#your deadbeat dad suddenly having a new kid is hard. youre allowed to FEEL thing about that

[robbyykeene]

My distaste with season 5, and this show as a whole, boils down to the fact that the writers have gone all in on the idea that the only true Character that is allowed to exist in this story is Johnny, and nearly all the others are just malleable dolls for the writers to move around and play with as they see fit to advance the story in a direction that will make Johnny the Ultimate Winner Of Everything.

And I hear the criticisms already of “but Johnny’s the protagonist! Obviously every other character is ultimately going to serve his story.” But Walter White is the protagonist of Breaking Bad and Jimmy McGill is the protagonist of Better Call Saul and Kendall Roy is arguably the protagonist of Succession. And obviously it’s unfair to compare shows of that caliber to Cobra Kai, but do you see my point? In all of the above, the characters that orbit the protagonist are fully fleshed out people, equally complex and just as motivated by their own desires and history and traumas as the protagonist is. And yet still, ultimately, their characters do end up serving the protagonist’s arc, and the story as a whole. Because that’s what good writing is.

But increasingly, all the other characters in Cobra Kai have stopped behaving like actual people—especially the ones that pose any challenge for Johnny. Their feelings get stamped down in favor of removing Johnny’s obstacles towards happiness, which only winds up reducing Johnny’s own character in complexity and likability.

I watch Cobra Kai now and I don’t find any of these characters believable, maybe Johnny most of all, because the writers steadfastly refuse to let him face any real serious consequence for his actions. Instead, they have everyone falling over themselves to forgive him, repeatedly giving him a do over—a chance to right his wrongs without ever ever fully acknowledging the hurt and pain he’s caused. This season, quite literally in the form of a new baby. And if that’s the story they want to tell, well fine. It’s their story to tell. But they can’t keep pretending like this is a redemption story, that there’s anything deeper beneath the surface of this show than just being about a guy who does karate and kicks ass and gets the girl and defeats the Big Bad of the week. This is not a story about trauma, Johnny’s or anyone else’s. It’s really not about anything at all anymore.

[authenticmiya]

Pinky Promise - Hawk x Reader

Summary - Part 2 of Punching Bag. After all of this lost time, can the reader come to terms with the bad past she has with Hawk? Can they redeem what they had?

Words - 2k

Warnings - angst

Hawk pulled into the driveway of his house, the house you hadn’t been in for what felt like a lifetime ago. His moms car was gone, meaning it really was just the two of you.

“I bet my hair looks a mess right now.” You sighed, handing the helmet back over.

“Not as much of a mess as your knuckles, come on, let’s get you sorted.” The two of you walked towards the front door.

“Shit, I haven’t got my keys.” Hawk tapped on his pockets repeatedly, hoping they were in there.

“Under the statue of the Dalmatian.” You told him and his eyes creased together in confusion.

“Your mom always left a spare key under the Dalmatian.” Hawk was shocked that you had even remembered that.

“Don’t be surprised, the amount of times you used to lock us out, it’s hard to forget.” Hawk didn’t know how to feel. You didn’t want help, so why were you helping him?

“As much as it pains me to say, my hand is stinging like a bitch.” You admitted.

“Right, right.” He muttered, lifting the statue up and of course finding the spare keys. When he opened the door, you were hit with nostalgia.

“Nothings really changed in here.” Hawk watched as you took in everything.

“Last time I was here, you slammed the door in my face.” Hawk swallowed the lump in his throat. That night was the some what end of your friendship together. It wasn’t his transition into Hawk, it was who he became when he was Hawk.

“I shouldn’t have let you leave like that Y/N-“ He began.

“But you did and we both said some hurtful shit.” Hawk nodded and allowed you to follow him into the kitchen.

“There is no way your mom still has this on the fridge.” You gasped at the picture of you and Eli at Golf N Stuff when you were both five.

“You beat my ass at Golf every-time we went there.” He chuckled and a small smile formed on your lips. Noticing he had got the first aid kit out, you perched yourself on the counter.

“This is gonna sting like a bitch.” Hawk prepared you as he wiped away the blood and applied some anti-septic over the cuts.

“That’s the first thing you’ve been right about in months.” Your sarcastic, rude remarks were expected and Hawk took them. He couldn’t exactly say you were wrong, because the only thing coming out of your mouth, was the truth. Wrapping a small amount of bandage over the wounds, Hawk was finished being your doctor.

“Thank-you.” You said, before hopping off of the counter and heading towards the front door.

“Not so fast Y/N, I said once I finished with your knuckles, you and I were talking.” Hawk stopped you.

“I’m not gonna talk to you if you’re gonna be an asshole about it.” You snapped.

“Okay I’m sorry, please can we just talk? No arguing, no nothing, just a conversation.” You chewed the inside of your mouth and hesitantly nodded.

“What happened that night, Y/N I can never forgive myself. I have this whole badass reputation you know? It’s not an excuse, it never was and it will never be. I never should’ve let that take over what we could’ve had.” Hawk told you once the two of you had sat down on the couch.

“What we could’ve had? Are you serious? Eli, Hawk, whatever you wanna be fucking called. You and I were best friends. I mean the best of friends throughout our entire childhoods. We were each-others rocks when it came to the bullying, nah scratch that, you, me and Demetri.” He knew you were trying to pick a fight, but he wasn’t going to give a reaction. He was the one who done dirty, and now he was coming to his senses.

“I shouldn’t have let it come to any of that, we were meant to rise to the top together.” Hawk frowned, now noticing how sad you felt.

“If what you are now, is at the top, I wanna stay at rock bottom.” You told him with a sigh.

“I can’t change what I’ve done to you Y/N or Demetri, I can’t do anything about what I’ve already done. But I can try and avoid it from happening again.” Hawk tried to hold your hand but you shrugged him off.

“You know when mom left me all them years ago? I thought I felt heartbreak for the first time, but when you knew what you were doing to us.” You referred to yourself and Demetri.

“That’s when I felt heartbreak. Knowing you thought it was alright to become the bully. Them nerds? Them nerds you were once apart of. You were in their shoes, and now you’ve put them in the position that nobody should have to go through. At first you though it was badass, but now, you’re a massive dick.” You ranted.

“It’s taken you this long. It’s taken me getting a few cuts for you to realise you were in the wrong this entire time?” Hawk felt like he could cry, he done you so dirty.

“Y/N please-“ It took him every ounce not to just break down in tears in front of you.

“I had no one to go to.” A tear slipped out of your eye and Hawk felt his whole world come crashing down on him.

“I mean I had Demetri, but you know how awkward he gets. You’re the one who would sit there for hours on hours to listen to me and understand my problems, and when you left, I had no one.” You confessed.

“Sure I had Miguel but he was always busy with Karate and Sam, and yeah I guess you could say Johnny is a father figure in my life, but I wasn’t with him everyday like I was with you.” You sniffled, wiping away at the tears that kept building up.

“I have enough money in my bank account to support my bills for maybe half a month. Once my money goes, I’ve lost everything.”

“No you haven’t. Don’t ever fucking say that. You have me. Y/N, you will always have me.” Hawk couldn’t stress that enough but his actions hadn’t really made that clear in the past.

“So that’s it yeah? I let you back in my life and suddenly I have to trust you not to leave? Not to slam the door in my face? Not to drop me like a bag of potatoes again?” You questioned him.

“I needed you and you weren’t there.” You frustratedly disclosed with him.

“I wasn’t there when I had to be. I’ve got so much lost time to make up for, that’s if you’ll let me. I know I wasn’t there, and that is really suffocating me with regret. You did everything for me Y/N. You never left my side, even when all the popular girls wanted to be your friend, you shook them off and stuck by me. I treated you like shit and I’m so sorry.” Now this was the side of Eli that you hadn’t been familiar with for a very, very long time.

“I guess it’s true what they say when you don’t know what you have until it’s gone, right?” You asked him.

“That quote is gonna haunt me for the rest of my life.” From then it was silence. It didn’t feel awkward, yet it just didn’t feel peaceful either.

“I’m willing to forgive this, to try and come to terms with the new you just as long as you promise me one thing-“ Before you could finish the sentence, the front door opened and shut.

“Honey are you home?” Hawks mom called out, and your eyes widened. You hadn’t seen his mom in forever.

“Eli?” She went to call again, but stopped dead in her tracks when she realised you were sat next to him.

“Well god have mercy on me, Y/N? What are you doing here?” She excitedly rushed over and embraced you. The women who was there for every bullshit excuse your ‘parents’ had. It was your turn to feel bad now, because when you lost Eli, you hardly ever spoke to his mom.

“Hi Momma M.” You smiled as the hug lasted as long as it possibly could.

“I can’t believe you’re here! How are you? How’s your dad?” She asked and you gulped.

“I’m okay, he kinda up and left, got married to a women in Dubai.” You told her.

“He’s always been such a goddam slime ball.” She scoffed, quickly brushing that off and letting her calm demeanour take over. It seemed that everyone you knew, had the exact same opinion on your ‘dad’, even before you knew he was going to be permanently out of your life.

“Don’t worry, I beat the crap out of a punching bag.” Your comment made her chuckle, but that would never stop her from worrying about you.

“I’m not gonna ask questions as to why you two are even in the same room right now, but I’d really appreciate if you stayed long enough for us to have a chat Y/N. You’re a good kid, like the daughter I never had. I’ve missed you.” She smiled.

“Don’t worry, let’s go have a catch-up.” She brought you through to the kitchen and poured you a cold orange juice, leaving Hawk to wander about in his feelings in the living room.

“I know what happened between you two.” She began and you chuckled.

“Thought you weren’t gonna ask questions Momma M.” You took a sip of your drink with a slight smirk.

“Not in front of him, this is strictly girl talk.” She pointed out.

“Eli’s transformation was obviously a huge shock, and although I don’t agree with his actions, he’s still my baby, and I had to get used to everything he was doing. I let him do his own thing you know? Try to let him find himself. But believe me when I say he had one huge scolding when I found out about you and him.” His mom admitted to you.

“Me coming here today, was because he didn’t want me suffering through the night with sore hands.” You told her.

“And something as simple as that, means a lot to him. You trusted him enough to come back here Y/N. That’s a start.” She wasn’t on anyone’s sides, she just wanted what was best for you both.

“I suppose I didn’t really wanna go back to a dark apartment.” You laughed, forgetting that she didn’t know.

“That deadbeat isn’t helping you with the apartment anymore is he? That’s why you have no electricity.” Eli’s mom couldn’t believe what she was hearing.

“I’ve never wanted sympathy, you know that. I don’t want people feeling bad for me.” You sighed.

“I don’t care Y/N, you’re gonna go pack up your stuff and you’re gonna come and stay here.” She was completely serious.

“I can’t just do that, not after everything with Eli. I can’t intrude on you, this is your home not mine.” You were so appreciative of this women, but the offering made you feel bad.

“You’ve never known how to take anything offered to you. Remember Y/N, I’ve known you since you were a little bump on your mom’s belly.” You couldn’t help but wrap your arms around her.

“That’s if it’s alright with you?” His mom said and you turned around to see Hawk watching.

“I don’t think I could want anything more.” He smiled lightly. You walked over to him, and for the first time in forever, you hugged him. He was hesitant at first, but was quick to wrap you in a tight embrace. Hawk never wanted this moment to end.

“You can have the guest bedroom, or maybe share a room with Eli when you get married one day? You can have any room you want apart from mine.” His mom said excitedly as the two of you were still hugging.

“Long shot for marriage Mom!”

“You’ve gotta promise me, that you and I won’t forget this, but we will forgive this. We got over the bullying, we can get over this. Okay?” You held up your little finger, he hooked his over yours as you two sealed the pack with a pinky promise.

“We can do this.” And you couldn’t help the chuckle that fell from your lips as his mom squealed in his excitement.

Maybe things were gonna change for the good rather than the bad this time.

[thedeanbichester-blog]

Destiel|| Karate AU

          Dean never liked being wrong. He always loved the feeling of being right, and especially being in charge. 

Even with small things like arguing with his kid brother Sam about what cartoons to watch Saturday mornings. Or where to stop and eat on the short road trips they’d take together when Dad was acting out again, and they both needed some time to breathe. 

Or the fact that Sam should definitely ask that girl Jess out -- especially considering that he hadn’t shut up about her since last semester. 

Dean was always right about those things. 

So, it was hard for him to admit that he needed to begin training professionally. Picking fights in the cafeteria, or with drunk guys at bars (who wouldn’t leave him or his friends alone, though they’d told them to get lost dozens of times) wasn’t cutting it anymore.

          A couple of nights before, his dad was on a bender again. Sam had left some dirty dishes in the sink, and his dad lost his head over it ( “ungrateful son of a bitch never helps me around this house!”) 

Dean had always secretly admired his 14 year old brother for his ability to stand up to their father. But, this particular night, it wasn’t doing him any good. John went after the boy in a fit of rage after Sam had finally boiled over, and screamed that “it wasn’t his fault that his dad was a deadbeat, and his mom was just dead”.

Dean stepped in just in time to stop the broken beer bottle in John’s hand from hitting Sam instead. All it cost him was a small scratch over his bottom lip where the bottle had hit, and another late night beating, while Sam blasting his music in the other room - pretending not to hear (just as Dean had taught him).

Though he refused to stand up to his father, he knew that if he wanted to defend himself, picking amateur fights wouldn’t cut it anymore. 

             He’d passed the studio a couple times when he and Charlie had been browsing through the record store a half block down:

Imperial Dragon Martial Arts

Badass name.

A smirk curled over Dean’s lips as he confidently gripped the frosty metal door of the studio, allowing the warm air to rush against his worn, brown leather jacket. This is going to be a piece of cake. 

His green eyes blinked softly, as he scanned the scene in front of him. The room was filled with gray and black mats positioned in front of long vertical mirrors. Each wall of the room was cluttered with posters of students or masters, as well as shelves filled with trophies, and plaques. The walls were painted a dark purple with silver trim around the edges. He swallowed softly, silently denying how intimidating this place already made him feel.

           On the mats there were half a dozen students, quietly sitting with their fists laying on top of the knees of their criss-crossed legs. He glanced into the mirror, seeing their eyes all shut tight. Unmoving. Unwavering. He went unnoticed to them.

“Can I help you?” A voice rang through the air. He looked at the front desk ahead of him, smiling as his eyes fell upon the blonde girl.

“Yeah,” Dean said cocking an eyebrow at her, as he leaning forward on her desk. “I’m looking to start here. You got any openings, sweetheart?” 

The girl glared at him at the word sweetheart. She apparently got over it, swallowing her pride, as she typed something in on to her computer. “Well, here at Imperial, we’ve got a pretty open door policy. You can hop right into the next class - if you’re up for it,” She added cooly.

“I’m always up for a challenge.”

“You better be. Master Novak is one of the most sought after masters in the nation,” She gushed with a calculating look. “He’s one of the youngest martial artists in the US to ever win a national competition.” 

She cleared her throat, her tone turning professional once again. “Just remove your shoes before getting on the mats. I’ll take your measurements afterwards.”

          Dean removed his heavy boots, which fell to the ground with a heavy boom, making some of the students open an eye, or even turn around to look at them. He grinned sheepishly, removing his other boot and socks with more caution, before heading towards the mats.

“Pst, newbie,” A voice from the back of the mats called to him - a boy, a purple belt, with a deep southern drawl. “Take a seat. The master is real keen on us meditating. Says it helps build our energy, and integrity, and such.”

Dean snorted. What a bunch of bullshit to advertise just for a couple of lousy bucks. He sat down next to the purple belt, mimicking his pose. Before he even had a chance to get situate, a curtain from the back of the room opened, as a man with dark hair and blazing blue eyes entered.

Dean felt his stomach drop.

“Master,” all of the students said in unison, as they placed a fist against their open palm bowing. Dean followed in suit, rolling his eyes just a bit. He hated the elitism that came with this shit.

“Welcome, students,” The man said in a deep, and raspy voice. Those ever-changing eyes scanned the crowd before landing on Dean. He gulped softly, trying his best to keep up his confident façade. 

           “I’m seeing a new face in the crowd tonight,” He said firmly, as his eyes left Dean. Everyone else turned around to glance at him, sizing him up, before turning once again to face the front. “Introduce yourself.”

Dean was taken off guard. “I..I’m--”

“Spit it out,” The master said cooly, with no malice in his voice. “Dean. I’m Dean. Dean Winchester.” He said stumbling over his words, before smirking a bit.

“Why have you decided to join us here today?” The master questioned.

Dean snorted. “Just like the rest of you. To do some badass Bruce Lee shit,” He  shrugged, resting his hands into the pockets of his jeans.

The students giggled, but the master looked at him with a crease between his furrowed brows. It was clear that this was no laughing matter. “What experience do you have?” 

“I, uh, fight sometimes,” He blurted out without any eloquence.

“Wow,” The master spoke softly, with false admiration. “You fight sometimes, huh?” The students all fell silent, as they stared back at him with a look of woe.

“Yeah.”

“Well, I guess a master such as yourself wouldn’t mind showing us a few moves, huh?”

Dean felt the anxiety creep softly up his arms, as he realized his mistake. He had a habit of letting his mouth get the best of him. “No..no, sir. That’s not what I meant.” 

         The man made his way through the crowd of people towards the back row  towards Dean. He cleared his throat, keeping his posture, as he spoke loud enough for everyone to hear - whilst maintaining straining eye contact with Dean. “In this dojo, we show respect to one another. We stay humble - we stay coachable,” He paused. “Isn’t that right?”

“Sir, yes, sir,” They all replied in unison. 

“Dean?”

“Yes, sir.” He said through gritted teeth, as his gut began to fill with anger. 

“20 pushups,” He ordered Dean monotonously, turning to walk back to the front of the room. “What?” 

Dean was always pushed around. Dean always had to take orders.

By his teachers who thought he was a slacker. By his own father, who wouldn’t accept anything less than perfection. He certainly wasn’t taking it from some poser, who was barely older than him.

“20 pushups,” The master repeated calmly.

“No.” 

“Sorry?”

“You heard me,” He snapped back, as he left the mats, slipping his shoes, and jacket back on. He made eye contact with the master, as he paused at the desk, spitting out one last retort to the girl at the front desk before storming out.

 “I guess you won’t be needing my measurements then.” 

                                                        ***

              A few days had passed, and Dean was full of regret whenever he passed the dojo. He knew he had been disrespectful from the one person who could actually teach him how to fight. But, he couldn’t stand authority figures - the condescending tone, the pedestals they existed on, all the elitism, and sizing up.

Yet, he knew if he wanted to fight, he didn’t have a choice.

Obviously, he had figured his all out on his own. It had nothing to do with Sam, or his damn moral compass that always seemed to be facing the right direction.

One early morning, he went back to the studio to apologize. As he entered the seemingly empty dojo, he wondered if it was a bad time. A ball of nerves began to form in the pit of his stomach without explanation, as he waited by the front desk.

Suddenly, a small blonde girl came bounding towards him, as she securely hugged his legs. She grinned up at him, as he noticed she was missing a front tooth. “Hi! What’s your name?” She practically shouted up at him. She couldn’t have been more than 4 years old.

“Hi,” He grinned back at her. “I’m Dean.” “Dean?” She questioned as she hung on his leg till she began slipping down. “That’s a crazy name.”

“Well, I think so. What’s your name?”

“I’m Claire.” She grinned widely, swinging from his jeans.

Suddenly, a raspy familiar voice entered from the other room before a body did. “No, no, no Amelia! We’ve talked about this...you can’t do this, you promised me..” Master Novak hissed into the phone propped up by his ear, as he entered the room, yanking a soft yellow scarf from around his neck. He looked up noticing Dean across the room, as his eyes widened slightly. 

“Daddy!” Claire shrieked, as she let go of Dean’s leg rushing across the room towards him.

“I’ll call you back,” Master Novak muttered, before shoving his phone into his pocket. “Hey, Claire Bear,” He grinned from ear-to-ear, as he opened his arms wide to catch her. He held her in a tight hug, before letting her down, resting his hands on his knees to talk to her. His glance lifted a bit, making eye contact with Dean, before returning to his daughter. “Why don’t you go color in the back, and I’ll be in in a minute?”

Claire turned smiling softly at Dean, before whisper shouting to her father. “His name is Dean. Isn’t that crazy?”

“Yes, baby. Quite crazy..” He said with a smile, before she ran off into the back. 

             The man strode across the room towards him, as Dean began to look at him in a different light. The night they’d met, he had been so furious, and seen him as nothing more than a poser, and a jackass. But, after seeing him with his daughter, he had noticed how kind he could be.

That wasn’t the only thing he’d noticed. He tore his stare away from the man, as he met his eyes.

“Dean..Winchester..” He added, implying that he remembered the man.

“Sir,” Dean replied humbly, as he pressed his fist to his palm, bowing. “I want to apologize. The way I acted was disrespectful, and way out of line. I want to learn, and I want you to teach me. I promise it’ll never happen again. I’ll stay humble - coachable. Just, give me a second chance..” He said slowly, collecting his words. “Please.”

Master Novak studied him for a minute, before clearing his throat. “Very well,” He muttered as he began undoing the buttons on his trench coat. “I must apologize too. The way I acted..” He paused - in his words and his motions - making eye contact with Dean. “..I was being irrational. Respect is mutual.”

Dean watched a little too intently as the master pealed his coat from his body, revealing slacks, and a white dress shirt that was a little too revealing of the man’s lean, but athletic build.

“Go stretch,” He instructed, as he rested his coat on the chair of the front desk. “When I get back, be ready for your first lesson, as an imperial dragon.”

Dean smiled genuinely, which the master matched, as he strode off into the back rooms. 

                                                    ***

“C’mon, Winchester!” Benny - the purple belt Dean had met from his first night at the dojo - taunted as they spun around the mats, eye to eye. “Tournament is next week! Don’t tell me you’re gonna start fighting like a little bitch now.”

“Hey, that’s derogatory,” Jo, the front desk girl, from the first day yelled from across the room without looking up.

“Bitch is gender neutral, Jo,” Benny replied.

          It had been three months since Dean had started at the dojo. Even though he was still a white belt, he was showing lots of potential. Tournament season was coming up, as well as his belt test, and he had never been more focused.

“Don’t worry ‘bout me, buddy,” Dean smirked, as he blitzed forward, socking Benny with a back knuckle, and an uppercut. “I’m ready.” 

Benny spun, nearly knocking Dean down with a side kick, as Dean momentarily lost his balance. He quickly regained it, as he evaded Benny’s attempt at blitzing him.

“Ready, huh?” Benny grinned.

“Don’t listen to him, Dean,” Jo said spinning around in her chair. “You’ve got this. I remember my first tournament, I was terrified. You’re way better off than I was when I was a white belt.”

Dean ducked under Benny’s punch, elbowing near his kidney, as he kicked out that back of Benny’s knee, knocking him down to a kneel. Benny rolled away before Dean could attack, popping back up ready for the next attack.

“Damn, Cujo,” He chuckled, as the timer went off. “Your devision better watch out.” 

          Dean pealed his headpiece off, as his shook his matted hair out of his eyes. “Damn straight,” He replied with a wink.

“Humble, Dean, remember?” A voice spoke from behind him.

He spun around to meet Novak’s eyes, as he grinned and bowed. “Of course, sir. Just messing around.” 

“I don’t want you to get distracted,” He said softly, as Benny left the mats. His eyes seemed to gleam with concern for a moment. “These fighters don’t mess around. The minute you get cocky and lose focus is the minute you loose the fight.”

“Yes, sir.” He nodded stiffly, taking off his sparring gloves. 

“You’ve got lots of potential. But, don’t let it go to your head. Or this..” He said softly, clearing his throat. “I want to train you. One on one. You can still attend regular classes, but..”

Dean lost focus as he watched Novak’s face as he spoke. His long eyelashes that fanned his face, his pale lips that moved cautiously as he spoke, that small crease between his eyebrows that appeared occasionally with the proper expression, that sexy stubble..

“Dean?” 

“Huh?”

“Got that?” Novak spoke, settling his arms behind his back. He smiled softly, letting out a gentle sigh at Dean’s lost expression. “Is Friday okay? For your first one-on-one lesson?” 

“Yeah - yes! I mean, I’ll make it work, yeah,” He cleared his throat.

“Good,” He nodded, as he picked up one of Dean’s red sparring gloves from the mat, and handing it to him. Dean hadn’t even realized he’d dropped it. 

One-on-one..

He liked the sound of that.

                                               ***

               “Someone looks happy,” Charlie chirped as they headed towards the record store the next morning. It was their little occasional morning routine - coffee and bagels at Marty’s, and then binging on records. 

“Huh?” Dean spouted daftly, lost in thought.

Charlie laughed softly, taking a sip of her coffee. “I’m not a dingus, Deano. I know that “hot-and-heavy” look. Oooh, like that hot girl Diana from last summer--” Charlie began, openly talking about her sex life, as she always did.

“Sorry, Charls,” He scoffed, opening the door to the record store. “You know me. I don’t really do that anymore.” He said, as his fingers began to shuffle through records.

She read his face, before gasping loudly. “It’s something else isn’t it? Something more than that?”

Dean bashfully stared down at the Foreigner record in his hand, refusing to meet her stare, as he looked overly intrigued by the track list on the back.

“I knew it! C’mon, who is it?” She urged, shaking his arm in excitement. “Is it that girl Carmen from bio? Or that cute guy from gym who’s always checking you out?”

“Shut up,” Dean hissed without meeting her eyes, as his skin flushed, revealing every freckle on his face. Charlie was one of the only people he was out to yet. Her being a lesbian herself helped the situation, but he wasn’t Charlie. Loud and proud, fly your freak flag, don’t-care-what-anyone-else-thinks Charlie.

“Sorry, Deano..” She muttered softly, before a smile crept back onto her face. “At least tell me. You know I’ll get it out of you eventually.”

          Dean sighed, slipping the record back into it’s place before striding across the store into the sale bin, with Charlie on his heels. He tried to ignore her by changing the subject, or distracting her with cheap vinyls, but nothing seemed to work.  “Okay, fine!” He grumbled eventually. “Damn, you can't let anything go.”

“Nope! It’s part of my charm,” She sighed happily, tilting her head slightly. “Now, tell me.”

                                                     ***

Before Dean even knew it, Friday night had come. The butterflies zoo inside of his stomach was pounding up against his ribcage as he made his way to the dojo that night.

As he entered the dojo, he found Novak sitting at the front desk, rubbing his eyes as he held the phone to his ear. He entered quietly, as to not disturb his conversation.

“You know this was suppose to be my night with her,” He growled into the phone. He slammed his fist on the desk suddenly, which made Dean jump a bit. “You had her last weekend! Amelia, don’t you dare hang up--” 

The line went dead. Novak slammed the phone down, standing up, as he made eye contact with Dean. He blushed out of embarrassment, clearing his throat. 

“Dean,” He noted, as he scratched his stubble softly. “I’m sorry you had to hear that.” 

“Who was that?” Dean asked without thinking, before realizing he was overstepping his boundaries. Novak sighed leaning on the front of the desk, looking up at Dean.

“Amelia. Claire’s mom,” He said calmly, as he took a deep breath. “My ex.”

“Oh,” Dean spoke softly, trying to sound emotionless. “What happened?”

“She took Claire on a trip to visit her parents last weekend, so that I could have her tonight. But she cancelled on the last minute because..because she can.” He muttered angrily. “I’m sorry,” He spoke politely, unsure of what else to say. He laughed humorlessly. “She sounds like a real..asshole.”

               Novak hesitantly met his eyes, standing up. “Let’s get started,” He said, as he headed towards the mats. Dean quickly followed, tugging at his belt, loosening it. Novak quickly bowed him in, before pacing as he always did - with his hands behind his back.

“I really want to focus in on techniques, and forms tonight,” Novak began before Dean groaned. “I know it’s not as fun as sparring, but it is fundamental. The techniques were made to teach essential strikes, blocks, and other elements that can be applied to sparring. And the forms illustrate those elements with fluidity.”

“You lost me at ‘it’s not as fun as sparring’,” Dean muttered.

Novak laughed softly. Over the past couple of months they’d gotten to know each other, Novak has loosened up quite a bit. He was still firm, and authoritative in his teachings, but he wasn’t as strict. He even laughed at Dean’s witty comments from time to time. 

Dean would do just about anything to hear him laugh.

“Do you remember the key technique I taught you a couple weeks back? The white leopard?” Novak questioned.

“Yes, sir,” Dean replied, as he felt his muscle memory begin to kick in.

“The attack for that is a cornering push,” Novak reminded him, as he quickly shoved his shoulder back slamming him against the padded wall. Dean’s heart hammered in his chest, as he felt his nerves go haywire at the feeling of Novak pressing so close to him.

It only lasted a second before Dean’s body reacted - blocking his arms down, and striking along his neck and stomach to disorient him before getting away. 

            Novak smiled at Dean with pride. “Very good,” He praised as Dean licked his lips softly, trying to regain focus. “Now, tell me: what does that teach you?”

Dean paused, feeling as if it was a trick question. “I don’t know..”

“Don’t doubt yourself,” Novak said softly, placing a hand on his shoulder. “Just think about it. You know the answer.”

Dean stayed silent for a moment, before looking up, as an answer appeared in his mind. “Balance. The technique uses your opponent’s force against them, and channeling their energy against them without doing much. They want to knock you off balance, but if you maintain your balance, and use your resources, you can escape.”

“Excellent,” Novak said slowly dropping his hand from his shoulder, turning away from Dean. Before Dean even knew what had happened, he was on the ground.

Novak had side kicked him.

“Ugh, what the hell?” He shouted. “You said no sparring tonight?” They never fought without sparring gear.

“This isn’t about the tournament, Dean. There’s a world out there with endless possibilities. If someone attacks you, you won’t get a warning. It’ll be unexpected..” He lectured, as he held his hand out to help him up. “You lost your focus AND your balance. You must always be prepared.”

               Dean grabbed Novak’s hand, using his weight to tug him off balance - which Novak quickly regained. Their eyes met, as Dean flew forward into a blitz - landing his back knuckle, but missing his punch. “Precision always trumps speed and force,” Novak reminded him.

He grew increasingly frustrated, as he let out a deep breath. Novak launched towards him, as Dean reacted letting out a side kick, planting it in his side. “Good!’ Novak gleamed, as he came from behind Dean, before Dean spun around with a spinning side kick, missing him.

Novak evaded the kick, launching forward into a blitz. Dean blocked the back knuckle, opening for an uppercut which landed in Novak’s gut, which made him let out a groan. Dean paused for a second, allowing Novak to take him down. He pinned Dean’s arms above his head, while pinning his legs down with his knees. 

“You..lost..focus..” Novak panted softly.

Dean stared up at him for a moment wide eyed, before squirming loose, and flipping Novak on to his back. He mimicked Novak’s position, pinning his wrists down. Dean panted, as he paused staring directly at his lips, before licking his own.

His legs slipped down to straddle Novak, as he leaned down slowly, hovering above his lips. Before he could change his mind, he softly but passionately connected their lips.

“Dean..” He spoke cautiously, in a gravelly voice, as he pulled back.

Dean instantly filled with regret, as he let go of Novak’s wrists, making an effort to stand back up. Novak roughly grabbed his hips with one hand, pulling him back down, before using the other to grab his hair as he crashed their lips together.

              Dean’s straddled tightened, as wrapped his arms around Novak’s neck, resting his palms on the back of his head to pull him closer. He gasped softly, as Novak’s cool fingers slid up his back, under his shirt. Dean roughly tugged his hair in response, earning a deep growl from Novak. 

After a moment, they pulled apart, staring at one another with hunger in their eyes.

“You lost focus,” Novak repeated again, as his eyes locked on Dean’s lips.

“I tend to do that, sir,” He replied, as he chewed the inside of his cheek out of frustration.

“After all of that,” Novak laughed softly, finally tearing his glance away to look deeply into Dean’s eyes. “You can call me Castiel.” 

[sueboohscorner]

The Vampire Diaries S8, Ep. 8 "We Have History Together" #TVD

When last we saw the Salvatore brothers, they were headed out of Mystic Falls to carry out their mission for Cade: collecting the souls of evil-doers. Note the word “evil-doers,” because it’s a twist on the original mission Damon had been sanguine enough being part of; the original mission was collecting evil people’s souls, but Stefan’s new marching orders are to lure otherwise good people into committing even one evil act. It’s entrapment on a cosmic level, and Stefan is gung ho. Damon is clearly conflicted.

This week begins at an anger management support group meeting. Where better to find a person with evil in their heart, right? But the test they employ in this scene is flawed, to my mind. They ask a guy if he would rather see someone else from the group die, or if he would accept dying in their place. I don’t think that’s a measure of evil so much as one’s will to live. Most people wouldn’t choose to die in the place of some random acquaintance. (I mean, would they? Am I just more evil than the average? I suspect that most people, given time to consider their answer–and compelled to answer honestly, wouldn’t agree to die in place of someone they don’t deeply care for. Doesn’t mean they wouldn’t make a split-second choice to jump in the way to protect someone on instinct, definitely doesn’t mean they wouldn’t give their lives for their loved ones. Again with the weird morality on this show!)

Anyway, Damon dutifully kills the guy who said he’d rather live than die for his support group confidants, but when he looks up, he sees that Stefan has killed the entire rest of the group in that same time span. (He can’t have drained them all that quickly; Rippers are wasteful!) He chastises Stefan, but Stefan brattily points out that he didn’t rip their heads off, so he’s still in control of his Ripper tendencies. Um, whatever you say, bro.

Back home in Mystic Falls, Caroline is heading back to high school for an assignment. She describes it as being “embedded,” and for a moment, I wonder if they’re doing a Never Been Kissed (they’re not). She sits down in history class and asks how they like their history teacher. Somehow, she doesn’t get immediately terrified at how worshipful they are toward this new teacher…who of course turns out to be Sibyl.

Sibyl rolls her eyes at Caroline’s aggressive reaction and reminds her that she’s massively outgunned on every level. She states the obvious (that she is responsible for Caroline’s being assigned here in the first place), then illustrates the stakes by way of a demonstration: She can psychically kill any of these students in an instant. Caroline has no choice but to go along on the class trip.

Matt Donovan is still gamely sticking around town to be supportive and badass. Man, I love this guy. He heads over to the Armory to check in with Dorian (whom I will finally stop calling “the other intern,” now that he is in on the truth and actively involved in the plot). Dorian is getting some assistance from a local who has some key information they need…of course, it’s Peter Maxwell, aka Daddy Donovan. Man, screw this guy.

Damon awakens in a hospital bed, vervain weakening him through an IV drip. Stefan is quite sinister and smug about Damon’s predicament: unable to fight, flee, or compel anyone, Damon must simply lie there and take what comes. Stefan has another surprise for Damon; he tells him all about the doctor who will be checking on him: a pretty young brunette whose parents died tragically…of course, you can see where this is going. Her name is Tara, and she is a major league do-gooder, deeply involved with the organ transplant program, knows the names and stories of those in dire need by heart…so she’s ripe for Stefan’s spoil-the-good mission. And her resemblance to Elena makes it extra fun for him, as it allows him to torment Damon just a bit along the way. 

Stefan is going to mess with this doctor’s mind and test her moral compass, and vervain-weakened Damon can’t do a thing to interfere.

Stefan turns on the charm with the doctor, softening her up with his mega-watt smile, then inviting her in on a private moment with his vaguely mournful gaze as he questions whether his selfish brother even deserves to be saved…especially when you consider all the innocent people in need of organ transplants at this very moment. Because he doesn’t have his humanity right now, he can’t tell when he’s going too far–he actually tells the doctor he’s been looking on the website where the top-priority transplant patients are listed, and he mentions a specific name. This is the moment where any sane person would recognize he’s a nutter who actively wants to see his brother die…and Dr. Tara disengages from him emotionally, telling him that she “can’t think like that,” because a doctor has to look at every life as equally worth saving.

Realizing he pushed too hard and is losing this one, Stefan cheats and compels her a little, leaving her with the implanted belief that Damon is actually the drunk driver responsible for her parents’ deaths. Suddenly, she has some skin in the game, and her Hippocratic oath is a little more abstract. I wonder if the cheat is entirely kosher, per his arrangement with Cade…Cade’s whole approach with Stefan was about Stefan’s charm, not his compulsion skills. But results are results, probably, when you’re dealing with the devil.

Dr. Tara goes in to talk to Damon, and you can see in her face, she’s already made up her mind to kill him. She’s not proud of her feelings, but she’s giving in to them. He feebly begs her to listen to him, to not do this thing, but she injects an air bubble into his IV line.

In the hospital parking lot, Stefan approaches Dr. Tara. She is understandably shaken when Damon joins them. Stefan gloats. Damon looks miserably resigned but also a touch less sympathetic to the woman who just blithely murdered him.

So, this week’s Mystic Falls history lesson is about the town’s origins. Caroline parrots the story she’s always heard about the Gilberts, Fells, Forbes, Lockwoods, and Salvatores in 1860, and Sibyl says, Nope! She doesn’t want to talk about the “story” of Mystic Falls, rather its actual history, which has been whitewashed by the so-called founding families…right down to the part where they call themselves the “founding families,” because they didn’t “found” the town so much as they found an existing town and claimed it as their own. Sibyl has brought the class and Caroline out to the site where 100 witches were burned at the stake in 1790. This, she says, is the true history of Mystic Falls.

The students are doing some incidental busywork in the background, and Caroline briefly asks about it but is ultimately distracted by Sibyl’s lesson about the witches and a gifted metalworker in town working together on a big project of great mystic significance…and oh by the way, I’m going to need you to find me a relic from that project, and if you don’t, these kids are all going to burn at the stake. Yep, while she had Caroline talking history, the kids have carried out their brainwashed instructions to build a network of stakes, tie each other up in groups, douse everything with fuel, and light a torch.

Caroline quite reasonably asks how the hell she’s supposed to know where to find this artifact, and Sibyl identifies it as the charter bell that is part of the parade through town every year on Founders’ Day…except not really, because the current bell is a replica. The original was tossed off Wickery Bridge years ago (by deadbeat dad Peter Maxwell, incidentally). The bridge connection is why she’s leaning on Caroline; Sheriff Liz Forbes, while dragging the river to retrieve the bodies of Elena’s parents, also discovered the bell. It was last seen at the Forbes home, among Liz’s effects.

Speaking of effects, Damon’s were given to Stefan at the hospital, Elena’s necklace among them. He suspects the necklace is the reason Damon isn’t having as much fun as he is, that Damon is clinging to Elena and thereby his own humanity. He bullies Damon into tossing the necklace out the car window, then, of course, into killing the Elena-ish Dr. Tara, sending her soul on to Cade. 

Back in Mystic Falls, we’re getting another angle on the story of the gifted metalworker who created the bell back in 1790. His last name: Maxwell. That’s right, Bad Dad has a whole sob story about how he’s descended from real Mystic Falls history, and he coulda been a contendah, but those crappy rich people showed up and told the Maxwells, Hey, you make great bells and stuff, so we’d like to hire you, but we’ll never invite you to our fancy parties, because we’re rich and you’re not. And somehow this led to Peter Maxwell feeling cheated out of his shot at happiness 200 frickin’ years later, as if the world owes him something because his ancestors were merely respected and sought after craftsmen rather than part of the social elite. It’s gross, and once again, I’m thinking how lucky Matt Donovan is that his lousy father wasn’t around to poison his young mind with bitterness, resentment, and baseless entitlement. 

Sibyl and Caroline dig through boxes at the Forbes home. Of course, instead of finding the bell, they find a note from Seline, taunting Sibyl over the bell. Ha! If we are stuck with Sibyl, whom we can’t do a thing to harm or even annoy, at least we’re getting an occasional assist from her pissed off sister.  

But Sibyl is petty…she psychically triggers the torch-holding student to set the pyre alight. As Caroline’s rage shows, Sibyl reminds her, you know you can’t kill me, and by the way, I may or may not have a psychic link with your daughters that would destroy them if anything ever did happen to me. Crap.

Matt and Peter just barely free all the students in time, and then we get a final lame guilt trip from Peter, telling Matt not to walk away from family, because it’s the worst mistake I ever made, blah blah blah. Whatever, Bad Dad. I mean, Matt is such a quintessential good guy, he’ll probably be a little conflicted about this and give you a chance, but I sure wouldn’t.

The day after tossing the necklace from the car window, Damon sneaks back to look for it. He admits that he’s not even sure why he wants the necklace, but it makes him feel better to have it. 

Reunited with his memento of Elena, Damon goes to rejoin Stefan. Unfortunately, he finds a massacre of headless bodies–Stefan has gone full Ripper.