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thimbil · 3 years

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Having some thoughts about the references and inspirations used for the Bad Batch’s designs.

So Boba Fett is my absolute favorite character and Temeura Morrison was perfect casting. I went to see the 2008 TCW movie in theaters because I was so excited to see him again, even if he was animated. You can imagine my disappointment. Whoever was on screen was not Temeura Morrison. You could sort of see a resemblance if you squinted and didn’t think too hard about it. They replaced Temeura with Racially Ambiguous G.I. Joe. If I didn’t know better and someone told me the animated clones are space Italians from the moon of New Jersey I would buy it. One Million Brothers Pizzeria and Italian Bistro. Not that there’s something wrong with being space Italian, I just don’t think it’s the right choice for the Fetts. The design got slightly improved by season 7 but it still bugs the hell out of me.

I did eventually get into the show later and (of course) got invested in the clones. Unfortunately, they were largely sidelined by the Jedi storylines. Out of the two new main characters created for TCW, Ahsoka definitely got more development and focus than Rex. When they announced The Bad Batch, I was excited to see a show specifically devoted to the clones… at least that’s what it said on the tin. We have all seen what lurks beneath those stylish helmets.

Jango Fett, you are NOT the father.

So who is?

Based on interviews with Filoni, it sounds like the Bad Batch was a George Lucas idea. And like all his ideas, it’s super derivative. The original trilogy directly lifted elements from sci fi serials, westerns, and samurai movies, more specifically Kurosawa films like The Hidden Fortress. For The Bad Batch character designs, the influence is obviously American action and adventure movies.

Now let’s get specific. Bad Batch, who’s your daddy?

Hunter

Sylvester Stallone as Rambo in First Blood 1982. That bandana has become an integral part of the iconic action hero look. You see a character wearing one and it’s a visual shorthand for either “this character is a tough guy” like Billy played by Sonny Landham in Predator 1987, or “this character thinks he is/wants to be a tough guy” like Brand played by Josh Brolin in The Goonies 1985 or Edward Frog played by Corey Feldman in The Lost Boys 1987.

Hunter’s model is closest to the original clone base. If you look closely you will see the eyebrows are straighter with a much lower angle to the arch. His nose is also not the same shape as a standard clone like Rex, including a narrower bridge. It’s certainly not Temeura Morrison’s nose. Remember what I said about space Italians? It didn’t take much to push the existing clone design to resemble an specific Italian man instead of a specific Māori man. The 23&Me came back, and Hunter inherited more than the bandana from Sylvester.

Crosshair

The long narrow nose, the sharp cheekbones, the scowl. That’s no clone, that’s just animated Clint Eastwood. Not even Young and Hot Clint Eastwood from Rawhide 1959-1965. With that hair, I’m talking Gran Torino 2008. The man of few words schtick and family friendly toothpick in lieu of cigar are pure Eastwood as The Man With No Name from Sergio Leone’s spaghetti westerns A Fist Full of Dollars 1964, For a Few Dollars More 1965, and The Good the Bad and the Ugly 1966.

In a way, this is full circle because the actor Jeremy Bulloch took inspiration from Clint Eastwood for his performance as Boba Fett in ESB.

Wrecker

In an interview Filoni lists the Hulk as an (obvious) inspiration for Wrecker. Ever seen the old Hulk tv show from 1978? Well take a look at the actor who played him, Lou Ferrigno. Would you look at that. Even has his papa’s nose.

You could make the argument that Wrecker was influenced by The Rock, an appropriately buff ‘n bald Polynesian (Samoan, not Maori) man. But look at him next his Fast and Furious costar Vin Diesel and tell me which one resembles Wrecker’s character model more.

Tech

Tech is a little trickier for me to place. If he has a more direct inspiration it must be something I haven’t seen. That said, his hairline is very Bruce Willis as John McClane in Die Hard 1988. His quippiness and large glasses remind me of Shane Black as Hawkins from Predator 1987. In terms of his face, he looks a but like the result of McClane and Hawkins deciding to settle down and start a family. Although, Tech’s biggest contributors are probably just everyone on TV Trope’s list for Smart People Wear Glasses.

And finally,

Echo

Oh Echo. Considering he wasn’t created for the Bad Batch, he probably wasn’t based on a particular character or movie. But if I had to guess, his situation and appearance remind me a lot of Alex Murphy played by Peter Weller in Robocop 1987. However, Robocop explored the Man or Machine Identity Crisis with more nuance, depth, and dignity. Yikes.

The exact tropes and references used in The Bad Batch have been done successfully with characters who aren’t even human. Gizmo from Gremlins 2: The New Batch 1990 had a brief stint with the Rambo bandana. I could have picked any number of characters for Defining Feature Is Glasses but here is the most cursed version of Simon of Alvin and the Chipmunks. Suffer as I have. Marc Antony with his beloved Pussyfoot from Looney Tunes has the same tough guy with a soft center vibe as Wrecker and his Lula (also a kind of cat). Hell, in the same show we have Cad Bane sharing Cowboy Clint Eastwood with Crosshair. I actually think Bane makes a better Eastwood which is wild considering Crosshair has Eastwood’s entire face and Bane is blue.

So we’ve established you don’t need your characters to look exactly like their inspirations to match their vibe. So why go through the trouble and cost of creating completely new character designs instead of recycling and altering assets they already had on hand? Just slap on a bandana, toothpick, goggles, and make Wrecker bigger than the others while he does a Hulk pose and you’re done. Based on the general reaction to Howzer it would have been a low effort slam dunk crowd pleaser.

But they didn’t do that.

So here’s the thing. I like the tropes used in The Bad Batch. I am a fan of action adventure movies from the 80s-90s, the sillier the better. I am part of the Bad Batch’s target audience. Considering what I know about Disney and Lucasfilm, I went in with low expectations. I genuinely don’t hate the idea of seeing references to these actors and media in The Bad Batch. I don’t think basing these characters on tropes was a bad idea. If anything it’s a solid starting point for building the characters.

The trouble is nothing got built on the foundation. The plot is directionless, the pacing is wacky, and the characters have nearly no emotional depth or defining character arcs. They just sort of exist without reacting much while the story happens around them. But I can excuse all of that. You don’t stay a fan of Star Wars as long as I have not being able to cherrypick and fill in the gaps. This show has a deeper issue that shouldn’t be ignored.

Why do the animated clones bear at best only a passing resemblance to their live action actor? In interviews, Filoni wouldn’t shut up but the technological advancements in the animation for season 7. So if they are updating things, why not try to make the clones a closer match to their source material? Why did they have to look like completely different people in The Bad Batch to be “unique”? Looking like Temeura Morrison would have no bearing on their special abilities and TCW proved you can have identical looking characters and still have them be distinct. In fact, that’s a powerful theme and the source of tragedy for the clones’ narrative overall.

Here’s Filoni’s early concept art of Crosshair, Wrecker, Tech, and Hunter. (Interesting but irrelevant: Wrecker seems to have a cog tattoo similar to Jesse’s instead of a scar. Wouldn’t it have been funny if they kept that so when they met in season 7 one if them could say something like “Hey we’re twins!” That’s a little clone humor. Just for you guys 😘)

None of these drawings look like the clones in TCW, much less Temeura Morrison. Let’s be generous. Maybe Filoni struggles with drawing a real person’s likeness, as many people do. But he had to hand this off to other artists down the line whose job specifically involves making a stylized character resemble their actor. Yet the final designs missed the mark almost as much as this initial concept. Starting to seem as if the clones looking more like Temeura Morrison was never even on the table. It wasn’t a lack of creativity, skill or technical limitations on the part of the creative team. I don’t think there is an innocent explanation. They went out of their way to make the final product exactly how we got it.

This goes beyond homage. They could have made the same pop culture references and character tropes without completely stripping Temeura Morrison from the role he originated. It was a very purposeful choice to replace him with more immediately familiar actors from established franchises and films. It wouldn’t shock me if Filoni, Lucas, and anyone else calling the shots didn’t even think hard or care enough about the decision to immediately recognize a problem. And I don’t think they believed anyone else would either. At least no one whose opinion they cared about. Those faces are comfortingly familiar and proven bankable. They are what we’re all used to seeing after all. They’re white.

Lack of imagination, bad intentions, or simple ignorance doesn’t really matter in the end. The result is the same. Call it what it is. They replaced a man of color with a bunch of white guys. That’s by the book garden variety run of the mill whitewashing. There’s no debate worth having about it. For a fanbase that loves to nitpick things like whether or not it’s in character for Han to shoot first or Jeans Guy in the Mandalorian, we sure are quick to find excuses for clones who look nothing like their template. Why is that? If you don’t see the problem, congratulations. Your ass is showing. Pull your jeans up.

#star wars #the bad batch #unwhitewashtbb #wrecker #crosshair #tech #hunter #echo

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fezcosbitch · 3 years

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JJ Maybank x Reader

Hide and seek gone wrong

Trust you to break your leg during an innocent game of hide and seek

You were playing hide and seek with the pogues, determined to find the best hiding spot. “Quick JJ, they’ll never find us here.” You hurried your boyfriend while climbing out one of the windows in Sarah’s house. “Y/n, we’re not going to fit on this tiny window ledge.” JJ tried to warn you, even though the warning fell on deaf ears. “Hurry up, J, they’re gonna start looking for us soon.” You told him, now fully on the ledge and trying to drag him out with you. “I can never fucking say no to you, Fucking hell” JJ audibly mumbled while pulling himself up next to you on the ledge. You grinned at him like a Cheshire Cat, glad that he joined you. “You could say no to me, you just don’t want to” I reminded him truthfully, leaning up to place a light kiss on his lips.

It had been around 10 Minutes of me and JJ being stuck on this ledge, but I knew that everyone else had to of been found. This place was too good for us not to be found last. I heard many footsteps coming closer to our position, making me turn my head towards JJ and hold a finger up to my lips in a symbol of silence. Suddenly the footsteps got quieter, and all you could hear was the illegible sentences the rest of the pogues were sharing. I looked at JJ hopefully, thinking that they’d see we weren’t in the room and look somewhere else. They had to, this spot was too good. I was almost sure they were gone, relaxing my posture a little bit and leaning away from the wall a bit more when

“BOO!” John Bs face poked out from the window.

Why was a flying? Wait no, falling?

Oh fuck, I’m falling.

I landed majorly on my right leg, causing a sickening crunch sound as I hit the ground. I screamed out In agony, feeling this hot, burning pain shoot up my shin

“Oh shit baby! John B you asshole” JJ shouted before quickly climbing through the window, presumably running to your rescue.

It was about 5 Seconds of your constant sobbing, in agony over the now presumed broken bone, before JJ was at your side. “Oh shit baby, we gotta get you to the hospital.” JJ said, trying to pick you up. “But, I, I don’t wanna tell my dad what happened J.” You said, not wanting to imagine the look on your dads face when he finds out you fell off a window ledge. “Your legs literally broken, y/n. Why won’t you tell your dad?” JJ asked you confused. “I don’t want him to waste his money on his clumsy child! Like that’s so embarrassing.” You pouted up at him, embarrassed about your actions. “Look, y/n, take it This way. If you don’t get it fixed, it could get a lot worse. And plus, at least you have the money to get it fixed! It’d be rude to ignore the treatment.” JJ tried to convince you. “I mean I guess but like, it’s still so embarrassing.” You blushed a deep red as JJ picked you up and walked you towards your car.

You were sitting in your car, that JJ drove to your house, terrified to go in. “I can’t do it J, it’s too scary like, what if he gets angry?” You asked JJ, worried for your parents reaction. “Look, y/n, if your so scared to tell them how it happened, why don’t we just make up a story?” He questioned you. You grinned at him. “That’s so smart J! Let’s do that. Um okay what about if... we were running around Sarah’s pool and I tripped and fell into it, but I smacked my leg on the side of it?” You asked him, not really knowing what to say. He looked at you incredulously. “No... sorry bub, but no. Why don’t we just go with the classic, we were playing a little game of like... basket ball, and you slam dunked and when you landed, you landed funny and it broke?” He said as if you were some avid basketball player. “When do I ever play basketball?” You asked him seriously. “True, True.. well what about you just slipped off the dock when you tried to go into the boat?” He asked, making you grin. Perfect. “Yes JJ! You’re so smart.” You squealed, proceeding to smother his face in kisses. “Okay okay, wait a minute and I’ll carry you in.” He said after you finished, getting out of the car and picking you up.

“Why’s it always me?”

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Not edited and not too sure on the ending, sorry it’s a bit late, may change it later♥️

#jj maybank #jj maybank x reader #jj #jj maybank angst #obx #jj maybank x kook!reader #jj maybank x oc #jj maybank x y/n #jj maybank x you #jj obx imagine #obx2 #obx imagine

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holylulusworld · 4 years

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Her again

Title: Her again

Square Filled: Office AU

Ship: AU!Dean x Reader

Characters: Sam Winchester, Jo Harvelle, Charlie Bradbury, John Winchester

Rating: explicit

Warnings: angst, language, lies, smut, unprotected sex, dirty talk, unrequited love?, a hint of breeding kink, consensual degrading (name calling), a hint of choking, light blow job, hand job, implied smut

Summary: At an office party you finally turn your back on Dean.

Word Count: 2,4 k

Written/Created for @spnaubingo

2020 SPN AU BINGO Masterlist

Divider by @writeyourmindaway

“Her again?” Jo huffs, watching you look at Dean who has one arm pressed against the wall to cage Lisa Braeden, the girl getting the job you wanted. “I can’t understand what everyone sees in her.”

“A dog in heat,” Charlie grunts. “Wonder how she got the job without having the qualifications Dean wanted. Do you know what that bitch did before she started working here?”

“Charlie do not use the b-word. We are all women and do not…,” Lisa turns her attention toward you, grinning wildly as Dean brushes a lash off her cheek. “Okay, she’s a bitch.”

“That chick was a fucking yoga instructor, girls,” Charlie jerks her head toward Sam who winks at you, offering you another free drink. “I should tell Sam she got the job for blowing her boss…”

“Charlie, we do not know if she got the job that way,” you watch Dean grab another drink, eyes landing on you. He raises the glass, but you do not have it in you to return the smile he gives you. “I’ll have that drink with you now.”

“Sam is fighting for your attention, girl. Go and get him, tiger,” Jo snickers at Charlies' words, pecking her friend’s cheek.

“I am not in the mood for stupid office rumors to spread. I do not need someone telling my boss I fucked his brother only as we shared a drink,” grumbling you walk toward Sam, taking the awful eggnog out of his hands.

“My brother again?” Sam muses watching his brother eye you warily as you give his younger brother a soft smile. “He’s a fool for not seeing you.”

“Well, I worked my ass off and didn’t get the position. I cannot compare with chicks like Lisa Braeden. I don’t know,” you sigh deeply, smile fading away. “Men do prefer girls like her, not me. I am awkward around men like your brother or you.”

“You are talking with me,” Sam slings one arm around your shoulders, squeezing your arm. “Maybe you should’ve told him that you like him.”

“And embarrass me even more,” deadpanning you point toward Dean who offers Lisa another drink. “Look at him, Sam he’s in his flirting modus. There is no chance he will not take her home like all the other girls. I do not want to be another notch on his belt. At least I’ll keep my dignity and do not have to do the Dean Winchester walk of shame.”

“That’s a new one,” snickering Sam looks at his brother whose jaw ticks anytime Sam touches you. “Dean Winchester walk of shame…”

“Maybe ‘I fucked my boss and now I have to quit’ would be more appropriate. I bet she is good, flexible, and all. I mean as a former yoga instruct…,” biting your tongue you pray Sam didn’t get the last words.

“I know she’s not qualified for the job, Y/N,” Sam does not like the way Dean acts around Lisa, not at all. “They have a history, okay. During his wilder times, he had an affair with her for like a week.”

“Great,” voice dripping with sarcasm you look at Sam. “He dunked his dick into her cunt and that’s the reason she got the job. A job she is not even qualified for. I worked my ass off. My relationship went downhill thanks to the fact I was married to my job. Fuck this,” you throw the glass with eggnog to the ground, glaring at Dean who turned his attention toward you.

“Y/N, calm down,” Sam tries but you push his hand away.

“This is ridiculous. Our boss fucks a yoga instructor for a week, and she gets the job Cole and I applied for. If Cole would have gotten it, I would have understood. He is longer at the company than I, has more experience but this is a shitshow and I am out of this for good. Fuck Winchester Inc. and fuck his CEO, Dean Winchester.”

Giving Sam an apologetic smile you pat his chest. “You’re not the one I hate right now. I will grab my shit and you’ll get my termination letter.” Sam can only watch you storm out of the room to rush toward your office.

“What the fuck was that Sam?” Dean gasps only catching a glimpse of you storm out of the room. Sam shrugs a smug grin on his lips.

“That was the best employee and woman for the job you gave your ex quitting her job and calling you a jerk,” Sam still grins when his brother storms after you. “I mean, you are a jerk after all.”

“Sam? What happened?” Charlie feels her legs give in. “That was not the plan! How shall we get those two together when she quits her job?”

“Relax, Charlie,” not worried at all Sam offers Charlie a self-assured smirk. “My brother will beg, plea, and fall to his knees to not lose Y/N.”

“Done?” Dean eyes you warily when you storm out of your office to leave the building. “Not even a goodbye?”

“Goodbye, jerk!” you brush past Dean, not caring he follows you. “I can’t believe you gave that yoga chick the job instead of Cole or me.” You stop in your tracks, glaring at Dean whilst you stomp your heel onto his foot, causing him to grunt in pain.

“I know, I did not deserve the position yet, but I thought I’ll give it a try. Cole, I knew he would make it, but he is great at his job. That girl can barely keep up with her tasks. She always bugs Jo to do most of her job,” you blink the tears of anger away. “I am disappointed more than I am mad. I know you tend to think with your dick but making such a lousy decision to get your dick sucked is the shadiest thing you ever did.”

“She doesn’t suck anything, Y/N,” Dean grasps for your hand but you wiggle out of his grip, giving him a warning glare. Sam, Charlie, and Jo can only watch you yell at Dean.

“Yeah, that’s the reason she got a job she’s not qualified for. I know you want to give people with less qualification or education a chance, but this is not such a job,” anger taking over you drop the box to backhand Dean. “That’s for ruining my relationship by forcing me to work my ass off for nothing.”

Rubbing his burning cheek Dean watches you pick your box back up. “There I stand, believing you and I could’ve had something. I am still the nerdy chick helping you with your grades. But this is over. Look for someone else to pamper your ego and the rest of Dean Winchester.”

“Y/N, wait,” the look on your face let Dean stop in his tracks. “She needed a job and that was the only free position, I swear.”

“Dean, we were looking for assistants, a new PR manager and so on when she started to work her. Do not underestimate me, Winchester. I am not a dumb little lamb falling for the big bad wolf,” you are half-way out of the building before Dean catches up with you.

“Wait, sweetheart,” not stopping you walk faster. “Please…”

“Won’t work anymore, Dean. Shove that sugar-sweet pet name up to your ass,” you blink the tears away, taking a deep breath. “Good thing I never told you I love you because this would’ve been embarrassing as hell,” the door slams shut behind you and Dean swallows the lump in his throat.

“Dean what the fuck!” Sam runs after his brother, watching you enter a cab. “You should’ve stopped her. That was the plan.”

“I told you he’ll mess up,” Charlie pinches the bridge of her nose. “Jo, check Y/N’s office, maybe she forgot something. Sam, you will check her termination letter. Dean, stop being a jerk.”

“She loves me,” Dean grins dreamily. “I mean, hell she loves me.”

“Uh-Dean, I hate to ruin your daydreams but at the moment she rather hates you,” Jo shrugs, giving Charlie a wink. “Don’t think she liked watching you flirt with that Braeden chick.”

“Fuck, you’re so tight this way,” Dean grunts into your ear, pressing his sweaty chest closer to you back.

He has you on your belly, legs straddled by his muscular thighs, his cock so deep inside of you it borders on pain, your boss pumps wildly into you. “You’re such a slut for my dick.”

“D’, fuck,” you whine, fighting the ropes holding your hands bound behind your back. “I want to cum.”

“Did you earn to cum?” His lips press against your ear and you shudder, feeling his tongue slide in. “You caused quite a scene there.”

“You said, oh-please right there,” Dean’s large palm wraps around your throat, forces your body to bend to his will. “Please…”

“I said, make it look believable, not fucking rip me apart,” he slams into your abused pussy, making you yelp with every thrust. “I wanted them to believe you quit.”

“Dean, please. I need it,” his free hand slips between your thighs, to toy with your pulsing nub. “I’ll do anything, Sir.”

“I know you will,” Dean muses, nuzzling his nose into your hair. “Monday morning you will come to my office, apologize and I’ll yell at you while you blow me like a fucking pro.”

“All you want but please let me cum,” watching Dean in the mirror he placed opposite his bed you roll your eyes. He is grinning wickedly, loving he won the upper hand. “Please.”

“Fucking cum on my dick,” now you push back onto his length, feeling your toes curl. “I want this pussy to squeeze me, milk me dry. You know, I’ll give you all my cum until you are round. Everyone will see you are my whore.”

“Dean!” You cry out, fluttering around his twitching length. “Give me your cum, Sir. Please.” Dean approves your words, gives you shallow thrusts to ride your high out. “Please.”

“There you go, slut,” sticky cum runs down your thighs, ruining the silky sheets. “Love fucking this cunt.”

“I am sorry,” you sigh, snuggling into Dean’s chest. “You said I shall make it look believable and got carried away.” Gently stroking the cheek, you backhanded you look up at Dean. “This sucks.”

“Listen, my father is a strict bastard. Whether we keep our relationship a secret and you can have the position, or we go public and lose it all,” Dean sighs, running one large palm over your ass, squeezing it roughly.

“Lisa played her role well,” giggling you peck Dean’s cheek. “I mean, fuck me, she should get an Oscar for her performance.”

“This way we got rid of Cole without firing him,” Dean grins, moving his hand to your back to tickle your skin. “We had to make him leave on free terms, believing Lisa got the position. Next week you will come back, and I will suggest that you’ll get the position to avoid that you sue me for being a naughty boss.”

“Sounds good to me,” you love the plan Dean and you developed over the last months. “They will lose the bet too. Five hundred bucks for new shoes.”

“You were the only one betting you’ll quit during our Christmas party. I got an evil mastermind in my bed.” You nod eagerly, exclaiming you used an avatar for the bet.

“Now back to me going down on you, boss,” a low growl leaves Dean’s lips when you crawl under the blanket to have a look at his dick. “Looks good, Sir. Maybe I should,” hissing Dean lifts the blanket to watch you lick the tip.

“Sweetheart, I wanted you in my office, on your knees like a good girl but,” he throws his head back, moaning your name when you lick him all over. “Forget it, just take me in your warm mouth, baby girl.”

Voice husky, at least two octaves deeper Dean urges you on, praises your mouth, pussy, and anything he loves. “Please baby girl, suck daddy’s cock.”

You look up at Dean, giggling. “Sorry, I don’t know where this was coming from, Y/N.” His cheeks shades of pink Dean pats your head when you play with his balls. “Such a good little cocksucker. Aren’t you a good little bitch?”

“Winchester stop making me wet again, dammit,” you pump him slowly before you relax your jaw enough to try again. “If you say another word, I’ll ride that dick until it falls off.”

“Fuck me, come up here,” before you can protest Dean tosses the blanket aside, to watch you crawl onto his lap. “Now ride me until you are a mess…”

“See, we need to do something about this,” Dean points toward the faked papers you hand him this morning. “She will sue me if I do not give her the position, father.” Whilst John looks at the papers, you have a grand time teasing Dean.

His cock at your mercy you run your hand up and down his length. Moments before John waltzed into his son's office you wanted to suck your boss off. Now you have him at your mercy and enjoy every second.

“Jesus, that bitch is greedy,” John curses, just like Dean when you slap his dick. “She will sue us for your mistake. Fire Braeden, no give her a suiting position and give that greedy cunt the job. I hope you can dick her down one day for fucking with you…”

“Oh-I will dick her down, Sir,” Dean grunts feeling your hand move faster along his shaft. “Metaphorically, of course…”

“Such a needy slut,” Dean grunts, pushing upward. You are on his lap, back against his chest. His hands on your tits he let you ride him while he checks some numbers, or at least tries to do so. “Naked on your boss’s lap in the middle of your lunch break.”

“He forced me down his dick, Sir. What can I do when he wants to fuck the neediness out of me?” You grin feeling Dean’s fingers pinch your nipples.

“Now, ride me like a good girl and later we will go to my apartment and celebrate you won the bet, got the position, and my dick on the same day.”

“Deal, Mr. Winchester,” you roll your hips faster, moaning as you hit that spot making you see stars. “Now I want you to fuck me over your desk like the slut I am for you.”

“Always so needy, Ms. Y/L/N,” Dean snickers. “I’ll see what I can do for you…”

Tags in reblog.

#Her again #smut #spnaubingo #dean winchester #au dean winchester #au dean #au dean x reader #au dean winchester x reader #au dean x you #office au #Supernatural fanfic #Supernatural AU #angsty #dean winchester smut

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zmediaoutlet · 4 years

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in support of Black Lives Matter, @azothel donated $50, and requested ‘jealous Sam with implied Dean/John.’ Thank you for donating!

to get your own personalized fic, please see this post. (no longer taking prompts)

Summer in Arizona. Sam thinks it might actually be hell. He’s laying spread eagle on his bed, stripped down to t-shirt and boxers, and this absolute dump of a motel only has an evaporative cooler and so the whole place smells like wet dust. He’s got his eyes closed, concentrated on not moving, and if he doesn’t move then he can pretend like it’s damp instead of sticky--cool, instead of muggy--but unfortunately it doesn’t stop his ears from working, because Dean’s on the phone with Dad. Again.

“Yessir,” Dean says, quiet. Corded phone up near the door and he’s got it pulled all the way over by the mini-fridge. Like if he’s far enough away somehow Sam won’t notice. “Yeah, we got it taken care of. When do you think you’ll--”

Be back, cut off. That’s what Dean always wants--Dad, back, the three of them faking at happy families. Sam opens his eyes and looks at the ceiling fan, slow its only speed. They aren’t exactly a Norman Rockwell painting. Sam doesn’t know why Dean pretends otherwise.

“Yeah,” Dean says, soft, and it’s nasty the way Sam’s gut immediately takes a downward turn. He draws up on his elbows, looking past the screen into the tiny kitchenette. Dean, leaning against the wall with his shoulders hunched in, the cord tangled in his fingers. Chick from a movie talking to her crush, Sam thinks, and his second thought is--worse. “Yeah, Dad. See you.”

He hangs up and sighs. When he turns around he’s surprised for some reason, seeing Sam watching him. “Dad’s gonna be another week,” Dean says, and wipes his forehead with the back of his arm. He’s still wearing jeans, and that Ozzy tour t-shirt they found at the thrift mart. Overdressed, to Sam’s mind. Dean flaps his shirt, his white belly showing. “How do people live here. It’s so frickin’ hot, man.”

“Yeah,” Sam says, sounding braindead. How do they live.

They weren’t supposed to be here. California, Dad had promised, and Dean lit up with talking about going to the beach, cool breezes and girls in bikinis. Of course, when they stalled out here with five hundred miles to go, because Dad caught wind of weird deaths in the Chiricahua Mountains, Dean didn’t complain a peep. He went out with Dad one night--left Sam alone, in this same dumpy motel, to stew and worry--and then he came back by himself the next morning, fretful but loyal. Told Sam, Dad’s got it covered, don’t worry. Like that was what Sam was worried about. Dean had a bruise, on his shoulder, when he came back. Sam laid awake, wondering--knowing. Knowing. He’s always known.

The motel has a pool, if you can call it that. A crappy small kidney bean with no shade, carved out of bleached-white kool deck. It gets locked up at night but they figured out pretty quick that the motel manager’s a drunk and doesn’t give a damn what they do, and so it’s something to occupy them at night--a padlock Sam could’ve picked when he was nine, a six pack of beer they share because Dean can actually get it legally, now. “Not as fun that way,” Dean says, shrugging. Sam rolls his eyes and shoves water at his face, which makes Dean splutter predictable as ever--which makes him dive for Sam, predictable as ever--which means they wrestle, trying to dunk each other, and Sam’s got new height but Dean’s got more experience, and Sam wants to win but--but Dean’s skin is slick-silk, even in the over-chlorinated water, and he’s warm and weightless, and whoever wins Sam’s held right up close against his body and has Dean laughing and right here, right here, with him and nowhere else.

Nobody comes out this way. Not this time of year. There’s a tired hispanic family that checks in, one night, and they have a pretty daughter maybe Sam’s age--who smiles at Dean, shy but interested, and Dean grins at her, blows her a kiss, until her dad sees and she gets berated in a quiet barrage of Spanish. “Dude, I am an international man of mystery,” Dean says, and Sam rolls his eyes and says, “Okay, Austin Powers,” and that was--shit, a mistake, because he knows that instantly Dean’s going to do his terrible Mike Myers impression--but then the phone rings in their room, and Dean’s face changes instantly, and he disappears inside while Sam bangs his head back against the stucco. He doesn’t need to hear to know Dean’s saying, obedient, yessir. Sam looks out at the fire-colored sunset and wonders, bitter, if Dean’s dick gets hard every time he does.

Sick. Not that Sam has room to throw stones. When they finally drag themselves out of the pool--one a.m., four beers under Dean’s belt and two under Sam’s--half the time Dean’ll just change right there, in the kitchenette on, making a puddle on the linoleum. “Dude,” Sam will always say, throwing up hands like it’s gross--because he knows he’s supposed to find it gross--and Dean always says, “Like you don’t love it,” smug. They hardly go out in the day, too damn hot, and so he’s pale, pale, everywhere, his back and the pretty curve of his ass and his legs, bowed out at the knee where Sam knows he’d fit, where he’d slide his hips between them and it’d feel--right. Cowboy legs, Dad called ‘em once, kind of drunk, and Dean had immediately darted a look at Sam and his ears had gone bright red--and Sam had looked away, thinking, yeah. Made for riding.

Seriously, sick. Sicker that he bets he wasn’t the only one in the room having that thought. Sicker, that when Dean tugs up dry boxers and turns around, Sam doesn’t look away fast enough, and Dean sees him and his face does--some strange thing, something Sam doesn’t know how to interpret. His amulet swings in the middle of his pale chest and Sam wants to get up, grab him by it, pull him in. Ask him--why not Sam? Why, if it was going to be anyone--

“Dude, earth to Samuel,” Dean says, and Sam blinks and refocuses. Dean frowns at him, kinda smiling-kinda not. “You gonna sleep in your wet trunks? Get a move on, weirdo.”

“You’re weird,” Sam says, automatic and dumb, and Dean rolls his eyes, throws himself back onto his own bed. Sam looks at him--his knees, spread--his nipples getting hard in the damp cool air--and then looks away. He has to, because if he doesn’t then he has to do something, and he just doesn’t know what to do.

Dad swings by--middle of the night, the next night. Sam’s asleep until the door opens, and then his eyes slam open at the wall away from the door, listening to the low conversation happening behind his back. Everything okay? Yeah, kiddo. Just needed a resupply. Salt and a few other things. Gotta head back into the mountains but I think I’ve about got it cleaned out. Can I help? No--this is a stealth mission, can’t risk it. I’m just taking a shower before I head out. Wanted to stop by and make sure you boys were okay. We’re okay, Dad. Do you...

The bathroom door closes, very quietly. Sam breathes, twice, and sits up, and the room’s empty. He looks at the bathroom door, and the water rushes on, and he can’t hear talking--it’s not Dean sitting on the toilet giving a debrief while Dad cleans up blood and guts, not like they’ve done before--and it takes Sam a minute to realize that he’s chubbing up, his mouth dry because he’s just staring at the pale pink paintjob, and he’s imagining--cowboy legs. Fuck.

They don’t try to wake Sam up, before Dad leaves. The room door closes and Dean fixes up the locks again, and when Sam turns over he’s got his forehead pressed against the paint, his hair still wet and his boxers barely tugged on, and Sam--jesus, how’s he supposed to take it? There’s an engine sound--the peel-out of tires on gravel. Dad’s gone, again. “Good visit?” Sam says, and Dean jumps, looks at Sam over his shoulder.

“Shit, dude, nearly gave me a heart attack,” Dean says. Frowns, after a second. “You woke up?”

“I’ve been here the whole time, Dean,” Sam says, and Dean’s frown gets deeper before his eyes go wide. It’d be kind of funny if Sam weren’t pissed. “Like--I’m not deaf, you know?”

Dean doesn’t say anything. Sam gets up, crosses the room, and Dean doesn’t say anything still until Sam’s right in front of him--both of them in their bare feet and Sam’s got half an inch on him, even if he’s still trying to get the muscle--and Dean says finally, “Sammy, what--” but it’s a little late because Sam’s got his hands on Dean’s arms--damp, warm--and presses him back, against the door.

This close, Sam can see a red mark--a circle, on Dean’s shoulder where normally it’d be covered by a t-shirt--and he thinks, sudden sick certainty, that soon it’ll turn into a bruise. “You let him,” Sam says, and Dean looks--actually panicked. Sam squeezes his arms, rocks him a little against the door. “You let him.”

He does. Eager, like a puppy thrilled that its master came home. Dean stares back and forth between Sam’s eyes, mouth half-open waiting for an excuse to come--but there’s no excuse, they both know it, because Sam’s not deaf and he’s not blind and Dean was just in the shower, too, and there’s a mark on his shoulder, and Sam leans forward in raw stupid hope and kisses Dean. Clumsy--too much force, and their teeth clack--but he pushes in, pins their hips together, holds Dean tight, and realigns their mouths right and licks in. Dean breathes shock, doesn’t participate, and Sam tastes inside--beer, but--whiskey, too--and they haven’t had whiskey, not for weeks, and that means--that means--

Dean flinches--licks at him, too--gets his hands up and pushes at Sam’s ribs and breaks their mouths apart. Sam pants at him, an inch away. Dean’s eyes are bright, wide, his lips wet. “Sammy, what are you doing?” he says, like that’s not fucking obvious.

Sam licks his lips, tastes that phantom flavor. He lets Dean’s arms go and slides down his sides, to his hips, and presses forward until his knee’s between Dean’s knees--that open space. Space that’s maybe already been filled tonight, and the thought makes Sam’s gut lurch. Sloppy seconds. “You gonna let me, too?” he says. Dean’s hand splays against his stomach, holding, while his face goes slowly and deeply red. Sam ducks in, kisses his mouth soft and brief. Dean inhales sharp and his face, when Sam pulls back again, looks somehow dazed. Like soft isn’t what he expected. “We’re supposed to take care of each other. You and me.”

“Sam,” Dean says, rougher, and Sam cups his face in both hands and kisses him, soft, and again, and on the third Dean makes a weird small noise and holds Sam’s waist, fingers digging in, clutching and desperate. Yes, Sam thinks, groaning--yes, Dean touching him--yes, he thinks, at the car driving off into the night--because he’s Dean’s but Dean is his, and maybe with this, finally, he won’t be anyone else’s.

#fffb #azothel #wincest #dean/john #the full house of wincest #my writing

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inthedayswhenlandswerefew · 4 years

Text

But You Can Never Leave [Chapter 7: Forget Everything You Know]

Hi y’all! I just wanted to take a moment to thank you all so much for reading and for showing me and my fics some love. You better believe that I see EVERY. SINGLE. reblog, comment, tag, and message, and they mean the absolute world to me! I know that a lot of content creators are frustrated and taking breaks right now, but rest assured you will not be able to get rid of me if even a SINGLE person looks forward to something I write. I’ll finish this fic (eventually), and I’ll finish the next one too (it already has a name!), and I won’t disappear or leave the Queen/BoRhap fandom at any point in the foreseeable future. Lots of love to you all, stay safe, and I hope you enjoy! 💜 💜 💜

Chapter summary: Y/N brings home some friends; Brian attempts an intervention; John draws a line; Roger gets an answer.

This series is a work of fiction, and is (very) loosely inspired by real people and events. Absolutely no offense is meant to actual Queen or their families.

Song inspiration: Hotel California by The Eagles.

Chapter warnings: Language.

Chapter list (and all my writing) available HERE

Taglist: @queen-turtle-boiii @loveandbeloved29 @killer-queen-xo @maggieroseevans @imnotvibingveryguccimrstark @im-an-adult-ish @queenlover05 @someforeigntragedy @imtheinvisiblequeen @joemazzmatazz @seven-seas-of-ham-on-rhye @namelesslosers @inthegardensofourminds @deacyblues @youngpastafanmug @sleepretreat @hardyshoe @bramblesforbreakfast @sevenseasofcats @tensecondvacation @bookandband @queen-crue @jennyggggrrr @madeinheavxn @whatgoeson-itslate @brianssixpence

Please yell at me if I forget to tag you! :)

“Smile, everyone!” Your dad peeks through the viewfinder of the Canon F-1 and beams. “One...two...three...say Queen!”

“Queen!” you all shout gleefully. The flash illuminates the dining room, and you blink away momentary blindness. The table materializes back into vision: lobsters, clams, haddock chowder, sourdough bread, fried oysters, pierogis with Vermont cheddar cheese, cranberry sauce, mashed potatoes...and, of course, Boston cream pie for dessert.

“Ah, perfection,” your dad sighs contently. “Please continue, Mr. Mercury.”

“Mr. Mercury!” Brian whines, incredulous. “Like he’s got a bloody PhD or something!”

Freddie cracks a lobster claw. He hasn’t taken his sunglasses or wrist-full of clanging bangles off all afternoon. Your parents are profoundly confused by him, but welcoming nonetheless. “I’m a professor of lusciousness. Pay attention and you could learn something.”

Brian rolls his eyes and dunks a hunk of sourdough bread into his chowder.

“So,” Freddie tells your mother between bites of lobster dripping with drawn butter. “Our darling damsel in distress was in the clutches of that horrid, dodgy wanker when none other than our very own Roger Meddows Taylor—”

“You weren’t even there!” Brian protests. “I wasn’t even there! This is, what, a third-hand account?!”

“Eat your soup, peasant. Thank you. Anyway, our beloved Roger comes raging out of nowhere, red-faced, nostrils flaring, a terrifying sight to behold, grabs this guy by his hair and slams his despicable face directly into a marble column. Broken nose, cracked orbital socket, blood everywhere! It was magnificent. I’ve never been more proud.”

“Good for you!” your mother cheers, patting the back of Roger’s hand encouragingly. He smiles at her, warmly, radiantly, like the wildfire he’s always reminded you of. And you marvel at how every human on this earth is made of the same fundamental components—blood and muscles and vessels and nerves, hearts and enigmatic brain matter and ribs, vulnerable parts, armored parts, all webbed together like nature’s own organic circuit board—and yet the marks they leave on you can feel so different: burns, scars, bruises, shadows, imprints that are deep enough to brush bone and never fade.

“Mom, the guy could have died!”

“Did he?” she asks innocently.

“Nope,” Roger says.

“Well then, Mr. Taylor here is a hero in my book.”

“Mr. Taylor!” Brian groans.

“I was petrified he would turn out to be the son of an executive or producer or something and the band would be ruined,” you say. “Fortunately he was just someone’s annoying frat brother from college who already had a reputation for being a sleazebag. So, we were in luck.”

“You were in luck that Mr. Taylor was there,” your mother points out, gazing at him dreamily. This delightful English boy is going to be my son-in-law and give me gorgeous, doe-eyed grandchildren, that look says.

“Yes, a literal superhero,” John says ruefully, sipping a Manhattan. Your dad has a passionate love for mixing cocktails, especially for guests who also happen to be rock stars.

“Mom. Don’t make his ego any bigger, please. I’m begging you.”

Roger snarls around a mouthful of Boston cream pie, sending your mom into a fit of giggles.

“I’m just glad you’re okay, dear.” She smooths your hair. “And that you have people to keep you safe all the way over there across the ocean, and that you’re happy.”

“Yes, your work environment is much improved, isn’t it?” Brian says. “That supervisor you had at the hospital was an absolute bear!”

Your dad strokes his short grey beard. “Well...” he admits. “That may have been my fault.”

Brian’s brow crinkles. “Really?”

Your mom turns to you. “You didn’t tell them?!”

“Oh, is there a scandalous backstory?” Freddie inquires, elated. “Do tell, darling!”

“Once upon a time, in a kingdom far far away—just kidding, it was here in Boston—my archnemesis Patricia and my dad dated.”

Roger drops his fork, appalled. “No!”

Freddie’s nose wrinkles in revulsion. “Why?!”

Your dad rocks back in his chair and laughs loudly, heartily. “She wasn’t always so cantankerous, if you can believe it. She was a sweet girl, wonderful even. But then I met my future wife, and...” He smirks guiltily. “What can I say? The heart wants what it wants!”

You nod along. “And I got the illustrious honor of being an outlet for the frustration stemming from Patricia’s lifelong unrequited love.”

“You saucy minx!” Freddie playfully lashes your mom’s shoulder with a cloth napkin. “Homewrecker!”

She chuckles, not the least bit offended. “People get together under all sorts of strange circumstances, and you know what? You can’t wreck a home if the home wasn’t already half-wrecked before you got there, that’s what I think.”

Roger raises his Patriot’s Punch. “I’ll drink to that.”

Brian clutches his New England Express, bewildered. “Are we...toasting to infidelity?”

“Oh, does that horrify you?” Rog asks sarcastically. Brian grimaces, but dutifully raises his glass.

“We’re toasting to love,” your dad clarifies. “However it comes, as long as it’s true.”

John holds his Manhattan aloft. “To love.”

Freddie clinks his Flying Elvis against the other beverages, including your parents’ wine glasses and your Cranberry Crush. “Cheers!” Then Fred glances at the clock and swiftly polishes off his slice of Boston cream pie.

“Can’t you all stay a little longer?” your mom pleads, collecting plates and gazing longingly at Roger. “This has been so much fun...”

“They have soundcheck at seven, Mom. We have to leave for the stadium soon.”

“Well, before you jet off to your next adventure, can I treat anyone to a long distance call?” your dad asks.

Brian perks up. “Really?!” You know there’s a ring in the future for Chrissie; not an expensive or extravagant ring (not that Chris would want that anyway), but a ring nonetheless. You know because Brian has taken you shopping to help him choose one.

“Of course! You can use the phone in my office. It’s Valentine’s Day, after all. I’m sure there are some lovely ladies back in jolly old England who would be over the moon to hear from you.”

“That would be very much appreciated!” Brian says. “And thank you so much, this has been such a treat, you have no idea how long it’s been since we had a proper homemade meal.”

“I had to rehabilitate the reputation of us Yankees, didn’t I? Now come on, Mr. May, I’ll show you to the office...”

“Mr. May...I like the sound of that!”

“Ten minutes, Bri!” Freddie calls, following them down the hallway. “Then it’s my turn...!”

You begin gathering up the empty glasses, but Roger promptly snatches them away. “No way, Boston babe. You go relax. I’ll help your mom.”

“I think she’s in love with you.”

He grins. “Do you have a secret stepdaddy fetish I could exploit?”

“Oh my god. Roger.”

He snickers and sweeps off into the kitchen. It’s only then that you realize John has disappeared. You check the kitchen, the living room, the hallway, the study, and finally the front porch; John is standing outside in the cold, smoking and watching the setting sun. The sky is threaded with cerulean, rust orange, lavender, indigo. You pull on your coat and go out to join him.

“We’ll make it to Florence one of these days,” you promise John, resting your arms on the wooden, white-painted porch railing. Your mother hung baskets of fresh flowers for the band’s visit, which swing lazily in the breeze. “Crank out a few more hits and we’ll get the record company to add it to the tour itinerary.”

“Wouldn’t that be nice.”

“Are you going to call Veronica?”

He shrugs, frowns, exhales a lungful of smoke into frigid New England air. “I don’t know if I should.”

“You don’t think she’d like that?” you ask, confounded.

“I think she might like it too much.”

“Ohhhhh.” You read his soft greyish eyes, which are faraway and somber, sad even. “I’m sorry, John. You know she’s wild about you.”

“I know it.” He takes a drag off his cigarette. “She’s the first person who ever was, actually. The first person who ever noticed me. Came up to me out of the blue at a disco and asked me to dance, me! So I said yes, like you do when you’re the guy nobody notices. And then I said yes again, and again, and again, until one day I realized...oh, this girl thinks we’re getting married. When the hell did that happen?”

“I noticed you,” you contest.

John chuckles and nods. “You did,” he agrees. “Right away. Tried to win me over when I was too nervous to finish a sentence around you. But that was long after I’d met Veronica.”

“Well, you can’t break up with her tonight. On Valentine’s Day?! That would be traumatic.”

“Agreed.”

“We’ll have a few days in London between the American and Asian legs of the tour. You can think it over and decide what to do then. I’m happy to arrange the getaway taxi if that’s something that interests you.”

“Yeah.” Again, he peers out into the Western horizon, into rising stars.

“John?”

Now he looks to you. He’s a little too thoughtful, too low. There’s something you’re not seeing.

“...Is there somebody else?”

He doesn’t speak; he just stares at you with those velvety azure-grey eyes, drums his fingers against the railing, lets the ash from his cigarette crumble into the snow-dusted Blue Pacific Junipers.

Roger barrels through the front door and out onto the porch. “There you are, Deaks! I thought we were going to have to find a new bassist. Enlist Nurse Nightingale’s mum or something.”

John smirks and crushes the rest of his cigarette in your father’s ashtray. “I suspect you’d do just fine without me.”

“Oh no. No way. Not happening.”

“That’s kind of you,” John says, unconvinced.

“Here, I’ll prove it.” Rog holds out his calloused hand. “If you ever leave, I leave too. Come on, Deaks, shake on it. It’s official. It’s a pact. There’s no Queen without John Deacon.”

Reluctantly, trying not to show how pleased he is, John shakes. “Alright.”

Roger grins triumphantly. “Signed, sealed, delivered. You’re ours for life, baby.”

“Deaky, do you want the phone?!” Freddie yells from inside the house.

John sighs and exchanges a knowing glance with you. “I guess I should say hi.”

“Okay, but quickly!” Rog presses. “We gotta go!”

“So bossy...” John ducks inside; and Roger, though he’s not wearing anything over his pale pink button-up shirt—sufficiently sophisticated to impress your parents—comes to the porch railing to join you.

“You’re not staying out here, are you?” You eye his thin shirt worriedly, the goosebumps rising over his collarbones, his bare forearms where he rolled up his sleeves to help your mom wash the dishes.

He tosses you a mischievous wink. “I’ve got no one to call.”

Roger looks up at the hanging baskets of flowers, plucks out a cerise carnation, and offers it to you. You mean to say something witty, something sardonic, something that will make him laugh; but all your words vanish into cold February air. You take the carnation, smiling helplessly.

“Happy Valentine’s Day,” Roger whispers.

You just let me know if you ever change your mind, okay?

Okay.

He turns to go back inside the house.

I won’t fall in love with him. I won’t fall in love with him. I won’t fall in love with him.

Then Roger pauses in the doorway. “You coming, Boston babe? I can’t have you catching pneumonia or something. I won’t know how to fix you.”

Oh, you realize, with horror and yet relief, all those grueling lies stripped away. It’s too late.

~~~~~~~~~~

You knock on the frame of the dressing room door. “Hi Bri!”

He glances over from where he sits in front of the mirror, rimming his eyes with inky liner. Soundcheck went swimmingly, and now Queen has thirty minutes until they need to be onstage. You can hear the disembodied reverberation of voices from the waiting crowd through the walls. “Hello, love. Come in.”

“Freddie said you needed to see me. Did you rip a sleeve or something? I brought my kit—”

“No, it’s not that.” He pats the chair beside him. The boys practically always get ready together before a show, but you suspect profoundly introverted Brian is experiencing one of his post-socialization crashes after dinner with your parents. Something about him is tired, very tired, almost drained to empty. “Join me.”

“Sure,” you say cautiously. You shove your medical kit onto the countertop and then reach to feel his forehead. “Are you feeling alright...?”

“I’m fine, love. I just have a favor to ask.”

“Anything.”

Brian sighs deeply, sets down the eyeliner, swivels his chair towards you. “I need you to promise me that you’re not going to start seeing Roger.”

You titter, deflecting, brushing Brian’s hair away from his troubled, angular face. “Well, as the official Queen touring nurse, I see him quite a lot.”

Brian catches your wrist. “I’m being serious.”

Now your brow knits into tight agitated lines. “I’m curious as to why you think that’s something you have a say in.”

“Bloody hell, I’m not trying to offend you—”

“Job well done.”

“Dear, please, listen to me—”

“Eight months,” you hiss through your teeth as you tear away from him. “For eight months I’ve listened and avoided and resisted and ignored and it’s not going away.”

“Oh, fuck,” Brian breathes in despair. “You love him.”

There are tears biting in the periphery of your vision; you don’t want them to be there, but they are. Your voice is hoarse and trembling. “Bri, please don’t.”

Brian shakes his head and motions with his hands frenetically, desperately, trying to make you understand. “Look, sometimes...sometimes the people we love, the people who own us, the people who fucking set us on fire...they’re not the people we end up with. And that’s not always a bad thing. It’s necessary. It’s self-preservation. Because sometimes the people who set us on fire would burn us alive.”

You gape at him, furious, stunned. “That’s just fantastic, Brian. You’re a true romantic. Jesus christ, does Chrissie know about this? Is that why you’re with her, because she’s, what...safe?!”

“No, that’s not fair, Chrissie’s great, she’s steady and supportive and she’ll make a wonderful mother one day, and my parents adore her—”

“Those aren’t reasons to marry someone, Brian!”

“They are!” He leaps to his feet. “That’s what I’m trying to tell you! You have to think about these things, you have to be rational, you have to protect yourself—”

“Why the fuck do you care?” you flare bitterly.

“Because you saved my life.”

“Stop it, I didn’t.”

“You did, I truly believe that. And I want you to stay with the band. And I want you to be happy. But, dear, please, I’m begging you...this is not the way to do it.”

“I’m not going to go out to some pub and drag home a random guy who’s suitably passionless and predictable enough to be Brian-May-approved.”

“That’s not what I’m asking you to do—”

“Because you’re such an expert on relationships!” you shout, exasperated. “Planning to propose to Chris while you’re still secretly pining over some fling from New Orleans, fucking groupies and then having the nerve to mope around guilt-ridden the next morning as if anyone but you was responsible for that decision, and do I say anything about it?! Do I ever say a single fucking word about it to you, or Fred, or Roger, or your future wife, or anybody?! No, because it’s not my life!”

The dressing room door flies open and John storms inside. “What’s going on?!”

You cross your arms and stare at the floor. Brian’s wide green eyes flick to John, to you, back to John. If it was Freddie, Brian would tell him in a second, would try to enlist him in the effort, and it would probably work; but John is a different story. John won’t side with Brian over you, everybody knows that. And John has a talent for sharpening words into blades. “Um. Nothing.”

“I could hear you in the hallway,” John says flatly. “Obviously it wasn’t nothing.”

Brian points to you. “Have you tried to talk her out of this? Maybe you should, maybe she’d listen.”

“It’s not my choice to make, just like it isn’t yours. Worry about your own body count. It seems to be growing exponentially these days.”

Brian scoffs. “Because you’d be so thrilled if she ended up with him, right?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?!” you demand.

Brian and John glare at each other from across the room. John raises his eyebrows, daring Bri to answer. Brian gnaws his lower lip, but doesn’t elaborate. The air is heavy, tense, electrified.

“Don’t upset her again,” John says darkly.

Brian shows the white palms of his hands in surrender. “Fine.”

John waves for you to follow him. “Come on.” And he slams the door behind you as you both escape into the hallway.

“I’m sorry.” You chase away stray tears with the back of your hands. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to get anyone worked up right before the show...”

“Don’t worry about it. I treasure any excuse to harass Brian.”

You study him, seeking answers, seeking more than you know how to put into words. “Do you think I’m being stupid? If you do, you can tell me.”

“No,” John responds carefully. “I think you’re being hopeful. And I’d like to believe that stupidity and hopefulness are two very different things.”

You smile. “I don’t deserve you.”

“That’s very inaccurate.” He fluffs his hair with his fingertips. “Do you want to touch it before we go on stage?”

You feign demureness. “Hmm...”

“Oh come on. You know you want to. It’s extra voluminous right now, Roger shared some of his magical mousse or whatever. Something way too expensive. You should thoroughly berate him for it.”

You laugh. “I’ll see what I can do.” You comb your hands through his brunette hair, and John’s right; it’s extraordinarily full and soft, and smells like honeysuckles. “You always know how to get me smiling, don’t you?”

“You do insist that I have game. Though I remain skeptical.”

“Good luck tonight. Not that you need it.”

John’s rough thumb lifts your chin, then whisks away a tear you missed. “You’ll be watching, right?”

“I always am.” And that’s the truth; you haven’t missed a Queen show since you met them.

He beams, those gentle grey eyes incandescent. “Then we’ll have an ocean of luck.”

~~~~~~~~~~

Exactly twenty-four hours later, Queen is in New York City.

The thunderous bassline of the opening act shudders through the concrete walls. You’re staring yourself down in the bathroom mirror under harsh florescent lights, your palms gripping the cold rim of a white sink, your eyes shimmering with black and gold shadow, your lip gloss slick and crimson. There’s not a single thing left to do. You’re running out of time.

You breathe in, breathe out, snatch your purse off the floor, breeze out into the hallway.

You can hear the boys’ laughter even before you open the dressing room door. Inside, Brian is tuning his Red Special with his mantis-like legs propped up on the countertop, John is attempting to teach Freddie how to make popcorn in a microwave without setting anything on fire, Roger is scrutinizing his hair in the mirror and frowning as he rearranges it with a comb.

“Hello, darling!” Freddie warbles. “Can I interest you in some delicious and expertly-prepared popcorn?” He opens the microwave, and smoke pours out. “Oh, you bitch!”

“I’ll pass, Freddie.” You glide to where Roger is sitting, knot your fingers through his blond hair, and tug his head back so you can kiss him. He tastes like mint gum and the ghost of smoke and reckless intemperance; he tastes like everything you’ve ever wanted. There are gasps, and surely dropped jaws as well; but you don’t have eyes for them. “Okay,” you tell Roger.

He stares up at you with huge, starry eyes, a dazed grin slowly lighting up his face. “You changed your mind.”

“Come find me after the show.”

“Yes ma’am.”

You move to wipe your blood-red gloss from his lips, but Roger stops you, knits his hand through yours, stands to meet you.

“Leave it,” he murmurs. “I want them to know.”

“Want them to know...?”

His lips touch yours again, smiling and scorching and ravenous. “That I’m yours.”

#roger taylor fic #roger taylor x reader #but you can never leave fic #but you can never leave #but you can never leave series #queen fic

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datingintampafails · 3 years

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Chapter 33: Robert*

Robert* reminds me of Peter*, in which, there’s confusion about names, the vibes are never quite right, and the date is pretty short. Though in this case, although we did talk for a longer time than Peter* and I did, the date itself was even shorter, a whopping 45 minutes.

Initially, Robert* likes me first on Hinge. His profile is not necessarily a slam dunk for me. He looks decent looking, though not my usual type, and has a chain bakery listed as to where he works. I like to think I am not a snob when it comes to careers, I’m pretty open-minded, but I do want to be with someone who has ambition and can have intelligent conversations with me since I am pretty well educated. Basically, someone around my level of thinking.

I decided to give the guy a chance and respond to his like by mentioning that I really like cookies at the place he works. He mentions that we could have a first date there and I responded by asking if he has dates with girls at his work often. He tells me he has only been working there a few weeks, so no. We legitimately talk about the different kinds of cookies for a while, then he moves on to ask me about what else I like. I mention my dog, then share that I space out and have trouble thinking on the spot and ask him about himself to see if it will also remind me of other things I like. He talks about seeing friends and playing video games, adds he “Doesn’t get out much.” Without missing a beat, he asks me what I’m looking for on dating apps. The dreaded question. I ask him to tell me first. My reasoning being, I feel like many men will cater their answers to what you want, instead of telling the truth. He writes me a long answer then gives me a TL;DR (too long; didn’t read) that is maybe ⅔ the length of the original message, so not that short, that says “going with the flow, down for a consistent [friends with benefits] or relationship, whatever happens, just not a one-night stand.” He announces it is then my turn to respond. I tell him I feel more or less the same, as his original longer message, but that I am not as much interested in the friends with benefits thing. Specifically, I say that with FWB, there needs to be an opportunity, or “nahhh.” I say that expectations only bring hardship and lightheartedly say I like to ask super important questions early in relationships, i.e. like my survey/application from way back when, and add “like cookie choices.” He asks me to clarify my opportunity or nahhh and says he is an open book and I can ask him anything. I explain my feelings more, saying that I don’t see the point of sticking around if someone is dead set on not wanting a relationship with me, as well as it is usually temporary and almost like a holding pattern. I ask my most important question, which is if someone wants children or not.

I get a slight argument back from him, regarding the FWB thing, saying that it can turn into more. I argue back, saying that it is still something that needs to be wanted, or at least both parties from the start can think “maybe someday.” He says this and that about the FWB, before answering my question. He says, more or less, he is open to it but it isn’t a necessity for him, however, he definitely doesn’t want kids right now. He asks me how I feel about it and I express I do not want them but would be open to adoption. He says that’s fine with him and quickly says, “Any other questions.” I am not meaning for this to be an interview. I say I do have a question, but that it is more of an open-ended/ statement that can be responded to. All I say for my “question” is the phrase “trump.” I also let him know I am going to sleep soon so we can continue our conversation in the morning. He does not like my question, that is that he says it is too vague and isn’t helpful for political discussions. I tell him that is my point, and that I am looking for him to express his feelings and that I can either oppose, agree, or somewhere in between. He says likely there would be all three. I go to sleep so I do not respond.

He greets me in the morning with a good morning. I greet him back, though I remind him I am still waiting on his opinions. It is a Saturday, so I also let him know I am about to present for a Zoom conference. He says he’s at a rowing camp and on a break from that, then asks me about my conference. He again requests that I be more specific than just “Saying one word.” I tell him about the conference, but regarding the political question, I send an eye-rolling emoji again saying that that is the point of the open forum, that I am looking for a blanket statement of his feelings regarding Trump.

He again asks about my presentation, and how it went, then goes on to give a pretty neutral debate, saying there’s good and bad, though it seems he veers more towards being a Trump fan, which is not my preference. Robert* offers to me that I can ask any questions about his stance. I am thinking, I do not need an invitation, I have a question and I will ask it.

Robert* inquires what I am doing the rest of the night. I say I’m staying in as I am going to Disney World the next day. I ask him what he is going to do the rest of the night, as that is the societally polite thing to do. I am asked AGAIN if I have any questions to ask him. He also says that he “wanted to do something with someone tonight. Chill night in maybe? Not necessarily sexual. Just relaxing, drinking some wine maybe.” My response is “haha sorry i don’t think i’ll be ‘someone’ today,” both calling him out on obviously being thirsty, as well and reiterating I am not planning on going out tonight. He admits defeat, saying that he didn’t think I would be either, but it was “worth a shot to ask.” However, he does say he does want to get together sometime.

Immediately before I can even respond to that, though, he asks me where in Disney I am going tomorrow. I tell him that Monday I could look at my schedule and put together a time and day we could meet up. I also express that I do not want to meet him at either of our places, mostly because of the stunt he had just pulled. I tell him my Disney World plans as well. He says that it is fine to talk about going out on Monday and says that “that would’ve been the plan” to not hang out at either of our places, despite what he had just said earlier about having a chill night in. I call him out on this, reminding him that he had just said something different, his response being, “yes, sorry if that made you uncomfortable. Im horny as all hell but my intentions are good and i can keep it in my pants. I promise.” How romantic. I send a laughing emoji and say that we’ve all been there before. He says he didn’t want to cross the “TMI threshold,” wherein I say that it is difficult to TMI me, but that doesn't mean I won’t be judgemental. His next comment is awkward, as he invites me to judge, but says that he’s “done [his] fair share of crazy/dumb/slutty shit. As [he is] sure [I] have too.” Weird to accuse someone you are trying to woo of being a crazy dumb slut, but okay. I bring up that I had an abusive relationship but that even in that, I wasn’t completely devoid of wrongdoing. He asks if I am comfortable talking about that and is sympathetic. I tell him more about that and he asks for some of the red flags my ex but off that I ignored. For the billionth time, Robert* offers that if I have any more important questions that I can go ahead and ask. I briefly acknowledge he asked again, by saying “lol if they come up organically I’ll ask” before continuing to talk about my abusive ex. One of the things I mentioned was that my ex was very critical about my body habitus, that is, that I was too skinny. Robert* takes it upon himself to say, “ as far as your body, it seems like you have a great fucking body…. As long as you’re not unhealthy idgaf im attracted to you sooooo” then sends two heart-eyed emojis and a shrugging guy emoji. The line he draws is that his “hands are rated E for everyone,” the context being, if someone hit him he would hit back. I explained my body issues some more and that I have stomach issues, and have always been a small person. He misunderstands and thinks I’m talking about having abs or having a fatty stomach. With the context I felt I had given, I sent a bunch of question marks before adding that my stomach issues were internal. He apologizes a lot for misunderstanding and says he is glad I’m in a better situation.

In his mind, it’s now a great time to bring up that we should text or snap. I tell him that Snapchat is “for hoes” if you only talk on Snapchat. Referencing to myself Darren* mostly. He sends me his number and then I text him. The next day, I am off having a day with my friend at an amusement park. He texts me often throughout the day and I respond when I have a chance. My best friend is asking me “who is this one?” and by the time she asks this, I’m honestly getting a little annoyed. She’s still asking about John* and where he is at. “I don’t know what’s going on with him. We’re mad at him right now. He is doing that shit again. I have to play the game, you know?” I describe Robert* as being kind of needy. At one point, Robert* is texting and asking desperately when I’m free and when we can go out. I tell him “I’m still out I’m not focused on that right now” The overeagerness is kind of a turn-off. And as mentioned earlier, we had already agreed to plan things out on Monday, and it was Sunday. He responds “Ok nvm. We don’t have to talk about that. Sorry.” Maybe I was harsh but had to put this guy in his place. I get a barrage of questions about Disney World. I mention I’m wearing my hat like a frat boy. He responds jokingly, “disgusting, how dare you.” I continue the charade by saying “yep I haze the shit out of people.” Next, however, his response is too cringey, “Mmmm haze me frat mandy” and adds “I can go more cringe.” I reply, “no thanks.” I ignore him for the rest of the day and then when I get home I finally tell him 1) I’m home and 2) what days I’m available. He gets irritated as the two nights I am available, are the only nights he is working. I have some friends coming into town the next weekend as well, so I tell him I’m not really available since I want to hang out with them. We go back and forth on what to do then with our conflicting schedules. Finally, we agree upon doing something after my work, but before his work on one of the days, giving us a tight segment of time but that should be enough for more or less a meet and greet. Because he is the one that will have somewhere to go, I tell him that he’s in charge of the planning and logistics because I wanted to make sure he had enough time to get to work.

We chat superficially in the meantime, mostly about video games and a little about past relationships. And of course… more inviting me to ask questions again. He puts me on the spot regarding the date and is trying to make me plan. I put the responsibility back on him. Finally, he suggests a place he had been wanting to try, that is more or less like a juice bar that also does protein shakes, kind of a health shop. Not really my kind of place, but I’m making him do all the planning so I won’t argue. We both independently go on a search for menus/information. He makes a comment regarding finding the menu but no prices. He randomly comments while we are chatting about the place “have i ever said that youre really fucking cute,” to which I just respond “not like in those exact words.” He adds “but yea you are. I humbly brag, “thanks! I know this about myself.” Typical male response is, presumably joking, “ok you’re too cocky” “youre ugly” “gotta bring you down a peg.” To this I just say, “it’s called confidence/not being insecure.” He switches things around saying “i know confidence is sexy.”

I don’t respond to this and get a good morning text the next day and he makes small talk about how we slept and such. It is the day that I have a date with Timmy*, but of course Robert* doesn’t know this. He at one point texts me saying that his morning got really shitty. I ask him what’s wrong and all he says is “I’ll tell you about it later.” I wonder why people do this, like why bring it up if you aren’t gonna talk about it now? It all seems like a sort of test. I do not play these games. All I say in response is “ok.” He adds “if I don’t text you about it remind me.” I don’t respond. He texts me again asking how my work is going an hour-ish later. I say it’s hectic and he asks if I’m on lunch. I send him a message about not getting full lunch breaks. I don’t hear from him for almost five hours, and given his text earlier about his bad day, I figured something could be wrong given how clingy via text he usually is. I finally text him and ask if he is ok. He says he took a nap and asked again about work, making a point that it was better than his day. Enough of the baiting, I finally say snarkily, “yeah you still have to tell me [what happened.” He is hyping it up now, saying “fair warning - its sad” I don’t respond because I figure he would still go on and tell me what happens and it didn’t warrant a response, but then he adds “if you still want to know” a few minutes later. I honestly don’t care too much, “if you want to tell me.” He finally does tell me what happened, and essentially he saw a dog be hit by a car and had tried to help it with someone else who saw the hit but the dog, unfortunately, didn’t make it. I commend him on trying to help and he says that he did the right thing and that’s why his day sucked. I don’t really know how to respond to that, plus at this point, I am getting ready for my date.

I lie to him when he asks me about my night, saying that I am chilling. More small talk to my disgust, and I verify our plans for the next day. He makes a comment about not being able to see the prices anywhere. This seems to be a worry of his for whatever reason, so I tell him that we can do something else and that I am flexible. He is of no help, as all he says about this is “idk what else we’d do.” My response is “ok” and I say I’m going to bed. In the morning it is finally the day of our date and I let him know that unfortunately I forgot to bring a change of clothes with me to work, so I’ll be wearing my work outfit tonight. He makes a comment about how he’s never seen a cute girl not look good in scrubs, and I let him know that today is the day that changes.

During the day, he states he is thinking of driving by to check the prices of the drinks and that he’s also got a back up. I tell him he should do whatever he wants. I look the places up and they are about 25 minutes away from my work. I head on that way once my work is done and I arrive first. I wait in my car until he texts me to ask which car is mine. I get out of my car and grab my things, now realizing I parked next to a puddle of water and got my shoes a little wet. I laugh it off and say oh well. I see who I presume to be him getting out of a car on the other side of the parking lot. He’s wearing a light pink hoodie, a little different but hey, real men wear pink, right?

I approach him and say hello and give him a hug. We get our masks on and walk into the store. Immediately we are greeted by who I can only assume is the owner of the shop. He is bright and happy and gives us his spiel about the type of beverages they have there. Robert* is being very quiet and is very short with the worker, saying he doesn’t know what he wants and I should go first. I try to describe what I’m going for, and the worker says the exact thing on the menu I want is unavailable due to a delayed shipment, but suggests something else to me and I accept with recommendation. I am done ordering apparently too quickly, as my date is still undecided. The owner ends up just asking him if he likes snickers, the candy bar, and he gives a not-very-believable “Yeah” so the owner suggests to him a shake that is based on those flavor patterns. Robert* is asked if we’re paying together and I look to him, he lets out an apathetic, “sure” and it takes all of my energy not to scoff. The owner tells us that they’re giving discounts out if you advertise the location by sharing a photo on social media and I agree to do so, because why not.

Then it gets a little uncomfortable. The owner is trying to be extra personable and make it a personalized experience, so upon receiving Robert*’s card, he starts referring to him using his name that is on his card. The only thing is, the name I know him by is not the name on the card, nor any fort of that name, like a typical nickname. Under my face mask, I smile and almost laugh to myself like, you dumb bitch who are you even out with rihgt now. Additional peer pressure from the owner also leads to us giving him our emails and signing up for their loyalty program, which also knocks off some cents off our drink. When I give him mine, obviously everything is the same, but when he gives his email, his email does have the name that I knew him by in the address, so I figure okay maybe Robert* is a middle name or something. Because we were under one order, there was also some sort of combo discount included as well since he got a shake and, I, a tea.

As we walk away from the counter and take a seat on a couch maybe 10 feet away, Robert* abruptly asks “what do you think the damage is?” Immediately pulling out his phone and checking the receipt of our drinks. “Uh I don’t know…. Sixteen dollars,” I guess. I am honestly put off by his obsession on price. I understand money issues, but it is not appropriate for first date behavior. I am pretty close, as it is somewhere in the mid $15 range. He scoffs at the prices.

Now that we are sitting together, I am noticing really how disheveled and not put together he looks. He has overgrown stubble, too short to be a beard, but definitely not stubble from just the day. His skin all over his face and body is dry and flaky, especially on his ears. Again, I expect a little more from a man who has had days to prepare for this date. I have been sipping my drink for a while, and it is honestly delicious, one of the best beverages I’ve ever had. He asks if I would like to try his drink. “No thank you, I don’t think it would go well with my fruity drink,” I half lie. The major reason why is that I am weird about sharing drinks/food and that so far I am almost repulsed by him and don’t want to share anything with him.

Despite my lack of optimism already, I try my best to be upbeat and give him a chance. I am trying to start a conversation and ask him questions and get to know him more, but he is a brick wall. He’s just staring at me and not saying anything, occasionally taking sips from his shake. Many of his responses are very sarcastic and rude. He actually brings up the ears; he had a very bad sunburn and that’s why they looked like that. Doesn’t explain the rest of his look though, but at least he was aware of that. It is pretty warm in the shop. I already opted to leave my jacket in the car, but at one point he decided to take off his sweatshirt. Underneath was a red shirt with almost like a confetti cake type pattern, of little microscopic dots of different colors throughout. I compliment the shirt, and mention I have one of a similar type of fabric pattern. I am nodded at. I again continue to try and force conversation, but I am still getting nothing.

Randomly he says, “come here” and puts his arm around me, pulling me close. I am extremely confused, as I was getting very negative vibes from him all over. I make my confusion known by commenting about how that was out of nowhere. His only response is, “oh you know.” “No, I do not know. I have no idea what is going on right now.” He only just chuckles and is like “you’re a cute girl.” I furrow my brow in confusion and figure we should get some air and suggest we take a walk. I ran to my car and put the drink in my car as well as my bag, being light, only having my phone and car keys for the walk. We take off and just walk through a nearby neighborhood. We have maybe 10-15 more minutes until he has to get going so he can get to work in time.

Conversation is still moderately forced, but a little better. At one point, we come up to a tree where the branches overhang drastically over the sidewalk. Whereas before I had been walking on the street side, Robert* has swung around and walked into the street, whereas I choose just to duck under the branches, which is easier with me being shorter, although I would not say he is very tall either. I made a comment about not caring and that he could have just “pushed me into the street/out of the way” and continued on, jokingly, about how you have to put a woman in their place. He says “okay noted I see what you like now,” trying to turn it into something sexual, it seems. I pause a moment, becoming much more serious when I say, “you know I’m kidding. I’ve told you about my abusive relationship so obviously I am not a fan of battering women.” In this moment, he pulls me into an embrace and tries to kiss me. I lean away and ask him, “why is talking about abusing women the time to try and kiss me?” He makes an excuse saying that he just really wanted to kiss me. I lie again, making another excuse about why I don’t want to kiss him, “I’m more old fashioned I guess, I’d like to get to know someone a little better and make sure that we are compatible and know each other well before I do anything.” Again, not entirely untrue. For the five hundredth or so time, Robert* says that I can ask him any questions.

I check my watch and declare, accurately, “We should probably head back towards our cars, you need to head out soon.” We walk back to the parking lot, having idle chitter chatter. When we get to my car, it’s perfect timing, as an alarm he had set to make sure he left on time goes off. I start to say our goodbyes and he tells me again that he wants to kiss me. I make a noise that makes my discomfort known, and he says, “well what about a kiss on the cheek?” I say verbatim, “I’ll allow it.” He makes a sarcastic comment, mocking me about “allowing it.” I retorted back saying, “well yeah.” He sticks to his word and only does a cheek kiss, and I’m cringing and can’t wait to wash my face when I get home. Being polite, I ask for him to let me know when he gets to work.

Using my Apple Carplay, I ask my car to text him when I notice he is driving behind me. Though, as all I’m getting is audio, I don’t know exactly what I am texting until I get home later.

(the first two texts of mine are my car texting and not manually)

Immediately, he asks me my feelings about him.

I then offered Venmo him money for my drink, as obviously money was a huge concern for him. He accepts and sends me his Venmo. I sent him the money and let him know so.

And that is that. He doesn’t text me after that.

#dating #relationships #stpete #florida #tampa #tampabay #hinge #bumble #tinder #datingapps #baddates

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doomonfilm · 3 years

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Ranking : The Coen Brothers (1954/1957 - present)

Directing a film can be one of the most vast, task oriented and stress inducing undertakings imaginable, which makes it odd that more directing duos, specifically sibling duos, do not exist. Sibling duos like the Wachowskis, Hughes, Farrellys, Safdies and even the Zellners have made names for themselves, but one set of siblings easily towers above the rest : the Coen brothers. With nearly 20 films under their belt, and nearly as many stylistic varieties and storytelling approaches found within, it is hard to argue the impression they have left on moviegoers worldwide over the past nearly four decades they’ve existed professionally. With such a stellar record of films under their collective belts, I’ve decided to do the most stress-inducing task of all : rank these films from least to most favorite.

18. Intolerable Cruelty (2003) For a duo with so much distinct style and flair for storytelling, this film feels the least like a Coen Brothers film. If anything, this feels like a script that sat on a shelf in pre-development hell, possibly for years, only for someone considering themselves a bit of a ‘maverick’ or ‘forward thinker’ to discover it and think that a dose of Coen Brothers magic could save it. Even with the star power of George Clooney and Catherine Zeta-Jones behind it, this one feels a bit too ‘by the numbers’ to stand out from an oeuvre that nears perfection.

17. Hail, Caesar! (2016) I’ll be completely honest with you all... I don’t remember much about this film. I remember enjoying it, but I don’t remember being blown away by it. I remember enjoying the colorful display of old Hollywood, and it’s always refreshing to see George Clooney lean into roles that border upon slapstick. For as much as I found this film not all that memorable, however, it stands above Intolerable Cruelty simply because it does not trigger bad memories.

16. Burn After Reading (2008) This film is what Intolerable Cruelty wanted to be... a property that is a hair closer to by the books, but full of a screwball approach that heralds to a forgotten era of film while using an incredibly stacked cast. Of all the Coen Brothers films I’ve seen, Burn After Reading feels like the property that all involved enjoyed making the most. Like many of the Coen Brothers films, the cast on this one is mega-stacked, and from top to bottom, everyone involved shines in roles that go against their standard types, or amplify the most off-beat aspects of their performing ability.

15. The Ballad of Buster Scruggs (2018) The fact that Netflix was able to pull the Coen Brothers for a film is a win in itself, and with the duo choosing to do an anthology piece, Netflix was primed to maximize on their investment. While highly entertaining, however, the anthology nature of the property leaves it feeling a bit unfocused and disjointed at times... none of these stories really had enough meat on the bone to be expanded into feature-length films of their own, but for some reason, all parties involved passed on the opportunity to make a multi-episode serial rather than a film comprised of multiple tales. While using variance in storytelling methods and visual styles may work for some less talented directors, in the case of The Ballad of Buster Scruggs, it feels more like snack-sized bites in the place of true sustenance.

14. The Ladykillers (2004) On paper, this film should have been a disaster. The Coen Brothers generally opt for original stories, so the fact that they chose to adapt such an obscure 1950s property for the modern day was strange, especially in light of the fact that most every element with the exception of Tom Hanks’ character was given a modern update. Somehow, despite all of this oddness, The Ladykillers managed to capture a sense of the classic Coen Brothers slapstick comedy that they famously established themselves with early on in their career. Tom Hanks is given the green light to go completely ridiculous, and to much of the viewers’ delight, he does so with great aplomb. His supporting cast shines, the comedic turn brings new energy to the story, and the southern gospel setting brings a rich sense of spirituality to an otherwise run of the mill film.

13. O Brother, Where Art Thou? (2000) The Coen Brothers were essentially household names by the turn of the 20th century, but O Brother, Where Art Thou? propelled them into a legendary status. The grassroots mix of The Odyssey and the Robert Johnson crossroads legend took on a life of its own, leaving behind a soundtrack that birthed an entire generation of folk and bluegrass enthusiasts, as well as a film that showed the world George Clooney’s comedic chops. Much like The Ladykillers, O Brother puts viewers deep into the unfamiliar territory of Southern ‘discomfort’, with the African-American experience playing a major role in the narrative. Of all the Coen Brothers films one could use to introduce a stranger to their catalog, this one may be the best, as its infectious nature and stunning look leaves an impression on most anyone who has the pleasure to view it.

12. True Grit (2010) The Coen Brothers had already covered a wide bit of genre ground within their first three decades, but surprisingly, they’d not done a true western up to that point (though many argue that No Country For Old Men is a modern take on the western). Therefore, when it was announced that their first western would be a remake of the iconic John Wayne film True Grit, many were surprised, and curious if they could pull it off. Not only did they pull it off, but in my humble opinion, they made a version that more than holds its own against the original. For the handful of big name and seasoned actors that signed on, it was the breakthrough performance of relative newcomer Hailee Steinfeld that outshined all. While The Ballad of Buster Scruggs was a fun revisit to the world of the western, True Grit was the kind of achievement that makes me want more traditional westerns from the duo.

11. The Man Who Wasn’t There (2001) Listing the Coen Brothers films is by far the most difficult ranking I’ve done to date, and the first film that really gave me trouble in terms of placement was The Man Who Wasn’t There. Personally, I find this film to be captivating and nearly flawless... Billy Bob Thornton’s detachment is rich and intrusive, which makes it all the more sinister when he does choose to exude even a hint of passion about something, be it positive or negative. The black and white photography, in league with the tone of the film, puts me in the mindset of films like In Cold Blood, and some of the sequences in the film stand out as some of the most iconic in the world of Coen Brothers films, especially the car crash. For a classic-style film noir, a genre that anyone with half a brain knew was a slam dunk for the Coens, the duo went above and beyond to both modernize and wholly embody the style. One of several Coen Brothers films that sits with you long after the final credits have faded away.

10. Inside Llewyn Davis (2013) If this isn’t the darkest comedy in the Coen collection, it’s certainly giving the number one contender a run for its money. The intimacy of this film is unmatched within the broader collection of Coen characters, excluding The Dude, but the difference between Llewyn and The Dude is the personality equivalent of the difference between oil and water. You may marvel at Llewyn’s talent, but all the while, the film is screaming at you that “THIS IS A CHARACTER YOU SHOULD NOT ROOT FOR”. The symbolism found in the film is minimal while being incredibly effective in how it punctuates Llewyn’s personality and character, and the story structure is an equally subtle swerve that baits you into paying deeper attention, only to realize that the setup was the punchline the entire time.

9. The Hudsucker Proxy (1994) I’m a sucker for a Coen Brothers comedy, especially the ones that play like human cartoons, and one of their absolute best was The Hudsucker Proxy. The writing on this film is so tight that it would absolutely pop if it were any tighter. The entire A Christmas Carol-esque approach to the story makes it a wonderful moralistic tale that makes people laugh so much that they often don’t realize they are being taught a lesson about morals, integrity and self-respect. Tons of familiar character actors fill the frames, everyone tasked with supporting roles fit firmly and comfortably into the created world, and the man trio of Tim Robbins, Jennifer Jason Leigh and Paul Newman are functioning on genius levels of performance... especially Jennifer Jason Leigh. While not quite a holiday movie, there is enough of a holiday sense that it could be shoehorned into a seasonal viewing, but any time set aside for this gem is the right time to watch it.

8. Barton Fink (1991) In my humble opinion, this may be the strongest end to end performance from John Turturro in his long and storied career. As clear-cut fans of film, it is always a pleasure to see the Coen Brothers explore the world of film, and by using this approach, they are able to tell a bold, brash and haunting tale about the issues that come with assumptions about character and talent. The takes on Hollywood and the indifference of those in power, especially when it comes to assisting young and promising talents that may one day usurp them, and powerful. The real bow on the story, however, is the larger than life presence of John Goodman, who goes from being a slightly aggressive and overbearing sense of support to a literal madman by both name and action. For a film that mainly consists of individuals talking to one another about passion, talent and secrets, there is a kinetic energy that feeds the forward momentum of this movie, and for that, it stands out in the Coen collection.

7. Miller’s Crossing (1990) It’s not surprising that the Coen Brothers could make a compelling and memorable gangster film, but I don’t think that anyone expected a film as vicious and dark as Miller’s Crossing. For a duo that generally relies on nuance and contemplation to get their points across, this film certainly proves that they are more than capable of excelling in the direct approach as well. The era-specific costuming is outstanding, the murky city areas stand in stark contrast to the woods of the titular Miller’s Crossing, and the sheer volume of bullets are a stark reminder of the Prohibition-era story we are viewing. Gabriel Byrne shines in his lead role, bringing a world of fury, deceit and mistrust in tow with him. The iconic hat blowing in the wind serves as not only the biggest memorable moment from the film, but possibly also the single moment of peace and beauty found in a film that holds up a dirty mirror to a dark world.

6. A Serious Man (2009) Of all Coen Brothers films, this is easily the most underappreciated and slept on of the bunch. I’m a sucker for movies that embrace Murphy’s Law, and when mixed with the parable nature of the Book of Job, we are presented with a darkly comic and relatively unique version of the hero’s journey. The way that the personal, professional and philosophical problems pile up on Michael Stuhlbarg’s Larry are meant to be felt by the audience, and the way that his bad luck boomerangs out into the world during the film’s resolution must be seen in order to be believed. The way that destiny and chance dance around one another in this film is narratively breathtaking, and for such a subtle film, it is a truly remarkable achievement.

5. No Country For Old Men (2007) When you think of the Coen Brothers, you don’t necessarily think of evil incarnate, and yet, the duo succeeded in capturing a character in the form of Anton Chigurh, the closest thing to the Terminator that the duo has ever created (to my knowledge). The story is a wonderful, subtle tale of how the times can change into something we don’t recognize before we recognize the change, but it is easily Javier Bardem’s iconic performance that gives this film all of its power and ominous energy. His unyielding forward momentum, his disdain for obstacles in any form, and his disregard for human life are enough to instill real fear into those who partake in viewings, and his presence will more than likely haunt you far beyond completion of the film. A true modern-day masterpiece that would have been higher, if not for...

4. Blood Simple (1984) What a powerful debut, and one that not only hinted at, but outright put the spotlight on the promise of the Coen Brothers when it came to stark visuals and stunning storytelling. For such a simple, small scale story, the tangled web that is woven is a slippery slope of deception and distrust that leaves little to no survivors in its wake. The scale of the film is deceptively small, but the quality shines in every aspect that it can. Seeds are placed that pay off wonderfully, and the color palette presented gives the film the feeling of a Technicolor film-noir. Much like A Serious Man, Blood Simple deserves to be talked about and held up much more than it is by fans of film.

3. Raising Arizona (1987) What a wonderfully ridiculous movie about something as simple as the trials and tribulations of navigating love, marriage and parenthood. The most hilarious aspect of this film, in my opinion, is how it feels like a living and breathing cartoon, both in terms of the character performances and the outrageous events that take place within the world of the film. Nicolas Cage is operating on a completely different level, Holly Hunter is equal parts charming and hilarious, Trey Wilson is wonderfully over the top, John Goodman and William Forsythe bring excess hilarity to the wild proceedings, and Randall “Tex” Cobb is downright iconic in terms of his ridiculous character. The pacing of the film is breakneck and feverish, the comedy hits never stop coming, and the utter charm emanating from the midst of the caper presented is infectious. As a second film, this could not be any more different than Blood Simple, and yet somehow, it connected so vividly with viewers that it remains a must-watch film to this day.

2. Fargo (1996) What is there to be said about Fargo that has not already been said? For a duo with more iconic films to their name than some directors have completed films, Fargo was an immediate signal that the limits of the Coen Brothers’ creativity and skill had not even began to show its full breadth. Within less than five years of release, the film was already heralded as a classic (of all-time, not just modern day), the mystery surrounding its possibility of being based on a true story built a world of intrigue around the movie, and it has gone on to create a universe of its own in the form of an FX TV show that recently wrapped its fourth season. There is not a wasted role in this film, and to this day, any movie fan worth their salt will happily bust out their version of a Minnesota accent that is almost certainly based on one of the many memorable characters that inhabit the world of Fargo. Numerous actors, including William H. Macy, Frances McDormand and Steve Buscemi, all found breakout success in the wake of this wonderful film.

1. The Big Lebowski (1998) Was there ever any doubt for this placement? For everything that Fargo did in terms of success within the world of the film industry, The Big Lebowski did that and more for the worlds of the counter-culture and cult film fans. The story we are presented with is so simple, yet so ridiculous in its journey, that it almost insists on viewers revisiting it over and over. Like many Coen Brothers films, nobody cast in the film is wasted or misused, and due to these stellar performances, the film finds itself as one of the most quotable in recent memory. Much like the performances of the cast, the writing does not waste any words or opportunities, often referring back to itself in extremely subtle and nuanced ways that present themselves over time, and to hilarious effect. Nobody would have expected a film of this nature to have a fandom, and yet, the legions of fans for this film are unique to that of the Coen Brothers catalog in the sense of their dedication, devotion to and love of the movie. While not everyone’s cup of tea upon first viewing, The Big Lebowski is truly an example of the gift that keeps on giving.

If the Coen Brothers never make another film, they’ve already created and achieved more in their journey that most filmmakers can dream of. Many of their films could honestly be considered works of art, and nearly all of them are compelling with an ability to leave deep and lasting impressions. If you are unfamiliar with the Coen Brothers, do yourself a favor and check out their work, as it may bring a new sense of invigoration to your love of film.

Editor’s Note (12/10/2020) : Inside Llewyn Davis added to the number 10 position, all films ranked lower adjusted accordingly.

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vaguely-concerned · 2 years

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actually... is cytherea the first/only dead lyctor pre-harrow the ninth where they could actually retrieve the body?

cyrus: got sucked into a black hole. he's not coming back bro

cassiopeia: (allegedly I hold out some hope here) got torn apart by angry ghosts in the river. also unlikely to come back bro if true.

anastasia: got sent home from lyctor camp early due to taking the assignment too seriously, died on the Ninth and inside the tomb apparently (!)

ulysses: slam dunked right into hell I'm sorry to say. possibly not dead?? but he's been in there a long fucking time if so

(plus those who die during and after htn:)

augustine: ditto, and by that point there's only john left anyway. probably not dead in there or muir would likely just have had him die on his way towards the hellmouth but like... I'm not sure that's going to be a good thing for him or for anyone

mercy: I mean, I guess. it would be very john to clean her up and lay her out in their macabre mausoleum next to cytherea's now even more messed up corpse as if he weren't the one who murdered her

g1deon: his soul is gone but pyrrha is squatting in his body so it seems impolite to bury him yet I suppose (also when pyrrha emulates g1deon's body language so well even nona is very nearly fooled, one detail of it is looking 'uncomfortable in his own skin', which is... really sad. pyrrha is almost more comfortable in his body than he was after ten thousand years despite getting it second hand and clearly having some gender dysphoria feels around it as well. that's grim, G--.)

that does make a bit of sense of how they specifically treat cytherea's body (aside from all the metatextual 'beautiful dead girl/ophelia in the water' imagery it evokes and comments on) -- in ten thousand years it's the first time they've actually had anything physical left of the person they're grieving to go to. which is... sobering, I suppose, especially since her body is then desecrated, invaded and disrespected in several different ways in what used to be her home before the end of the book, proving just how much this home isn't keeping anyone safe, even the dead, even right under the nose of a god who doesn't seem to care too much about it, honestly.

#the locked tomb #the locked tomb spoilers #nona the ninth spoilers #ntn spoilers #nona spoilers #OG lyctor crew #the locked tomb meta

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film-masochisme · 4 years

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Heaven’s Gate (1980)

Directed by Michael Cimino

Doomsy’s Rating: 65/100

Heaven’s Gate, the famous, unequivocal disasterpiece that almost single-handedly destroyed the film-brat era of Hollywood, has had quite the reappraisal in recent years. This is hardly shocking, given a younger generation can look at a film like this, independent of its historical infamy, and judge the it without being told of its destructive forces. Michael Cimino, fresh off of two Oscar wins for The Deer Hunter, was given a blank check to go and make the project he desired, whatever it may be. And 40 million dollars (115 million today!) later, he came back with a three-and-a-half-hour epic of bloodshed, romance, tragedy and the death of westward expansion. The film’s financial maelstrom was nearly unparalleled—to this day, lone films don’t sink studios. When the dust settled and United Artists went bankrupt (the equivalent of a company like a24 going bankrupt!), almost never again would a studio shell out that kind of money to a director and give him final cut without a slam-dunk for their investment.

So, does the film’s reputation as one of the biggest turkeys of all time stand true today?

Well, to be honest... No.

To start off with, Cimino’s painterly style for the landscapes of Wyoming works wonders on an immersion level. There are endless shots of flat terrains amid snow-capped mountains that are feasts for the eyes and mind. The juxtaposition of the brutality and fascistic slaughter of immigrants at the hands of Sam Waterston’s evil Canton character (whose rhetoric is eerily similar to Trump’s), amid the serene and extravagant vistas conjure images to never be forgotten. The final battle sequences, in particular—plumes of gunsmoke and blasts of body parts amid beauty and horror—evince amazement at the sheer scope of Cimino’s vision and ambition. One moment in particular, a scene late in the film involving Christopher Walken’s character (the human heart of the picture), was so stunningly photographed it moved me nearly to tears. Even through all the notoriety, all the awful stories behind the scenes, Cimino’s perfectionist approach to every last detail shines through and it feels like a totally singular, engrossing journey. Truly, they just do not make films like this anymore.

Heaven’s Gate was, and still is now, a film of utter polarization. Some will watch it and be bored and frustrated with it. Others will declare it New Hollywood’s last great sweeping epic. And there are even then, those resting in between. I have to confess, I am in that latter category. Despite all the effort, and all the admirable qualities the film possesses, it’s just not as perfect as one would hope. Flawed would actually be an understatement, especially if one factors in the messy script. Even on paper, Cimino seems far more interested in capturing a mood as opposed to a three dimensional story. Visuals can do a lot in a film like this—they can make you forget where you are, even—but save a film from a weak script they can not.

The first of the film’s vices is a lack of proper character development. We are introduced to Jim Averill (Kris Kristofferson) and Billy Irvine (John Hurt) in an enormous spectacle of dancing and celebration at Harvard in 1870, and right away, problem number one arises: Hurt and Kristofferson are far too old be twenty, and it shows. Averill is then shown dancing with a girl, who promptly disappears entirely from the narrative, only to reappear at the end, but the film has been so long that by the end, we don’t remember her. This could be, in a twist of irony, because the film was so focused on Averill’s (and Cimino’s) obsession with sex worker Ella (Isabelle Huppert) that any other women in the film aren’t even named. Issue number two is Ella’s status as a sex worker is made to be her most readily defining feature, as if to create jealousy in the love triangle between herself, Averill and Christoper Walken’s Nate Champion (who spends most of his screentime doing nothing of note). By removing Ella’s agency and effectively relegating her to a token love interest, it is nearly impossibly to inspire sympathy with her plight.

As the film moves on and the nonstop dancing, shooting, yelling, and horse-riding continues, it becomes apparent that even though we are moving slowly toward the gargantuan showdown looming over the heads of everyone, we don’t know why we care. All motivation has been thrown out the window. I assume Cimino’s approach for this was to remove dialogue and carry all of it through the actors’ performances. However, Huppert and Kristofferson are startlingly uncharismatic and fail to sell the movie’s emotional core. Walken and a fantastic Jeff Bridges (who is underused) use their idiosyncratic acting styles to give the film its core, but even they are powerless against Cimino’s operatic direction. Whenever they seem to take control of the narrative, Bridges and Walken are tossed aside in favor of the wooden Kristofferson and the frequently-nude Huppert (who apparently didn’t speak much English at the time). It doesn’t surprise me in the least that Kristofferson didn’t take any leading roles after this; his hulking, gruff demeanor is better suited to supporting or villainous roles anyway.

I guess if there’s one thing to take away from Heaven’s Gate, all these years later, is that as long as the film industry goes on, precedents will always remain in place. This film isn’t a disaster by today’s standards in terms of artistic merit, but if you were a studio head in 1979 about to lose your company because of a narcissistic enfant terrible running around torturing actors and engaging in actual animal abuse for scenes (yes, that DID happen on this set), it would be hard to see any silver linings in this mushroom cloud of a movie. But today, everyone is worthy of a second chance in the walls of history, even the late Michael Cimino. And his film isn’t bad. Not a masterpiece, but I was never bored and that surprised the hell out of me given all I’d heard.

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chyrstis · 4 years

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I won’t ask for much (but just this once, I’d like you) 5/10

Here’s the halfway point, and it’s a bit of a whopper. I think this is probably my favorite chapter out the entire thing, with the first a very close second. The talk by the fire was one of the earliest scenes that gelled for me when planning the entire fic out, and I knew that if I wasn’t able to write much else, I at least wanted to get that part down on paper.

And if things go according to plan, I might have a little something extra to add to this tonight. ;)

Pairing: Sharky Boshaw x John Seed Rating: E (but only for Ch. 10, the rest are a solid T) Word Count: 7.3K

Link to AO3!

Ch. 1 / Ch. 2 / Ch. 3 / Ch. 4 / Ch. 5 / Ch. 6 / Ch. 7 / Ch. 8 / Ch. 9 / Ch. 10

(and there’s a bonus fic to go with this one too)

—

Sharky steals a boat. It just happens to be John’s boat, and when it’s damaged along with his boathouse, John proceeds to lay out a means of having Sharky pay him back. [No Cult AU]

———–

Maybe the work schedule wasn’t as ironclad a thing as it used to be.

John liked routine, sure, and had been real anal about it when Sharky had first started out, but there was a flexibility to it now. It was no longer always about when, so long as it was done, and he could work with that.

So, he took a morning off when he needed it. Took on a few more jobs around town for anyone willing to let him shoulder it, and if there was any overlap, all it took was one message to clear it up. John was willing to work with him now, and that alone was a relief.

...But if some nights lead to more chances to hang with him one-on-one without working, Sharky didn’t complain either. Got more time around John’s plane, and even got to pitch in when it came to working on his car too.

The real shocker for him on days when he did have to work, though, had been the fresh boards and nails set. The signs that someone else had been working down there when he hadn’t.

When he’d asked, John didn’t confirm it. He didn’t deny it either, but after ten minutes of standing around and talking with him, he grabbed a nearby hammer and took a spot right next to him. Went right to work, without even batting an eye, and Sharky couldn’t believe it. Grinned brightly at him as he punched him in the shoulder, and found he wanted John there for once.

This was starting to feel a whole lot like he’d made a friend.

One that was cagey in a whole lot of ways still, and one he couldn’t exactly pop down on the couch with for a weekend of pizza, beer, and porn to sort through, but close. And thinking it over, he didn’t find himself minding the change all too much either.

But some nights John needed to shift things around, and when Sharky woke up that morning nursing a hangover, he had a message waiting for him.

Family, John mentioned, the text sent at an hour that made his head pound harder. Have to reschedule. Sorry.

no bg deal he sent back, fumbling at his phone. hollar if you need me ltr no plns

Then went right back to sleep. With the day open, he spent the morning seeing how long he could go without pants before anyone else dropped by.

All too quiet after that, he’d nearly gone stir crazy when Hurk called, wanting his expertise on a special job. One that was better suited to two heads rather than his one. Or better yet, four hands, each for holding a stick of their brand of high explosive. That’s how they fished, and sure, it stirred up every other critter in the area, but as long as they weren’t ambushed by bears or cougars, it was a risk worth taking.

Mid-throw was when his phone went off. Just a message, not a call, but it made his pipe bomb go wide, and nearly had the two of them go for a dunk themselves.

Change in plans. Come over.

No further clarification, no explanation from John; just those words. Not that he went off on long tangents through text, but it was the quickest turnaround Sharky had seen yet, and he actually pulled out his phone to call him.

Holding a finger to one of his ears to block some of the sound, he waited. Heard the echo of an explosion in one, and ringing in the other only to get nothing but John’s voicemail.

“Hey, I’m going to have to cut out on this.”

“Now?” Hurk asked, with a stick of dynamite in each hand. “Just when I was thinking of getting ol’ Sally out?”

Sharky never held up well in the face of his cousin’s disappointment, especially when he pulled out that tone of voice, but held strong.

“Yeah, sorry. It’s…I’ve got this weird message to check out, and you can never tell if it’s gonna be the good kind or the bad kind until it’s hitting you in the face, and there’s not a whole lot to go on here.”

“Fine, get on out, go, go, go. I’ll be here for a while, but if I catch something cool you’ll be sad you missed out.”

Pulling up to John’s place, Sharky still hadn’t pinned down what the problem was. The boathouse catching fire wasn’t likely. He’d put out any cigarettes over by the picnic table, ‘cause he’d made too much progress there to blow it now.

Ticking off other options on his fingers, he narrowed them down as he made his way to the front, and was still down to two when he hit the doorbell.

The door swung open, but John wasn’t the one waiting on the other side.

It was Jacob Seed.

Ex-military. Private. Rocked the rowdiest set of scars he’d ever seen on a person. At least, judging from the ones he could see on his face. Probably hunted guys in the woods for sport, or at least thought about it, and had the training to do it if he wanted to.

Sharky could count on his fingers the number of times he’d run into the guy outside of the odd job in the mountains, but he knew he wasn’t the kind, friendly, approachable type. No, standing taller than most, Jacob didn’t trade more than a handful of words with anyone outside of Eli Palmer, and maybe the local hunters up north.

And if he thought John was bad, Jacob’s stare was a full-blown weapon. It made Sharky squirm on the spot.

“Uh, yo.”

“Boshaw.”

“How’s it going?” he asked, smiling a little too wide to keep it casual.

Jacob shrugged. “It’s going. You?”

“Kinda. Something’s always going. it’s just not going much right now if you get what I’m-well, what I’m getting at.”

Get what I’m getting at? What the hell was that?

The longer Jacob kept him there, the more he was going to try and fidget his way out of there, and he knew he was being read. Maybe even being messed with at this point, but he didn’t cut and run. Not yet.

“Is John around?”

“You here for something?”

“Yeah it’s…you know about the whole working-with-your-younger-bro thing, right? How I’m down by the river, putting shit up, and trying to make that entire area pretty again? Well, he got a hold of me. Mentioned wanting to work, and thinks he can snap his fingers and I’ll jump or something.”

Jacob’s glance took on an amused bent. “Does he? How high?”

“Uh, I can jump up to three, maybe four feet, but that’s not…it isn’t-”

That was it. That was it in a nutshell, and joking about it didn’t make it any easier to swallow.

Groaning, he crossed his arms and didn’t even bother looking Jacob in the eye this time around. “So, is he here, or…?”

Jacob moved his head, motioning behind him, and stepped aside. “He’s upstairs.”

With the path now open, Sharky took it a little faster than needed, not wanting to hang back too much or stay close to Jake. But that left him standing in the middle of John’s ranch house - and seeing the whole thing in full for the first time was a lot to take in at once.

Because when he’d mentioned loving nature shit, this was that on steroids. Like someone had told John this was what a cabin should’ve looked like instead of what one actually was. The antlers, the chandelier, the fucking bear skin rug? All surrounding one giant, roaring fireplace? It wasn’t even cold yet, and John had the whole thing done up to the nines.

That had him chuckling as Jacob took a few steps towards him.

“Something funny?”

Jolting slightly, Sharky shoved his hands into his pockets.

“I, uh…no. Okay, a little. You ever see those Hallmark movies? The ones set at Christmas, or just up in the mountains?”

Jacob craned his head towards him.

“Y’know, the kind where two people are snowed in, having to wait it out and huddle for warmth and shit?”

“No.”

Okay, so maybe he hadn’t seen too many either, but he’d seen the one. Hadn’t even been one of those parody pornos dressed up as one, so he had some genuine experience there.

“Well, uh, the place looks like that. Like, John’s staging it for something along those lines. Just for cuddling, huddling, and uh…yeah. Holiday stuff.”

“Stuff.”

“Stuff and things, yeah.” That actually got a snort out of Jacob, and Sharky gave himself a mental pat on the back. “I’m serious. Like that couch is primed for mistletoe and some uh, ho ho-holy shit, I’ll stop now.”

There was the sound of a door being slammed, and Sharky jumped. Seconds after, he caught John on the upper level as he strode towards the stairs, and breathed a sigh of relief.

Sharky called up to him. “Yo, man. Thought I’d need to-“

That’s when he caught the dark look crossing John’s face for the first time. That, and the actual speed with which he was walking. Asking was a mistake, but it was out of his mouth before he could stop it.

“Uh, John? You okay, amigo? You want me to come back another-“

John grabbed his arm as he passed by, and dragged Sharky along with him. Right past a concerned Jake, and right past the front door, leading him down towards the dirt road.

“Whoa, hey, wait!”

Nothing clicked, not his words and not the way he tried to pull away. John was a man possessed, focused only on a single point, and that didn’t sit well with him at all.

“Seriously, dude, stop!”

Sharky planted his feet, and yanked his arm out of the grip. That brought John to a stop, and Sharky watched him slowly turn towards him. Breathing harder than he should’ve been, Sharky took off his cap and brushed a hand through his hair.

“What the fuck, man?”

Tense, and with his jaw locked, John didn’t even bother giving him a response. Just a stare that would’ve killed any other person dead if he’d had the ability. Still, he wasn’t chasing him off, or leaving, and that made Sharky keep on trying.

“You wanna talk or something? You really look like…”

“What I want,” John bit out as he walked right up to him, “is to get as far away from that fucking house as possible. I don’t care where as long as it’s not here.”

Sharky sucked in a breath, not prepared for that level of venom or John’s sudden proximity, and let it out. “Uh, okay. Shit, let’s…let’s go then. Not like I was in the mood to work anyway.”

Shuffling around him, Sharky started back towards his car, and waved for John to follow. The heat of his stare wasn’t as bad from this distance, but it didn’t let up until John dropped it to climb into the passenger side of the vehicle. He fired the car up after that, hoping the damn thing wouldn’t stall, and the two sped out of there before anyone could come calling.

“Now I know what works for me whenever shit like that gets me down.”

Sharky turned on the radio only for John to flip it off. Balking at him again, Sharky noted that this time the road was the one having to deal with John glaring at it, and he tried to keep as light a tone as he could manage.

“Anyway, you need an outlet. Something to kick all that negative shit in the balls hard enough to make three family lines regret it. So, you can shrug it off, get up, and go back to living life like you want to. Maybe this won’t be your thing every time, but I think you might like this.”

“…Like what?”

“Well, I’d explain it to you, but this is one of those things where it’s better just to give it a try. Not to spoil any of the surprise as we head on out, but it rhymes with…shit. What rhymes with burn?”

Urn. Turn. Learn. Yearn. That was a good one. Not that he needed it for anything, but it was good to know. Fuck. Did he say burn out loud too?

Swearing under his breath, Sharky shook his head. “Anyway, a little ‘Burn, Baby, Burn’ never hurt anyone. Least, not anyone worth knowing.”

John said nothing, leaving Sharky to listen to the sound of the road as it crunched underneath the car’s tires, but right as he’d started tapping out an uneven rhythm on the steering wheel just to break it up, he heard him sigh.

“Hey, I promise it won’t be lame. Yeah, it’s not for everybody, but…”

He stopped talking when he saw John place his head in his hand. Covering his eyes, Sharky heard the catch in his breathing, and wished like hell he had the right words for him.

Unable to offer anything else, Sharky shifted his eyes back to the road. “Yeah.”

---

“Now I know you’ve seen it once before, and it ain’t fancy,” Sharky said after pulling up to his house, “but I’ve got a place to sleep, a rocking sound system, and when I need it, lots and lots of storage space for…stuff. Like real fun stuff, but not the illegal kind, ‘cause I don’t want you thinking that. Well, not a lot of it, just some of it.”

John was looking around now, taking in the area as he and Sharky got out, and Sharky led him out across the lawn.

“My house is your house, so settle on in and pull up a chair. The show’ll start soon as I can get this all together, and make it one worth waiting for.“

He shoved some wood into the area designated for his bonfires, and patted himself down before heading over to where he kept his propane. Rooting through the items, he picked up the bottle of lighter fluid – he’d start small, no need to have a full blow-out right off the bat – and glanced over his shoulder to see what John was doing.

He had approached the firepit while Sharky was busy; still silent, but looking closely at it.

“You doing good there, amigo?”

John’s head angled towards him. “Well enough.”

That he’d said anything at all was an improvement, but Sharky didn’t believe it for a second. Not with his back towards him, as he walked back to the pit.

John watched closely as Sharky sprayed the wood liberally with the lighter fluid. Then added more after, and when he tipped it over to slap at the bottom of it to get the last few drops out, John finally spoke up.

“You’re not serious.”

“Can’t have a decent barbeque without flames, man.”

“That many?”

The wry look he gave him stopped Sharky in his tracks. Or maybe it was the way the corner of John’s mouth was inching up. In spite of everything, he’d managed that at least, and Sharky felt his mouth go dry.

“Uh, yeah.” He held out a matchbook to him, and hoped he could keep it steady. His voice was a lost cause, but his next few words were better in line. “Kinda disappointing if you light it up only to have it fizzle out. Can’t get any perks out of that.”

“And this was your plan all along?” John’s odd semi-smile stayed in place, and only seemed to grow. “To invite me here to burn it off? Literally?”

He wasn’t wrong, but seeing as this was his usual go-to and yet not, Sharky really didn’t want to get into the nitty-gritty of it all. Not now, at least.

“You wanted out, and no other place in the county’s better prepped for this, so a quick ride to Boshaw Manor made sense. I know when shit’s gone south and there’s no hope of me shaking that feeling, this works, and I try to foster an environment here that’s all about letting loose when you need it. Pants-free preferred and encouraged, but by no means required.”

“Good to know,” John teased.

He hoped like hell John couldn’t clearly see what was happening with his face right now, but at this distance it was impossible not to.

“But you, uh… You seriously looked ready to rip a bear’s fucking head off, and I thought it’d help. So, here. Light it, and after we pop one off, maybe we can get more going. Kinda sad as is right now.”

Waving the matchbook in the air, he grumbled to himself as he dropped his eyes. But he felt John take the matches, and looked up again in time to see him light one.

John watched the flame dance in front of him for a few seconds, shielding it from the breeze with his hand. Leaning over to peek at it, Sharky nearly brushed shoulders with him, and wondered how long he was willing to hold onto it.

Pretty long at this rate, as the flames licked the wood and traveled towards his fingers.

“You gonna drop that?”

“In time.”

“‘Cause that’s going to get you if you let it stick around any longer.”

Not that he hadn’t let himself get distracted by the warmth of the fire before. How it flickered as it moved, wanting it all that much closer as it inched its way down towards him.

“Surely you don’t think I’m not paying attention to it.” Irritation crept into John’s voice, but he still wasn’t dropping the match.

“Seriously, man, I can treat a rowdy-ass burn if I have to, but that shit’s going to bite.“

“Charlemagne, I have it handled-“ John flicked his hand fast as he yelped in pain.

The match went out, leaving the two standing there in front of the neglected pit. Sharky tried not to, but there was no way he could keep the laugh from slipping out. John’s sharp look shut him up a second later, only breaking eye contact to keep on waving his hand.

“Yo, you okay?”

“Fuck,” John muttered, blowing on his fingers. “Everything’s fine.”

Sharky didn’t nudge him with his shoulder, but was tempted to as he watched John continue to try and sooth the burn.

“Sure about that? I can be back in two shakes of a jackrabbit’s tail if you want.”

John didn’t waste time lighting the next match. “I’m fine.”

His hands went up, backing off completely. But at that point he had something else to focus on. The fire was dancing in the wind again, and when John let the match fall into the pit, Sharky didn’t take his eyes off of it for a second.

The warm glow took, then grew. Rising slowly but surely as the fire found its footing, and he let out the breath he was holding. There it was. The feeling that washed over him, one that sank down deep into his bones.

Like coming home, in a way. Every time.

Sighing in contentment, he gave John a quick once-over. His attention was on the fire too, locked onto it as he slowly rubbed his fingers together. No one ever seemed to respond to it like he did, but the focus was there, his eyebrows drawn together as he kept on studying it.

John still kept on rubbing at his fingers, though. He had to bother the singed one, even if he was too stubborn to bring it up again.

Sharky stepped back, and gave John a light tap to the shoulder.

“Be right back. Gotta grab something.”

Jogging over to his house, he pushed open the door and made a beeline straight for his bathroom. Anything he had for first aid was scattered across the property if not left outside, so one minute became two, then became five as he rooted around the place.

Fishing the tube of burn cream out, he sighed in relief.

It had taken the edge off of some of his worst ones - the scars on his sides and back tingling as he subconsciously recalled them. Considering how often he tangoed with fire at all, he’d all but accepted it at this point, and was glad that John wasn’t rocking anything worse than what would be a light blister.

Band-aids were down to slim pickings, however. There were only five left, but he picked the best fit and made his way back out to the pit, taking a short stop by the fridge for beer and one hastily-filled glass of tap water.

Water was the last thing on his mind most nights, but John needed something out there, and Sharky tried not to stress over it too much as he rushed back out.

John started when he handed it over.

“What’s this?” He took the glass, and eyed its contents.

“Water. You know, for drinking?” A sheepish grin inched across Sharky’s face as he made the motion with his hand. “Didn’t want to leave you hanging without anything, and my fridge’s full up with beer, so…”

“Ah. Thank you,” he said, losing the suspicious tone immediately.

He took a light sip of it and Sharky didn’t miss the way he wrinkled his nose. Probably better used to the fancy stuff they’d filter before bottling, but John still held onto it. Doing that instead of spitting it out onto the ground earned him a point or two on the ‘Don’t be an asshole’ scoreboard, but Sharky would never admit it to him.

“And those?” John asked.

“I know you said you were fine, but here.” Sharky handed the items to him, and John set his glass down. “Best stuff for burns around. Slap some of this on, and in a day you won’t even feel it.”

“Are those…dinosaurs?” John held the bandage up, flashing the green tyrannosaurus rex at him.

“Yeah, man. Dinosaurs are badass. I don’t know if Jurassic Park was your thing or not, but I had that on repeat for a good three months after it came out. Solid gold right there, and great for hand-holding or grabbing during any tense shit.” He held his hand up as he leaned in, and waggled his eyebrows. “Guaranteed. Like sixty to seventy-five percent chance of getting some action too.”

John furrowed his brows, and kept the band-aid pinched between his fingers. Both unimpressed and unconvinced, which disappointed Sharky a little, but didn’t surprise him much either.

“Anyway, that was the first one I grabbed, but I think there’s another in there if you’re more of a triceratops fan. Or raptors?”

John slowly shook his head. “I’ve-I don’t have a preference.”

“Well, there you go. And I know you like blue and all, but green’s clearly the superior color here. Just saying.”

He clapped him on the back, and John gave him a withering glance before putting it on.

Dragging over a couple of chairs, Sharky popped them close to the pit - but not close enough to catch any sparks - and settled in. He kicked back and wished he could’ve propped his feet up, but with the other chair in use he had to make do, and leaned as far back as the worn fabric would let him. It strained against the motion, but held, and he knew there was a still a fair chance he’d bust a hole in it, or topple over. Just not now, at least.

“…How did this start?”

Glancing over at John, Sharky sat up when he realized he’d asked him a question. “What?”

“How, or when did you start doing this? The fires? Or, whatever this ritual is.”

“Ritual? This ain’t anything fancy like that.” Rubbing the back of his neck, Sharky let out a long whistle. “But fuck, how many years has it been now?”

Well over twenty. Since that day when he’d had skating on his mind, that and Wendy. He had such high hopes going into the day only to find a whole other thing worth keeping on for.

“Would you believe my first time was at a skating rink? This old place that used to be down by Fall’s End. Neon lights, tricked out wallpapers, and all the oldies you could ask for?”

“Concerning you? Yes.”

John sounded so sure of it. Like he could see the memory just as clearly as Sharky did. That got a warm laugh out of him.

“Imagining that sticky carpet, the flat soda, and those tunes? Real nice, right? It was the highlight of my month. Getting invited out there, pulling off some of my finest moves out on the floor. But I had to set the mood before heading in, and had a roll of quarters ready and everything.”

A grin settled in, almost fond as he recalled the start of it. The promise had been there, all right. He’d finally get a chance to say something. Do something, instead of dreaming about it. Funny how he’d dive into so many other things without thinking, but this? This he’d thought about. Over and over. Wanted it right.

“So?” John’s voice cut through again, shaking him out of it. “What happened?”

“I really wanted to ask this girl Wendy out. Had some good one-liners going, and had watched plenty of movies beforehand that I knew she liked. Wanted to really wow her, and show her what’s what.”

That had been the first pass of the plan. It seemed foolproof. Then he’d reached the rink after he’d crammed one too many quarters in the jukebox. Took one good look at her as he skated up, and…

John’s growing frown mirrored his own. Maybe even too well.

“It, uh-it didn’t go like I wanted. Went with my gut once I saw her, and thought I’d just -my hands started going everywhere.”

Confused, John thought over his words, and Sharky hoped he wouldn’t have to spell it out. “You grabbed her?”

“I…might’ve grabbed something.”

Realization hit John hard. “You groped her?”

“Like I said, it could’ve gone a lot better! Instincts being bad and all.” Dodging his eyes, Sharky held up his hands and faced the fire. “Look, it was a dumbass move, and I got a skate to the balls for it. Still, really wish I’d tried dancing instead. No way she would’ve turned down a date with a dude pulling off a solid moonwalk. On wheels.”

“Surely,” John huffed.

Flipping him off, Sharky sighed before continuing.

“So, I head out back. Figure I could light up a cig or something. Take the edge off that way. Well, I decided I’d light a trash can on fire too. See if I liked it, and soon the whole damn back-alley’s on fire. Like burning high with no hope of stopping. It spread, took half of the place out in the process, and yeah, it sucked. But it sucked a whole lot less after seeing that too.”

“That was…not the story I was expecting it to be.”

“Lot of people say that after hearing it. And that’s all of like, three people that even bothered listening to me while I was telling it, but it is what it is. Sucks that it took out that place, though. Seriously, had a great sound system there and everything.”

John raised a hand to his mouth, eyes on the fire instead of on him, and smiled. “Thank you. You didn’t need to share that with me.”

“Eh, it’s nothing. You asked, and I told you what’s what.”

“Not everyone’s as comfortable doing that. And certainly not even half as honest.” John folded his hands on his lap, and leaned forward to rest his forearms on his thighs. “It was Joseph. Tonight, back at my ranch. He wanted to talk. This typically isn’t a problem, but he decided to do what all older brothers believe is their right, I suppose.”

“What, like go over some fantasy football stats? Or more like rite-of-passage-type stuff, ‘cept the holy kind. ‘Cause he’s not gonna take you to a cathouse, or nothing.”

“Please never say that again,” John said, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“Uh, which part? The football, or the...er, the part where he’s trying to help you get laid, except not?”

“That one. You see, he wanted to talk expectations. My role in the family overall, and how he wants me to rise to them.”

“That’s uh, kinda harsh. Assuming he said some pretty rowdy shit to you.”

“Not all of it,” John admitted, “but it wasn’t what I wanted to hear. Usually when talking about regrets and hopes for the future, not all parties will be on the same page. He was on one, and I the other, and…I didn’t handle it as gracefully as I would’ve liked.”

“But did you think he was right?”

“I don’t know. It’s too soon to say, and I’m still not inclined to agree considering how he presented it to me.”

“But you know why he did that, right?”

John’s eyes were still on the fire, but caught his when he turned away from it. “Do you have any siblings?

Sharky shook his head. “Uh, no. Parents never planned for any of that, and they sure as hell weren’t planning on me. I’m one of those miracle babies. The kind that defy expectation, if you will. They swore up and down they’d used the pill, bagged that shit, and tried damn near everything to keep from throwing a bun in that oven. Still, nine months and some change later I popped out. Was as meant to be as my Grandmama swore I was, and…it’s weird in a way. Knowing that, and still knowing the other end of it too.”

“That you weren’t wanted?”

John was looking at him differently now. Catching something Sharky wasn’t sure even he’d see after checking five times in the mirror for it, and didn’t seem as cagey as before.

“I had someone that did want me. Wasn’t the one that had me to begin with, but that’s alright. Family’s not always blood - not directly. I got Hurk, I got my Auntie. Maybe even Xander, if she plans on keeping him around, but they give a shit about what happens to me. Let me know at least once a week too if they ain’t too busy to stop by, so it’s gotta be nice in some ways. Having brothers. Having that, at least.”

Taking in a deep breath, Sharky didn’t know how to tackle this next part. Knew he was probably going to be like a bull in a china shop, but he’d try. He had to.

“Now I don’t know enough about you all to really say much, so tell me to fuck right off if you need me to, but…they seem like the caring kind. Even though Joe’s got his whole family unit going on - his weird, not-a-cult, but kind-of-a-cult aside. And Jake’ll always give me the creeps, but I feel like you’d also warn me if he was setting me up to head out into the woods and fight me - mano a mano, ‘Most Dangerous Game’ style - so I think we’d be all right.”

“They’re not one, and he’s not about to,” John replied. “And maybe it isn’t your place to say.”

That shut his mouth. “…Sorry.”

“But you’re right.” Shifting his gaze to the ground, John’s next few words were softer, almost too quiet to hear. “Both of my brothers are all I have in this life. The ones that I would do anything for, and for years we truly thought we’d lost each other. There was no finding our way back after being separated and sent to different families. Different homes.”

John flexed his fingers, stretching them out before tightening them into a fist.

“I…was not fortunate in that regard. While I now had many opportunities open to me, I would’ve traded them in a heartbeat. Because there was evil in that house, and it was regularly visited upon me. And to cope, I needed an outlet. A way to take away what I couldn’t fix. What I couldn’t change, or stop, and make it all disappear.

“So, I turned to other sources. Went well out of my way to open myself up to new experiences. Things to excite, to make me feel…something. Anything, and no price was too great. I couldn’t see it for what it was, and was content to let it all eat me from the inside out. Because that was what gave me relief, and if they hadn’t found me when I needed them most…” John shrugged a shoulder. “I would’ve let it.”

“Fuck, I-uh, I’m sorry.”

“You don’t need to apologize. I didn’t share that to make you feel sorry for me, or to let it be an excuse. It was a little…honesty given, for honesty gained, if that makes any sense.”

Blowing out a breath, Sharky nodded. “Kinda. Think I get what you mean there.”

“And tonight, you were right. I needed an outlet, and you… You reached out to me without even thinking twice about it.” There was a sincerity there that surprised him. No dancing around it, no downplaying it. “You had no reason to open up your home to me, or do anything at all to help, but you did.”

“No reason not to.”

“Charlemagne. I haven’t given you much reason to do any of this, considering why we’re speaking at all to begin with.”

John had a point. One Sharky wasn’t going to argue, but he’d clearly overlooked a lot of the things he’d done to keep them on speaking terms. Or hell, even get friendly, because they were straddling that line, and had been ever since he’d stuck around to help him with the plane.

“Okay, so you did show up here on my doorstep. Used some strong words to get me to do some shit for you, and generally acted like a mega-dick. Admitting that’s the first step towards fixing it. ‘Cause my guess’s you wanna fix that, right?”

John pursed his lips, but said nothing. Just stared at him while his jaw tensed.

That had Sharky raising his eyebrows. “Dude, you seriously aren’t even gonna pretend to say yes to that? Not even try it?”

Glancing away, John closed his eyes. Took in a deep breath, and held onto it before sighing loudly.

“What the fuck?” Sharky muttered, watching him reach for his back pocket. “There’re like baby steps, and then you come in with this whole twelve step thing you’ve gotta work through, like it’s just that hard not to be a colossal d-”

“Done.”

Sharky paused as he took in what John held up. It was his phone.

Rolling his eyes at his confused look, John handed it over to him and pointed at the screen. “It’s gone.”

“What’s gone?” Sharky flipped through the folder John had pulled up, not sure what he was looking for. “Like the porn you knew I was gonna search for after taking this?”

“No, not that,” John replied, grinding his teeth. “The recording.”

“The…” Holy shit. “You got rid of it. Like, no back up, no nothing?”

“That was the only one.”

Gone. That weight - what was left of it - gone.

Sharky laughed. Laughed as relief settled deep into him, and it was the sweetest thing.

Sure, John could’ve been lying to him. Could’ve had three different places where he was stashing the file for a rainy day, but he found he believed him. He wanted to take his word for it, and found he didn’t have to jump through too many hoops for it either.

“That’s-that’s uh, thanks.”

“Thank you. For proving me wrong in a lot of ways.”

Proud motherfucker that he was, that statement nearly bowled Sharky over. But he seemed to mean it too, and he flashed John a bashful grin.

“So, uh going back to before. You need to be cool to others. Treat ‘em nice, especially if you know they’re in the middle of a rough patch, and you count too. You needed something to take the edge off, and with drinking out, there were only two options left. Sex, and burning shit, and seeing as I don’t even know what your type is, I went for the easy one.”

“Easy?” Giving him a curious look, John leaned towards him. “That arson would be the easier option at all’s fascinating to me, because then I have no choice but to ask.”

“…Ask what?”

“What is my type?”

He one-hundred percent felt John’s focus now, and might’ve felt his palms start to sweat. “You want me to guess?”

“I want you to try.”

That was a tougher question than it should’ve been, and all the answers Sharky thought he had promptly left the building.

“Uh…fuck. The ladies in the catalogs. Victoria’s Secret models. Sports Illustrated, but the swimsuit issue. Porn stars. Top dollar escorts,” he said, spit-balling for whatever a rich lawyer might like. Or Bruce Wayne. Same difference. “But the kind with nice shoes, and those big-ass fur coats.”

Or was he going more for what he’d like if he had boatloads of cash to blow? And a music video to make? Maybe. Judging by the look John was giving him, though, he didn’t agree.

“Jesus, I don’t know. You asked! So, I guessed. Thought I’d get something close if I kept on going.”

“Well, you weren’t.”

“Yeah, yeah. And you’re telling me you wouldn’t be dicking down every woman in the valley if they asked?” Sharky took a drink of his beer, and couldn’t help but grumble his next few words into it. “I know I would.”

“You’d what?”

He coughed, beer going right down his windpipe. That was the kind of shit that should’ve slipped out when he was buzzed, and he wasn’t even there yet. And judging from John’s response, wasn’t great to hear out loud either.

“Aw, fuck. Uh, sorry. Didn’t…didn’t mean anything weird by it. Just that you’ve got a lot of women looking - er, wanting - some real one-on-one time with you, that’s all. And if I were you, I’d take them up on it.”

John snorted, “Is that so?”

“I’m serious!” Sharky insisted, flashing an awkward grin. “Not to do any ego-jerking or anything, but you’re a good-looking guy, dude. Who’d blame ‘em for trying?”

He’d meant to look away after that, but John held his stare. Gave him a look that was like a Rubik’s Cube, and the more Sharky tried to pin down exactly what it was, the more he kept on scrambling anything and everything just to match up a single side.

“I see.” John wet his lips, dropping his eyes to his bandaged finger as he rubbed it together with his thumb. “Well, I’d hate to keep them waiting any longer than I already have. Or to disappoint them, but a few may need to wait their turn.”

“Why’d you say that?”

“Because surely their male counterparts deserve a chance as well? Seems only fair.”

John lowered his lashes as he looked over at him this time around, and Sharky must’ve blinked at him fifty times before his words registered.

“Oh. Oh,” he said, watching John nod his head along with him. “Well, it’s uh, I’m a…I don’t think I got anything right there, huh?”

Face burning hot, he crossed his arms and felt like kicking himself. Mostly for the whole conversation leading up to this, but now was a close second.

“Hard to be right about something you didn’t know.”

“Saying weird-ass shit to you’s not cool to begin with. Expecting a pity pass for it’s worse, and then there’s whatever the fuck this is, so I’m sorry. It’s lame as hell, but I’ve gotta get an apology out at least. And it’s probably the last thing you wanna hear or talk about, but you do whatever the hell makes you happy, long as no one’s getting hurt or nothing,” he said, wanting to get the words out, even if they weren’t neat. “And, we uh, we can talk about something else now.”

John laughed; the sound lighter than he expected. “Uncomfortable?”

“No. Kinda. Just…I’m not a talker. If you need someone to head on up, make a speech using all of the right words, making it pretty and all, you don’t go busting down my door. ‘Cause there’s ways of saying things, so it’s all meaningful and nice with no hurt feelings involved, and that ain't it. Shit, you’ve made a whole career out of it.”

Sharky tapped the bottle against his shin, and sighed.

“When I open my mouth, people usually start throwing stuff at me instead of listening. Beer, shoes, lawn ornaments, darts, you name it, I’ve dodged it. Or had someone try to hit me in the junk for it, so thanks for not doing that. And sorry again. Probably say that a couple more times before the night’s out.”

“…Hitting you would be the last thing on my mind. I promise you that.”

Dead serious, he wasn’t sure what to make of John’s tone, or the way he was looking at him.

So, after downing the rest of his beer, Sharky went for the next best thing. Nervous laughter, and more blushing like an idiot. He’d never stop at this rate.

Rubbing his hands together, he hopped up out of his seat after that. John was too intense to stare down for long, and he put some distance between them, set on hunting down the first major firework of the evening.

“Okay, so this one I usually save for the festies,” Sharky began, carrying it over in his hands. “It’s my own personal formula. Ran through it a few times trying to see if I could get the right amount of fizz, bang, and pop that everybody loves without losing a finger, an eye, or most of my hair again.”

“Did you now?” John snorted. “It’s a miracle it grew back.”

“More like both eyebrows, but yeah, ‘cause I need to keep this around,” Sharky replied, framing his jaw with his hand. The wink was extra, but that didn’t stop him. “Chicks dig guys with a little scruff to ‘em. The look’s ‘sexy renegade’, but the kind that’ll still treat you right.”

“No doubt.”

Looking him over, John tilted his head as he considered him. Let his attention focus in on him closely, until Sharky was on the verge of snapping his fingers in front of him to break the spell he’d somehow cast.

“It suits you.”

John could’ve slapped him, and it would’ve been less of a surprise than that. “Say what?”

“It suits you. Keep it to that, though. Any more and I think you’re guaranteed to lose more than an eyebrow the next time any of this backfires.”

In the back of his mind he registered John’s statement – an actual compliment which only confused him more – but didn’t get much further than that. That’s when he caught the smile John was now wearing. This one he’d earned for sure, and didn’t want to risk losing.

Kicking his brain back into gear, Sharky blew out a breath. “So, uh…let’s see. Lighting this up, so we can have one kick-ass party. Just getting right on that shit.”

The red rocket was stabbed into the ground to the left of the pit, and Sharky held out his lighter to John. He still had the matches from earlier, but this way was easier.

When all John did was give him a questioning glance, Sharky flicked his eyes towards the rocket. “Yo, you know this whole thing’s for you, right?”

“Me?”

“Yeah, you. So, you kick it off. I’ve got a firework in every color, though you might want to aim them all over yonder. Nearly lit the field up straight ahead of here last time, and my PO and I ain’t gonna see eye to eye on this if another starts. Cool?”

Dropping his attention to the lighter, John reached for it. Turned it over in his hands as the corners of his mouth curved up, and eventually aimed some of that glance his way.

“Cool.”

#far cry 5 #sharky boshaw #john seed #jacob seed #john seed/sharky boshaw #I know I ultimately have control over what the characters say and do but I just didn't want to stop them here #and Jacob was a total surprise by the way #b/c I wasn't prepared for how much fun he was going to be to write #fanfiction #FC5 fanfiction #fic: I won't ask for much #fic series: we could make a home out of this

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corbo-florbo · 4 years

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Fantasy Booking: John Cena & Elias

Tagging the awesome @mith-gifs-wrestling and the amazing @adriennegabriella for this one, since they seem to enjoy my fantasy bookings so far!

So as of writing this, John Cena is coming back to Friday Night Smackdown on February 28 of 2020, and I’ve got a couple or few ideas of what I’d like to have done with him. I figured, why not start with one that seems like a continuation of a recent subtle ongoing feud with The Drifter, Elias?

Are you ready for a good time? The episode of Smackdown opens with a bang, as fireworks go off and fans cheer. Then the hum of John Cena’s music blasts through the arena, and he looks as happy as ever when making his way to the ring.

Cena grabs a mic, and waits for the cheers to die down. “Boy, y’all sure did miss me huh? I gotta admit, it’s been a while. I left y’all behind while I pursued my acting career, but it’s okay, it’s fine, The Leader of the Cenation is back baby!” *cheers* “But it’s not all about to be sunshine and rainbows, I’m afraid. See, I gots some things to share with y’all, and I dunno how y’all are gonna feel about it.” John then turns his hat around to where the bill is facing behind him. “Y’see-”

A guitar strum silences John as the arena goes dark and the spotlight flashes on one sole figure making his way to the ring. That figure ladies and gentlemen, is Elias. “John, John, John. Oh, this is so us. I interrupt you, you interrupt me, it’s a whole thing! Sometimes I beat your ass, you beat my ass, you know how it goes! Why, last time you threw a package of nuts at me, and quite frankly, you said some mean things at me. When was that? Oh, uh... Wrestlemania! But it’s all good, John. I’m glad to see you back! Maybe this time we can duet, because I”m tired of playing with myself.” John grins at this. “Oh, you like that one don’t you, John? Yeah, that was pretty funny. Now, I’m not sure why you tilted your hat backwards, but I thought maybe we can show it’s all water under the bridge and have some honest to God fun! It’s Wrestlemania season after all!”

Elias steps in the ring and John leans on the turnbuckle opposite Elias’s end, with a Cheshire grin on his face. Elias strums and plucks at his guitar. “Hey John, why don’t you start us off with a rap verse, maybe? I think that’ll get the people of Boston in the spirit! What do ya say, Boston?” Obviously, cheers.

John nods, puts his arm around Elias’s shoulder, and as a melody emanates from Elias’s guitar, John opens his mouth, as though he’s about to rap, until a quick turn and Drift Away! Ladies and gentlemen, John Cena has taken down Elias with his own move! Why, John, why?!

The next week passes and there’s a new episode of Smackdown. Neither man is to be found until the main event, advertised earlier in the day as an explanation from John Cena. People sit, waiting for the familiar “My Time Is Now” but instead are met with “Basic Thuganomics”. Cena comes out, decked in the same wear befitting of someone dressed in early 2000′s hip-hop clothing style.

“Word Life” brass knuckles wrapped around his fingers, microphone in hand, the Doctor of Thuganomics speaks. “Now, since I was so RUDELY interrupted last week by that weak, punk ass jobber, allow me to lay down the line right here, right now. Y’all cheering me were the same ones booing me all them years. No matter what I did, it wasn’t good ‘nuff for ya. It wasn’t until I used my profile to elevate others, you seemed to care. 2006. One Night Stand. Manhattan. Hammerstein Ballroom. I came out to toxic, nuclear heat and my shirt being thrown right back at me. Said I ain’t got no moves! I gave them moves! They boo’d that shit too! I’d give my all, yet I was so hated. Yet the children loved me. Guess what? Those kids grew up. Y’all even popped loud as hell whenever someone mentions my failed relationship with Nikki Bella? Y’all so easily worked it ain’t even funny! She and I are still tight, life just pulls us in diff’rent directions. Y’all hated me, now ya want me back. Now I’ve been gone so long, y’all miss me? Well, John Cena don’t forget, no he don’t! I remember clear as day, y’all as fickle as Daniel Bryan always said, but he back in the Kool-Aid now, talkin’ bout the Yes Movement comin’ back. Now he fickle too, but that’s okay ‘cause Cena here to collect. Talk about my golden shovel, talk about burying talent, well guess what? Anyone in my path gon’ wish they was dead. Cena out.”��

Cut to next week’s Smackdown, things seem to have gone back to normal. Elias is back, and is in a match with Mustafa Ali. Of course, he is a little paranoid of John Cena, which Ali takes advantage of, easily getting in the win. Elias doesn’t seem to even care or process the loss. He just...leaves. Like someone who left a haunted house, but the haunted house hasn’t left them.

Main event time, and the Dirt Sheet is dunking on everybody. They continue to talk smack to The New Day in their ongoing feud. John Morrison dunks on Elias for his upset state, while Miz derides the outdated nature of John Cena. On the Titantron, John Cena calls them out via satellite, as he sees himself above fighting anyone on the roster on a measly episode of Smackdown. “I mean, I’m John F%#^ng Cena!” Miz and Morrison then challenge him to a 2-on-1 handicap match, now he’s got them too heated to go after Kofi Kingston and Big E of New Day, that they MUST beat Cena. And they must do it at the upcoming Elimination Chamber pay per view.

The night of the match, Cena dominates. He takes both men out with ease. Miz, perhaps the easiest, but Morrison’s parkour gives him at least a sliver of a chance. Cena is the victor.

More Smackdowns, more of Elias being afraid. Miz and Morrison act like nothing happened, pretending they didn’t just fight and lose to John Cena. Elimination Chamber didn’t happen in their eyes. They continue to emasculate Elias, who on the fifth Friday night, grows tired of them mocking him and takes them down, accusing them of being in cahoots with him. He’s greatly losing it, as is evident when he plays his guitar out of tune, or messes up lyrics.

Roman Reigns, however, is tired of it all. He calls out Cena, challenging him at Fastlane, which Cena accepts. Not before he chastises Roman about how he had to elevate him at No Mercy 2017, about how while he isn’t as hated by crowds anymore, he’s still just “a guy”, and will never reach that level. That Roman’s 2017 win was just a fluke. Yet another nut joke by the Doctor of Thuganomics before a low blow and an F.U. lays Roman out at the end of the night.

Fastlane 2020 approaches, and the two put on a 30 minute classic. Roman gets more vicious, and Cena becomes more dastardly. He constantly taunts and goads Roman most of the match, and at one point even HEADBUTTS HIM. That’s something you don’t do to Samoan pro wrestlers, yet Cena evades it all, wearing Roman down until he runs out of steam. Roman, staggering, falls victim to another F.U. before being gifted with Cena’s Five-Knuckle Shuffle, and goes for the pin. Cena wins, but his victory is shortly celebrated after Elias slams a guitar on Cena’s head, the last visual of the match being Elias glaring down at his handiwork.

Elias is not to be seen the next several Smackdowns leading to Wrestlemania, at least not live. In pre-taped segments, in front of chain-link fences, Elias rambles on about how John Cena lives rent-free in his head. In the final vignette of his ramblings, Elias declares at Wrestlemania that he will get his groove back, as he plays a new percussion instrument, one he calls John Cena before declaring the match needing to be No DQ. Meanwhile, Cena hosts mini-segments where he freestyle raps about how trashy a lot of the wrestlers signed to WWE are, along with old legends. Last Smackdown, he raps about how easily worked Elias got, that he doesn’t stand a chance because Cena declares himself the master of psychology, adding to his resume, added along with being a doctor of Thuganomics.

Wrestlemania time, and Elias is easily dominated early in the match. It’s almost like Cena vs Lesnar at Summerslam all over again, until Elias goes in for a Drift Away and hammers on Cena. He even grabs his head, “slamming” it down on the mat before stomping and kicking Cena. Elias manically grabs at his own hair, before bringing chairs into it.

Elias slams Cena with chair after chair, but like a superhuman, Cena rises again and again. He can even be heard that no injury, no chair could hold him down. Elias doesn’t stop though. He hits like he has lost his mind. It’s as though his brain is now the one drifting in and out, not him. There’s almost a rhythm to Elias’s shots. Then he sets it up for a con-chair-to. And another. And another and another, you get the picture. Cena’s lifeless body is rolled over and Elias covers him for a pin, and you see his hand move, but he does not kick out. Elias gets the win, and is tearing with joy. His first Wrestlemania win, and it’s one not for a title, but a peace of mind and a reclamation of his lost sanity.

Almost as if knocked into his senses, Cena rises, clutching his head. He removes the “Word Life” armbands and wristbands and shakes Elias’s hand before raising it. Cena has reclaimed his own soul, seeing everyone cheer for Elias. The sight of what he missed was enough to wake him up. He had grown cocky of having won the world of wrestling, music, and film that he forgot what it was like, being someone looking to make a name. He remembers that same John Cena that made an impact after beating Kurt Angle and winning the respect of the locker room back in the early 2000′s.

Elias is able to move on to other feuds, no longer feeling the need as a drifter to bash other towns he rolls into, and even finds himself in main events every now and then. Cena reflects the night on Raw after Wrestlemania that he is done with wrestling now, but the WWE Universe will see him again from time to time. He leaves with letting everyone know the three most important words to him: Hustle Loyalty and Respect.

The end.

I hope you guys enjoyed it! I got two more Cena fantasy bookings, then I hope to jump into some fresher ideas later!

#john cena #elias #WWE #fantasy booking

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themadlostgirl · 5 years

Text

Not Dead Yet (Part 73)

*I will be uploading Not Dead Yet to AO3 after I finish it on tumblr. It is going to go through a bunch of editing, trimming and the reader is getting an OC name. Other than that same old story. Alright let’s do this!*

Pairing: Reader x Peter Pan

Warnings: Language

I was sitting in the kitchen going over some homework. It was numbing my brain. When am I going to need algebra in life? This is ridiculous. Why won’t senior year end?

My phone rang and I jumped at the chance for a distraction from the quadratic formula. It was Ms. Mills.

“Hello? Henry? No, I haven’t seen or heard from him all day. Has something happened? Missing? Oh well I know some boltholds of his I could check out. Yes, of course, I’ll call you if I hear anything. Bye.”

“Something wrong, Marigold?”

“Henry Mills is missing. I’m going to head out and see if I can find him. I promise I’ll be back by curfew.” I closed my textbook and started to tug on my shoes.

“You’ll be back by dinner.” mom corrected me, “Stay safe.”

“Always am.” I was already pulling on my jacket, “Bye.”

I stopped by his castle first. It was a little rusted playhouse on the beach that he always loved playing on. I knew that if he ever needed time away he would go there first. Unfortunately he didn’t seem to be there this time. This was a small town but there were a lot of hiding places. Dangerous hiding places. The woods alone could take days to search. I hope he hadn’t gone far.

The next couple of hours I spent wandering around town but Henry was AWOL. He’s ten, how far can a ten year old get in a couple hours? It was getting late and I headed home for dinner. Mom and dad asked whether Henry had been found but I was sad to say that no such progress had been made.

The next day before school I stopped by Ms.Mills office and asked if Henry had been found. She was glad to inform me that he had been safely returned late the night before. She also wanted to pay me to walk Henry from school. I could tell she was just worried about him since he had up and disappeared so I took the request in stride. Five extra bucks to walk him down main street? Done.

I waited outside the school for Henry’s class to exit. I watched the short heads stream out the doors but Henry’s was not among them. Where was he? Behind the kids Ms. Mills strutted out looking peeved. “Ms. Mills?”

“Marigold,” Ms. Mills stopped, “Have you seen Henry?”

“No. I was waiting to take him home like you asked. Is he missing again.”

“It would appear so.”

“I can go look for him again. It wouldn’t be a bother.”

“Don’t worry yourself. He couldn’t have gotten far. Go enjoy the rest of your afternoon.”

“Alright, I’ll tell you if I see him.”

“Thank you, Marigold. I’ll be sure to inform you when he’s been found.” She walked off again. A moment later another woman walked out of the school that I had never remembered seeing before. These past couple days are strange. I got a call an hour later telling me that Henry had been found...again. Keeping an eye on this boy may just be worth more than five dollars an hour.

As I was sat around the dinner table with mom and dad we had the same old small talk about work and school. The only real thing of interest was the woman that had come to Storybrooke, Henry’s birth mother. That was just lovely. No wonder things were all mucked up. Ms. Mills was an intimidating woman and a very protective mother. Throw in your adopted son’s birth mother and things just got even more complicated. At least there was something going on in this town for once.

Apparently I was right about things changing. Ever since Henry’s bio mom came to town things had started happening from the clocktower finally moving to the John Doe in the hospital coming out of his coma.

From then on things just kept getting stranger. Sheriff Graham died, Ms. Blanchard became the town harlot and was framed for murder just to be proven innocent. My schedule with Henry had gotten thrown all out of whack what with all the chaos. When I did get to watch him he was always antsy to get away. So to keep him in place I asked him about the one thing he could never shut up about, fairy tales. His fairy tales.

“So let’s go over the list shall we?” I pulled out my notebook. One of the things that kept him interested was figuring out who all the townspeople were in relation to his storybook. Ms. Blanchard was Snow White, the John Doe aka David was Prince Charming, Doctor Hopper was Jiminy Cricket. “Any new discoveries since we last met?”

“Like you wouldn’t believe.” he said with a smile, “Can I have the pencil?”

“Here ya go buddy.” I handed it to him. “Hey Henry, you never told me something.”

“What?”

“If everyone in this town is a storybook character which one do you think I am?” I asked. This was something I had been curious to but never questioned.

“I don’t know.” he shrugged, “Who do you think you are?”

“I don’t know. I was hoping you had an idea.” I sighed.

“Don’t worry. Soon the curse will be broken and you’ll remember who you are again.” Henry assured me.

“Well that is a relief.” I peeked over his shoulder to see his new notes. “How are things going? I know things with your two moms have been hectic to say the least.”

“It’s all in plan with Operation Cobra.” Again with Operation Cobra. He never told me anything about that. I didn’t mind so much.

After he was done I packed everything back up. Ms. Mills came home later after I tucked Henry into bed. She paid me and I left. She didn’t look so good but I felt that it wasn’t my place to ask if anything was wrong. Ms. Mills has gotten a lot more sensitive since the arrival of Emma and I didn’t want to test my luck with her, even if it was well intentioned.

I was upstairs in my room doing even more homework when I got the sense that something was wrong. There was a certain uncomfortable tension that buzzed in the air and made it hard to focus.

“Marigold!” mom shouted up to my room, “Get down here!”

“What? What’s happened?” I rushed downstairs.

“That one boy you babysit, Henry, he’s in the hospital.” she said.

“The hospital?” I gasped, “What happened? Is he alright?”

“I was in the middle of a call with Francene from the hospital when Henry got rushed in. Apparently he was knocked out or poisoned or something and he’s not doing too well.”

“Oh my god,” I mumbled, “I need to get to the hospital. I need to check on him.”

“I’ll drive you.” mom and I rushed out to the car and we were at the hospital in minutes. I ran down to where the most commotion was and saw Henry being hooked up to all these machines and the doctors and nurses flying about looking for answers. Oh god…

“Nurse,” I stopped one of the nurses, “Is he alright? What happened to him?”

“We don’t know yet but we’re doing our best. Now please go to the waiting room, this area is overcrowded as it it.” she said and pushed past me.

Please let Henry be alright.

I sat in the waiting room along with some others as we waited for any news about Henry. The day grew longer and I felt like my brain had been dunked in one of Granny’s deep fryers. Please oh please just let Henry come out of this alive. He needed to live. Just let that little heart of his keep beating!

One of the nurses walked out to the waiting room and called Henry’s name. Everyone waiting in the vicinity stood. “Is he okay?” my throat clogged up.

She shook her head. “We did what we could but he didn’t make it. Whatever was afflicting him we were unable to find it before it was too late. He’s gone.”

“No…” I choked, “H-He can’t be. He has to live! There is so much more that he needs to do! He can’t be dead.”

“I’m so sorry. Would you like to come say goodbye?”

“No. No, I’m just going to go home. I need some time to process all this.” she gave me a nod and I walked out of the waiting room. Poor Henry. So young. So full of life. He didn’t deserve this.

“Mari, are you okay?” mom asked.

“I need a moment.” I walked out of the hospital tears streaming down my face.

This can’t be happening. Henry can’t be dead. If he’s dead then everything was ruined! Years of planning down the drain!

What? Years of planning what? A memory tickled in the back of my head but just like my dreams I couldn’t reach it. I felt like yelling at the sky and cursing everyone and everything for this horrid day.

A gust of wind pushed through me out of nowhere. What was…

“Y/N.” I breathed out as all my memories came flooding back, “My name is Y/N.”

Everything. I remember everything! My father, being a grave digger, Neverland, my brothers, Wendy, Tinkerbell, Tigerlily, Hook.

“Peter.” Peter Pan. My Peter Pan!

I ran back to my house--not my house--the house I had been trapped in and overturned the room I had called mine. How did I stand all this? Pastels and dresses and fluffy little cardigans? Where were my old bloody boots when I needed them? I ransacked the room for clothes that were sturdy and not entirely embarrassing as well as the best pair of tennis shoes I could find.

Twenty eight years. Twenty eight years of being stuck as a babysitter away from Neverland and Peter and all my friends. I was not going to go back dressed as some fairy princess.

I went to the window and threw it open. I don’t know if this will work during the day but hell I was gonna try. “I believe.”

Then I waited. A moment went by but nothing happened. I waited another minute and still there was no Shadow to fetch me. From out in the forest a dark purple smoke was cascading towards the town. I knew that. It was magic. “Of, fucking, course.”

I slammed the window shut again as the smoke reached the house and filtered in. I was blinded for a moment but just a moment before the smoke was gone. Magic is here. I don’t know how it happened but if Rumplestiltskin was here then I was positive it was him that did it.

Maybe with magic here now, I might be heard. I opened the window again and stared up at the cloudy sky. “I believe.” I stressed once more but like the first time nothing happened.

Okay. This...this is fine. It probably doesn’t work during the day since I can’t see the star. Not a problem, I can wait till tonight. I’ve been gone for a couple decades, what more was a few more hours? In the meantime I had some things I could sort out.

“Marigold--” my fake mom caught me leaving.

“Shut it, I have places to be old lady.” I rushed out of the house.

I was walking down mainstreet when an alarming thought popped into my head. My club. It had disappeared during the curse.

Rumplestiltskin. If anyone had it it was him. And I know exactly where he would keep it. I stomped towards the pawnshop and threw open the door. He wasn’t here. Probably for the best, if I saw that slimy little imp before I left I was going to slit his neck.

I saw my club resting along the wall next to some walking sticks. I was about to leave when something else caught my eye. Resting with some other antique looking knives in a glass case was my dagger. The one Rumplestiltskin had taken from me. I opened it and wrapped my hand around the worn leather grip. Was there anything else of mine in here? I scavenged around and found the cuff Peter had given me with the decorative amber. My dagger on my hip, club in hand and cuff on my wrist I was feeling more like my old self.

Now I was truly ready to go home. I left the shop and meandered down the street. I was going to go hang out in the woods until nightfall and try calling for the shadow again. As I was leaving the shop I saw a group heading down the street followed by an angry mob. I was content to let them go and do their thing when I noticed Henry among the group. A memory came back, a picture of a boy drawn on a piece of old parchment. The Truest Believer. It was Henry!

Looks like I’m going to be taking someone else with me to Neverland. First I had to get him away from the group.

I followed after the mob. The little party of heroes stopped Regina from getting herself killed and took her into custody. After they left the jail they started to talk about what they were gonna do with Henry. Now was my chance.

“Hey,” I approached the group, “I don’t think you guys really know me.”

“Hi Marigold,” Henry waved at me, “Do you remember who you are?”

“Yes I do. Looks like you were right, Henry.” I faked an overly sweet smile.

I liked Henry well enough and after being his babysitter for the past eleven years I had grown kinda fond of him. It would be hard handing him over to Peter after getting to know him but in the end he was just another means to an end and what can save Peter’s life. If he’s still alive.

“Who are you?” David, Prince Charming, whatever, asked me.

“Y/N. I was Henry’s babysitter, am still, I don’t know anymore.” I shrugged.

“Right,” Emma pointed at me, “You uh...you wanna make a couple more bucks and watch him while we figure out what we’re gonna do with Regina?”

“I can, no problem. Also you don’t need to pay me. This little dork was right and now I remember who I am and can be with my family again.” I ruffled Henry’s hair, “That’s all the payment I need.”

“Okay. Just to be safe we’re gonna send Ruby with you.” Snow White/Mary Margaret gestured to Ruby.

I knew it couldn’t be that easy. “Alright. Sounds like a plan.” Henry and I got into the car with Ruby.

We drove in leisure until a tremor shook the ground and the sky went dark. Something was out there. Something bad. I rolled down the window and saw a black mass streaking across the sky. For a moment I smiled thinking it was Peter’s shadow but it was quickly dashed. It was too big and it sent an unpleasant chill down my spine. A wraith.

“Where are we going?” I asked Ruby.

“Edge of town. No one out that way.”

“Is that really the safest option right now? Out in the open?”

“What do you suggest then?”

“Somewhere inside. That thing that went across the sky was a wraith. Probably sent to kill Regina.”

“What?!” Henry looked rightfully alarmed.

“How do you--”

“I’ve seen a lot of things.” Living with Peter you learned a lot about dark magical artifacts and beasts.

“We have to go back!” Henry pleaded, “We have to help my mom!”

“No! I need to keep you safe!” Ruby snapped.

“We should really turn back. I know how to get rid of the wraith.”

“Where did you learn to get rid of a wraith?”

“Long story.” Also incredibly fictional but if it could get us inside I didn’t care. I didn’t know much about wraiths outside of what they looked like and what they did but I did know it would only attack the one it marked. That most likely being Regina.

With a little more arguing and pleading Ruby turned us around. We hustled into city hall. There was some loud commotion coming from the main hall. As quickly as it started though it ended followed by stark silence. Carefully we walked toward the hall. There was some muffled shouting and then we came upon the scene.

Regina was alive and currently had David restrained against the wall. Certainly not what I had imagined. “Mom!” Henry rushed in.

“Henry, what are you doing here?” Regina left David alone and he dropped to the ground. Ruby went to check on him while I stayed with Henry.

Apparently Emma and Mary Margaret fell through a portal to someplace unknown. Henry started to tear up as he told Regina to get them back and to stay away from him until they were safe.

“Where will you go?” Regina knelt closer to her son.

“With me,” David had recovered and stood up. Henry, Ruby and him left while I stayed behind.

“Regina…” I turned to her after they were gone.

“What do you want?”

“I’ll keep an eye on him. I promise.”

“Who are you?” she scoffed, “Why aren’t you scared of me? I’m the Evil Queen.”

I felt like laughing. “Regina, I’m not from the Enchanted Forest. I was visiting it when I got sucked into your curse. I don’t know you, I don’t care about what your motivations are or who you want to kill. But I do know Henry. I’ll keep him safe.”

“How are you going to protect my son?”

I spun my club in hand, “Let’s just say, I’ve had to get myself out a worse scrapes than deadly wraiths and angry crowds. If you want someone to talk to my number is still on the fridge.”

I left. This was going to take more time than I thought. I need to play my cards right. If I can then I’ll have Henry and be on my way to Neverland in no time.

Outside I stared up at the sky. Second star to the right… “I’ll be home soon, Peter.”

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#slowburn #peter pan ouat #ouat peter pan #ouat #neverland #peter pan imagine #peter pan x reader

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