you look like a stranger A face I knew, but I must've forgotten … We know we could've done it better Fought for the little things that we wanted … Oh, I wish that you hadn't pulled the trigger Shot me down with my bitter heart My blood is getting thicker You shot me down, you shot me down With my bitter heart”

This is getting way too long, so I cut some of the lyrics but I strongly recommend checking out the original.

As Chay tells Porsche that their parents would be proud of him, there is a very brief reprisal of In Rain.

It then switches to No More Drama by Eric Feinberg as they hug and Porsche tucks Chay in. This calls back to the song that first accompanied Porsche, Diggin’ the Drama, and Porsche has made his decision. He can't keep living like this and he can't let Chay live like this either. 

Porsche's letter and Kinn pouring himself a drink – a reprisal of Gentleman at Heart.

During the famous "your life is mine" scene where, at least in the translation, Porsche asks if Kinn is a god, we get a third reprisal of the Concerto. Porsche's destiny is set, the storm has blown in and ruined his life leaving him desperate.

When Porsche confronts Korn and asks to be Big and Ken's boss and through to Korn Playing Chess – So to Say by Taylor Crane

At which point we get one, final reprise of the Concerto as Korn places the Queen on the board and the game begins.

Finally – Free Fall by Slot Machine.

And, in the interest of being thorough....

Episode Two Preview – Global Impact by Philip Ayers.

[dustedmagazine]

Royal Trux — Twin Infinitives (Fire)

“Map of the City,” a song on Royal Trux’s terrific Thank You (1995), includes these lyrics: “I’m drawing up a plan for the city / Filled with ten thousand crooked stairs / Some lead up to heaven….” If we freely allegorize and think the “plan for the city” as an account of the Royal Trux’s strange career and the “crooked stairs” as their many, many songs, then some do “lead up to heaven”: “Back to School,” “Ray O Vac,” “Blue Is the Frequency.” We could go on. But as the lyric notes, only “some” lead up into the beautiful blue, while others descend into decidedly more disordered, berserk domains. For a map of those abject regions, you might consult Twin Infinitives, the band’s 1990 double LP, which has been reissued by Fire Records.

Some may wonder if the world ever needed the initial release of Twin Infinitives, much less a reissue (available as a “limited edition Double Silver LP,” natch). It’s a notoriously difficult record, and there are audiences that liken its racket to the relative “unlistenability” of other perversely audacious double LPs: Trout Mask Replica (1969) or Metal Machine Music (1975). Twin Infinitives lacks the poetic spirit and structure of Captain Beefheart’s songs, and it doesn’t have the conceptual rigor of Lou Reed’s infamous noise project. Mostly the record seems to document the bodily rhythms and psychological extremities of dope addiction, which Neil Hagerty and Jennifer Herrema were deep into during the album’s creation.

There’s some relevant historical context there, if we recall the early 1990s period of so-called “heroin chic” — we might summon the seductive image of Vincent Vega (John Travolta), high as hell and cruising LA freeways in his cherry red ’64 Malibu, from Tarantino’s Pulp Fiction. The junkie vibe suffusing the Royal Trux’s early records intensified their scuzz-punk rep, but there’s nothing superficially sexy or effortlessly cool about the music on Twin Infinitives. Songs like “Yin Jim Versus the Vomit Creature” and “Lick My Boots” are too ragged and distorted; they sound unhealthy. If the heroin chic amounted to a sort of cynical slumming in vicariously hazardous aesthetic territory, Twin Infinitives feels too urgently dangerous. It’s the sound of minds purposefully reducing themselves to wreckage.

For all that grim junkie detritus, Twin Infinitives has its moments of musical power. Most compelling is “(Edge of the) Ape Oven,” a fifteen-minute tour on the road of excess. It never clarifies into anything vaguely song-like, but it has ideas about musicality that provoke. The bursts of cowbell, Hagerty’s guitar tone, the spectral organ that occupies a space out in the distance of the mix: the track feels assembled with a variety of idiosyncratic artistry.

Listening back to Twin Infinitives, one has the sense that the run of excellent records that followed, from Untitled to Sweet Sixteen, owes something to the cauldron of infernal weirdness Hagerty and Herrema baked in for a while. Check out the mutant blues of “Move,” the spooky vibe-out of “Driving in That Car (with the Eagle on the Hood),” the pacing of “Shadow of the Wasp.” They all bear the traces of the chaotic welter of Twin Infinitives, and for audiences still engaged by the best of the Royal Trux (in spite of all the messy drama), it’s sort of interesting to track the band’s work through the 1990s, as they stitched songs and their souls back into more coherent forms. Just watch your step on those crooked stairs if you’re headed down the other way.

Jonathan Shaw