#legendary/ies that gets you because that sounds fuckin hilarious

[iamfandom00]

i forget the actors name but larry looks looks like the guy that plays the oncologist in house and the main character in dead poets society but blue

[ichayalovesyou]

Why Does God Need A Starship? (Live Reaction):

I always thought Sybok was cool and interesting and NOW I’m sure! You know it’s times like these that I’m grateful I kinda came back into the Star Trek fandom on my own, because I don’t have to deal with Opinions of older/louder Trekkies. This one kinda has a lukewarm reputation but I’m getting the vibe that I’ll genuinely enjoy it.

Yet again Bones is serving up some LOOKS damn! Look at these elder gays! Spock has rocket boots, amazing. “Because it’s there” and then falling off the goddamn mountain is such a James Tiberius Kirk thing to do 😂 “HI BONES!” These guys omfg. OH MY GOD SO WE DO SEE CAITIANS OUTSIDE THE CARTOONS?? Hell yeah! Also pole dancing to no music, is... weird. Lmao. Also okay I’m sorry Sybok is cool! Sybok is cool and interesting and I really like him! (Not morally obviously dude is shady as all fuck, but a cool dude nontheless!) Always fascinated by Cult Leader type villains, especially when they point out valid criticisms about the society from which they came (important distinction is that the CAUSE is not vilified, but the person and their means, something M****l has largely forgotten)

Awww I may ship Hikura, but Uhura & Scotty are also cute as hell!! Awwwwwww!!!! Old married couples can be so freaking cute. Chekov & Sulu are LOST ohhhh my god this is hilarious, these two idiots. Also can we talk about how Koenig’s eyebrows are slowly gaining sentience and Takei aged like fine wine? Lol. THE HOLY TRINITY OF ELDER GAYS ARE CAMPINGGGG! I’m- oh my god they’re so cute. “Marshmelon” this is cute as hell oh my god. They’re indulging and messing with Spock at the same time I’m dead! They’re singing ohh my god this gonna give me cavities with how sweet it is!!!

This Klingon dude is frickin ROCKING the eyeliner! Bruhhhh was the frickin spotlight necessary! Leave the gays alone SHHHH they’re SLEEPING!! Lmao. Yo I’ll be real this movie starts incredibly slowly but I seriously do not mind, it’s relaxing to not have to worry about missing important details if you look away for a second, it’s nice. WAIT? Does Jim’s shirt say GOT MILK?!!? Oh no, it says go climb a rock, oh thank god [“fatty milkers” flashbacks]

Seriously McCoy is just radiating so much old southern lady/gay energy in this movie and I love it so freaking much “if you ask me (and you haven’t) this is a horrible idea” he sounds like my North Carolina living Meemaw. Wow you can see Spock low-key taking psychic damage from seeing Sybok 😲 V’tosh Ka’tur of the highest order huh? Still disturbing that his government literally cast him out, that’s a red flag 😬. What happened with Sybok is probably a lot of why Spock was pressured to be as Vulcan as he was, I’m sure Sybok was a massive scandal/shame for Sarek, and knowing him, he’d end up making that his kids’ problem not his 🙄

Oh neat!! Chekov is in the in the captain’s chair. Oh this is the song they replaced Nichols’s voice for 😤 but also GIRL THAT WAS BADASS AND THAT SONG WAS A BOP! Quick question, wow these “alien” horses are somehow even worse than the unicorn dog (also it’s a desert planet, wouldn’t it be better to have, like, alien camels or something?) This dude’s Klingon is freakin impeccable btw! He’s really got the vibe down! Jim did you forget how fuckin bananas strong Vulcans are??? Sybok went like 😡☹️ when Spock pointed that laser rifle at him 😂😂😂 again even tho I know Scotty and Uhura are married but it’s scenes like getting held hostage right there where they radiate such POWER COUPLE energy GAWD! 🤩

Stay out of this Bones we’re having a lover’s quarrel! Jim is taking fucking psychic damage from this entire conversation lol. Okayyyy whatever Sybok is doing is definitely some kind of mind control type thing, that shit is creepy af no thank youuuuuu (spores anyone?). Oh my god Spock & Jim are so married lmao, that “I’m sorry” Vulcan kiss in the brig man Aw. (Oh man Magic’s of mega-tsu got devani mixed by that comment lame!) SCOTTYYYYYY!! YAS!

Yay rocket boot glomp! Lmfao! Sybok needs to brush up on his earth history Columbus did NOT figure out the world is round 🙄 Ah Scotty being like “listen, you’re not okay rn so I’m not really down for whatever you think you wanna do right now it can wait until you’re right in the head again” and they could’ve not done that and it would’ve been creepy (especially by today’s standards) but they didn’t! And that was awesome!

Bones being skeptical and has every right to be! He’s faced down would be gods and would-be messiahs before! Also I’ve seen people judge Bones for being the first to cave but Sybok totally did that shit to him without consent! He didn’t go back on his beliefs, Sybok forced him to! BONES PROTECTION SQUAD IS HERE AND ITS ME! Oh Bones, man, poor babeyyyy (fuck Sybok!) 😭😭😭 OH MY GOD BONESSSSSS Sybok leave him alone! Goddamnit! Leave him alone!

I think Jim can see Spock’s Sybok induced vision cuz they’re ✨Bonded✨ (it didn’t seem like they could see Bones’s, other than what Bones was doing). JIM KNOWS SO MUCH BETTER! ITS HOW HE BEAT THE SPORES ITS HIS CORE! I UNDERSTAND AND LOVE HIM FOR IT!!! Spock 😍😍😍 he’s like, you’re bullshit happiness pill doesn’t work on me cuz I am whole for the first time in my life, and I love my husband, and I already learned my lesson decades ago 💚🖖🏻💚 (who knew how important the character development from This Side of Paradise AND Return To Tommorow would be??? Hell yeah!)

I love Scotty so much 🥰 hardcore badass Hufflepuff from beginning to end! Also I hope Sybok appears in SNW that could be really really interesting if they do it right! ITS GOD (derogatory) REVERE HIM! Oh here comes that legendary question!! “What dies God need with a starship?” Red flag don’t call Jim a creature! Oh shit god has laxer eyes oh no lmao! Bones snaps out of whatever Sybok did to him when “God” hurts his friends and we LOVE HIM FOR ITTTT! Awww Spock & Sybok and be saaaaad, oh shit! Into the lightning to fight a mirror of yourself like Lazarus in that one episode!

OH SHIT THE KLINGONS ARE HERE! Oh damn Spock just swore a cuss the right way, at a Klingon General no less! General dude just went “caotain tell Kirk you are sorry!” LMAO! NOT IN FRONT OF THE KLINGONS 😂😂😂😍 KISS DAMNIT!! God this whole after scene is so good, maybe the god is the friends we made along the way. “I lost a brother once” you also lost SAM dummy, I know you were just telling Spock you love him but still. SHUT UP SPOCK IS PLAYING ROW ROW ROW YOUR BOAT ON HIS LYRE??

Okay, seriously, I unironically love this movie, it might be my favorite out of the ones I’ve seen so far actually. TMP felt like the movies getting their sea legs, but it was slow and messy, it wasn’t as thought provoking as it wanted to be (aside from Spock’s wonderful arc in that film). WoK & TSFS are amazing for drama and angst and Spirk content, but they weren’t really asking the big questions Star Trek is wonderful for. Then The Voyage Home is just plain silly and fun and wholesome. But this, this movie had depth! The whole premise is “what is god and is there is one?” I LOVE that as someone who has a very complicated relationship with spirituality. I also already loved the TOS episodes This Side of Paradise, Return To Tomorrow, The Omega Glory and The Way To Eden, and this movie had the best of those concepts! Sybok was such a fascinating antagonist/anti-hero and I hope we get to see him explored more on screen one day, even if it’s just through Discovery/SNW flashbacks. It may have started off slow and it’s not without its flaws but this felt like the Star Trekkiest TOS Star Trek movie so far!

[365days365movies]

Western August I: Stagecoach (1939) - Recap and Review

Let’s start at the beginning...almost,

The Western arguably was born with the 1903 film, The Great Train Robbery. This 12-minute short film is a classic, and one of the earliest achievements in film-making. It’s also, unsurprisingly, a Western, and based on an actual train robbery. At the time it was made, the Wild West had only really ended a few years prior, with its heyday being about 40 years past. Which, yeah, is CRAZY. People who remembered the Wild West lived into the 1950s and ‘60s. It seems like so long ago, and it was, but it was still relatively recent from a historical standpoint.

From then, the Western remained a staple of cinema, and would be so for over half a century. And then, enter John Ford. Born in 1894, the Irish American director began his career in 1914 as an assistant and handyman, often working with his older brother Francis. Eventually, John took his place as a director, starting with silent films, especially westerns. Starting with the very successful film The Iron Horse in 1924, he quickly rose to stardom. He transitioned from silent films to talkies pretty effortlessly, and continued his streak. All the while, he was also one of the first directors to have a roster of actors in his company. You know how Tim Burton always uses Johnny Depp and Helena Bonham Carter? Or how the Coen Brothers always use Frances McDormand and John Goodman? Or Wes Andersen with Bill Murray and Owen Wilson? Yeah, that started with John Ford and...ugh...

Before I start...fuck John Wayne.

Dude was a racist homophobic asshole, and absolutely a dick. Look it up, or don’t if you’d rather not have one of cinemas most iconic faces completely ruined for you. But OK, outside of that one time that he said that the Native Americans were “selfishly trying to keep the land for themselves”, or that he believed in white supremacy over uneducated blacks...yeah, he’s a DICK...

Marion Robert Morrison was born in Iowa in 1907, and began his film career after becoming injured while surfing without a surfboard and ending his football career. Yes, really. His football coach was a friend of a film director named John Ford, who hired Morrison as a favor to him. Said football coach was also friends with an actual remnant of the Old West: WYATT FUCKING EARP. YEAH.

For years, Morrison was a bit player until starring in the film The Big Trail in 1930, a Western directed by Raoul Walsh. And he wasn’t exactly famous after this, but it was with this film that he took up a screen name: John Wayne, after a Revolutionary War general, Anthony Wayne, and...well, the name John. Anthony sounded too Italian. Yes, really. After this movie, Wayne continued to star in more Westerns, and even became one of the first film cowboys to sing on camera. 

And then, 1939 came along, and John Ford came to him with a new film project. Being a classic Western, the film was about a group of settlers riding on a stagecoach together through the West. Strangers to each other, they find themselves attacked by a group of Native Americans belonging to the Apache tribes. This film, an adaptation of a 1939 short story, would come to be known as Stagecoach. And it would launch Ford, Wayne, and the Western genre into a Golden Age. So no more navel-gazing, let’s get started!

SPOILERS AHEAD!!!

Recap

I get reminded that I haven’t watched a Criterion Collection film in a while, and the film begins with a rousing Western theme, courtesy of...holy shit, this movie has SEVEN COMPOSERS? Well, OK, courtesy of somebody in that list of seven. From there, we cut to a camp somewhere in the Arizona Territory in 1880. Which, again, is only 60 years prior to this film’s release date. There, a group of men discuss the danger imposed on them by the Apache, stirred up by the legendary warrior Geronimo. 

And from there, we go to the town of Tonto, where stagecoach driver Buck (Andy Devine) lets a group of passengers out. One of these passengers is Lucy Mallory (Louise Platt), there to catch another shuttle to meet her husband in Dry Fork, New Mexico. However, the stagecoach gains an extra passenger in the form of the Marshal, Curley Wilcox (George Bancroft), who goes to find an outlaw also in Lordsburg.

The passenger list builds with the addition of Doc Boone (Thomas Mitchell) and Dallas (Claire Trevor), a drunk and a prostitute both driven out of town by the Law and Order League of Women, due to social stigma affecting them both. In a bar getting a farewell drink, Doc meets yet one more passenger, Samuel Peacock (Donald Meek), a whiskey salesman that Doc is glad to meet. Meanwhile, banker Henry Gatewood (Berton Churchill) also boards the vehicle, under mysterious circumstances.

Friends of Lucy are worried with her travelling a drunk and a prostitute (the ABSOLUTE SCANDAL), but she needs to visit her husband in Dry Fork. As she leaves, she meets eyes with the dangerous but enigmatic gambler Hatfield (John Carradine). And before they’re able to leave altogether, the carriage is stopped by the army, who warn them of the Apache and Geronimo. All of the passengers refuse to get off, and YET TWO MORE passengers board to protect the carriage: the Marshal and Hatfield. And finally, they’re off! But as they head out, they’re stopped when they encounter a recently escaped outlaw.

This is The Ringo Kid (John Wayne), who just got out of prison. The Marshal sees him, and takes him into custody on the way to Lordsburg, where they plan to drop him off into jail. And yes, he’s put on the fucking stagecoach. In total, we have Buck, the Marshal, Lucy, Hatfield, Doc, Peacock, Gatewood, and the Ringo Kid. Jesus, that’s a crowded-ass carriage, even if two of them are outside of it. Hell, Ringo’s sitting on the fuckin’ floor!

Anyway, the group interacts and introduces themselves. We learn that Doc once patched up Ringo’s brother, and was discharged from the Union Army for drunkenness. We learn that Hatfield is a true southern gentleman, and a veteran of the Confederate army (much to Doc’s ire), and that Ringo’s brother was murdered under mysterious circumstances.

The group gets to Dry Forks, currently under occupation by the army. Said army had accompanied them (outside of the carriage, thank God) to Dry Forks, and are staying there to guard against the Apache. Meanwhile, Lucy’s dismayed to find that her husband isn’t in fact there. This leads to the debate of whether or not the party should go back to Tonto, or head onwards to Lordsburg. Buck wants to go back to Tonto, as does Peacock, while literally everybody else wants to go to Lordsburg. And so, they continue onwards.

Before heading onwards, the group sits for dinner, during which Ringo is the only one to show any form of kindness to Dallas, as everybody else looks down on her for prostitution. Shit, man, they won’t even sit near her at the table. Jesus. Unfortunately, Dallas is used to this cruel treatment, and it allows her to bond with Ringo in her loneliness. Once again, character interactions reveal things about our cast. Lucy is feeling quite ill, and Hatfield reveals that he served under her father in the Confederate Army. 

And from there, the coach continues on through the desert. Buck and the Marshal argue about letting Ringo free, as he aims to continue his feud with the outlaw Luke Plummer and his brothers, despite the fact that he’ll likely be killed by them. It’s for this reason that the Marshal wants to keep Ringo in his custody, as he was good friends with his father and doesn’t want to see him killed by the dangerous Plummers, whom Buck thinks should be taken down regardless.

Inside the coach, the banker reveals that he’s literally a Republican from 2016 (he rants about small government, and claims that a businessman should be President, holy shit), while people keep treating Dallas like shit, except for Ringo. They go through a cold mountain pass, which isn’t great for Lucy for some reason. It’s actually quite rough on everyone. Except for Doc Boone, who keeps drinking Peacock’s whiskey samples, which is hilarious.

Finally, the group makes it to the next stop, Apache Wells. There, Lucy discovers that her husband has been severely wounded in a battle with the Apache, and she falls faint. Despite being absolutely SMASHED, Doc sobers up to help her, with the help of Ringo and the Marshal. Meanwhile, Dallas watches over her, despite the rancor that Lucy’s tossed at her this whole time.

The group stays the night, attended to by Chris (Chris Pin-Martin) a Mexican man who’s married to Yakima (Elvira Rios), an Apache woman who...is played by a Mexican singer. Huh. I mean...it’s still technically redface, unfortunately. But then again, the attitude towards Native American actors at this time was...oh boy. And the portrayal of the Mexicans in the camp aren’t exactly great, as a group of them steal the group’s spare horses, meaning that they only have one set of horses to use from here on out.

But amongst the unpleasant is a pleasant surprise, and the reveal of the cause for Lucy’s mysterious condition: she’s pregnant. Or rather, she was, as the baby’s just been delivered, and is being held by Dallas. As the group celebrates, Chris warns Ringo to stay away from Lordsburg, as the Plummers will kill him. But Ringo has something else on his mind.

See, on seeing Dallas with the baby, he finds himself quite in love with her. He finds her outside, and tells her that his father and brothers were killed by the Plummers. In turn, she reveals that her family was massacred on the real-life Superstition Mountain. Their conversation ends in Ringo proposing to Dallas, which she protests to because of her mysterious past.

The next morning, Yakima’s left with Chris’ horse and rifle, and the group worry that she’s gone to tell the Apache. After Gatewood panics about his mysterious valise being possibly stolen, the group packs up and readies themselves to go. But Lucy is, of course, still ill from literally giving birth hours ago. Things are still tense between Lucy and Dallas, despite Dallas taking care of her the entire fucking night. Jesus, lady, that high horse is looking uncomfortable, you should get off it.

Dallas has something else to worry about, as she’s thinking on Ringo’s proposal. She consults with the doctor, who reminds her of her mysterious and checkered past being revealed if she goes. But she doesn’t seem to care, and she decides to accept the proposal. As for the rest, Gatewood’s freakin’ the fuck out. Because of Lucy’s condition, the doctor requests that they don’t leave until a day later. And Gatewood doesn’t give a single shit, as the Apache are close enough. Still, the party decides to stay, at Hatfield’s added insistence.

Ringo and Dallas talk, with Dallas both warning him of the Plummers, and also accepting his proposal. The men are all still arguing about whether or not they should leave, and they note that the Apache are likely between them and their destination. Ringo then takes the opportunity to escape and ride to Lordsburg for revenge on the Plummers. But he stops when he sees smoke signals on the hill. The Apache are coming.

No more waiting, it’s time to GO. Taking the still recovering lady and her newborn child Coyote into the stagecoach, they take off into the desert. Gatewood continues to run his loudmouth, to the ire of Hatfield and Ringo. And Peacock, to my delight, shows some kindness and “Christian charity” to Dallas, as she holds Coyote during the ride. And after all, they’re almost at the ferry!

Ah, shit, the ferry! Looks like the ferry, and the entire town of Lee’s Ferry have been burned. And if they ford the river, all of their supplies could be flooded, or the oxen could drown! Or worse, dysentery could set in! That’s what The Oregon Trail taught me! And yet, despite this, that’s actually EXACTLY what they do! And unlike me literally every time I’ve every tried to cross a river without a ferry, they make it through fine! Realistic educational games my ASS!

But it’s not entirely safe, as the group are being watched by none other than the Apache, who make their way down to intercept the group. In the carriage, meanwhile, the group is thankful that they’ve made their way from danger, and even Gatewood relaxes a little. Doc Boone makes a toast, and everyone seems to be getting along for once.

OH FUCK, PEACOCK GOT HIT!

The girlfriend IMMEDIATELY SAYS, “Now he really is Drew Peacock.” I leave and get boba to soothe my injured spirit from that well-timed joke. And then, the movie continues, and the chase is on! The Apache chase the stagecoach through the desert, and the groups trade gunshots and arrows, with Ringo shooting from the back. Gatewood panics so hard that Doc Boone punches him and IMMEDIATELY knocks him out, as he attends to Peacock’s injuries.

But despite their best efforts, the Apache group catches up to them, although many of them are killed by Ringo, the Marshal, Doc, and Hatfield. In the process, Buck is also shot, and Ringo literally jumps ON THE FUCKING HORSES, and commands them from the front like a goddamn badass. Things begin to get worse, as everybody in the stagecoach runs out of ammo, at the worst possible time. Hatfield only has one bullet remaining, and he considers using it...to kill Lucy! Holy fuck!

And just as he’s about to fire IN HER FUCKING FACE, the sounds of horns ring out as the cavalry arrives. And Hatfield, dick that he is, is shot. I think he was trying to spare her the indignity of being captured by the Apache, but Jesus, man! He collapses, and reveals that his father is a judge in Virginia before he...either passes out or dies, I’m not sure. The group finally gets to Lordsburg, where it turns out that Lucy’s husband is gonna be OK, and wasn’t severely injured. She tanks Dallas for everything that she’s done, and promises to help her should she ever need assistance. Good, finally, the lady needs a goddamn break.

The stagecoach rides through the busy town, and the arrival of the Ringo Kid gets the attention of Luke Plummer (Tom Tyler), who fetches his brothers Hank (Vester Pegg) and Ike (Joe Rickson). Time to get ready for a showdown, it seems. Dallas seems to know this, and goes to Ringo after the living Peacock (yay!) and the not-so-living Hatfield (oof) are brought in for medical help.

Buck’s also OK, but Gatewood isn’t. See, that valise he was carrying was actually full of money, and he had embezzled it from his own bank. He had counted on telegraph lines being down, so that he could escape with his ill-gotten gains, but has no such luck, and is led away in handcuffs! HA!

Ringo, meanwhile, is set to kill Luke Plummer and his brothers. The Marshal lets him escape, and promises to get Dallas safely down to a little ranch he owns in the South. Dallas and Ringo walk off together, and Dallas tries to get him to leave and say goodbye before he goes to his death, and before he finds out about her past (presumably as a prostitute). 

See, they’re actually walking up to a brothel, where Dallas is going to stay and work. Because, yeah, she’s a prostitute. Sucks that she’s been so maligned, because prostitution fuckin’ BUILT the Old West! I guess it’s easier to see that with historical context. As Ringo finds out the truth about Dallas (which he might’ve known all along), he still insists upon marrying her...and upon killing the Plummers.

Doc, meanwhile, goes to the bar where the Plummers are waiting. He tells them that he’ll get them arrested, and Luke swears to come back for him after their business with Ringo is concluded. The brothers head outside, ready for the final showdown. It’s 3 on one, Plummers against Ringo. Ringo fires! A few more shots...then silence. And Dallas mourns.

Except that Ringo wins the fight, and goes back to her! A happy ending! I’m sure that’ll be pretty goddamn rare this month. The Marshal arrives to take Ringo away, and Ringo goes as promised. She asks to ride with him a bit, and the Marshal agrees. He and Doc watch them get on, then cause the horses of the carriage to stampede away, letting Ringo and Dallas escape into the desert, together. And that’s the end!

Y’know...I liked it! I really liked it! 

This movie is often referred to as the greatest Western of all time, and the reason that the Western survived into the next several decades. And honestly, I get it! It was nominated for 7 Academy Awards, and won for Best Supporting Actor (Thomas Mitchell, AKA Doc) and Best Original Score, both of which were quite deserved!

Review time!

Cast and Acting - 9/10: Sure, it’s a little hokey. But at the same time, it’s good classic Hollywood acting! Wayne, Trevor, Mitchell, Carradine, and Devine are standouts for me, all of which serving their roles well. Also, fun fact about Andy Devine: he’s the voice of Friar Tuck in Disney’s Robin Hood! KNEW I recognized that voice!

Plot and Writing - 10/10: Standard plot? Sure. Engaging as hell? Hell yeah! This is just a good story, plain and simple. No holes, no problems, no mistakes, and purely straightforward. Great writing by the original story author, Ernest Haycox, and great screenplay by Dudley Nichols!

Directing and Cinematography - 10/10: Great looking movie, too! All credit to John Ford, unsurprisingly. Cinematographer Bert Glennon also deserves credit for the beautiful landscape shots throughout. Gogeous film, even in black-and-white!

Production and Art Design - 8/10: This is pretty standard Western production design, so not a lot to write home about specifically. However, that doesn’t mean it’s bad. To the contrary, it’s quite good! Just does stand out to me quite as much as other movies. Might be a nitpick, but it’s still something against the film.

Music and Editing - 10/10: No complaints! Seven composers definitely make their presence known, and you can tell that this score heavily informed all Western scores after it. It’s iconic, and it’s perfect for the mood. As for the editing by Otho Lovering and Dorothy Spencer...it’s great! Perfect pacing, well-edited...no complaints whatsoever.

94%, and I had fun with this one!

I honestly did have quite a good time with this one. I can’t really call it a “fun” movie, but it definitely is a good one. Plus, it’s a John Ford/John Wayne film, which is basically a staple of the genre. So, what’s next?

Next: My Darling Clementine (1946), dir. John Ford

[sareenademon]

Bi Fang and Havik create mischief together! fluffy/weird/concerning

(Btw Havik might be a lil OOC or he might not be bc he’s the biggest wildcard in the mk universe.)

Bi Fang is the son of Bi Han and Sareena: Info on him (btw Bi Fang is inspired from Richie Tozier from Stephen Kong’s It, he curses a lot)

Once Noob Saibot got redeemed and rejoined the Lin Kuei he cut ties with all of his evil associates. This included Havik. Well kinda.

They don’t consider each other enemies and Havik still considers Bi Han his bestfriend! And sometimes he’ll randomly insert himself back into his life to cause a bit of chaos. He’s more of an annoyance to Bi Han if anything.

(Bi Fang is 10 at this point. And this before he meets Satoshi and Liu Jerrod)

Years later, when Havik found out that Bi Han has a son he became curious.

So, he decided to pay the boy a visit and meet him!

For a day, he stalked Bi Fang from a far.

Havik realized how powerful Bi Fang could be. The boy shared the DNA of a cryomancer and a demon. His ice powers could be legendary. It could be powerful enough to one day kill that bastard Hotaru.

He also realized how different Bi Fang was from his father.

Unlike Bi Han, Fang has a great sense of humor! Havik finds the boy’s pranks on the other Lin Kuei members to be hilarious! But he also notices the boy’s loneliness. He sees how the other children of the Lin Kuei shunned him.

So Havik decides he should take the boy out for some good ol, chaotic fun!

He appears to him when the boy is alone hanging out in a forest.

Havik: Hello Bi Fang, I-

Bi Fang: -AHHH! STRANGER DANGER! STRANGER DANGER!

*Havik watches as he runs away towards the temple. He quickly teleports in front of him and grabs Bi Fang and puts a hand over his mouth to stop his screaming*

Havik: I am not here to harm you! I am here to fun with you!

Bi Fang: You do realize how fuckin creepy that sounds right?!

*Havik giggles and lets him go*

Bi Fang: Who the hell are you anyways?

Havik: I am the Cleric of Chaos! Me and your father worked together back in the day.

Bi Fang: Cleric of Chaos? You sound like a bad guy to me.

Havik: Well I wouldn’t say bad..It’s of no matter. I’m here to see if you’d like to come create some mischief with me!

Bi Fang: Why would I go anywhere with a fucking weirdo like you?!

Havik knew that the boy wouldn’t go with him this way, so he decided to use a bit of manipulation.

*Havik fakes a hurt expression, faces away from Bi Fang and starts sobbing*

Bi Fang: Hey, are you...crying?

Havik: *sniffles* I-i just hoped you’d be different is all.

Bi Fang: What do you mean?

Havik: Nobody wants to be my friend! They all think I am a freak! I thought you could understand what how it feels...to be rejected because you’re different...

*Bi Fang’s suspicious expression visibly softens*

Bi Fang: I do know how it feels...I don’t have many friends either, they all think I’m a freak too...hey I’ll be your friend, just don’t cry.

*Bi Fang hugs Havik*

Havik: Oh goodie! Now let us go have some fun!

Bi Fang: Where are we going?

Havik: Hehe, to create havoc of course!

So that’s exactly what they do. Havik teleports them to America, California where their disruption of the peace begins.

They run around pranking random people and they do every prank in the book.

They Teepee people’s houses, egg people’s cars, put a flaming bag of dog shit on someone’s front porch, put Whoopi cushions on the chairs of Starbucks, put bugs in people’s food, stink bombed stores, etc.

Havoc scares passerbys by taking his head off or breaking his knee caps or turning his torso 360 degrees. Bi Fang laughs his ass off at their freaked out people’s reactions.

They made this really buff big guy scream like a little girl and they laughed until it hurt.

Havoc was so delighted that he finally had a mini me. Bi Fang was way more fun than his killjoy father and uncle.

He would make a wonderful son and heir!

Of course, the cops were soon called on them and They soon found themselves surrounded by Stryker and Kabal, and a couple other cops.

Havik: Allow me to deal with these party poopers hehehehe.

(At this time Kabal and Stryker haven’t met Bi Fang yet and they don’t know he’s the Lin Kuei grandmaster’s son)

Bi Fang cheered him on as Havik made quick work of the squad of officers but when he went to finish off Kabal and Stryker. Bi Fang quickly intervened.

Bi Fang: Stop! You’re gonna kill them!

Havik: I know! It’s going to be so much fun to watch the life leave their eyes.

Bi Fang: ...You can’t kill them...it’s-it’s wrong!

Havik: Come now, Do not be so dull! Just think of the chaos it will cause in their loved one’s lives! Hehehe!

Bi Fang: Y-you’re starting to scare me...if you kill them...I-i won’t be your friend no more.

The chaos cleric glared at Bi fang for a couple of moments before he sighed and released the two beaten officers.

He didn’t want to run the boy off yet. He still had plans for him.

Havik: Very, well...say, all this mischief is making me hungry. Let’s go get something to eat.

*Havik takes the boy’s hand and starts pulling him away from the unconscious cops*

Bi Fang: Ya, I’m kinda hungry too, but where are we gonna eat? I don’t have any money.

Havik: Hehehe, who says we’re going to pay for the food?

So they go to a McDonald’s. All the employees look terrified of Havik and they don’t dare to stop him when he walks behind the counter and starts making a McFlurry.

Bi Fang decides to follow Havik’s suit and starts taking some chicken nuggets and fries. They run out of the McDonald’s before another group of cops can arrive.

It was getting late and Bi Fang was getting sleepy so the Chaosrealmer returned Bi Fang to his home. Before leaving Bi Fang asked if they could go have fun again tomorrow. To which Havik replied, anything for his best friend.

Once Havik disappeared, Bi Fang ran into his parents on his way to his bedroom.

Let’s just say, they weren’t too happy to learn who Bi Fang has spent the day with. Especially Bi Han, who was livid that Havik had the nerve to kidnap his child.

Bi Fang: He said you two knew each other.

Bi Han: That doesn’t mean he is someone good or trustworthy! You know you shouldn’t speak to anyone that isn’t Lin Kuei! You are to never speak to that freak again! Understand?!

Bi Fang: He’s not a freak! He’s my friend, and he likes hanging out with me! Not like you!

*Bi Han is about to scream at his son but Sareena steps in*

Sareena: Bi Fang, you do not realize how dangerous that man truly is. He is most likely trying to manipulate and use you.

*Bi Fang starts tearing up*

Bi Fang: N-no! You’re wrong! He’s like me-

Bi Han: -Enough! Go to your room! And do not come out until I say so!

Bi Fang runs to his room crying. Bi Han feels a bit regretful for upsetting him so much, but he has the Chaos Cleric to deal with first.

He, Kuai Liang, and Smoke go to the Chaosrealm and face Havik. Bi Han is on Havik’s ass before he could even greet them. Bi Han is strong enough to pin the Cleric to the ground and starts choking him.

Havik: Y-you...se-em upset...with m-me, Bi Han...

Bi Han: *growls* How dare you kidnap my son! I’ll rip out your heart!

Havik: W-as...not kidnap, h-he came willing-ACH

*Bi Han tightens his hold on Havik’s throat. Kuai steps in and pull Bi Han off of the cleric*

Kuai Liang: Why did you take him to America? What scheme are you plotting Havik? 

Havik: What schemes? I only wanted to show the boy some fun! Your child is a riot! He is the son I have always dreamed of! Hehehe!

*Bi Han lunges at Havik again but this time Havik evades him*

Bi Han: HE IS NOT YOUR SON! HE IS MINE!

Smoke: You expect us to believe you did this for fun?

Havik: ....Yes. Do you really expect me to make sense?

*The 3 Lin Kuei stare him for a couple moments and then look at each other*

Bi Han: I am warning you now Chaos Cleric. If you ever go near my son again I will rip apart limb from limb, and give your remains to demons and they will torture you for the rest of eternity...

Havik: Oh Bi Han, do not threaten me with a good time. Fine, I will leave your boy alone. You have my word.

*crosses his toes in his boot*

Havik was lying of course. But it was enough to get the Lin Kuei and Bi Han to return to Earthrealm.

Havik wasn’t going to give up on Bi Fang just yet. The potential of havoc that boy could unleash was amazing. Somehow, Bi Fang will become his son, and together they will plunge the realms into chaos.

(I’m gonna end it here bc it became longer than I meant it to be. Hope you enjoyed)

[freddiesaysalright]

Peace Like A River Part 1

A Gwilym Lee x Reader Story

Summary: Reader is a stand up comic with a pretty dark past. She has a three new lights in her life: her daughter, Violet; her anonymous correspondent, Dear Friend; and Gwilym Lee. 

Word Count: 3.4K

Tag List: @psychosupernatural @someone-get-a-medic @bensrhapsody @deakyclicks If you’d like to be added, let me know!

A/N: Sorry this took so long! I had like the snippet of an idea for this and then needed more for a plot, but I think I’ve finally got it together lol. Hope y’all like it!

Part I here we go!!!

Grinning, you read over the letter once more from backstage. His words in that graceful, loopy handwriting warmed you from your heart to your toes. You sighed contentedly, stuffed the paper into your back pocket for luck, and waited for your cue.

“Ladies and gentlemen, please welcome to the stage, Y/N Y/L/N!” the host cried. 

You shook out the last of your nerves and walked out on the stage, waving and grinning at the huge crowd that stood and applauded for you. You had never done a show for an audience this large and it was both intimidating and exhilarating. 

“Thank you!” you said, as you waited for them to stop cheering. “Thank you. Thank you all for coming. Really, I appreciate it because whenever I have to go out and do things, I think about killing myself.”

A nervous titter went through the crowd and you smiled again.

“Seriously, I do. I’ll think about killing myself over nothing. Like, the other day, I was in the car on my way home from the store and my sister called me and asked me to stop by her place and help her and her husband move furniture. And I actually thought ‘If I crashed my car right now and died, I wouldn’t have to go move any fucking furniture.’”

They laughed.

“It’s crazy, I know, but I casually think about it any time I’m even minorly inconvenienced. But what stops me from doing it - like, my next line of thought - is something equally meaningless. Like, in that scenario with my sister, the thing that held me back was like, I thought ‘But fuck, Bohemian Rhapsody is coming out in like two months and I really wanna see that.’”

A couple cheers came through the laughter and you smiled.

“Oh, we got some Queen fans in here tonight?” you said. 

More cheers.

“Yeah, cheer, clap, fuck yeah!”

A swell of shouts and whistles went through the crowd and you joined them.

“Fuck yeah, y’all were raised right,” you said when it settled down. “Queen is a great band. Just four sexy dudes making banger after banger. They’re legitimately my favorite band. I’m not gonna lie, they really got me through some shit, but we’ll come back to my trauma later.”

You paused for a small bit of laughter.

“Now normally, I don’t like when comedians talk about Queen. And by that, I mean, I don’t like it when comedians talk about Freddie Mercury,” you said. “And it’s not for some pretentious reason like they’re not real fans or something. It’s literally just that when people joke about Freddie Mercury, they joke about the same two things - his teeth and his sexuality - two extremely fucking boring things to joke about.”

You took a sip of water.

“Not only are they boring, they’re just rude. Like, these are things this man was born with and couldn’t change about himself - he had no control over that. What he did have control over - the fucking ridiculous lyrics of Under Pressure.”

A giggle went through them. You smiled.

“I’m serious. Have any of you ever looked up the lyrics to that song? Most of it doesn’t really bother me, it’s just those weird scat-like shit Freddie does between verses. Like, they have these great, meaningful lines followed by Freddie going ‘Um, bah, bah, bay.’ What the fuck?”

They laughed.

“That shit is in the official lyrics of that legendary song and I think about that every goddamn day. That and fucking ‘dee, dah, day - ok!’ Shit like that is how you know these dudes were on drugs. One of those guys came up with that, pitched it to four other people - if not more - and they all went ‘fuckin genius’ and bam! Under Pressure is one of the greatest hits of all time.”

They laughed harder.

“I guess I’m not as disturbed by that as I am by the fact that the people ate it up like they did. It’s one thing for those guys to say it’s genius, but then for us as the public to say it as well just fucks me up. The first time I heard that song I was like ‘what the cinnamon toast fuck am I listening to?’ Shit was weird.”

You took another drink as they laughed. 

“But honestly, I don’t understand why people go for Freddie’s sexuality when there are clearly much more roastable things to talk about. I don’t care how rich and famous he was, if you’re a straight white guy making fun of gay brown guy for being either or both of those things, you’re punching down, dude, and that’s not comedy, that’s just being an asshole.”

For that, they applauded. You continued on through your set, and this audience was great for you. They were responsive and you held their attention throughout. You were almost ready to close the show.

“I always like to end my shows with the most important person in my life,” you said. “I’ve talked about her already tonight, and she’s my daughter, Violet.”

The tech guys put a picture of her up on the projector behind you. You beamed at it. 

“That’s her. She’s three years old and she’s my everything. She’s the reason I get on stage and in front of cameras. She’s the real reason I don’t crash my car to get out of moving furniture.”

With one final laugh, you bid them goodnight. You took a little bow at the roar of applause and smiled widely. You said a few more thank yous before the spotlight dimmed and you walked off stage to the sound of cheering and clapping. It never ceased to amaze you how far you had come. 

Someone took the mic for you as your assistant approached. She was a recent hire, and something you initially resisted. But now that your name and brand had grown, you really did need the help. Her name was Stacy, and she was incredibly efficient. You liked her, as did Violet, which sold you on hiring her.

“Great show,” she said with a smile. “Vi is asleep in the green room. We’ve got a couple VIP guests for you to meet before we take you both back to the hotel.”

“Alright, lead the way,” you replied.

You followed her to another room backstage where you saw a group of men. Most of them had their back to you, but one face, you recognized. Gwilym Lee, who you considered a friend, even though you hadn’t spoken in a while.

Before you had really thrown yourself into standup, you did a bit of acting. You and Gwilym shot a pilot of a sitcom that unfortunately never aired, but while filming, you had become really close. You even felt like he was flirting with you a few times, but back then you were nowhere near ready to start a new relationship, so you’d kept things strictly platonic. Nowadays, you mostly liked each others pictures on Instagram as your main form of communication. But life was busy for both of you. You were on tour and he had gone on to films.

You started to smile but then froze when the man next to Gwilym turned his head. You grabbed Stacy’s arm harshly.

“Holy shit is that Brian May?” you wondered.

She chuckled. “Yeah! The VIP guests are Queen and the cast of Bohemian Rhapsody.”

“Shut the fuck up!” you cried. “Really?!”

“Yep,” she assured you. “Go on in and say hello.”

Your stomach dropped with nerves. Again, you shook yourself free of them and donned your stage personality. Slipping into that mask was where you were most comfortable. While you talked about the things you had endured in your comedy, there it was lighthearted, and you did not have to face it head on. You could throw a joke out and dodge it. 

“Well, hello!” you said brightly as you entered the room. 

They all turned eyes on you and smiled as you were introduced. Brian May and Roger Taylor were without a doubt the most thrilling to shake hands with, but Rami Malek, Joe Mazzello, and Ben Hardy were also exciting. When it came time to shake hands with Gwilym, you offered a warm, friendly smile. 

“It’s great to see you again,” you said. “It’s been two years or so now?”

“Just about,” he replied. “You were wonderful.”

“Thank you!”

“Gwil was the one who convinced us to come tonight,” Joe explained. “He said you were hilarious on set when you filmed before.”

“That’s sweet,” you replied. “It is a shame that show never took off, it was a good one.”

“I certainly loved it,” Gwilym said. 

You chatted with them for a bit. They all were calming to be around. Brian and Roger were complimentary of your bit about Under Pressure, which eased some of your nerves about the set. Even though you were, you didn’t feel like you were putting on a show for them. In minutes, it felt like they were your friends. 

The door opened shortly after and in walked Stacy, hand in hand with your very sleepy daughter. She clutched her stuffed dog close to her chest as she ran right to you and crawled into you lap. You wrapped your arms around her and held her close, kissing the top of her head. She eyed the guests warily. 

“What are you doing awake, sweetie?” you asked gently, stroking her hair. 

“She woke up for a little while,” Stacy explained. “I tried to get her back down but all she wanted was Mommy.”

You smiled. “That’s okay. You can have Mommy whenever you want her.”

She snuggled into your chest, turning her face away from the strangers. 

“You don’t want to say hello?” you wondered, and she shook her head. You looked at the guys. “Sorry. She’s kinda shy.”

“That’s alright,” said Brian. 

“She’s grown up,” Gwilym said. “Last time I saw her, she was just learning to walk.”

“Oh, yeah,” you remembered. “She actually walked right into you during a scene.”

You both chuckled at the memory.  

“The director was almost mad, but she was so cute,” he continued. 

He knelt down in front of you and gently touched her arm. She turned her face to just barely peek at him. 

“Hi, Violet,” he said sweetly, smiling at her. “It’s been a while.”

Her brow furrowed. 

“You were still a little baby,” you explained to her. “But you’ve met Gwilym before.”

She relaxed and looked between you and him. 

“Daddy?” she questioned. 

You stiffened and cleared your throat uncomfortably. Then shook your head. 

“No, baby,” you told her. “No Daddy.”

She pouted at you and then hid her face again. You looked apologetically at Gwilym, who shrugged it off. He started to get up, but hesitated to pick something up off the ground. It was your letter that had been in your pocket. He held it out to you. 

“Is this yours?” he asked. 

You quickly took it, your face flushing with embarrassment. Even though there was no way he knew what it was, you still felt really shy about the whole situation. 

“Yeah, thanks,” you said, not meeting his eyes as you stuffed it back into your pocket. 

“A letter?” he questioned. 

“Just some particularly touching fanmail,” you lied. 

“Not enough people write letters anymore in my opinion,” said Roger. 

“Why sit and write a letter when you can send a text?” Ben replied. “It’s much faster.”

“Yeah, but I sort of miss the anticipation involved in letter writing,” Brian said in agreement with his bandmate. 

You continued to visit with them as Violet slowly fell asleep again against you. For a while, you felt Gwilym’s eyes on you intensely. His expression was odd. It appeared he thought he knew something more about you. It made you shift in your seat a few times before at last, he seemed to let go of whatever question was burning in his mind. 

They visited for about another half hour before you really did need to get back to your hotel, and so did they. You said fond farewells to all of them, reassured them that you would see the movie, and then it came to Gwilym. 

“We’re in New York for a few days,” he said. “Let me know if you’d like to get coffee or something and catch up.”

“That would be great,” you replied with a smile. 

You gave him a side hug since you had Violet on your hip, sleeping soundly. Her stuffed dog slipped from her hand but Gwil caught it before it hit the ground and handed it to you. 

“Can’t have that,” he said lightly. 

“Thank you,” you returned, taking it. You looked at all of them. “Have a wonderful night, guys. It was so great chatting with you.”

They all bid you one final farewell. Gwilym was the last to leave and you shared a lingering look with him before he closed the door. You continued to stare at the spot where he disappeared, realizing now how much you had missed him these last couple years. 

“Ready to go to bed?” Stacy asked. 

With a yawn, you nodded, and she ordered an Uber to take all three of you back to the hotel you were staying in. It wasn’t far from the venue, since you would be doing three shows there this week before moving on Boston. Stacy eyed you with an odd smirk as you stared out the car window. Finally, you looked at her. 

“What is it?” you asked, a bit snappier than you intended. 

“You and Gwilym Lee seemed to have a little something going on,” she said with a sly smirk. 

You rolled your eyes. “We just knew each other a couple years ago. Besides, you know I’m...involved with someone.”

“Ah, right,” she said, rolling her eyes now. “The ever elusive Dear Friend.”

“Hey, if anyone’s elusive, it’s me,” you said. “I was the one who made the arrangement what it is.”

“Y/N, you write letters to some mystery man,” she replied. “He could be anyone. Gwilym Lee is a real person and right in front of you.” 

“Dear Friend is a real person,” you argued. “I’ve just never met him.”

“And yet you’re convinced he’s your soulmate,” she returned. “I just don’t get it. How can you fall in love with someone through paper?”

“You don’t understand,” you said. “You’ve never read his letters. He’s so...eloquent and smart. And I can be myself with him. I can share my deepest thoughts and desires without any fear of judgement. He does so with me as well. It’s a real connection. The strongest I’ve ever felt with anyone.”

“You don’t know anything real about each other,” she insisted. “Not your names, not your jobs, where you live-”

“Those things don’t matter,” you cut across her. “The real stuff is deeper than that. And that’s where Dear Friend and I meet.”

“Whatever,” she said dismissively, weary of having this discussion yet again. “You’ve got your family reunion on your last day in town. I suggest you find a man in person to go with you. If you show up without someone again, I think your mother will actually lose her mind.”

You considered this. She was right, your mother absolutely hounded you about your romantic life since Violet was born. You told her you weren’t ready since your marriage had left you so scarred. You didn’t tell her about Dear Friend, though, since you knew she could never understand something like that. Plus, you had only been corresponding for a year.  

“I think Gwilym would go with you,” Stacy said, nudging you with her elbow. 

“I was thinking more along the lines of hiring some actor to be my boyfriend,” you replied. “I don’t want to expose Gwilym to my family. He’s been nothing but nice to me.”

She chuckled. “At least take him up on the coffee. I really think you should explore your options in case this Dear Friend isn’t who he says he is.”

“I will take him up on the coffee,” you assured her. “But it’s not a date. In the meantime, find some poor struggling actor to go with me and get my mother off my back.”

“I’m on it,” she assured you, already looking through her phone to get started. 

You reached the hotel at last. You took Violet to your room, bidding Stacy goodnight as she went to her room next door. You tucked your daughter into bed and kissed her on the forehead before heading over the desk. You pulled out the letter from Dear Friend that was still in your pocket and read it once more. Then you pulled out your stationery and pen to begin your reply. You were halfway through your letter when you remembered Gwilym. 

You opened your phone and pulled up his number, which you had from your days of being coworkers. You opened up a text to send to him and found yourself blanking on what to say. You had written paragraphs to Dear Friend, but when it came to asking someone to get a simple cup of coffee, you had no idea how to phrase it. It made you all the more certain Dear Friend was your person. Words came easily when talking to him. 

You went with your stage personality. You sent a casual, “Is tomorrow too soon for that coffee?” with a silly emoji. Then you returned to your letter. Gwilym texted back almost right away and suggested meeting around nine in the morning, which you agreed to. Then you finished writing your letter and sealed it in an envelope for Stacy to send off in the morning. 

The letters always took some time. One thing you knew about Dear Friend was that he was from the UK. The PO box you sent the letters to was in London, but you could also tell from the way he spelled things. You often teased each other about these differences. So of course, they took longer to send and receive. But, you agreed with Brian May that the anticipation of getting one was one of the most exciting parts of the experience. 

Another benefit of him being across the pond meant that your opportunities to meet were few. In fact, you hadn’t had one since you started writing. It was a bit of a relief. You knew you loved Dear Friend, but keeping him at arm’s (well, ocean’s) length felt safest. And after your brutal marriage to Violet’s father, Henry, being safe was of top priority for you. And yet, the desire to be with Dear Friend grew daily. It just terrified you to face the reality of it. 

The next morning, you dropped the letter and Violet off with Stacy while you went to meet up with Gwilym. You went to a local coffee shop and ordered. You paid, and he protested, but you insisted, and assured him that he could get it next time. You grabbed a table and started talking. You told him you were still living in Los Angeles and that you were mostly doing shows out in California. You tended to avoid New York, since Henry and his friends and family were still there and he was still an NYPD officer. You couldn’t avoid it on tour, though, nor your family reunion. You told Gwilym about the reunion, but not the part about you ex-husband. 

“You’re hiring someone?” he asked, baffled. “A stranger?”

“Yeah,” you said. “Some guy that was rejected from Broadway or something. I’ll pay him, and we’ll come up with a story for my mother, and then the next time I see her I’ll tell her how we tragically broke up.”

“That’s ridiculous,” he said with a laugh. “I’ll do it for you.”

You blinked. “You really don’t have to-”

“I don’t mind,” he said. “We’re friends. I know meeting strange men is difficult for you.”

Gwilym knew that Henry had abused you because you talked about it in your sets. You never got into gruesome detail, although you had confessed a few things to Dear Friend. You talked on stage about not dating because of what you had been through. It was extremely kind of Gwilym to offer this, and you weren’t sure how you could thank him. Your comedian mask slipped on again. 

“I’m not sure I can afford your rates, Mr. Lee,” you teased. 

“How much was my coffee?” he returned. 

“Five dollars,” you told him. 

“Well, it turns out, for friends, I offer a discounted price of five dollars,” he joked. “So, consider it payment for the coffee.”

Your brow furrowed. “Are you sure about this?”

“Really, it’s fine,” he reassured you. “It’s just one day.”

“I can’t tell you how grateful I am,” you said, seriously. 

He raised a curious eyebrow at your tone. 

“I mean, it’s just one of the nicest things,” you continued, blushing once again under his gaze. “You’re a very generous person, Gwilym.”

“Perhaps,” he said. “Or you’re just still getting used to kindness.”

You smiled, unwilling to go any deeper. 

“Let’s chalk it up to a combination of both,” you said lightly. 

You finished your coffees and headed to the door. He had to go to an interview and you were going to take Violet around the city since the weather was nice. As you hugged goodbye, you smiled up at him. 

“See you Saturday?” you asked. 

“Saturday,” he affirmed.

[theskyexists]

Terminator

I watched the first terminator

It was an....EXPERIENCE

I now understand all the callbacks in dark fate. the skulls. the real janky looking skeletal terminators of john's future. hiding the gun in a jacket. scars. dani ironically not being able to drive. ending the story in a factory. the whole *gestures* grace/dani thing. the feminism

first things first - the soundmixing was SO BAD. the sound effects were shit anyway lol but I had to constantly turn the volume up and down respectively for conversation and gun sounds. also the epilepsy seizure white flashes were hell

i unironically AND ironically loved the pre-film credits with its Cool synth music

I loved the Cool synth keyboard sountrack it was INCREDIBLE hahahahaaha

i was not prepared for the enormous amount of manbod on display at the start of this film. like damn. DAMN. and it was pretty tasteful. and they definitely established Kyle as uhhhhh a very viable romantic interest - sprinting through that walmart shirtless, putting on cool product placement nikes, and somehow recovering his very cool coat in the police station while it was under fucking siege. was also not expecting to lay eye on an actual terminator dick in the shadows. but i think we should have more of that in films tbh

I just gotta say - I LOVED the style. I'm going to assume that is really what it was like. I love Sarah's little scooter especially, and her high waisted jeans and lil booties. her hair is of course....INCREDIBLE. the front so short that it poofs up lololol. She really does look in her twenties... I also loved all the little character details EVERYWHERE. the cops in the station??? I think my favourite character was definitely the police captain -  idk, such rich characterisation for a side character - with such random comedic delivery.

I also liked how meta it got through the psychologist's interrogation of Kyle - the film really just said: let's forestall your complaints about how none of this makes sense and give you excuses through Kyle's super intense explanations (well-acted) lol

but all of the cops literally seeing all their buddies go down and then jumping out to get hella shot themselves with no sense of self-preservation was pretty hilariously stupid - some video game logic shit

I actually really loved the flashbacks to the future - that actually looked a lot more realistic than i thought. not the green screen stuff while they run through the wasteland but yknow - the humans living in underground tunnels. especially the concept of everybody living next to each other along the walls of a tunnel was really worked

Also - pugsley??? AMAZING. (every time it opened its mouth the bf would go ''aaaaa')

I WAS NOT PREPARED FOR THE EYE GORE. the wax (?) puppet was hilarious AND creative

The sexual politics  (literally) were really interesting?? Matt and Ginger and Sarah being so comfortable with each other that Matt's weird sex call makes her laugh. Ginger just listening to a bop while having sex with Matt? lol. The......sex scene between Kyle and Sarah was.......uhhhh...........unique? blessedly short? nice handholding there. I'm not saying it was bad, and I approve of the politics of Sarah getting on top but like, the repeated almost-the-same shots made it look a bit weird.

I have to note though that their kissing was incredibly SHIT. in my opinion

The point beforehand when Sarah goes: what about the women in your time? what are they like?

and Kyle goes: good fighters

i was like - Cameron - you feminist sunovabitch!! which naturally i'd already had this reaction when I saw that Kyle was running around with a female soldier (who looked eerily like Grace??? actually) and also arrived at his comfy tunnel home with another female soldier in tow. 1984 people!!! and Rogue One couldn't be fuckin bothered.

and then Sarah is like: yknow what i mean - you got a girlfriend????

and we find out that Kyle has had Sarah's image as his singular haven of comfort and beauty his whole life (which means also that he’s a virgin)

and it's kinda romantic

but THEN

he regrets admitting it!!!! 'i shouldn't have said that'

AND THAT KICKS IT UP TO REAL ROMANCE. THE GOOD SHIT!!!! YES!!!!

(then the kissing starts which is bad)

but how the fuck can fans of this original movie complain about dark fate loL???? Sarah really IS like Dani, adored for both her legendary power and what she personally represents to her saviour: a haven from their terrible lives. girls thrown into life-threatening situations and learning to aid their protector step by step - until she's the last one standing - until she's picked up the skills and grit and trauma to drag Kyle/Grace around to save them and then go toe to toe with a fucking Terminator after losing them.

Sometimes I think it's cos dudes can't deal with a movie in which there's no one to latch onto that looks like them. Also it might just be the racism - cos youtube comments generally seem to approve of blonde-haired blue-eyed badass Grace

The pacing of this movie was actually really good even though there were TWO huge exposition dumps in quick succession in two random cars. They were fine. The car chase scene that came after was the only boring part in the movie.

My god the stop motion shots of the terminator though - OH MY GOD. that aged SO BADLY

I like how they gave the Terminator steel teeth bc otherwise it wouldn't have looked enough like a skull. I also liked how it literally had pizza feet hahahahaha

I was disappointed with John's words to Sarah though - it was both the delivery (worst line Kyle's actor did - like how fuckin dead was his voice there) and the words themselves. If i had a way to speak to my mother who saved me and raised me to win the war against the machines and i'd already lost her I would have been like: I LOVE YOU - I can't help you and I’m sorry because you saved me, thank you for everything.

Anyway - in the end i was surprised the terminator could be exploded with a single lil nitroglycerin bomb or whatever but the choice to have Kyle bite it for that heroic act was intense and sad

While Sarah and unlegged Terminator were crawling along I was like: how the fuck is this robot getting any traction on this metal surface with it's smooth little metal fingers??

Sarah's last soft 'kyle' as she watches him get zipped up into a body bag was the most touching line in the movie

The ending narration was pretty fuckin shit though.

So yeah. I enjoyed that

[sparklingdust4612]

Reviewing Star wars New hope...

So I watched the movie and kept tweeting while I did because I wanted to commemorate it but i decided to share my asinine thoughts here too so...SPOILERS!

Warning: this post is a compilation of several tweets so it may not make complete sense all at one place especially if you haven't seen the movie in which case you may not know which part I am referring to...anyways...

I just saw the stormtroopers 'storming' (lol, bad pun!) in but they were being pretty considerate, not walking over the bodies of the men they took down like 'hey, we already won on this lets disrespect them no more by NOT trampling the bodies on our way in'

Cute-sy smol robot is R2-D2 woohoo, i finally know why people like this smol guy. Also, awkward breathing sounds break the music when the black cloaked dude (Palpatine?) enters...Hi Leia! you look niceee

oh, Its Darth Vader, not Palpatine...Gooo Leia, don't go down without a fight and since you cant use guns, use your diplomatic tongue and wage verbal war!!

Oh no! R2!! get back up! (and whats that golden robot dude called again?)

Nice to meet you C-3PO and Luke! he's kinda cute in his rebellious, pissy glory lol. (do i have another fictional crush? maybe...)

Poor Luke! ): + Luke: That little droid's going to get me in a lot of trouble

C-3PO: Oh he excels at that! 📷📷

Honest opinion (no offense to star wars lovers) but banthas and sandpeople sound like they all communicate via farts...it surely sounds that way... Oh they found Obi Wan and he looks less older than I expected!

Aw shucks! Even if I didnt like Owen I still hurt for poor Luke to find Owen and Beru's bodies literally fucking cooked! It must've been traumatizing seeing as that was the life he had always known...

No offense but all these creatures/aliens whatever those peeps that don't look like humans are so hideous I cant help snorting.

P.S. Han Solo looks sooooooooooo fuckin delectably hot that if i were an empress, i'd abdicate just to have his d**k in me everyday...📷📷

its hilarious how aliens are getting sliced through and fried or killed and whatever in the bar thing-y and the others just look back and go back to whatever they were doing XD

I love Leia, she's sassy till the end!!! I love the name Alderaan, it sounds so damn regal! Also, it looks like Earth...

Han Solo trying to distract magnificently and then blasting shit because "boring conversation anyway" 📷

Han: Wonderful girl, either i am gonna kill her or i am beginning to like her while Leia is all badass bitch calling him flyboy lol

Han Solo: The garbage chute was a wonderful idea...what an incredible smell you've discovered 📷📷I legit died laughing

C-3PO: Listen to them, R2, they're all dying in response to Luke's hysterical laughter was fuckin legendary!

Han Solo's 'I take orders from just one person -me!' Is so damn relatable!

I finished watching #StarWars #NewHope and as you guys must've noticed, as the suspense and action started increasing, my babbling started decreasing lol. I got so damn invested I couldnt pause it for one fuckin second!

I now see the appeal the series holds for y'all people, i should never have doubted the likes of the majority including my close friends and honorary mom. The action, the fighting, the suspense and the *swoons and drools and faints* Han Solo and Luke *dies*

Like damn, I'd donate all my organs if it meant making out with Han and I'd definitely like to be cooked like Owen and his wife for a chance to shag either Han or Luke! Fuuuck why?! Even the music and video quality got bearable over time as I got more and more invested!

IDK if I'll be able to watch more today but I'd love to watch the next movie today and if I do, I'll start a new thread for it📷📷 For my sake, I hope I can!! God I am in loooveeee. If Han and Luke did that, I wonder what will happen when Kylo appears and I'd love to find out...

I just realized that they ended the movie in a way that if they wouldnt have made any future movies, it wouldve been fine because they gave us a somewhat justifiable ending like 'they won, who cares if they never verified if Vader is alive' thingy.

P.S. Sorry, i totally forgot Ben Kenobi 'died', i am getting the feeling he actually didnt die idk why but, oh well, sad sad lets move on...

I loooveee Han Solo from the top of his head to his last toe and his humour had me in fuckin hysterics! That greedy, funny, hot, bad piece of ass! i'd loove to fuck!!

[concussed-to-pieces]

Best I Have

Fandom: WWE

Pairing: Dean Ambrose/Roman Reigns

Rating: Holy shit M.

AN: Another AU, for the Thirsty Crew! Tagging @toxiicpop, @oraclegazes  and OF COURSE @hardcorewwetrash! Enjoy!

“Mr. Ambrose!”

Dean grunted, a bit startled and pausing at the sound of his name. “Yeah?”

The man who had spoken looked familiar, but Dean couldn’t place him. More shit rattled free up top, I guess. On the older side, round face. He seemed good-natured enough. Dean shook his hand, still trying to figure out who this guy was. “Sika Reigns.” The man prompted after a minute or two of Dean studying him.

“Oh!” Dean felt like an idiot. “I’m sorry sir, I’m used to all the--” He gestured around his head, indicating where Sika’s thick black hair once was.

Sika chuckled ruefully. “You and me both, kid. Listen, my hairline isn’t important. I heard you’re planning on facing Brock soon, and that a few of the legends have given you their blessing.” Sika cleared his throat. “Maybe a few implements, as well.”

Oh. “Listen, if you’re here from Heyman, I ain't interested in his terms and I told him that from the get-go.” Dean bristled, but the older man was already shaking his head.

“Hell no, calm down. I’d like to offer you my son.”

“You…what? Your…okay, I’m a little confused here man.” Dean stammered. I didn’t think dads still tried to pawn their kids off like this. “I mean, Funk gave me a chainsaw and Foley gave me Barbie. Those are weapons. No offense, but what am I supposed to do with your son? Who even is…does he work in the indies or something?”

“Roman?” Mr. Reigns called.

Dean heard footsteps behind him and he immediately turned around, fists raised. Oh. Oh. Roman wasn’t as tall as him but he was broader. Dean thought momentarily that he had short, slicked-back hair, but upon further inspection he realized Roman’s hair was pulled back into a bun. The tight smile that he was given contrasted sharply with the intimidating black gear the other man was wearing. Is that a cattle prod?!

“We’ve already spoken about your…situation, and we believe this is an excellent strategy. He’s an unknown factor, he’s strong, capable and, most importantly, he’s the best weapon I can offer you.” Sika sounded proud enough to burst. It made Dean almost queasy with jealousy. “Terry and Mick mean well, they always have. But I’m fairly confident Lesnar will have ample warnings of your little red wagon.”

“And where the hell am I supposed to stash him?” Dean asked, still reeling from the whole interaction. “He’s a little bigger than a chainsaw, man!”

“Underneath the ring, of course.” Sika shrugged. “Where else?”

Where else? Dean had to agree with that, this guy was obviously going to stick out a bit in any crowd. Underneath the ring. “And what is your input on this…this weird ass plan?” Dean demanded of Roman, already tired of the ‘strong silent’ routine.

Roman inclined his head. “I’m here to help.”

…

Seth had been softer when they’d started out. A little brother, to be protected until he proved himself. Dean still regretted all the times he’d defended Seth. He should have let him take the hits, should have let him suffer a little more. Maybe then he wouldn’t have turned on Dean. Maybe then he would have understood how much Dean did for him.

Dean had been alone for the first time in years that night, laying in the middle of the ring after being handed his ass on a silver platter by Rollins and his new lackeys. Ambrose's vest and body were torn to pieces, the metaphor not lost on him in the slightest while he spit up blood in the locker room shower with Seth’s voice yelling “crazy!” on repeat in his aching head.

Their dynamic duo went up in flames, the Shield no more. They fought like rabid animals every opportunity they got, putting each other into the hospital on a monthly basis. It felt almost wrong to be focusing his energy on someone else, but with Rollins out injured for a while, Ambrose needed new ways to try and hang on to his limited sanity.

So he’d picked a fight with Brock Lesnar. Not his smartest move to date. Yet for some reason a lot of folks had gotten behind him. He guessed everyone must be tired of that lazy asshole storming around like he owned the place. He still hadn’t expected a chainsaw from Terry, though. That was unanticipated (and definitely illegal, love you anyway you crazy old bastard).

This arrangement with Roman smacked of weirdness though, and if there was one thing Dean was all over it was weirdness. Roman kept to himself during their training sessions, didn’t push his boundaries and didn’t say much. He was…bland. Almost to a fault.

They had to at least be able to work together. Dean knew that, kept reminding himself of that. Also kept reminding himself that Roman wasn’t Rollins. Sometimes he caught himself just before calling Roman Seth, just before dropping an inside joke or punching his shoulder like he had with Seth. This guy wasn’t here to be his friend.

Neither was Rollins.

Seth and Roman were like night and day. Rollins was excitable, easily flustered and distracted. Roman was…well steady was really the only word Dean could think of. Roman would wait, and wait, and wait. There didn’t seem to be an impatient bone in his body. Most of Dean’s training regiment was repetition, running the same pattern on the mats and pads until he could do it in his sleep. So having Roman around to bounce off of certainly made his training a hell of a lot easier.

Another thing Dean kept having a problem with was that this guy was here to help with one fight. Roman was just an implement, a means to an end. It was weird that he was taking such an active role here, and his dad gifting him essentially as a big, blunt object was still…it sat funny with Dean.

He’s the best weapon I can offer you.

Ambrose shook himself all over, squaring up yet again.

“Can I ask you something?” Roman began, lowering the pads a fraction. Dean nodded in reply. “Why Lesnar?” The larger man questioned.

Dean froze up for a second. A long second. “Because I’m a fuckin’ idiot.”

“Oh.” Roman got into position and Dean assumed that was the end of the questions, raising his fists. “I don’t understand how that makes you an idiot.”

Ambrose sighed heavily. “Look, I appreciate the vote of confidence. But the fact of the matter is that this is a fight I’m probably not winnin’. It’s a time-waster, you and I both know that.”

“Why bother doing it then?”

Because I need to do something. “Boredom, I guess.” Dean shrugged, doing his best to seem flippant. Because it’s either fight someone or tap my fingers against my knees until I wear holes in them. Because it’s either get my ass kicked or sit around thinking. Because I’m tired, so damn tired of everything and if I start focusing on that... “Needed something to do while Rollins heals his knee.” And oh no, oh no, that was the wrong thing to say.

Roman seemed confused, letting him get in a few hits before opening his mouth again. “Seth Rollins? He’s the guy that you tagged with, right? The Shield?”

Dean crouched, scowling. “We've been trading asswhuppings. Kane fucked up his knee though, so I have to be patient. I’m not gonna’ break into a hospital while he’s rehabbing. I’m not an animal.”

“Didn’t he put your head through-”

“I’m not stooping to his level.” Dean snarled. “I fight in the ring or not at all.”

“Does it bug you that people call you the crazy one?” Roman queried, his brow furrowed. “I mean I haven’t really been following your feud, I rely on Dad to keep me up to date for the most part. But…the cinderblocks?”

“I’ve had worse man, much worse.” Dean itched absently at his neck. “Rollins knows that. S’why he did it. Wants to see how far he can push me, I guess.”

“What the fuck.” Roman breathed.

“Dude I’ve gotten my face pulped on cinderblocks that didn’t break. Trust me, the ones that break are preferable.” Dean found morbid amusement in spouting advice that no normal person would ever need. “Rollins has always been a button pusher. S’what he does. Unfortunately for him, though, I’ve learned a few things along the way.”

Roman cocked his head curiously, like he was actually interested. Like he wanted Dean to keep talking. Dean just grinned at him, tapping the pads.

“Up, c’mon. This ain’t chat time, Reigns.”

“Oh! Sorry.” Roman straightened the pads back out, looking a little disappointed.

“Maybe another time, huh?” Dean suggested grudgingly after a few minutes had gone by. “Some other time. After we kill Brock.”

“Yeah.” Roman’s smile didn’t reach his eyes, which made Dean very curious.

“Man I know I shouldn’t, but I gotta’ ask. Why the heck did your dad like…drop you into my lap?” Dean didn’t expect the way Roman flinched and he almost snapped Reigns’ wrist off with his next swing. “Shit, sorry. My bad.”

“No no, it’s fine. I…it’s a tough question to answer.” Roman said quietly. “Brock and Paul said some things about my family that they could have kept to themselves, to make a long story short.”

“Goddamn, those cocksuckers.” Dean snarled. “That’s as good a reason as any to get involved with him, I don’t blame you. Shit, I wish I had a reason for tangling with his ass. Your family is a legendary one in this business, what the fuck could they have to say about you guys?”

“More than enough, that’s what.” Roman’s face hardened. “So here I am, greenhorn through and through. But the only one who could step up to the plate.”

“Dude this is some Highlander shit, wow.” The sense of awe Dean felt was almost overwhelming. “Can I…I mean, this is gonna’ sound real weird but could I like. Teach you a few things?” He asked hesitantly. “I know you’re going to be there and it’s going to be hilarious to see the look on that pink bastard’s face when you show up, but can I maybe…I dunno’, work with you or somethin’? It would just be cool to actually have a reason to fight Brock.” Instead of me doing it because I can’t handle doing nothing.

“Defending my heritage and the honor of my family isn’t something cool, Ambrose.” Roman seemed irritated. “This is a serious issue. People think they can say offensive shit because my dad isn’t actively in the business anymore, or because my cousins do their haka, things like that. It’s not as if anything has changed when it comes to Lesnar, we’ve all seen the footage of him from the Guerrero matches.” Roman’s fists tightened around the pad straps.

“Shit, I didn’t mean…I’m sorry man, I’m bad at talking sometimes. I meant like. Not cool.” Dean struggled to explain his thought process. “Just more than what I have right now. I’ve got no family to defend, no lineage or anythin’. I’m just a scrappy, mouthy shit. But you’ve seen me fight. Think about it man, that’s just how I tangle when I have a petty fuckin’ grudge. I’ve never...crap, I’m doing this all wrong.” Dean grunted, tugging at a handful of his light-colored hair in frustration. He tried to collect himself while Roman just stood there, waiting. “Look, I’m not trying to be offensive. Ain’t my intention an’ I’m incredibly sorry if I’m comin’ off that way. I’m…I know your dad offered you to me as an assist that Brock won’t see coming. But this fight I picked is totally pointless. There’s no angle to it at all, it’s literally just ‘Crazy Guy Wastes Time And Gets Paid To Do It’.”

“You can’t be that hard up for money, man. I refuse to believe that. You’re one of the top guys in this company.” Roman pointed out.

Dean chuckled mirthlessly. “It’s not about the money, Reigns. And it’s sure as shit not about my prowess or defending anything. It’s…” Dean trailed off, starting up a tempo on his collarbone.

“It’s…?” Roman prompted him after a minute or two, raising an eyebrow.

“I got this…this issue with standing still. I have a lot of nervous energy to expel. Dunno’ what the normal amount is, but I can say with confidence that I’ve got a lot more than normal. I thought that going after the big guy would help work through a little of it.” Dean tried to sound nonchalant. “Til’ Rollins is all better and I have him to throw around again.”

“You really know Rollins, huh?” Roman was watching him closely. “You’re always scrapping with him and you guys still work well to-”

“No we do not.” Dean gritted out. “We used to. We do not anymore. End of discussion.” He cracked his neck, hearing the satisfying pop in his ears as he rotated his head. Roman busied himself with adjusting the pads on his hands. “Look, I don’t know how up to date your dad kept you. I’m assuming you ain’t seen the footage from the night Rollins broke us up.” Dean said by way of apology, knowing that being gruff and moody wasn’t really going to do either of them any good.

“No, I didn’t look for it or anything. Should I?” Roman asked quietly.

“Fuck no. That was just the last time I fought for something I believed in, y’know? I thought Rollins and I would be partners forever. We went through hell and high water together. And he kind of…well, look, right now ain’t the time for a sob story about my commitment issues, alright? My offer is on the table if you want it. I’ll gladly toss myself at Lesnar, I’ll fight harder than I’ve ever fought before. I don’t want your ass gettin’ a beatdown because you ain’t had to do this before.” Dean held up a hand when Roman opened his mouth. “Just think on it for a while. Talk to your pops, he’s the guy that threw your hat in with ‘The Lunatic’. Even if the answer is no, that’s okay. I’ve got weapons and I’ll use ‘em to cripple Lesnar so you can have the last blow hopefully without getting yourself hurt.”

“Why, though? Why would you...?”

“I don’t need this victory. You do. Your family does.” Dean said bluntly. “I don’t need jack shit from Lesnar except a huge, angry opponent who will help when it comes to killing time.” He cleared his throat. “This fight is a terrible idea. For anyone, really. Brock ain’t a merciful dude. I’ve dealt with worse than him, but you haven’t. So I’ll take the brunt of his bullshit.”

“You’re not really answering my question, Ambrose.”

“It’s important that you have something to fight for.” Dean reached forward and began undoing the target pad straps on Roman’s hands. “How often do you fight, and what is it for?”

“I’ve never been in a real fight in my life.” Roman replied honestly. “In high school I would push the other jocks around. That’s it though. Kid stuff, we weren’t exactly throwing punches.”

“Ground up, huh? Alright. We’ll start with evasion.” Dean grunted, snapping the straps into place around his own hands.

…

Roman was from a long, proud, downright prestigious line of athletes. He would never stop being impressed by his family’s dedication to whatever they set themselves to.

But when his father told him he was going to fight Lesnar one way or another, his heart sank to his shoes. He had been hoping to break into the business, yes, but maybe in a less…drastic manner. This was a suicide mission and it confused Roman to no end, the notion that his father was totally willing to hang the family hat on Roman’s performance in something he’d never officially done. Oh certainly, he’d wrestled before. Growing up in his family practically guaranteed it.

It was different when it was personal. Hearing what Brock said about his family, what Heyman said about his family lit Roman’s fuse. He’d agreed to his father’s plan without a second thought at the time, raring to defend his siblings, his cousins.

Now, laying on his back on the mat gasping for breath, he was a little concerned with himself. Did he have the ability? Absolutely. Was he going to be able to keep it together so he could win? Maybe not so much.

Ambrose growled, seeming exasperated. “You need to conserve your energy, man. Maybe switch up your workout for endurance, do some more jump rope.” He suggested, plopping down beside the dark-haired man.

Roman nodded, too tired to do much of anything else.

“The good news is that Brock is a glass fuckin’ cannon. All it takes is one damn good shot to rock him, and then if you don’t let up…” Dean punched his palm, “Boom! You have anythin’ in football that could be good for that? It's easier to re-purpose instead of go flat-out new.”

Roman blinked up at the ceiling while Ambrose rattled on, not really paying attention to what he was saying. The fight was less than a week away and his confidence continued to wane even as he doggedly trained with Dean.

“Hey, d’ya think when you win I could hold your arm up?” Ambrose asked. He always spoke in absolutes and it made Roman feel just a tad better. When you win, when Brock loses. “Kinda’ like how the ref does.” Dean had done a complete one-eighty as far as his attitude went once he realized that Roman wasn’t some dumb lug. The thinner man seemed almost happy to teach Roman, weirdly enthusiastic about passing along his techniques. Which leaned more towards the street fight side of things, but any port in a storm as far as Roman was concerned. Someone who would bad mouth his family didn't deserve anything above a good old-fashioned ass beating.

“Sure, why the hell not.” Roman managed to shrug while still on his back. “Could be cool.”

“Badass.” Dean had a smile that could disarm a drill sergeant, Roman was certain. It was rare, but when he did smile he could light up the room.

“Oh, I talked with my dad about you training me.” Reigns said a little while later, as Dean was running the ropes.

“Was he pissed?” Ambrose panted, nearly slipping on the mat and taking a second to regain his balance before he was off again.

Roman shook his head, putting his hands on his hips. “Nah, it was kinda' weird. He seemed excited about it. Said I could learn a lot from you.”

“That's so cool, oh wow. Sika thinks I'm smart.” Ambrose draped himself over the middle rope, his eyes wide in delight.

“He doesn't get why you would sacrifice your opportunity to beat Brock, but he's happy all the same.” Roman clarified.

“I told you, man, it's not personal for me. It's just me bein' bored.” Dean reached out and rumpled Roman's hair, the gesture rough but oddly fond. “You're going to do great.”

“Do you actually think that? Or are you just saying that to make me feel better?” Roman asked, furrowing his brow when Ambrose slid out of the ring to stand in front of him.

Dean took his shoulders, pressing their foreheads together. “Not only do I think you're gonna' beat him, I think you're gonna' beat him to within an inch of his life.” He searched Roman's eyes, doubtless seeing the fear that Reigns tried so hard to conceal. “Why do you think you're not going to beat him?”

“It's not that I think I won't beat him. I know it's going to be difficult and there's so much riding on me to beat him. I'm...I guess I'm nervous.” Understatement of the century. Every time Roman thought about getting in the ring for real, in front of all those people...

“You've got this, man. I swear. As long as I'm still pullin' breath into my lungs, you're not losing this fight.” Dean promised, extending his hand. Roman shook it after a minute, feeling a tiny bit better. Ambrose always seemed to know just what to say when it came to reassuring him. Roman was incredibly grateful for the weird opportunity he had been granted. Training with 'The Lunatic' was definitely a once in a lifetime kind of experience.

There was a bruise under Dean's eye from a punch gone wrong earlier in the week. Roman had floored him with the shot, apologies already pouring out of him as he crouched beside the other man. Ambrose had looked rattled for a minute before accepting a hand back up. “Holy shit, why didn't you tell me you could hit?!” He'd scolded Roman, “we could have been working on that instead of these speed drills! C'mon, hit me again! Let's go Reigns, time's a-wastin'!” He seemed ecstatic, he was definitely the only person Roman had met who was excited about getting punched in the face.

Once Dean figured out he could punch, he of course had to build a specific move around it. Roman privately thought it seemed kind of goofy, but he couldn't deny how badass it looked when it worked. Aim with his left hand, use the momentum of his hip rotation to add a little extra heat behind it, land on his feet without hurting himself. They practiced it over and over until Roman was pretty sure he could have done it in his sleep, both of them ending up laying on their backs on the mat panting hard.

Dean held out a fist to him and Roman tapped his knuckles against the other man's, turning his head to the side to catch Ambrose's grin. “You're gonna' do great.”

…

Dean's ears were ringing almost loud enough to drown out the roar of the crowd. There had been an explosion of pain at the base of his neck about two suplexes back and that's when the nausea kicked in. Everything was going wrong, where was Roman? He had swung with all his might, Barbie whistling through the air in his hands and Lesnar had somehow dodged the blow. Dean had been graced a back full of steel chairs as the prize for his insolence, and now he slumped in his corner with a very angry, very pink Brock standing over him.

For some reason KONGOS wouldn't get out of Dean's head, the opening accordion lick for Come With Me Now adding a little extra crazy to the clanging in his ears. I've wasted time, I've wasted breath, I think I've thought myself to death.

But he wasn't about to give up. Oh no, hell no. Ambrose intended on making Brock work even harder for this victory. Brock was pouring sweat, furious and pawing at his own face as he tried to keep his temper under control. Heyman was shrieking from ringside as always, Dean could feel the impacts of his hands on the mat as he attempted to leash his beast. Something else, though. There was a violent bump that came from beneath Dean, beneath the canvas, right before Lesnar hoisted him back up across his shoulders.

I was born without this fear, now only this seems clear. I need to move, I need to fight, I need to lose myself tonight.

Dean swung wildly at Brock's head, knowing that if Lesnar landed that F5 there might not be anything left in him to get back up. He managed to flail free, scramble away while Brock was off balance. Dean rolled out of the ring with Brock hot on his heels. His foot caught on something, the apron maybe, and he sprawled forward, his head cracking off the steel steps. The arena faded in and out around him as Dean bit down on his thumb, hard enough to hear the crunch of his skin giving way.

Confused what I thought for something I felt, confused what I feel for something that's real.

Brock's huge form was suddenly dripping sweat on his face and Dean found it in himself to wrinkle his nose in disgust, to roll up into himself. Brock sneered, one large hand grabbing the back of Dean's neck and hauling him upright. Dean made himself dead weight, laughing breathlessly when Brock struggled to keep him standing.

Something, someone hit Ambrose from behind, the shock hurting more than the actual blow from the chair. He tumbled to the floor again, not sure if this was the last time. A familiar cackle met his ears and Dean wondered if he was imagining things, if his brain was just filling in a few more painful blanks for him.

He didn't have very long to wonder as another someone threw their body over his own, arms wrapped around his head to shield him from the next onslaught.

...

“You okay?” Roman panted in Dean’s ear, grunting when the chair cracked against the back of his ring gear. “Sorry about this mess, Rollins was waiting for me.”

“Both of you were under there? Shit, you coulda' passed me a few more chairs. Some assist you were.” Ambrose sounded trashed.

“He had a sledgehammer, man.” Roman remembered the horrified second of realization he had when he saw the blunt weapon within arms reach of Rollins, the oh my God before he was pulling himself under the crossbeams beneath the ring and engaging the other man with extreme prejudice. “Are you okay?” Ambrose chose that moment to hiccup, blood and spit dribbling out of his mouth. Roman swore, wiping the mess away. “I’m gonna’ take that as a no.”

“Bit my tongue on one of the suplexes. What am I up to?” Dean raised his head, unfocused eyes looking for the signs that fans held. “Twelve, damn. That’s a pretty good number.” His head dropped back down, hitting the matted floor with a wet thud. His eyes rolled back in his skull, body shuddering underneath Roman.

“No no no, Ambrose!” Reigns said frantically, cursing himself for wasting so much time fighting with Rollins. If he had appeared when he was supposed to, maybe this wouldn’t have happened. He got to his feet, catching the next shot from Rollins and tearing the chair out of the other man’s grasp. “You-!” Roman seethed, tossing the chair back into the ring and leveling a Hogan-style finger point at Seth. His all-natural pythons may be a few inches shy, but he felt like it was the thought that counted. “You!” Every word that came to mind at this point was definitely not something pay-per-view friendly so Roman settled for grinding his teeth in a silent snarl. The crowded arena echoed the “YOU!”, murmurs rising after the initial confusion as to what the hell was going on. “SUPLEX CITY!” and “SHIELD!” and “YES!” chants began to circle, to duel.

Ambrose grabbed at one of the many empty pockets on the side of Roman’s pants, the battered man’s fingers scrabbling for purchase on Roman’s clothing. Roman hauled Dean up by his belt, Ambrose holding onto his arm even after he let him go. “What’re y’doin’ here, Seth?” Dean slurred. “Didja’ come t’pologize? Huh, buddy?” The raw pain in Dean’s voice startled Roman. “Come t’say ya’ sorry, Seth?”

Rollins started laughing again. “God, you’re pathetic!” He chuckled, bouncing from one foot to the other with Lesnar at his side. “I came to take part in my favorite pastime. Kicking your ass!”

Roman felt Dean sag against him, like his last ounce of fight had petered out. “Who the hell are you, anyway?” Lesnar asked Roman.

“He’s th’guy thas’ gunna’ pin y’ ass.” Ambrose said, pushing away from Reigns and blearily raising his fists. “His name’s Roman Reigns.”

Roman watched curiously as an odd expression crossed Brock’s face. Behind him, Heyman looked like he was about to burst. “I ain’t afraid of some other shitty offshoot of that fuckin’ family tree.” Brock said finally, grinning. “C’mon Reigns, you want a one-way trip to Suplex City that bad?” He beckoned. “Let’s get this over with.”

Roman crouched warily. “I’ve got Rollins.” Ambrose grunted, not looking like he ‘had’ Rollins in the slightest. If anything he was already swaying on his feet, weaving a little as he struggled to stay upright.

Roman did the only thing he could think of, exploding from his crouch with his arms outstretched to catch Brock and Rollins at the thighs with his shoulders and knock them both down. “Move Dean!” He shouted, Brock’s clumsy fingers tangling in his long hair to jerk his head back at a painful angle. The burly fighter didn’t give Roman a moment of pause, clubbing him with a closed fist to the side of his head that knocked him against the barricade. Roman saw stars, hastily raking at Lesnar’s eyes to give himself some breathing room like Dean had showed him.

No-Holds-Barred Street Fight it will goddamn be.

Ambrose practically fell on top of Rollins and was all over him like a bad suit, fists pounding into Seth’s neck and ribs at random. “Fuck you, sneakin’ around like a damn coward, with your Daddy’s sledgehammer!” Dean apparently had forgotten about the whole pay-per-view appropriate language thing, because he was swearing like a sailor when it came to Rollins.

Roman didn’t have much attention to spare for Ambrose. Brock was back on his feet, Roman still trying to shake the cobwebs from getting his head bounced off the barricade. Brock seized a handful of his hair again and Reigns was seriously regretting his last elastic snapping while he was duking it out with Rollins. Lesnar pulled him into an upright position to slap him across the face, that satisfied smirk the only thing Roman could focus on.

For my family.

Reigns caught Brock’s hand before it could connect again, debating momentarily on wrenching Lesnar’s wrist like Dean had demonstrated once or twice to stress out the tendons. Lesnar released his hold on his hair, winding back to take Roman’s head off. Roman’s free hand was suddenly full of wood handle, his fingers automatically gripping down on the bat while Ambrose full-on shoved it against Brock’s leg. The barbed wire tore into Lesnar’s skin and Brock hollered angrily, lashing out at Ambrose with a kick to the head that knocked him flat.

Roman dragged the bat up Brock’s leg, still maintaining his hold on the other man’s dominant hand. “All I have to do is swing, big man.” Roman snarled, “One good swing and you’ll be out of a job. You really wanna’ play that game with me, Lesnar?”

“Fuck you.” Brock spat, barely getting the chance to raise his other arm before Dean grabbed it, forcing it back down. Ambrose looked like he was barely there, his eyes half-closed and essentially his whole body wrapped around Lesnar’s arm.

Seth reared his ugly head, his nose appearing a little worse for the wear as he got to his feet and started towards the huddle of men with murder in his eyes and the sledgehammer in hand. Roman cast around frantically for a plan, a fragment of a plan, really. Something, anything!

He pulled Brock close and then shoved him back quickly, using the larger man to knock Seth down. Ambrose went along for the ride, unfortunately, and Roman’s heart slammed into his throat when Rollins lunged back to his feet, that sledgehammer raised high over his head.

Roman didn’t really think, he just dropped the bat and moved. Aim with the left, rotate his body into the motion. His fist connected with Seth’s jaw, the thunderous blow resounding through the arena.

Rollins stopped dead. Everything went silent aside from Brock’s heavy breathing. The sledgehammer slid free of Seth’s hands, dropping harmlessly to the floor. Rollins quickly followed, his body toppling like a rag doll. Roman realized (and he wasn’t sure if he was excited or horrified) that he’d just knocked the other man out.

Brock hauled himself back up, scrambling to climb into the ring. Fury bubbled in Roman’s chest like a living thing and he tipped his body back to roar, laughing wildly when the crowd echoed the sound. Where was Suplex City now? Heyman cowered beside the ring and Roman stalked him, catching him by the scruff of his neck before he could slink away.

“If I ever hear that you've spoken poorly of my family again, I will make you goddamn regret it.” Roman snarled, releasing the advocate immediately afterwards to focus solely on Lesnar. Brock had one of the many chairs in his hands, looking wary. Reigns sauntered around the ring, scooping Barbie back up. Dean somehow was halfway upright, clinging to the apron like his life depended on it. Roman tousled his hair on the way by and Ambrose arched up to his touch, snapping his teeth playfully at Roman’s hand.

“It’s up to you now, Reigns.” He said, resting his face on the side of the apron. “All up to you. Y’ got this, big dog.”

Big dog.

“You need to be with me, who's gonna' lift my hand when I win?” Roman asked.

Dean nodded slowly, raising his eyes to stare at Lesnar. “I'll make it up there. Promise.” He tapped Roman's fist with his own. “For your family, man.” He sounded exhausted.

Brock skittered as far back as he possibly could without dropping out of the ring again, holding the chair like a shield. Roman had no problem waiting, tapping the sole of his boot with the bat and leaning against the ropes with just a hint of insolence in his posture. He liked to think he'd learned a thing or two about pushing buttons from Ambrose, and he was not disappointed as a second later Brock charged at him with the chair.

Barbie met the chair with a ringing impact, the metal object ripped from Lesnar's hands by the force of the swing. Brock was left weaponless at the mercy of a young man fresh out of developmental, crafted by 'The Lunatic' himself and carrying the honor of his family.

Roman hoped that Brock at least realized the error of his ways before being rocked by another perfect Superman Punch. Roman straddled Brock's chest, pinning his arms down with his knees and delivering shot after shot to the other man's jaw. “Keep my family's name out of your damn mouth!” Roman shouted in Brock's face, his final punch snapping Lesnar's head to the side with a jerk of finality.

The arena was on its feet at the beginning of the beatdown, boos overwhelmed by steadily rising cheers. Roman pulled himself up and threw his head back for another roar, this one triumphant instead of angry. The Beast lay unconscious at his boots, his advocate probably still cringing in fear by the ring post. Roman turned on his heel to grab Ambrose's arm and easily pull him into the ring. “Take what's yours, Ambrose.” He ordered, Dean stumbling forward to pin Lesnar.

The three-count was called, the bell rung, and Ambrose was abruptly hugging Roman's legs. Reigns laughed and dropped the barbed wire bat so he could drag Dean to a semi-standing position and hug him for real. “You did it, Roman!” Dean yelled over the crowd, slamming his forehead into Roman's shoulder. “Holy shit, you did it. Wow.” He said a little quieter.

“We did it.” Roman replied firmly, tugging Dean's chin up so he could see his eyes. “We, Ambrose.” He wasn't sure if he would ever stop smiling, especially when Dean slowly smiled back. True to his word, Ambrose hoisted Roman's arm high, almost toppling with the effort. Roman grabbed his wrist, effectively raising both their arms. “This wouldn't even have happened if you hadn't taken me under your wing, man. Thank you.”

…

Dean closed his eyes and just basked in the adoration for a minute. He didn’t need it, but damn was it good to have when he was walking wounded. He palmed the back of Roman’s head, fingers running through that thick mane of hair. Roman hadn’t stopped smiling, his whole face lit up with joy as he kept his hand raised.

Roman’s dad was helped over the barricade by security and the older man climbed into the ring, raucous cheers starting up as people began to realize who he was. Sika, to Dean’s surprise, caught both men in a tight hug while saying “my boys!” over and over. “I’m so proud of you Roman. Thank you, Dean, for keeping my son safe.” He said quietly, making Ambrose tear up a little. Roman didn’t look much better, nodding and quickly rubbing at his eyes when his father released them.

“Thanks for believing in us, Dad.” Roman said, the sincerity in his voice hitting Dean like a punch to the gut. He didn’t have very long to focus on the feeling because Reigns was hugging him again, his dad wrapped around the outside of the embrace in another hug of his own. “Thank you, Ambrose.” Roman pressed their foreheads together. “Thank you so damn much.”

Dean closed his eyes again, not able to handle the unchecked affection in Roman’s gaze. “Anytime, man. S’what I’m here for.” He mumbled, his shoulders drooping as his body realized that the fight was over. You can stop now, Dean. Roman would leave, they had accomplished what they set out to do and that was it. You can stop now. Dean abruptly felt nauseous again, his knees starting to shake under him. He grabbed frantically at Roman’s shoulders, his fingers useless and clumsy as everything slowly dissolved into numb tingling.

“Dean!”

…

Ambrose had taken a hellish beating at the hands of Lesnar, twelve suplexes and more. Roman felt like an idiot for expecting him to walk out of the ring.

Dean looked dazed as he was secured to the backboard, blue eyes unfocused and fingers twitching wildly at his sides.

Sika’s hand landed on Roman’s shoulder. “Go with him, son. He needs you.” He shrugged when Roman looked back at him. “I can manage this part. Be with your partner now. He’s used to being alone. Let him know he isn’t anymore.” His dad gave him a knowing smile and Roman swallowed hard, nodding quickly.

“He has a concussion.”

Roman had wanted to say no shit, but he figured that would be bad form.

Ambrose had a death grip on his hand. He’d seemed surprised when Roman walked into the exam room, when Roman had taken his hand and squeezed it tight.

A concussion in this company could be a death sentence and Roman sincerely doubted that this was Dean’s first one.

“He’ll need supervision.”

Again, Roman wanted to say no shit. Dean’s jaw had tightened and he’d begun to protest, “I’m not some idiot kid, I can take care of myself.”

“I’ll stay with him.” Roman had stated firmly, feeling Dean’s eyes trying to burn a hole through him. “He’s my partner.”

Later that night Ambrose leaned his face against the car window and huffed out a loud sigh. “M’ sorry about all this, man.”

“What the heck are you apologizing for?” Roman asked, tapping at the screen of the GPS. “I’m lucky I’m not identifying your body at a freezer after that fight.”

“M’ sorry about Rollins. I didn’t…I figured he was still out of commission for weeks.” Dean fidgeted in his seat. “Thank fuck he didn’t have room to swing under the ring.”

“You can’t really be blamed for that maniac’s actions, man.” Roman finally got the GPS to work, punching in his address.

Dean chuckled, the noise forlorn. “I don’t know why the hell you’re the only person to figure out that I ain’t as unstable as I’m supposed to be. It’s weird.”

“In a good way or…?”

“Yeah. In a good way. In my kinda’ way.” Dean settled down in his seat, fingers tapping away at his kneecaps. “Where we goin’, anyhow?” He asked curiously.

“My apartment.” Roman cleared his throat. “Is there anything at your place that you need as far as tonight goes?”

“Nah, I’ve got a fresh set of clothes and my toothbrush in my gym bag. You sure you want me in your apartment though? Don’t wanna’ scare off any roommates or significant others.” Ambrose seemed legitimately worried.

“I live alone, you’re fine.” Reigns answered dismissively, giving his apartment a mental once-over and hoping he hadn’t left his boxers in the bathroom again. I get so damn lazy, he scolded himself, not noticing how quiet Dean had become until Ambrose coughed awkwardly.

“You don’t have any roommates or anything? That’s wild man, I don’t think I’ve ever lived anywhere by myself.” Dean twiddled his fingers. “Have you always lived on your own?”

“Since moving out, yes.” Roman shot Dean a curious look. “Why?”

“It’s just kinda’ strange to me is all. You have a big family though, so I can understand wanting your own space.” Dean reasoned. His back straightened up, as if he’d remembered something. “Oh! Shit! That thing you did during the match! The yell thing!” He said excitedly, bouncing in place for a second. “What the hell was that?! It was awesome!”

Roman laughed at Dean’s sudden enthusiasm. “I dunno’ man. I just felt like I needed to yell, so I did.”

“And Barbie, I can’t believe that shit! Just whackin’ that chair outta’ the park like Babe fucking Ruth. I’m…shit, I would have popped a boner if I’d had the presence of mind.” Dean teased, his tongue poking between his teeth as he grinned. “We done right by Mick, Funk, and your family, s’ all that matters.” Dean wriggled in his seat. “What are you gonna’ do from here on out? I’ve got the feelin’ that you may have a future in this company, y’know?”

“I was thinking I would stick with you. If they’ll let me, of course.” Roman deliberately kept his expression bland, his eyes focused on the road. He heard a quick, jerky intake of breath from the man beside him and Dean fell silent again.

“W…Why though?” Ambrose asked softly after a good five minutes had passed.

“I thought we worked well together. I’d like if you could keep teaching me.” Roman replied simply. “If the higher-ups permit.”

“I dunno’ if I’m ready for another partner, Reigns.” Dean said hesitantly. “I…It’s got nothing to do with you, okay?”

“Give me a chance, Ambrose. I promise I’ll work hard.”

“I ain’t worried about your work ethic man, I’ve seen that’s through the roof.” Ambrose protested. “After Rollins, I just don’t know if I should do partners anymore.”

“I can help with that. Superman Punch is his Kryptonite.” Roman didn’t expect the explosion of laughter from Ambrose.

“Oh my God, I totally forgot--that was fucking insane! You got four feet of air, I swear you did! Fuckin’ legendary, if nobody got a picture of you mid-swing I’m hiring a professional photographer. Hit hard and fuckin’ often, Roman Reigns!” Dean rambled, gesturing wildly with his hands. “I wish you’d been in the Shield man, definitely could have used you in a few fights.”  

“I’m here now, man. Might as well put me to work, right?” Roman asked while he parked the car.

The way Dean’s face scrunched up in thought gave him a little bit of hope.

…

Someone wanting to work with him, wanting to prove themselves to him, was foreign to Dean. He was pretty sure that this ‘letting his brain heal’ business was just a plot to get him to trust Reigns. It wouldn’t have been so bad, except for the fact that he was bored and it was working, damn it.

After the third day on Roman’s couch, sitting in the air conditioning with the blinds closed, Dean felt like he was going to start foaming at the mouth. While he was brushing his teeth he debated staggering through the apartment with the toothpaste all over his mouth, making zombie noises. But no, he was an adult. Probably a bad idea. He rinsed his mouth out and wiped the toothpaste foam away. His fingers started up a tempo on the sink and he stood there, staring at himself in the mirror.

The bruise under his eye had been replaced by a few scrapes, his tongue still a little sensitive from how hard he had bit down on it. Dean sighed, checking his eyes like the trainer had told him. His pupils continued to react fine to the light. Dean knew he was a lucky bastard, getting out of that fight with nothing but a concussion and some nicks. The base of his neck was still more than tender and that worried him to an extent. Mostly because he couldn’t really see it to monitor the healing process.

Ambrose trotted down the hall to Roman’s room, knocking on the door before pushing it open. “Hey Reigns, I need you to check my neck real quick.”

Roman groaned, obviously still half-asleep as he nodded and wriggled a little closer to the edge of his bed. “M’kay, c’mere.”

Ambrose ducked down, expecting Roman to sit up and take a look. Instead, he felt a mouth press to the skin just below the area that was painful, the sensation making him freeze.

“There’s a bruise, but m’sure y’ already knew that. S’okay, I fixed it.” Roman waved a hand, flopping back down onto his mattress. “Still sleep time, Ambrose. Shh.”

Dean touched the back of his neck, his mouth slightly open. What the fuck. “Roman did you just…?”

Roman grabbed Dean’s arm, dragging the other man into an awkward, almost horizontal position in the bed beside him. “Shh, sleep.” Roman mumbled, clumsily petting over Dean’s mop of curly hair.

Dean knew this was stupid, that Roman was out of it and didn’t even know what he was doing. But that didn’t stop him from relaxing a fraction in the other man’s grip. And then a fraction more. “Reigns, y’need t’ let me go.” He said quietly after Roman made no move to release him.

Roman growled, sounding sulky. “Nuh.” He opened one eye to glare at Dean. “No way. Some other guy did that before.”

Dean stiffened. “Well I mean, that was more like he threw me in the trash, honestly.” He tried to smile, tried to make it a joke like it didn’t still hurt.

Roman curled up around Dean, nudging his face into Dean’s chest. “Not gonna’ happen again.” He slurred confidently. “I’ll kick his ass.”

Dean snickered. It was easier than crying. “I bet you will.”

“Seriously.” Roman propped himself up, looking a little more alert. “I’ll kick his ass.”

“You haven’t even seen-”

“I don’t need to.” Roman huffed. “I’ve worked with you. You trained me.”

“Maybe I am just as crazy as he says, man. Didja’ ever think of that?”

“I doubt it.”

Dean had promised himself that after Rollins, that was it. There was no more Shield, no more teamwork, nothing that could lead to him depending on someone and getting his body destroyed when they turned on him. Because he was unstable, and that was why he had clung to Seth so tight. Seth wasn’t crazy like him, Seth was smart and capable and miles less fucked-up. Dean might fight until his last gasp, but Rollins was the one who always pulled the trigger.

Little brother.

Dean hadn’t noticed the tears dripping down his cheeks, hadn’t meant to start crying. Just another fucked-up tidbit, he supposed. One more thing knocked loose.

Fingers were wiping Dean’s tears away, brown eyes fixed on his own worriedly. “Ambrose, did I say something wrong? Didn’t mean to.”

“Nah, it’s just…it’s been a while since anyone had anythin’ nice to say to me. I’m insane, you know.” Dean shrugged, waving his hands around to illustrate his lack of stability. “The ‘Lunatic Fringe’, the 'madman known as Dean Ambrose'. That’s me, a wild and crazy guy.”

Roman shook his head. “I don’t see that, man.”

“I’m touched, Reigns.”

“I don’t!” Roman insisted. Dean almost believed him. “Why would I lie to you? I’ve been upfront so far, haven’t I?”

…

“Mm, kinda’ wondering when you’re gonna’ dig the knife in between my shoulder blades, honestly.” Dean said, sounding totally serious. “How much more vulnerable do I have to be, man? I’m recovering from a concussion and you pulled me into your damn bed to snuggle. You’re a special brand of evil if you want me any lower than this.”

“You’ve got to be kidding me, man.” Roman groaned. “You’re lucky you’re concussed. I wanna’ give you the world’s baddest noogie for all the bullshit you’re spewing.”

“Kick the street dog while he’s down, huh? I see how it-” Dean never got to finish his sentence because Roman rolled on top of him, the larger man taking care not to rest too much of his weight on Ambrose.

“I ain’t Rollins.” Roman said slowly. His hands found Dean’s in the sheets. “You hearing me, Ambrose? Do I have your attention?”

Dean nodded once.

“I’m not Seth. I don’t think you’re crazy. Not by a long shot, okay? So put that shit to bed. You’re more than whatever he said you were.” Roman stated. “You can’t let that guy’s image of you become the only thing that matters. You’re so much more than a shitty gimmick, Ambrose.”

“I hate that you make shit sound true. It’s just gonna’ fuck me up more.” Dean whispered.

“Ambrose please listen to me.” Roman begged. “I’m not here to hurt you.”

“Don’t lie to me, Reigns. I swear to fuck, don’t you fucking lie to me. Just tell me I’m shit, tell me I don’t deserve anything and that I’m messed-up in the head.”

“What the fuck, Ambrose?” Roman wished his voice didn’t crack. “I’m…I mean Jesus man, what the fuck? No, I’m not gonna’ say any of that shit. Why would I?” Dean stared up at him defiantly. “Dammit Ambrose, come the fuck on.” When Dean just kept staring, Roman sighed heavily. “Okay, have it your way.” Pretending not to notice the defeated sag of Dean’s shoulders, Roman tucked his hair back behind his ears so he could actually see what he was doing. “Oh yeah, this guy beneath me is super fucked up.” Roman started, making sure he sounded as sarcastic as possible. “Yep, no redeeming qualities whatsoever. He’s all kinds of terrible.”

Dean snorted, shoving Roman’s chest. “You asshole.”

“Guy takes a king-sized failed football player in as a favor to his dad, shows him the ropes so he can beat another huge shithead. What a dick, that Ambrose guy. Making sure other people are as safe as possible, dealing with all his own problems in his own way. Goddamn, that no-good son of a bitch.” Roman couldn’t keep the grin off his face at this point. “That motherfucker, that-”

Dean leaned up and pecked him on the lips, stopping Roman mid-tease. “You’re doing it wrong, man.”

“I dunno’, I got a kiss out of it so I think I’m doing it right.” Reigns smirked, feeling very satisfied with himself. “If I keep saying things I don’t mean, will I get another one? Or should I say things I actually do mean?”

“Like what?” Dean made a raspberry sound.

“Like this.” Roman pressed his mouth to Dean's collarbone, licking and gently nipping the area. He heard Ambrose's breath catch, felt the other man's fingers quickly wind into his hair. “You're worth it.” Roman whispered.

Dean groaned. “Reigns...”

Roman didn't bother to respond, continuing his way down Dean's chest. There were still small cuts and nicks on Dean's torso from the match and Roman took the time to kiss every one of them, loving the way Dean began arching himself up to his mouth. “You're not crazy.”

“I am though, I am, he said I--” Ambrose tried to protest but Roman mouthed over a scrape at the edge of his boxers, iron taste filling his mouth and suddenly Ambrose's voice got urgent. “Oh no, mmfuck, Roman, you...” Dean squirmed, his eyes wide when Roman pulled back to look. “I kinda' have...I mean I kinda' like...y'know.” Ambrose mumbled, tapping the spot on his hip. “S'good.”

“Oh?” Roman bit down then, still gentle but not nearly as gentle as before.

...

Dean gasped, fingers lacing together on the back of Roman's head and holding him still. “Oh fuck, yes, shit, Jesus Roman!” He cried, that pain warm and good in his stomach like it hadn't been for months, years.

Roman carried on tormenting him with his mouth, teeth harassing Dean's already-battered skin. He didn't ask whether he was alright, didn't ask whether he was too rough, and Dean realized dimly that it was because Reigns trusted him. Reigns knew he would let him know if he went too far.

Dean caressed Roman's hair, the gesture weirdly intimate for him even with the other man's mouth inches away from his very interested cock. “You dealt with pain kinks before, Reigns?” Dean asked boldly when he could think straight for a second.

Roman smirked against Dean's hip, tugging his boxers down. The wet, red-purple welt he left on Dean's skin seemed to speak for itself, and the way he took Dean's cock into his mouth without a second of hesitation spoke volumes towards other experiences.

“Fuck me, Roman goddamn Reigns.” Ambrose sighed, cupping Roman's cheek. “I can't even believe you're doing this right now, holy shit. I'm gonna' wake up any second.”

“You have wet dreams about me?” Roman asked curiously, pulling his mouth off Dean's cock for a second to pump his shaft lazily. He rumbled in his chest when Ambrose nodded, feeling a little embarrassed. “Good.”

“Fuck do you mean, g-oh Jesus--” Roman felt the need to display his approval with his throat, taking Dean all the way down to his base. Ambrose dug his fingers into Roman's hair, feeling the satisfied moan Reigns let out around his cock. “Oh, you too? Roman you are so fucked, you are so fucking fucked.” Dean half-snarled, half-laughed as he twisted his grip. Roman's whole body shuddered and Dean watched hungrily as Roman snuck a hand down to touch himself. “Fuck yes, Reigns, fuckin' fist your cock while you suck me off. Do it, do it, please please.” Dean couldn't decide whether he was ordering or begging, but it didn't really matter because Roman was going to jerk himself off either way.

Watching the muscles in Roman's shoulders and arms shift and roll as he moved was a grounding experience for Dean. Roman could easily slam him against a wall, shit, he could probably put him through a wall. But here Reigns was between his legs, in the other man's apartment no less, in his own bed. Making everything good and okay and not broken, not crazy at all. Even with the pain singing under his skin, the throb of bruises old and new, Ambrose was wholly content to grip Roman's hair and luxuriate in the sensation of knowing that Roman wanted him like this.

…

Dean looked like a vision in the weak morning sunlight, the blinds making shadow stripes across his chest and abdomen. The filth that poured out of his mouth certainly didn't hurt Roman's focus, the encouragement and the compliments on his technique only increasing Roman's need. He had himself propped up on one arm and his knees, the other hand working his cock with slow, even strokes as he just soaked in every hair-pull, every twitch of Dean's hips.

Ambrose suddenly shoved himself up, his hand groping hungrily over Roman's chest and then reaching lower at his belly to palm his dick. Reigns gasped at the change of angle and Dean began jerking him off quickly. “Want you to come.” Dean crooned, his body shivering. “Fuck, Roman, p-please, I want...fuckin' come for me, Reigns, need you to come, need you to come-” He panted, doubtless feeling the way Roman's cock twitched every time he said come. Dean's other hand gripped Roman's hair at the back of his head and dragged his mouth off his cock.

“Now, Dean? Huh? You gonna' come?” Roman growled, craning his neck to bite down hard on Ambrose's shoulder. Dean cried out and Reigns felt him writhe under him and Dean squeezed and Roman couldn't hold on any longer, grinding his hips down against Dean's as he came.

“Fuck.” Dean sighed after a minute or two of silence, his breathless chuckle sounding too high in Roman's ears as he slowly licked his fingers clean. Roman watched wordlessly, still trying to catch his own breath. “You are something fucking else, Roman Reigns. Hell if I know what, but damn you are something else.” Dean fell back against the mattress, groaning loudly. “Holy shit.”

“I'll take that as a compliment. Now, I think I had some important business to attend to.” Roman slid off to the side of Dean and pulled his back to his chest, ignoring Dean's drowsy protesting as he spooned the other man. “More sleep.”

“Hey...thank you.” Dean murmured.

Roman hushed him, starting to pet his hair again. “Sleep, Ambrose.”

“Seriously though, I mean-”

“Ambrose.”

[iamnotthedog]

CHICAGO: DECEMBER 14, 2012

Alise is gone. I drove her out to O’Hare this morning before the sun came up. We listened to talk radio and didn’t really say much on the drive. Then we stood there on the curb where steam from the exhaust pipes of the idling cabs swirls around in the chilly air and people stand next to ashtrays and smoke cigarettes and husbands in hats lift their wives’ suitcases out of open car trunks, and we hugged with tears in our eyes, and a Salvation Army volunteer was standing there by the sliding glass doors ringing her little bell and the sound of that bell was pretty much the most depressing thing in the world.

Alise blew her nose and smiled. Her lips quivered. “I need a Bloody Mary,” she said. Then she put on her sunglasses even though it was still dark, and she walked through those sliding glass doors, into the airy lobby decorated with forest green garland and sparkling white Christmas lights, and out of my life.

I would be lying if I said the whole thing didn’t make me want to puke. I made the mistake of starting to clean our place out as soon as I got home this morning, when the sky outside the frosted apartment windows was just starting to show signs of daylight and the coffee maker was gurgling away on the kitchen counter. I thought cleaning would make me feel better about the whole thing, but after not ten minutes of packing up a drawer full of random crap we had collected over the past four years, I came upon a stack of photographs of the two of us together—the two of us drinking Manhattans in a dark bar in Logan Square on the week we first met, the two of us sunburnt and windswept on top of Lembert Dome in Yosemite, the two of us kissing at a legendary Labor Day barbecue in my buddy’s beautiful, rat-infested wood chip backyard down on Armitage Avenue, the two of us standing outside Li Po in San Francisco’s Chinatown on Thanksgiving—along with a bunch of birthday cards and Valentine’s Day cards and anniversary cards that Alise had drawn for me in her cute way. I started to trip out about her being gone, thinking about all the people I had left in my life and then never connected with again, and also thinking about my friends and relatives who had died recently, which is ridiculous because there is nothing any of us can do about people dying, of course.

My Uncle John just died. I told you about Uncle John. There is nothing I could have done about his death, and he is most certainly never coming back. But even if he was, would I be hanging out with him right now? I wish I was, but I probably wouldn’t be. And my dear friend Jessie, who was honestly one of the nicest people I ever met in my life. Jessie was a surfer—she was a fish out there in the water—and she drowned in a freak accident in a swimming pool several years back. I didn’t get into that earlier, because I quite frankly don’t have the stomach for it, and I’m not up to that point in the timeline of my life, anyway.1 My point is just that all the goodness and beauty that Jessie brought into all of her friends’ and family members’ lives couldn’t do a thing to change the fact that she drowned in someone’s swimming pool. There is nothing anyone can do to change that. But even if Jessie was still here, still being her wonderful self, where would I be? Would we still even keep in touch with each other anymore? I hope so, but my point is that no one knows. Time never stops, and no one knows anything.

I was thinking about all this earlier this morning while looking at those photographs of Alise and I, and I thought about how I was letting yet another person slip out of my life possibly forever, and then I pretty much started bawling like a baby. It was weird. Willie just sat there on the floor next to me with this concerned look on his face, wondering what the hell was going on. Then he started licking my forearm. After about fifteen minutes of that—me crying and Willie really going to town on my forearm with his sloppy tongue—I decided that we needed to get out of the house, so I put Willie’s little sweatshirt on him, and I clipped on his harness and hooked him with the leash, and then I put on my coat and scarf and my old grey stocking hat that I got from Morrison True Value Hardware last Christmas, and the two of us walked out into the blustery morning.

I wasn’t exactly sure where we were headed, but we started walking north and I decided I’d pop in on my good buddy Kevin and see how he was doing. Last I heard, his wife Kate told me he had finished the first round of chemotherapy and was starting the second, and he was really doing a lot better, considering. I mean, no one’s ever really doing well when they are going through that sort of thing, but it is generally agreed upon that the first round of chemotherapy is the worst, so that’s something. Kevin was less nauseated and he wasn’t puking as much, and he got a blood transfusion that made him feel pretty good, and he also got to get the PICC line taken out of him, at least for a couple weeks.2 Can you imagine what that must feel like, having that tube running through your veins for so long, and then getting it taken out? It must feel pretty damned good. And you also can just take a regular old shower because don’t have to worry about covering it up and waterproofing it and all that anymore. I bet taking a regular shower is pretty amazing after weeks of covering your arm with a plastic bag and trying to tape it down and all that every time you get anywhere near the bath tub.

Willie and I walked up Damen Avenue to Irving Park Road and cut east on Irving Park all the way to the Graceland Cemetery. The tall iron gate at the main entrance was open, so we walked among the snowy graves for a freezing cold hour or so until I figured Kevin would probably be awake. Then we walked up Clark Street to Leland and tiny little Chase Park, where I let Willie off his leash and let him run around and get some of his crazy puppy energy out before we walked a block over to Kevin and Kate’s big apartment building on Paulina.

My plan the whole time was just to pop in on Kevin and surprise him with a hot cup of coffee or something, but I thought better of that as soon as Willie and I got to Paulina. I mean, Kevin was going through chemo after all. He might be getting a treatment at that very moment, or he might just be feeling like shit or having one of his headaches, and might not be up to having a visitor. Especially not a visitor with a dog who would probably want to jump all over him and lick him a thousand times.

So, standing out by the gate right in front of their apartment building, I took off my gloves and got my phone out of my pocket while Willie snorted at the snow and ran around in circles until he was tangled in his leash, and I gave Kevin a call.

After just a ring or two, I heard his voice. “Dan?”

“Kevin! How are you, buddy? How’re you doing? Are you home?”

“Hey man. I’m doing pretty good. I’m not home, though. Kate and I have actually been up at her parents’ house in Antioch while our kitchen is being worked on.”

“Oh, shit. I’m in front of your place right now.”

Kevin laughed. “What the hell are you doing there?”

“I don’t know. I was just walking the dog and thinking about stuff. What the hell happened to your kitchen?”

“A water pipe burst in the wall this summer, and we fixed the dining room, but never got around to fixing the kitchen. So Kate’s dad is actually doing it right now, replacing all the cabinets with help from the family.” He paused a minute and cleared his throat. I heard a television in the background. “So, you’re outside our building right now? Isn’t it freezing cold outside? It’s zero degrees here.”

“Yeah, it’s pretty fuckin’ cold. And it just started snowing. Willie and I are going to walk home right now. How’re Kate and the baby?”

“They’re both great. Kate’s huge. She’s due in a month.”

“Holy shit, man.” I stopped for a second and swallowed. The whole situation choked me up, to tell you the truth. “That’s great!” I continued. I untangled Willie from his leash and we started walking. My feet were really cold. My toes hurt like hell.

“How are things with you?” Kevin asked. “Is everything okay?”

“Oh, sure,” I said. I wasn’t about to tell Kevin about Alise and I over the phone. I didn’t even really want to tell him at all, frankly. He had enough going on in his own life.

“I’ll be home in a couple days,” Kevin said. “I’ll let you know when I’ve got some time and I’m up for hanging out. I could use a bánh mì pretty soon.”

“Alright, man. Sounds good. I’ll talk to you soon.”

What a great guy, that Kevin. No bullshit. I stood there and looked up at his apartment and smiled thinking about him being so selfless. Then I put my phone back in my pocket and kind of looked around at all the houses and the big apartment buildings right there on Paulina as I put my gloves on, and I got creeped out. I can’t really explain it—that section of the neighborhood is perfectly nice and everything, with rows of big trees and nice lawns and all that—and I wasn’t afraid or anything, I just felt like I was somewhere where I definitely did not belong. Not without Kevin there. I don’t know, it’s hard to explain. But Willie and I started walking really fast together—almost running at times—which is hilarious because all we were doing was running towards more of the same. That’s the thing about living in a big a city—you have to run pretty goddamned far to get out of it. I mean, in Chicago you can go to the lake and look out on the water. That calms me down sometimes when I’m really feeling bummed out. But if you head any other direction—north, west, or south—it’s going to be a while before you see a landscape that even remotely resembles anything different.

By the time Willie and I got back down to Addison after about twenty minutes, I was nice and worked up, breathing heavy, and I really didn’t even feel that cold anymore. I didn’t want to go back to the apartment quite yet—I wanted some company—so I decided that we’d walk over to Schubas and I’d get a Bloody Mary and talk to whichever of my coworkers was tending bar for a little while. I thought I could just drink a Bloody Mary and pretend that I was sitting with Alise in the airport, and we were going somewhere nice together. But once Willie and I got back out onto a main thoroughfare, I got kind of creeped out again. All the people we passed walking down Lincoln Avenue were on their cell phones. I mean, they weren’t talking on their cell phones, they were just looking at them. And I know that’s pretty much the way things are these days—everyone is constantly on a phone all the time, checking their e-mails or looking at Facebook or writing something mind-numbingly enlightening and important on Twitter or playing Words With Friends or goddamned Angry Birds or whatever—but this was different. All the people we passed who were on their phones also had really concerned looks on their faces. I almost didn’t want to know what was happening, too tell you the truth, so I just left my phone in my pocket and decided I’d figure it all out when we got to Schubas. I’d hear the news from a real live human being. Then, just south of Roscoe Street on Lincoln, we were walking by Dinkel’s Bakery where my 92 year-old Grandma Jevne used to buy cupcakes as a little girl in post-WWI Chicago when I noticed a group of four older women all huddled around an open car window with their coat collars pulled up around their necks and scarves wrapped around their heads. They were all listening to the radio playing inside the car and a couple of them were crying.

“What’s going on?” I asked them.

“There’s been another school shooting,” one of them said. She wiped at her eyes with a wrinkled off-white handkerchief that had lipstick all over it. “At an elementary school in Connecticut.” 

Willie sniffed at one of the old ladies’ sneakers and she leaned over and patted him gently on the head.

“The victims were just first graders,” she said. “Twenty of them. And teachers.”

What exactly I said next, I’m not really sure. I may have thanked the old ladies or said, “I’m so sorry,” or “Take care of yourselves,” or something along those lines. Then I decided the last thing I wanted was to go to a bar and have to sit there and listen to a bunch of people form opinions about the whole thing before taking any time to think about it all first, which is what people do most of the time. So Willie and I walked back to our apartment, and he ran around in the yard and ate snow while I stood on the porch and smoked a couple of cigarettes. I had my phone in my hand while I smoked, and I thought about calling Mom, Jeni, Jim, Adam, or maybe even Kevin again. But I didn’t end up calling anyone. I went inside and did what I am still doing now, which is listening to an old Ethiopian music compilation with the volume turned almost all the way up, and putting four years of accumulated domestic belongings into cardboard beer boxes from Schubas, which I will then take to the Village Outlet thrift store down the block.

And you know, despite the things I’m doing right now to try to distract myself from any sort of negative feelings about anything, the one thing I haven’t been able to get out of my head all morning is that after the shock of the tragedy that took place today dissipates—after we all find our miraculous ways come to terms with such young and innocent lives being taken in such a grotesquely violent way—I am absolutely positive that there are a bunch of people out there in the world—the kind of people who think they are good and righteous, but are really just holding on to an antiquated and ridiculous world view that allows them to feel like they have some sort of control over their existence—people who are just itching to get on their cell phones and their computers—on Facebook and Twitter and maybe some of them will even end up sitting in front of a microphone on ABC and NBC and CNN and MSNBC and definitely Fox News—and they’ll somehow find a way to make this all about them, all about their lives, all about their GUNS and their JOBS and their OPINIONS and their FREEDOM (whatever that is), and they’ll start saying that nothing can be done about anything, that this stuff just happens and will keep happening, and there’s nothing we can do about it. And while they are saying all that and going on in the way that they do, there will be these parents—these brokenhearted, emotionally destroyed people—sitting in their living rooms next to Christmas trees, and there will be some lights twinkling on the trees and maybe some music on the stereo—and at least a few presents under those trees will be all wrapped up for absolutely no one.

 That’s what this has become, hasn’t it? A timeline of my life, with a big chunk missing from 2001 to 2012, which I’ll probably end up writing about later if I don’t get run over by a bus or something first. ↩︎

 A peripherally inserted central catheter is a long tube that is inserted in a vein in the crook of the elbow, such as the cephalic vein or basilic vein or one of those, and then it runs through increasingly larger veins toward the chest until the tip actual comes to rest in an upper portion of the heart. ↩︎