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fuckyeahdindjarin · 3 months

Text

Pressing

Jack Daniels x F!Reader, dude ranch AU

A Palomino oneshot, but can be read on its own

{ Series Masterlist | Main Masterlist }

Rating: E

Summary: Jack marks you as his in an unexpected way.

Warnings: PWP, Jack's belt leaves an impression on reader's skin, unintentional branding, unprotected sex, long-distance relationship, desperate and feral cowboy, no physical descriptions of Reader, very lightly edited, written as part of the Palomino universe, set after the end of the series, but can be read as a oneshot on its own

Word count: 1.4k

Notes: This little story came from an ask sent in by 🐴 anon in December 2022, which I have long lost, about a song that mentions a guy’s belt buckle leaving marks on his girlfriend's inner thigh while fucking. Naturally, they thought of Jack’s belt. 🐴 anon, if you’re still here, thank you for the inspo and for your patience ❤️

Also thank you to @lola-lola-lola for getting me horn knee about our cowboy again 😘 Writing Palomino smut first thing in the year was not on my 2024 bingo card, and I’m not mad about it!

Cutest dividers by @firefly-graphics.

It’s been two and a half months. Week after wretched week of phone calls on stolen time. Day after day of aching to reach through the phone screen and the distance between you to touch him.

It’s hard being hundreds and hundreds of miles apart. It’s even harder on weeks when he’s in the mountains with no reception. Harder to find time to call when you have to work late and he has to get up at dawn.

But you endure it all - for days like this.

It’s a rare weekend off in the high season, with Teak pulling back-to-back pack trips to cover for him, joking that he can’t take all his sighing and pining for his Darlin’ anymore.

Jack takes the last flight out on Friday night, arriving first thing on Saturday morning, before the city - or you - wake up. You’re half-buried under the duvet when the jingle of the key in the door jolts you from shallow slumber.

On unsteady feet, you wobble out into the hallway, crashing into the walls as you go, balance off-kilter from sleep.

But it’s ok - he catches you, all white t-shirt and tight blue jeans. Incognito, if you will, in casual sneakers, but the cowboy hat is on as always. You knock it off post-haste, burying your face in the side of his neck in a desperate need for contact, his warmth seeping into your skin and wrapping you up in the deepest of comforts.

His hair is longer than he usually keeps it, and your fingers twist into his tousled curls when you pull back, taking in the stubble on his sharp jawline, and his tired eyes. But before you can say anything, he leans in and slants his lips over yours.

The taste of airplane coffee is sharp and bitter on his tongue as he kisses you deep and messy. You startle when he suddenly slams the door shut behind him, not realising it was still open, and his beat-up weekend bag is tossed carelessly behind him somewhere in the doorway.

The legs of the kitchen table scrape jarringly against the floor as he crowds you onto it, big hands cupping your ass and pulling you against his straining erection through his jeans.

‘Fuck, it’s been too long, darlin’.’ His voice is gravelly from an apparently sleepless overnight flight, and hearing his voice finally on the shell of your ear has you whimpering needily.

‘Can’t wait any more,’ he growls, desperation thick in his voice.

With a flick of his wrists, he shucks off your ratty sleep shirt, eyes hooded as he gazes down at your tits, like he can’t believe he’s actually touching you. Cupping them, soft and heavy, with reverent, rope-worn palms, he sucks one nipple after the other between his lips, making you squirm against him and leak wet and sticky between your thighs.

Strong hands hold you in place easily as you buck, the scrape of his moustache almost painful on your over-sensitive skin, nerve endings on fire after being deprived for long weeks.

Too impatient to wait, you tug your pyjamas shorts down your hips and kick them off clumsily, panties tangled in your damp folds as you writhe under him.

You feel the breath catch in his broad chest at the peek of your pussy, a rapidly growing damp spot darkening your cotton underwear. Hooking his thumb under the fabric, he tugs it unceremoniously to the side, baring you to him.

‘Look at all this,’ he marvels, tracing the fleshy pad of his thumb through your folds, making you arch clean off the table. ‘So wet for me and you’ve barely woken up.’

‘Been thinking about you the while night,’ you admit, hips twitching as you chase his touch. ‘Couldn’t sleep.’

‘Did you touch yourself, darlin’?’

You shake your head vehemently. ‘No. Wanted your fingers. Your cock.’

His nostrils flare at your answer, unabashedly possessive in the way he looms over you.

‘Good girl,’ he murmurs into your throat, nosing the side of your neck while thick fingers thrum against your clit. ‘I was so hard for you the whole fuckin’ flight.’

As if to prove it to you - not that you need it - he rolls his hips into your inner thigh, the hard bulge undeniable.

You mewl, hooking your ankles around his waist. ‘Fuck me now, Jack - please.’

There’s a wordless fumble for the solid sterling flask bottle of his belt buckle, his usual level-headed composure nowhere to be found as he pushes down his jeans with shaking hands, just enough to pull his cock out of its denim confines -

And then he thrusts home inside you.

After months of only your fingers, it’s a stretch. But what a delicious stretch it is.

You feel him throb deep inside you, feel the thunder of a pained groan in his chest, pressed up against yours. Your cunt is all slick and give to his determined strokes as he begins to move.

There’s no finesse, hardly any awareness, when he fucks frantically into you. His solid weight pins you to the table, and it rattles precariously under your back.

Your legs are splayed obscenely wide and bent at the knees while Jack pounds into your wet heat, eyes wild and mouth hanging open, watching your tits bounce as you take him, your nails digging into the cotton of his white t-shirt. He never did take off your panties, and the fabric rubs your clit just so with every one of his thrusts, rapidly sending you to the edge.

In the back of your mind, you’re aware of the coarse scrape of his jeans against your inner thighs, and something digs hard into the tender skin, the repeated motion dulling the sensation to an almost numb pressure.

When you cum, you’re crying out before your head catches up, your body convulsing with blind bliss as your pussy clenches around him in a hot rush. The blood pounding in your ears is drowned out by your chants of his name, and then his hips start to stutter and his whole body tenses, frantic eyes on yours as he teeters on the edge.

‘Where, darlin’?’

‘Inside me.’

The words have barely left you and he’s coming, broken pants against your lips as he comes and comes and comes - spilling inside you, filling you to the brim until he’s empty, turned inside out.

Slumped, boneless on top of you, humid pants pressed into your shoulder, his fingers tangle with yours, squeezing as if to let you know that he’s here.

You almost doze off, the gradually slowing rise and fall of the cowboy’s broad chest a comforting anchor, when he rouses you with gentle lips along your jaw. You giggle, feeling him softening and sliding out of you, making a mess of your kitchen table.

‘Mornin’ darlin’,’ he says somewhat belatedly, warm eyes crinkling as he smiles at you.

‘Morning,’ you grin back, and when he shifts, you wince at the ache in your joints from being pinned to one spot for this very vigorous wake up call. His hands smooth over your legs in apology, and you jump when his fingertips brush over somewhere at the juncture of your upper thigh that is surprisingly sore.

‘What’s that?’ you ask, puzzled.

Jack doesn’t answer, curiously quiet. You look down to where he’s bracketed between your legs, watching him trace his index finger over the unmistakable imprint of his distinct belt buckle on the inside of your thigh, where it’s been digging into your skin the whole time.

He glances at you. ‘I’m sorry. Did I hurt you?’

‘No, you didn’t,’ you give him a knowing grin. ‘And are you really sorry, cowboy?’

He doesn’t even have the decency to look sheepish. Gently pinching your swollen folds together, he groans when a milky bead of his cum dribbles out of you, running down the inside of your leg and smearing onto the flask-shaped impression.

‘Ain’t sorry about somethin’ that looks this good on you, darlin’.’

‘Could’ve asked me before you branded me, you know,’ you half-joke, running your own finger along the deep lines carved into your skin, for now.

‘Beggin’ your pardon, I tend to forget my manners when I’m balls deep in a pussy as sweet as yours,’ he retorts, one eyebrow arching when he feels you shiver at his words.

You huff in jest, ‘Doesn’t sound like much of an apology if you asked me.’

‘Whatcha want, darlin’? Me on my hands and knees for you?’

Heat flashes under your skin, from your cheeks down to your toes, and Jack’s eyes darken as his tongue wets his bottom lip. ‘Alright. I hear you loud and clear, ma’am.’

Slowly, he sinks onto his knees in front of you, his joints creaking endearingly as he goes, and you can’t help but tease, ‘Easy there, cowboy.’

The wicked tip of his tongue peeks out, and you bite your lip in a moan when it cleverly traces the outline of the belt buckle on your skin, ending in a playful nip that pulls a gasp from you.

With an unapologetically smug grin, Jack winks. ‘I’m only just gettin’ started, darlin’.’

Note: Thank you for reading ❤️ I’ve missed these two, and if you’re new to Palomino, I hope you’ll give the series a chance!

#palomino series #jack daniels fanfiction #jack daniels x reader #jack daniels x you #jack daniels x f!reader #jack daniels x fem!reader #agent whiskey x reader #agent whiskey x you #agent whiskey x f!reader #agent whiskey x fem!reader #x reader #jack daniels imagine #agent whiskey imagine #jack daniels smut #agent whiskey smut

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blazehedgehog · 3 years

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As an Internet veteran and draw-person, I really need to ask: what anime influenced you and many online artists circa 2000s? There's a specific style from those early 2000s webcomics and fanart I'm looking for and trying to replicate, and your old art fit in that "style", in my opinion. Thank you!

It’s hard to narrow it down, but it’s also not that hard to narrow it down. Anime was a much, much smaller industry back then. The “boom” was just beginning thanks to efforts by the Scifi Channel and Cartoon Network to bring anime to television in timeslots that people would actually watch.

So here’s your crash course in casual anime history, I guess, from someone who definitely isn’t like... obsessed with anime. Or isn’t anymore, but was back then.

For me, it all kind of started with, like... Dragon Ball, and this was a show that struggled to gain any traction at first. Where I lived, it aired at 5am on Sunday mornings. If you knew a kid that watched Dragon Ball, there was a solidarity there like, “Yup, you get it.”

Then DiC got the license to Sailor Moon and started airing it in the weekday morning slot I would typically describe as “right before you catch the bus.” You’d wake up around 6am, maybe 6:15, and watch whatever was on at 6:30 while you ate breakfast. As the credits were rolling, you’d head out to catch the school bus. Sailor Moon was what I remember doing that with the most. That combined with Dragon Ball formed my foundational interest in anime.

Around this time (1995, 1996) you were starting to see anime start to seep in to the mainstream elsewhere. There was a commercial I remember for, like, an anthology of anime classics like Akira...

youtube

And, y’know, when you’re like, 14 or 15 and you see a commercial like this -- cartoons! With blood! And nudity! It’s like, holy crap. Most of the classics we know today (Akira, Ghost in the Shell) were only really available via mail order like this back then.

More shows started getting localized for TV, too, like Ronin Warriors was one a lot of my friends got in to. It was considered “The Manly Sailor Moon.” And then there was, of course, Samurai Pizza Cats. Eventually Saban stopped dubbing Dragon Ball altogether and moved straight over to Dragon Ball Z, and that gained enough popularity that I think it eventually shook it out of its Sunday Morning time slot to somewhere a little more visible by general audiences.

Coming in to 1997 and 1998, anime was really starting to gain some momentum. The Scifi Channel had begin doing their “Saturday Anime” show, which aired at 3am every Friday Night/Saturday Morning. They probably figured it was one of the only ways they could get away with showing violent cartoons.

youtube

For me, this was where I got my first “real” taste of anime. They had a stable of about 5 or 10 movies and OVAs they’d run. Venus Wars, Vampire Hunter D, Project A-KO, Robot Carnival, Tenchi Muyo In Love (my favorite), Project L.I.L.Y. Cat, Beautiful Dreamer, Galaxy Express 999, Fatal Fury The Motion Picture, Record of Lodoss War, Dominion Tank Police, Roujin-Z, Demon City Shinjiku, Gall Force...

That felt like the bandaid got ripped off. Suddenly we were all buzzing about anime. Hey, have you heard about this movie called Ninja Scroll? There’s hardcore sex in it! No American movie, live action or not, could ever match the body horror of Akira! Hey, does anyone remember Robotech from the 80′s? That was actually anime, too! Wow!

Cartoon Network was smart enough to take notice and snatched up the rights to air Sailor Moon and Dragon Ball Z at reasonable, non-morning hours, and they dug out Voltron and put together a simple block of anime. I don’t even think it necessarily had a name, it was just an hour or maybe 90 minutes of anime a day, and it exploded. Right place, right time. So Cartoon Network expanded.

youtube

They added more classic anime, and some shows that were similar in tone, and called it Toonami. Robotech, Ronin Warriors, The Real Adventures of Johnny Quest, Reboot, Thundercats...

And this became the place to watch anime. Which is when we enter the era you’re asking about, the early 2000′s. This is where it starts to feel like a little too much to cover, because it came hot, heavy, and fast. There was a thirst for anime that was hard to quench because production companies were small and choosy about what they’d dub, but at the same time, a sort of gold rush was starting.

When I think of peak, classic-era Toonami, the stuff that really influenced me artistically, it was shows like Outlaw Star, Ruroni Kenshi, and Gundam Wing. I’m sure I’d also have friends speak highly of Big-O, G-Gundam, and Yu Yu Hakusho, three shows I never really got in to.

Eventually, Cartoon Network (and Williams Street, then called Ghost Planet Industries) began to realize that there was a growing library of anime they couldn’t show in the afternoon because it was too intense for the kids. There was also an undoubtedly vocal contingent of anime fans who were frustrated when their favorite shows had to be edited for broadcast. This gave birth to Toonami: The Midnight Run, the precursor to what would eventually become Adult Swim. The Midnight Run became home to uncut (or simply less-cut) episodes of afternoon shows that restored blood, alcoholic references, and the few cases of more extreme violence.

Midnight Run started getting exclusive shows, too. When I think about what Midnight Run (and later Adult Swim) was known for, it was shows like Cowboy Bebop, FLCL, and again, though it wasn’t really something I saw a ton of, Paranoia Agent.

Other networks did try to cash in on the anime craze. I think Tech TV/G4 tried to get in on things with Serial Experiments Lain and a few other shows, but to be honest, it never hit as hard as Toonami did. Then there was obviously the work of guys like 4KIDS, with the Pokemon, Yu-Gi-Oh and Digimon shows on Saturday Morning, but those felt noticeably different in vibe and in tone (something that only got more pronounced when Kids WB started a Saturday Morning Toonami block that was even more aggressively sanitized than what could be shown on Cartoon Network).

Beyond broadcast TV, the stuff I remember being popular among my circle of friends were things like Tenchi Universe, Ranma 1/2, Slayers, Saber Marionette, and.... like, Di Gi Charat and Chobits? This was probably right around the era of Azumanga Daioh, too.

Unfortunately, much past 2003 or 2004 is where I started falling off of anime. The feeling of it being “new” and “special” was starting to wear off, and there was enough coming out that the standard of quality was beginning to drop. Whereas small studios like ADV and Manga Corps. could only afford to bring out the best of the best, we were starting to get junk like Duel Masters, Rozen Maiden and Tenchi Muyo GXP.

I remember friends speaking highly of shows like Bleach (heh), .hack, Full Metal Panic, Midori Days, Tenjo Tenge, Yakitate Japan, Eureka Seven, and Air Gear, but I can’t tell you anything about them, personally.

Either way, I’m sure I’ve given you more than enough to chew on.

#questions #anime #toonami #scifi channel #syfy #4kids #kids wb #foxbox #saturday anime #Anonymous

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benkouji726 · 4 years

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A Book Store

Written for Malex Week 2020.

Day 1 (July 13) Somewhere Only We Know. Fic Prompt: Meet Ugly

Based on Meet Ugly Prompt 71: You’re famous and you want to hide out in my bookstore which is fine except the stupid paparazzi won’t leave and now there’s a photo of us in the tabloids and they’re printing misinformation and why the fuck won’t you clear this up on your twitter account.

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

“Shit”, Michael sweared under his breath, then out loud, when he recognized the two guys following him the past 20 minutes or so were indeed the paparazzi people.

Normally he wouldn’t mind. He was a big name in music industry and he lived in west Hollywood, being followed by paparazzi was kind of his life now. Sometimes he even gave a smile or exchanged a few words with them, it was good to hold his down-to-earth and easygoing image. But not today.

Today was the wedding day of his ex band member, Max, to make things even bigger, he was marrying Michael’s very good friend Liz. He was supposed to be the best man or at least BE at that wedding. But he wasn’t. Because fuck Max. Fuck him so much.

His publicist wouldn’t let him use the “fuck Max” card as the reason why he didn’t show up at the wedding, which was a shame, because really, fuck that guy. But his publicist was also his sadist sister so he didn’t have a say in this and now he was “doing rehab” and he “could only love the people around him AFTER he loves himself first”. Honestly, with all the bullshit Izzy came up with, she should be in politics rather than in showbiz.

The bullshit now didn’t have a leg to stand on though, since he was apparently strolling down the streets in West Hollywood, sober as ever. Maybe he could act like he was drunk and failing rehab? It wouldn’t be his first rodeo. And he was just about to do that when he noticed one of the paparazzi guys was clearly attempting to approach him and ask a million questions.

Fuck, he could maybe pull off the drunk act from a distance, but up close? He was a musician, not an actor. He didn’t even do his own music video.

He needed to duck into some place, and he needed to duck fast.

So he entered the first shop he saw, without even noticing the name of it, which turned out to be a book store. And oddly, no one else except for one guy was in it.

Said one guy called out the moment he was in. “Sorry, we’re just about to close for the day. A private book club is gonna start in about an hour. And we need to prepare for it.”

The guy stood in the back of the store, half in shadow. But his voice was both smooth and sexy, Michael was suddenly very interested.

“By ‘we’ you mean you and your imaginary friends, right?” He smirked, taking off his cowboy hat, and flashed his million dollar smile.

“No”, the guy said, slowly, and he walked out of the shadow, a dog trailing after him, “by ‘we’ I mean my beagle and me. And OUR imaginary friends.”

For once, Michael had nothing witty to say back, because never mind the guy’s voice, he was GORGEOUS.

He was wearing a striped button down, some black pants, seemed casual but they hugged his body in all the right places and highlighted his strong biceps and perfectly round ass. He also had full lips, cheek bones that were practically sin materialized, and a pair of the most empathetic and expressive eyes Michael had ever seen. But beyond that, there was something about this guy that pulled at Michael. He was never one to believe love at first sight, but at that moment, he was inclined to at least consider it.

Then the guy widened his eyes, and said: “Oh my God. You are Michael Guerin.”

So this gorgeous man was his fan. Michael didn’t know how to feel about it. But the star-instinct kicked in, and he replied, fan-service smile firmly in place: “Yes, in the flesh. You wanna do a selfie together? I can sign it for you.”

The guy snorted. Honest to God snorted. Michael felt a bit insulted. “No, I mean, you’re Michael Guerin, the one Maria wouldn’t shut up about.”

And the realization hit Michael. “You are Alex? Alex Manes? The one Maria said would be PERFECT for me just because you named your book store ‘A Book Store’ and I named every albums of mine ‘An Album”, ‘Another Album’?”

“Hey, don’t you forget ‘Yet another Album’ and ‘The Fourth One’, they’re equally important.” Alex deadpanned, eyes twinkling.

Came to think about it, love at first sight DEFINITELY had its appeal.

Michael couldn’t help himself, he stepped forward, wanting to continue the conversation while being near Alex. He was too busy staring into Alex’s eyes to notice the pile of books on the floor between them.

He tripped over the books, lost his balance, and was caught by Alex’s strong arms. All in all, it was very romcom-y.

Except when he steadied himself in Alex’s half embrace, looked up at him, their faces only an inch or so apart, there was a flashlight through the window, and when he turned around, a camera was pointing right at them.

To make things worse, because Alex was also startled by the flashlight, he turned to Michael, and their lips somehow touched for a millisecond.

A second flashlight.

When Michael hurried to the door, the paparazzi guys were already gone.

He sighed, and turned to Alex, whose relaxed demeanor was also gone, instead he appeared angry and tense.

“Sorry about that...”

“They are not gonna publish that, are they?” Alex interrupted him, impatiently.

Michael was a little hurt by that, what the fuck. He didn’t even know the guy!

“Don’t worry”, he turned cold too, “my publicist will take care of it. And even if she couldn’t, I can just post something on my Twitter account to clear the whole thing up.”

Alex pinched his nose. “I’m sorry if I’m being a little harsh. But I’m a private person, I don’t want my face on some tabloid and be recognized on a daily basis just because of some misunderstanding.”

So he did know what a big name Michael was. Interesting.

“Like I said, don’t worry about it.” And with that, he was gone.

——————————————

The headline of the tabloid next day read “Drowning in alcohol? More like drowning in love! Ex-‘The-Aliens’ lead singer turned solo Artist Michael Guerin avoided his ex band member’s wedding for the search of his own love story.”

It was a mouthful, not to mention totally untrue. But Michael stared at the picture they used, and ignored Izzy’s angry yell.

They didn’t use the one they accidentally kissed, just the one when Michael almost fell and Alex caught him.

He was looking up at Alex, a little startled, but he was also smiling a little, as if saying “hey, you caught me”, and his eyes were full of adoration.

Alex was smiling too, some amusement in his expression, but he was also very gentle and soft, his left hand was on Michael’s right arm to steady him, his right was in the air, near his hair, as if he was about to brush his messy curls behind his ears.

They appeared so loving and sweet Michael almost stopped breathing for a moment.

He didn’t try to clear it up using any social media.

———————————

The call came on the third day after the “incident”.

“Why the fuck haven’t you done anything to clear that up?” Alex said, without a hello.

Michael, being the little shit he was, naturally replied: “Who is this and how do you get my personal number?”

“Cut the bullshit, Guerin”, wow, so when Alex was angry, he sounded even sexier. “Maria told me you had already asked for my number when I asked her for your number. You probably knew it was me from the first ring. So don’t stall, answer the question.”

“You know, Maria told me you’re ex military. A captain even? Any chance you might wear your uniform someday? Combine that with your commanding voice, maybe I’ll do just whatever you want me to do.” He was not even joking.

Alex was silent for a minute. Then he said, low and sure. “If you want me to bend you over my lap and spank you, you’d have to be a MUCH BETTER boy than that.”

Michael was suddenly having trouble sitting down, his jeans tight, hands sweating, he choked out: “How better?”

“Clear the damn mess up, Michael.” He hung up.

————————————

After Michael finally came clean about the whole encounter via twitter, he received a text from Alex.

“Good Boy.”

A second text.

“Friday night, 2100. My place.” He didn’t give the address.

No matter, Michael would be there, like the good boy he was.

#malexweek20 #malex20 #meet ugly prompt #Malex fic #my fic #the hardest part of this fic was trying to come up with a tabloid headline #paparazzi business is no joke y'all #slight d/s undertones #bc I can't resist Alex's captain voice

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aleapoffaithfiction · 5 years

Text

III.

"But the second she opened her eyes and looked at me, I knew. She was either going to be the death of me . . . or she was going to be the one who finally brought me back to life." ― Colleen Hoover

“Aye.”

The lids of my eyes slightly closed at the call for my attention and yet my eyes never peered away from the television screen as it illuminated the living room far more than the sunlight slightly peering beyond the curtains covering the windows. While slightly shifting to further my comfort, I leaned forward to adjust the bag filled with ice covering my ankle and lightly ran my hand over Mowgli’s head before leaving him to lazily lie beside me as he always does whenever I’m lounging around somewhere downstairs. Much like our usual unhealthy evening routine, while he lay there in solace, I popped a couple of Gushers into my mouth and cured my typical candy craving.

“Aye.”

“What?” My mumbled response surely wasn’t loud enough for anyone to hear but it’s whatever.

In the midst of the three men on the screen is by far the most intriguing being walking the planet. I can easily admit that I have not been everywhere nor have I experienced every good thing that this planet has to offer but I’m willing to bet on everything I know and have that I’m accurate in what I believe and have observed ever since I laid my eyes on her. A small smirk tugged along my lips as her eyes lit up and a fit of giggles erupted from her petite frame as Chad Johnson randomly tossed in his own hot take about why Lebron should have never left Miami, Chad’s native. They’ve been debating back and forth for over ten minutes about the ongoing James versus Irving tension that has lit the NBA and media worlds on fire.

On one end of the panel you have Kobe advocating for the hunger of leadership and the ability to withdraw from the immense shadow of the well-known king and then there’s Chad is who is standing with Lebron and deeming Kyrie’s antics to be a cry for attention that he may regret later on down the line. To the left of Sarai, there’s Scott, a heavy Lebron critic who will find any reason to rip the man to shreds, and today is certainly no different. He’s already assured in Kyrie winning a championship in Boston before Lebron wins another without him in Cleveland, which is a trash ass perspective because when it’s all said and done, Lebron is still Lebron. Sarai, per her usual, kept a balanced stance about the entire situation. Much like myself, she could see both sides of the issues between the men and thought it was best that the two did part ways despite the magic of the 2016 NBA Finals.

I’ve been tuning into the show since its beginning. I found out about it while skimming through my Twitter timeline and was instantly sold as soon as I read both Kobe and Chad’s names. As for Sarai, I’d only seen her name at the end of a couple of Sports Illustrated articles and though I didn’t physically see her, I know she was around when I shot for the ESPN Body Issue because I heard her name being mentioned throughout the hallways. It wasn’t until the first day of the show that I was able to put a face to the name that I hadn’t forgotten for whatever reason and within that very moment it felt like all of my organs halted their functioning for just a brief second. I stopped talking, stopped moving, and finally stopped breathing.

As she sat there with her back pressed against the upper portion of the chair, her fingers nervously toyed with the pen resting on top of the paper filled with the discussion topics for their first episode. Along her lips was a nervous smile and her eyes panned back and forth in a manner that could easily inform the viewers of just how overwhelmed she was. It didn’t seem to be the presence of men that overpowered and mentally belittled her, but instead the stature of the men who surrounded her. Despite being quite established in journalism, she was sitting among a five-time NBA champion, a six-time Pro Bowl and three-time First Team appearing NFL player, and a Harvard Graduate School journalist who came over to ESPN from Fox Sports. I’m sure she was wondering how would she ever be able to compete with that and just as I expected, it only took her a few days to figure it out; three days to be exact. By Thursday, she was on fire with every single perspective she brought to the table and had no issue going toe to toe with whoever challenged her. Most would say it wasn’t until she spoke up for me that she became the commodity on the show, but I beg to differ. She’d already taken that title by their second week running.

“Tud!”

Her poise is so alluring and she has this infectious giggle that instantly weakens your knees upon hearing it. I’m not sure what kind of skin care routine it takes in order for her milk chocolate skin to illuminate in the manner that it does, but I have to assume that it has to be God given rather than something that anyone has bottled up to be sold on shelves. I’ve encountered more women that I can count in passing and sometimes through simple introductions or interactions and none of them have come close to what I make sure I am able to see Monday through Friday whether I’m at home to watch it or not. Beautiful is too simple to describe her appearance. Intoxicating is beneath all that her aura is. I’ve never been so in awe at any point of my life thus far. I’ve never felt so small, so unworthy.

“Tud!”

“What?” My head finally snapped in the direction of Ben’s voice and he instantly sucked his teeth as he stood in the entry way of the living room.

“I been calling your deaf ass for twenty minutes and now I realize you ain’t been answering me because you deaf. You been mute as fuck because you’re in here about to fuck up your shorts over Sarai.”

“Shut the fuck up. Why you so loud anyway?”

“Because I been calling yo ass for twenty minutes. You staying here? Me and Kav about to head out and fuck the city up. We gon’ find somewhere to eat and then probably hit up that Future party at 1Oak. Get off the couch and come on.” As good as it sounds, I’m not in much of a partying mood and the last thing I need is to be photographed inside of a club after having sat out in our first game of the season against the Cowboys due to my ankle fucking with me from a slight injury during the preseason and then Monday night’s struggle and loss against the Lions. Even with my limited playing time and Engram’s momentum, our offensive line just couldn’t hold tight against their defense and an 88-yard punt return touchdown eventually sealed that loss for us. I’m not stressing about being down two games because we’ve been here before, but we definitely need to make some transitions and really get things going. I think we’ll be ready for Philly come Sunday.

“Nah, ya’ll got it. I’ll be alright right here. I’ma just chill with the dogs, watch a movie probably, and get momma to make some turkey chili.”

“You sound like an old ass man right now. Who the fuck sits on the couch with their dogs and eats turkey chili on a Friday? You depressed? I know yo ankle ain’t hurting that damn bad. You was on fire at rehab today.”

“I just feel like chilling, honestly.”

“Or you just feel like watching The Sports Haven, because you damn sure ain’t putting on no movie. She doesn’t want you dawg.” Ben’s laughter caused Mowgli to lift his head and the both of us stared at him as he amused himself.

“Who said that I want her?”

“Oh, you don’t have to say it nigga. We know. Everybody knows. The day you did the interview, all people could talk about is the way you were looking at her. You had dudes feeling some type of way because they swear they have claim on that lady and then you had chicks shocked as fuck because they swear you only dip in the snow. You ain’t the first one though. The way ya’ll balling ass niggas drool over her has become a running joke and now you’re officially apart of that collage of videos they put together of it. I was laughing at that shit the other day. I meant to send it to you.” He didn’t have to send it to me because I’ve already seen it. I’ve seen it a couple of times before I was included in it and it absolutely does contain footage of athletes from a bunch of different sports ogling, damn near drooling, and fumbling over their words while speaking with her or sitting up there at that panel. What makes it hilarious isn’t them, it’s her. All of it goes right over her head. I’ve yet to see her flinch or even slightly entertain any of it.

“You stay over exaggerating shit.”

“I ain’t over exaggerating a motherfucking thing. Ain’t she fucking with Big Sean?” No. I asked him while out in L.A. two months ago. A photograph of the two of them at a party began circulating the internet and rumors immediately followed and though the both of them denied any connection through tweets, I still asked him during a casual conversation. I had to know. He didn’t deny that he tried to shoot his shot, but it was an air ball. She laughed off his flirtation and instantly acquaintance zoned him.

“Nah.”

“How you know?”

“I asked him.” I could have lied to get him off of my back, but for what?

“Look at you snooping around in her business. Why you trying to scare niggas off? That’s not yo girl. You trying to block every shot that’s coming her way meanwhile you don’t even have her number. You a fucking fool.” Now that? I’m not confirming it. I’ll never hear the end of it if I mention anything about her number being in my phone. I’m sure it could earn me some points with my boys but I’m not seeking that kind of validation and besides, I finessed the whole situation. It’s not like I flat out asked for it, so those points would be in the negatives.

“I'm not trying to block shit.”

“You are though, but it’s cool. When she rejects yo ass, you’ll finally get it. How you know she ain’t married? Sean might not be her man but somebody else may be occupying that spot and you trying to plot on a happy home. She looks like the married type too. She probably married to some rich ass white dude with her bougie ass. You see the way Scott’s Squidward in the face looking ass be looking at her?”

“She never wears a ring on her finger.” I observed that a long time ago. “And you don’t even know her so how are you calling her bougie? You speaking on some shit that you don’t know about.”

“Aight nigga. I’ma leave you alone with that situation. You ain’t getting her so you better scroll through those hundreds of numbers you have and call up one of your typical flavors of the week or month. You don’t even commit and yet you trying to add Sarai Nazaire to your roller deck of women. You a dog fam.”

If we were talking about anybody else, I would have laughed that off and shrugged at the partial truthfulness. I’ve been in a few relationships and I sometime handle urges in certain ways that could easily depict me as the embodiment of a fuck boy, but that doesn’t necessarily mean it’s who I am. It’s not. Ever since my LSU days, my pop would always tell me to just live my life and not to commit myself to anything other than football and the books because life would be easier that way. I’ve lived in-between trying to gain some perspective and experience and living that lifestyle ever since. It’s no secret that my profession comes with women consistently flocking in my direction, willing to do whatever is necessary for the sake of some type of time with me.

Temptation is a bitch and she’s gotten the best of me on numerous occasions. I can’t say that I’m proud of it but I’ve never felt the need to kick myself in the ass over it either. Surprisingly, neither has my mother. Despite my vague responses when she asks about my behavior with women, she knows what’s going down and never fails to secretly store boxes of condoms in my bedroom drawers and bags whenever I’m traveling out of town. Then there are the talks when she warns me that though it is known for women to be swept off of their feet, there will eventually come a time when a woman will do the same exact thing to me. It’ll be mutual and despite any resistance, I won’t be able to escape the feeling. What’s for me will be for me and love will fall right in line with that, so she claims. I laughed it off all throughout my teen years but as I’m reaching my mid-twenties, there seems to be a truth to it.

��Are you done? Can I get back to the show now?”

“Been done. I’ll be back and I’m sure you’ll be right here on the couch, rewinding this shit back when I do get here.”

“Fuck you.”

His obnoxious laughter filled the halls as he trekked through them and I pressed play on the episode once again. I hadn’t expected the segment to transition to me but it did. Everyone’s been discussing what I’d be contributing to my team this year since I’m so “injury prone”. My rookie year, I missed the entire preseason and the first couple of games of the regular season with hamstring issues that stemmed all the way back to a back injury at LSU. From there, I’ve had some issues on and off with it but nothing too major. The ankle situation I’m going through right now is minor. I’m not necessarily one hundred percent, but I’m solid enough to play.

Surprisingly, no one had much criticism about any of it other than Scott. He questioned the Giants’ offensive dependency on me and made an argument that they needed to draft someone to supposedly pick up my slack, but that was interjected by Sarai who bluntly told him that players get injured, it’s all a part of the game. Yet again, my stats were her focal point and as she’s been emphasizing, when I’m on the field the energy and the numbers reflect that and when I’m not, the team greatly suffers. What was left in question for her was the severity of what this slight injury is. She claimed to have watched my postgame interview after our loss to the Lions and hoped that I hadn’t downplayed anything simply so I’d be able to play.

“Scott, you’re not making any sense. The man is the first player in NFL history with eighty or more catches and a thousand or more receiving yards in each of his first three NFL seasons. When he is on and off the field, it’s felt by the team and their spectators. We all know this.” Her smirk filled my core with faint fluttering. Shit.

I’m alright. The sprain is in much better shape now. The training staff wanted me to give it some more time, so I sat out the first game. The Lions game could have been better, but I still felt solid enough. I’m good for Sunday though.

A number of reporters have my direct number in case they want to verify information or may want a quote about a specific story that’s circulating about me. If Sarai wants, she could do the same as well. I don’t have much of an issue allowing her to know whatever it is that she needs to know.

Maybe it’s just me but I still find that by low hit by Boddy-Calhoun super dirty. I’m glad to hear you’re feeling alright.

A lot of people feel the way she does. I watched the replay and I can’t call it. It was a tough play for a defensive back and I’ll just leave it at that. While it did piss me off within those few seconds after the fact, I left the anger right there on the field.

Lol It’s all good. Am I seeing you Sunday?

This is the first time I’ve been anxious for someone to see me play in person since my family, when I suited up to play in my first official Giants game. Though I won’t actually see her watching everything, just knowing that she’s within the stadium experiencing the excitement of the game amongst the wild fans will easily put a smile on my face. I’d like for her to be able to see that I want to live up to every moment when she’s spoken highly of me.

I’m going to try to make it.

Try? That’s a less than fifty percent chance that she’s coming.

Try sounds like you won’t come. I’m sulking now.

Is it weird that I actually am? I’m sure the disappointment the day off will feel worse if I don’t see her face.

Lol you’re funny Beckham. At least I said I’d try rather than flat out saying that I won’t.

I’m persistent. I hate maybes or possibilities. I’m all about making shit happen.

Or you can say that you will. That ticket comes with a pass for one of the luxury suites in the stadium, so you have the option of being out there in the mist of the madness or being tucked away from it. You have a VIP parking pass too, so there’s no need to go insane looking for parking. There’ll be appetizers, snacks, and drinks too.

I had to pull a lot of finesse for that. Tickets to the game aren’t difficult to get but VIP perks in another team’s home stadium isn’t easy to come by. It’s always helpful to know people who knows people and so on. I just want to make sure she’s comfortable.

You’re really selling it. It all sounds pretty convincing though. You know, I easily could have shown up with a media pass.

She could have. Her ESPN credentials most likely work all over the place.

True, but then you wouldn’t be my guest of honor and I’d prefer it that way instead. It’s the least I could do after all that you’ve done for me.

With her love of sports, I figured she’d prefer that over some flowers of thanks that’ll eventually die or some materialistic possession that may lose value within her life at some point. There’s nothing wrong with flowers, I’d send them in a heartbeat, but memories never die. They’re the foundation to our experiences and everything that we stand for.

I’ll be there Beckham. The jersey is debatable but I’ll be there. Thank you for the invitation and all that you’ve included with it.

The bag of ice slipped onto the floor as I quickly sat up and read over her message once more. I couldn’t help but to stand up and pace the floor. Shit. Now I really have to ball out.

I’m glad to hear that and you’re welcome. See you then.

Wait, how the fuck are we going to see one another? That’s the part that I’ve yet to figure out. I need to do that quickly.

Rest up that ankle, Beckham. Enjoy your weekend.

We’re riding by chartered bus out to Philly since it’s only about two hours out from East Rutherford and we’ll return the same way. Maybe I could invite her out to dinner after the fact? Nothing fancy, just somewhere cool. Maybe it does need to be fancy? I’m not sure if I should say date, because she’d never go out on a date with me in the first place. I can just call it us grabbing some food. Then again, I did say that there’s going to be food at the stadium so she might be full. Shit.

“O! Sweetie, are you here?”

My mother’s light voice filled the foyer as she closed the door behind herself and I could tear the tussling of bags as she further her way inside of the house. She’s now in the middle of the second week of her two weeks stay and should be heading back to Louisiana after the Eagles game. We’ve had a few conversations about both she, my step-pops, and my little sister potentially relocating up here but we’ve summed it up to it not being necessary. They visit enough and I visit home enough, so there’s no need to leave all that they know on my behalf though I’m honored that they would do it in a heartbeat. Her check ins to make sure all is running smoothly on the business side of things and that I’m physically and mentally alright are always appreciated. It’s the perfect balance of her being able to happily function within her motherhood while also allowing me to be an adult. Jazzy has school, so she couldn’t make the trip, but Thanksgiving is around the corner. I’m sure before the ending of November comes, she’ll get up here to hang out with me for a weekend.

“I am. I’m coming to help you.” I relieved her of the grocery bags that I’m sure are filled with far more healthier items that I typically ever eat. My junk cabinet is more impressive than what’s in the refrigerator. I can whip up an amazing bowl of chicken Ramen though. It’s my specialty. I even get fancy and put an egg in there from time to time. Then you throw some of that green shit on top. What is it? Basil? Cilantro? Whatever it is.

“What do you want for dinner? I figured I’d whip something up while I’m here. You’re going out right? When you get back, you’ll have something real to eat and won’t have to survive off of sour straws and Oreos.”

“Chili. You know I like it when you make it spicy too. Oh, and some cornbread with it. Can’t have chili without cornbread. I’m kicking it here by the way.”

“Chili is so much better than you saying gumbo, because Lord knows, if you did, I would have handed you a takeout menu and wished you the best.” Our laughter was nearly identical. I’m all for some southern comfort food, especially because I don’t get it much up here, but I’ll be fair. The next time she’s here, the gumbo is happening though.

“Nah, I have a taste for the chili.”

“I’ll make a big pot, that way you’ll have it to enjoy over the weekend. I’m going to make something on Sunday before heading to Philadelphia for the game. That way it’ll be out of the way and I won’t have to worry about doing anything before my flight Monday morning. I’ll make enough for you to have a decent amount of leftovers after you dig in on Sunday. How are you feeling? Are you ready?”

“I was born ready. I feel good. Rehab was good. The trainers said I’m in good shape, so I’m ready to play. You know I’ll always play and sometimes, that’s even with discomfort.”

“Which isn’t good, but I’m glad you’re feeling good now.” My mind transitioned through a thousand thoughts as my stomach did backflips in the midst of my contemplating if I should tell her about the invitation to Sarai or not. It’s not like I have much of a choice. They’re going to encounter and be near one another. I could never play it off as a mere coincidence after the fact. Shit, Ben won’t let me either way.

“I invited Sarai Nazaire to the game.” And just like that, both of her eyebrows flew up in surprise and her elbows met the surface of the island as she leaned in to get a good look at me. Her face held a mixture of amusement and warmth. The hue of her skin slightly picked up a faint pink shade once a chuckle spilled from her lips.

“Did you? So that’s why you visited her dressing room after the interview? I thought those tickets were for some sort of an ESPN fan giveaway or something of that nature.”

“No, they were for her. I figured I’d invite her simply as a thank you.”

“Is that all it is?” She folded her hands as those eyebrows flew up yet again. “Just a thank you?”

“Yeah.”

“Then why are you so nervous? You know, I’ve been waiting for a moment like this. Ever since you were a kid, you always played it super cool when it came to the girls. Even the little girlfriends that I met here and there, you kept cool about. Sarai Nazaire? Her name rolls off of your tongue like she’s a goddess. Your eyes literally just lit up at the sound of it. Oh my God.” Her laughter intensified my nervousness and I instantly ran my hand down my face to gain some sort of control over my expressions.

“No, they didn’t.”

“Yes, they did. You have it bad, son. You have a love jones for Sarai, huh?”

“A love jones? What’s that supposed to mean? I’m not in love.”

“I never said that you were. I said a love jones. Watch the movie.”

“I just think she’s cool momma. I can’t think that?”

“Cool? Jazzy and I think she’s cool, but you, not so much. You think she’s far more than that.”

“Are you going to tease me the entire time I’m standing here? I just wanted to let you know so it won’t be a surprise or anything. Maybe you can make sure she’s cool and stuff? You know, with the accommodations. She may bring a guest.”

“I can do that. Is there anything else you may want me to do or say?” Her mocking tone was my cue to go. She can have those moments when she says little things to playfully embarrass me but she can’t do it on Sunday. If God is on my side, she won’t do it.

“Momma.”

“Okay, okay, okay. I’ll be on my best behavior. As a reflection of my oh so amazing son, I’ll make sure your guest is well taken care of. I mean, after all, I need to make a good impression on her too since she’s going to be around.”

“Who said all of that?” See? That’s what I mean. She’s assuming.

“Your actions.”

“It’s just an invitation of thanks.”

“You already said thank you. You told her that you want to make her proud directly to her face. That’s another thank you. The jersey? A third thank you. The game? A move to begin to court her.”

“You’ll call me when the chili is ready? Cool? Aight, Cool.”

What is with mothers and the third eye situation? I’m a momma’s boy to the core. The sacrifices my mother made to make sure that I was solid in life will never go without every aspect of thanks that I can give her, but in the midst of that, we’ve become like best friends and it’s allowed her to know and be able to read me too well. I can’t slip anything past her no matter how hard I try to. She figures shit out without even being here and a phone call immediately follows; sometimes it’s a flight. Her warnings about women have never come with a leash, because she’s always told me that it’s my life to live but it doesn’t mean that she won’t inform me about whether someone is bad news for me or not. We’ve had our fair share of conversations about particular women, especially over the course of this past summer but even then, I didn’t feel so exposed as I do now. Maybe because there wasn’t anything to expose, at least not emotionally.

I chose to relax in the theater room while awaiting the chili and after scrolling through Netflix and then eventually Amazon Prime Video, I gave in to the curiosity I’d been fighting and decided to check out this Love Jones movie momma mentioned. Given that Larenz Tate and Nia Long are pure talent within their craft, I figured it couldn’t be too bad of a watch despite me not being much of a romance film guy. Putting the love, sex, and romance aspect aside, which is all throughout the film, the most interesting and relative part about the film may have to be the reality of two young people trying to figure out themselves and their journey because I, for sure, am in that place within my own life. I may have the career side of things secured, though it comes with its ups and downs, but as far as everything else? I’m just coasting, fucking up occasionally, and learning as I navigate along. There are aspects of Darius within me and every other young man out here.

“Oh, I see you decided to check it out. How are you liking it?” My attention left Nina’s poem and I shrugged.

“It’s decent.” That’s all I can give it but I’m sure women love the hell out of this film.

“Mhm. The chili’s cooking. I just popped the cornbread in the oven. When it’s ready, I’ll serve you.”

“Have I ever told you that you’re my favorite person ever?”

“Only about a million times and especially when you’re trying to bribe me out of something. Enjoy your movie.”

A happy ending after a roller coaster ride of mixed emotions, complications, and setbacks. I guess it makes sense, given if it’s what you really want. If you walk away, did you really want it in the first place? That’s subjective, but in the case of Darius and Nina, the question stands. I guess their love really was “urgent as a motherfucker”.

What are you doing?

I pulled my lip in-between my teeth and internally cringed at the message I sent to Sarai. Since when are we so casual? I hate that I had to do it. I should have never watched that movie in the first place.

Her reply came my way twenty minutes later. Maybe she’s busy.

Beckham. Lol My life is not that interesting. I doubt you’d want to know.

But you’re the most intriguing human on the planet. How don’t you know it?

Try me.

Maybe she’s with her man and I’m interrupting. I pray she doesn’t say that. I’d rather not know.

In bed, watching Remember the Titans with a jar of Talenti gelato. It’s the beginning of a weekend that will consist of exactly what I’m doing. See? Uninteresting. What club are you heading to tonight? 1oak? Marquee? Lavo?

Hm. She thinks I party a lot. I can’t deny how much I hang out during the off season. L.A. is usually my playground.

Club home theater. I’m chilling with my dogs and scrolling through a couple of apps for movies or a good TV show to binge. Momma making chili for dinner. Just finished Love Jones.

Maybe I’ll check out that Game of Thrones shit that everyone loves. Actually, nah. I’m going to catch up on Power.

You? You watched Love Jones? I’m uh..shocked? lol

Shit, me too.

Momma suggested it. It was a good watch, I guess. Remember the Titans is a better one. We Are Marshall is another good football film. Check it out if you haven’t seen it. What’s your favorite Love Jones quote?

Fuck, I’m corny. I couldn’t help but to laugh at myself after asking that.

My favorite quote? Hmm. I guess it would be: “It’s funny what you can do in front of a room full of people that you can’t even seem to do in front of one person.” That one has always stuck with me. Goodnight Beckham.

I almost tossed my phone into the seat beside me but I couldn’t fight the urge yet again.

You didn’t ask for my favorite quote.

Not necessary and yet, necessary.

And that is?

Only three lines within the film really stuck with me. Out of the three, one seemed to resonate the most.

“One truism in my life, my friend, when that jones come down, it be a motherfucker.” Goodnight Sarai Nazaire.

A motherfucker for sure.

#fanfiction #fan fiction #fanfic #odell beckham jr fanfic #odell beckham fanfic

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weekendwarriorblog · 3 years

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THE WEEKEND WARRIOR 4/2/21: GODZILLA VS. KONG, THE UNHOLY, OXFORD FILM FESTIVAL

I’m really not sure how I feel about doing the Weekend Warrior at quite the level I was doing last year. Even though the box office is slowly coming back, it’s still very frustrating to write about, and honestly, the Disney announcement last week about all the movies being delayed or dumped to Disney+ kinda brought me down. It just tells me that many studios are giving up on theatrical just as people have gotten so used to watching stuff at home, they don’t care about going out and being in rooms with other people, especially strangers. I guess I can understand that, but all the negativity that pervaded the narrative in 2020 is finally doing its damage as theaters reopen and some may have trouble even filling 25% capacity for some movies.

Then again, I’ve just come back from a weekend at the Oxford Film Festival, which became one of the first American film festivals to go in-person, although it is doing a bit of a hybrid in-person with virtual, so locals and a few out-of-of-towners (mainly me) were able to see all of this year’s great programming at one of the outdoor (and then indoor due to weather) venues. I was on the feature doc jury and got to see 11 terrific documentaries, some of which hopefully will get distribution and get out there, but why wait? While most of the movies are geoblocked to the United States (and some to Mississippi), there’s so much great programming to check out over the next month, and you can do so via OxFilm’s virtual cinema, which includes many great features and shorts. As far as the juries, I can highly recommend the Jury Prize winners, In a DIfferent Key, a fantastic film about autism directed by Caren Zucker & John Donvan, and the runner-up, Patrick O’Connor’s Look Away, Look Away, an amazing bi-partisan look at the fight to keep the Confederate-created flag of MIssissippi or change it, depending on your side of the fight. It’s a doc that really needs to be seen in other parts of the country. (Unfortunately, those are both geoblocked to Mississippi, as is Chelsea Christie’s Bleeding Audio, which tells the tragic story of the rise and fall of San Francisco’s The Matches and won for Music Documentary.) There are movies available everywhere in the United States though, and you can check out the full line-up of movies here.

Anyway, OxFilm gives me hope that there’s a future for theatrical moviegoing and as far as the box office, that hope comes in the form of the first holiday weekend since NYC and L.A. reopened as the Good Friday day off for most schools and Easter Monday that continues the vacation for others might persuade people to check out what’s happening in theaters, and fortunately, it’s a movie that’s so easy to market based on the fact that it has two of the biggest movie monsters facing off for the first time since 1963.

That’s right -- opening on Wednesday is the anticipated GODZILLA VS. KING KONG, starring… well, does it really matter who it stars other than Zilla and Kong? Probably not. The fourth movie in the Legendary Pictures and Warner Bros. Monsterverse takes the star of 2017’s Kong: Skull Island ($168 million at domestic box office) and pits him against the title character of 2014’s Godzilla ($200 million) and 2019’s Godzilla, King of the Monsters ($110.5 million). MInd you, I just include those domestic grosses for reference, because even if we take into account that scary dip from Godzilla and its direct sequel, it won’t really matter when you take into consideration a little thing called…. COVID! We’ve already seen movies gross more than $50 million since everything shutdown

I already reviewed this over at Below the Line, so I don’t have much more to say in that regard. It’s good if you like giant monster fights but isn’t much beyond its amazing monster battles, which is why I won’t even mention the actors that appear in it or any of the characters.

Godzilla vs. Kong is probably going to be the widest release since COVID hit with 2,600 theaters on Wednesday and then expanded to 3,000 on Friday when Regal reopens many (but not all) of its theaters. While I expect it to do fine on Weds and Thursday, making probably $4 or 5 million, it should really explode on Good Friday, which should allow it to make somewhere between $18 and 20 million over the three-day holiday weekend, so let’s say $25 to 26 million before Monday.

Also opening theatrically, this one on Friday is the Screen Gems horror movie THE UNHOLY from Sam Raimi’s Ghost House Pictures, the directorial debut by Evan Spiliotopoulos (writer of Disney’s mega-blockbuster Beauty and the Beast live action movie and the Rock’s Hercules ), who adapted the story from James Herbert’s novel “Shrine.” The movie stars Jeffrey Dean Morgan as disgrace journalist Gerry Fenn who is trying to get stories for a supernatural tabloid when he comes upon a deaf teenager named Alice (Cricket Brown) seemingly praying at an oak tree in a rural community in Massachusetts. When she seemingly gets her hearing back and is able to talk, word quickly spreads that she’s able to communicate with a benevolent Virgin Mary-like spirit that gives her the powers to heal. Since this is a horror movie, you can probably guess that things quickly get ugly and scary. THe movie also stars the wonderful Katie Aselton as a local doctor, who doesn’t do very many doctor-y things.

Before we get to my review -- and I’ll blame the review embargo on it for this week’s column being so late -- let’s talk about the movie’s box office potential, because religious horror-thrillers have quite a significant draw over a certain audience going straight back to the ‘70s with movies like The Exorcist and The Omen (the latter one of my all-time favorites) and The Unholy does dip into the toe of both of those. It’s been a long since there’s been one of those which might make this a draw for audiences into theaters, especially over Easter weekend -- that may be meant as irony -- but there’s also a little movie called Godzilla vs. Kong, which is just way more of a draw even with it being on HBO Max, but also because it’s likely to get better reviews. I’m not sure how many theaters Sony is getting this into, but I expect it’s somewhere around 2,000 or so, and that might be enough for the movie to make around $4 to 5 million this weekend, but probably VERY frontloaded to Friday.

Now let’s get to that review…

The Unholy begins with a flashback scene to “February 31, 1845” with a scene right out of the Salem Witch Trials of a woman being mutilated and strung up to a tree. This plays a very important role in a story that involves a fairly ludicrous premise that mostly involves Jeffrey Dean Morgan’s character finding something called a Kern Baby, essentially a porcelain doll wrapped in chains that he decides to smash in order to create a fake supernatural story about how smashing the doll causes crops to fail. In fact, smashing it releases the spirit of the woman we saw in that opening scene possessing a deaf teen girl named Alice who starts to heal everyone in her rural community, while also releasing the evil that had that woman’s spirit bound into the doll in the first place.

There isn’t that much more to say about the plot to a stupid horror premise so full of religious hokum as more characters get involved with trying to figure out if Alice is actually healing people or not. This includes the benevolent local priest Father Hagan, played by William Sadler, and a Bishop (really) played by Cary Elwes, who is using such a bizarre accent, kind of like a cross between the Bronx and a heavy Irish brogue, that it’s impossible to take his character very seriously.

Just knowing what studio garbage Spiliotopoulos has written did not make me very hopeful for his directorial debut, which is just all over the place in terms of tone and pacing, dragging at times and then throwing the type of cheap jump scares and schlocky CG horror creatures at the viewer with very little of it actually being very scary. " (The creature version of "Mary" just looks silly.) Besides being highly derivative, ripping off almost every religious horror movie, both bad and good, some aspects of the movie are so laughably bad that it’s hard to take much of it seriously. Worst of all, it ends with just a really horrible climax that reverses any good will the movie might have created with the casual young horror fans that usually like this thing. Honestly, I wouldn’t be shocked if it’s another one of those unrare “F” CinemaScores we see whenever a studio horror film doesn’t bother matching up to the quality of something like The Witch or Hereditary. Horror fans definitely want more than the usual these days, and The Unholy just seems like a lazy waste of time.

A movie that I’ve been looking forward to seeing and just haven't had time to watch is Emma Seligman’s SHIVA BABY (Utopia) that stars Rachel Sennott as 20-something Danielle who runs into her sugar daddy (Danny Deferrari) at a shiva with his wife (Dianna Agron) and their baby, as well as her parents (Fred Melamed and Pollyw Draper) and Molly Gordon as Danielle’s ex-girlfriend. It’s actually playing at the newly reopened Quad Cinema, so who knows? Actually I did watch Shiva Baby and was kind of disappointed. It seemed very twee and precious, and Sennott's character seems like the type of spoiled Millennial white girl that I hate in indie movies like this. I also just didn't find it particularly funny. Oh, well.

Streaming Friday on Netflix is Ricky Staub’s CONCRETE COWBOY, starring Idris Elba, Caleb McLaughlin and Lorraine Toussiant with McLaughlin being a teenager who moves in with his estranged father (Elba) in North Philadelphia where he learns about his passion for urban horseback riding.

Opening in New York (at the Angelika and Village East) on Friday and in L.A.and other cities on April 9 is the Oscar-nominated International Feature THE MAN WHO SOLD HIS SKIN (Samuel Goldwyn Films), written and directed by Kaouther Ben Hania, and starring Yahya Mahyni, Dea Liane, Koen De Bouw and Monica Bellucci. Tunisia’s submission is the story of Sam Ali, a Syrian who leaves his country for Lebanon to escape the war with hopes of travelling to Europe to be with the love of his life. To fulfill that dream, he allows his back to be tattooed by a contemporary artist that actually brings more trouble to the poor young man.

Hulu will debut the doc WeWork: or The Making and Breaking of a $47 Billion Unicorn (Hulu), which I still haven’t gotten around to watching but seems like an interesting subject for a doc.

A little closer to home at the still-closed Metrograph, they’re playing Claire Dennis’ 2004 film L’Intrus through April 8, and on Friday will open Sky Hopinka’s experimental debut maɬni – towards the ocean, towards the shore (Grasshopper Films) which follows Sweetwater Sahme and Jordan Mercier as they wander around the Pacific Northwest, mostly speaking in the Chinuk Wawa language. The latter is free to digital members ($5/month, $50 a year!) and $12 for non-members… pretty easy decision there, huh? Ms. Dennis’ film is also available to members.

Not only that, but New York’s Film Forum is also reopening this Friday with the double feature of Almodovar’s remastered Woman on the Verge of a Nervous Breakdown and his new short The Human Voice, starring Tilda Swinton; the fantastic doc The Truffle Hunters; as well as his Fellini’s masterful Oscar winner La Strada (Janus Films, 1954), starring Anthony Queen and the wonderful Giulietta Masina! (That’s what I’ll be seeing this Sunday!) On top of that, Film Forum will continue its fantastic Virtual Cinema programming, which will launch Eric Roehmer’s A Tale of Winter (1992) this Friday with Roehmer’s A Tale of Summer (1996) joining the Virtual Cinema starting Friday April 9.

Got exciting news that Film at Lincoln Center will be reopening on April 16, but this week, they’ll be launching the latest edition of Neighboring Scenes, its annual series of Latin American films done in conjunction with Cinema Tropical. It’s 10 films that you can watch with an all-access pass for the low price of $80, and it usually has some good movies in the program.

A couple others out this week, including Funny Face and Every Breath You Take (Vertical), which I don’t even have time to look up what they’re about. Sorry!

That’s it for this week. Next week, Neil Burger’s sci-fi coming-of-age thriller, VOYAGERS, will hit theaters.

#the weekend warrior #godzillavskong #theunholy #movies #reviews #streaming #shivababy

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hamburgergod · 7 years

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*posts Halloween fic in July*

the installment of orange and grapefruit verse you’ve all been waiting for! where Cas -- a human-harpy hybrid -- finds out about Halloween, midterms happen, and Dean helps Cas celebrate Halloween to his best abilities. ~3.5k

[AO3]

They’re just about done with their groceries, and Dean is making sure they got everything they need, when Cas decides to stop in front of a mechanical ghoul doll that says step here. One of those things people put on their front lawns for Halloween.

Cas reads the sign, and politely steps onto where it tells him to. The ghoul shrills ominously.

Dean stops him from almost ripping the ghoul’s head off.

“That was entirely unnecessary,” Cas says with a scowl, after Dean calms him down. Dean only doesn’t laugh because Cas is already so angry; he figures if he can see Cas’s wings right now, they’d be all puffed up. “What’s the point of that thing?”

“It’s for Halloween,” he gestures towards the HALLOWEEN section behind them. Cas stares back blankly. “Gonna go on a limb here and assume you don’t know what Halloween is.”

“I know about it. Sort of.” They move up the check-out line. “It’s when the boundaries between realms thin, and humans wear masks to blend in and prevent being killed.”

“Uh, I guess.”

“I’m not really sure where all the chocolate comes into play.”

Dean starts loading up their stuff onto the conveyor belt. Cas helps. “People don’t dress up for that purpose so much anymore, and the chocolate thing—wait,” Dean lowers his voice, “do the gaps thin during Halloween? Are there alternate realms? Is that actually a thing?”

Cas shrugs. “I don’t know,” he adds helpfully.

“Oh. Okay, then.”

They pay for their stuff, and head back to the bus stop. “So you never did Halloween before.”

“What does ‘doing Halloween’ involve, exactly?”

Dean thinks about all those times mom took him and Sam out for trick-or-treating, going to haunted houses, handing candy out on nights he didn’t feel like going out, carving pumpkins, et cetera. He tells him about the time Sam tripped over his cape when he went as king Arthur one year. “He decided to go as a street magician the year after, and dumbass did the exact same thing with his cape. Don’t think he’s worn one with a cape since.”

Their bus comes then, and they lug their groceries to their seats. “So, yeah,” Dean continues. “It’s mostly going around in costume getting chocolate from your neighbours and carving out pumpkins when you’re a kid.”

Cas thinks this over. “And when you’re not a child?”

“You can hand chocolate out, or it’s mostly going around in costume getting drunk.”

“Hmm.”

When they go to the store together the next week, Dean brings a pack of jack-o-lantern shaped sugar cookies to Cas’s attention.

“I know about these,” Cas replies.

“Yeah?” Dean pops it into their cart, and they move on from the bakery section.

“A man named Jack trapped Satan up on a tree and refused to let him down until he promised to never take his soul—”

“Not today, Satan,” Dean mutters.

“—and Jack won. So when he died and was refused by heaven for his sinful life, Satan gave him a coal burning with hellfire, and Jack carved out a turnip to keep it lit. He wanders with his lantern ever since.”

“Huh. Cool. I think I heard that somewhere. Never knew the details before, though.” Dean eyes the corn, picks one up, and stares at the sign. Hmm, five for one. He beckons Cas towards him. “Let’s get ten of these.”

After making sure Cas checks the corn before he shucks it for the taking, and after halfway through shucking his third corn, Dean puts a finger to it. “Have you been looking stuff up on Halloween?”

“Mostly just Wikipedia,” Cas admits. He puts a feeble-looking corn in the bag, and Dean internally winces. Oh well, he’ll learn one day. “It was still interesting to read about. Did you know that some think trick-or-treating originates from the practice of giving out soul cakes for children and the poor during Halloween and Christmas?”

It’s almost like he’s been waiting to be asked, since Cas goes on and on about all these things about Halloween during their entire way back home, and over dinner. They eat the jack-o-lantern shaped cookies for dessert, and Cas’s smile matches the one on the cookie he holds. He supposes it’ll technically be Cas’s first proper Halloween, so it’d be a shame if Dean’s not a cool roommate who doesn’t care about whether Cas spends his first proper Halloween in a proper Halloween way or not.

Lucky for Cas, Dean is the coolest roommate.

He manages to find the time to stop by the dollar store and scout for deco. None of the blatantly corny looking shit, but still authentic enough that Dean’s willing to put it in their house. It’s not much; just some Halloween stickers that goes on the windows, those pumpkin necklaces that light up he figures they can hang on things, spider webs and little plastic spiders, and one bigger spider doll.

Dean’s wondering if he should start on decorating or if he should wait for Cas, when Cas solves his little conundrum by coming back just then to find Dean sitting in the living room, staring at a set of stickers.

“Hey, Cas,” Dean grins up as Cas takes in the scene.

“Hello, Dean.” Cas slides his bag off. “What is this?”

“Halloween’s close, so I figured, why not?”

Dean swears that Cas beams, and they get started right away. Cas is scarily efficient at it, somehow already knowing exactly where he wants most of the stuff. The lights go on top of the TV, they try to stick the spider webs on the corners of the wall with tape and fail spectacularly so it goes anywhere they can drape them on their furniture, and the spider doll goes on the top of the fridge.

“So it can look down on its prey,” Cas explains.

“And we’re the prey?”

“We’re the prey,” Cas nods seriously.

They do argue a little over the stickers, mainly in that Cas can’t decide on where to put them on.

“Cas, anywhere on the windows is fine,” Dean says for the hundredth time.

“Dean, you don’t understand.” Cas clutches at the sheet of stickers. “This is a huge responsibility.”

The stickers—a bat, a jack-o-lantern, and a ghost—end up on the corner of their living room window by the balcony door.

“Lookin’ good,” Dean grins, and Cas smiles with him.

“Thank you, Dean.”

It’s weird; every time Dean walks into the living room, he remembers the decorations and admires it for few seconds. It’s not like there’s much of it, and it’s not really that big of a deal, but he’s never done stuff like this with his roommates last year.

Sort of weird how Dean knew for sure that his gesture wouldn’t have gone unappreciated, that they’ll always be welcomed. Cas isn’t even wholly human, but how many people in his life can he say that about?

Yeah. Sort of weird.

Dean’s not able to find the time to set aside to think over a proper, home-made costume this year despite Halloween fast approaching, bombarded with midterms and projects right beforehand (and isn’t that a shame, and he puts aside his real pure panic over growing up real fast). But it’s cool, since he’s going as a generic cowboy, and cowboys are always cool no matter how generic it is.

Halloween is actually on a Saturday this year, which means midterms until the Friday if profs are nice, and midterms on the following Monday if profs are dicks. Thankfully, the former is the case for everyone he knows (except himself, who has a midterm on Saturday, which is bullshit, and molecular bio is bullshit), which means everyone’s free to party on Halloween.

Dean’s counting on all of these factors when he asks Cas as casually as he can possibly manage, “Hey, so if you don’t have any plans, you wanna come to Charlie’s Halloween party Saturday night?”

It’s good that he waited until after Cas is done pouring hot water into his mug, because he’s staring at him like Dean just asked him to marry him.

“You’re okay with that?” Cas asks, and it’s Dean’s turn to blink.

“I mean, I wouldn’t have asked you if I wasn’t,” Dean jokes, but Cas is putting the kettle down with a serious frown on his face, and Dean feels a heart-to-heart talk coming. Did he do something wrong?

“Uh.” Well, Dean didn’t prepare for this. He mostly expected Cas to be over the moon about getting to do something Halloween-y again. “You can say no if you don’t want to.”

“I’m not human, Dean,” Cas says slowly, like Dean hasn’t known that for the past whole month already. “Your close friends will be there.”

“Yeah,” Dean replies, still kinda clueless about where this is going. “So?”

“So.” Cas hesitates, and shrugs. “It wouldn’t be right.”

Dean blinks rapidly, trying to process this new info, but mostly it’s making the dial-up sound while a lot of question marks fill up his brain. He gives up. “What are you talking about? Is this a harpy thing? Am I stepping boundaries here?”

“No. Well—yes. Mainly in that I’m not completely human.” Cas’s shoulders slump. “This party is important to you. Why would I…”

“Dude, Cas,” Dean says, “it’s just a small party. It’s going to be me and few buddies, and we’ll grab some pizza, watch a cheesy old movie, that sort of deal.” Cas still doesn’t look at him, which isn’t the best sign, and, well, this sort of hesitation is new. “Cas?”

“I’ve never been to a party,” Cas mumbles. “I never had the occasion, and I wouldn’t know what to do.”

“That’s fine!” Dean laughs, though he doesn’t mean to sound rude about it. Cas, however, glares. “Cas, of course you don’t know jack shit about how humans do things. I don’t know how harpies party, but that doesn’t mean I wouldn’t try new things.”

“I don’t really know how harpies party either,” Cas helpfully points out. “Except maybe the occasional family gatherings.”

“Cas. Buddy. Pal.” Dean pats him on the shoulder. “That is exactly why you gotta come! C’mon, what d’you say, huh?”

Cas stares at him, and he huffs at his face (rude). The corner of his lips quirk up slightly. “Alright.”

Dean grins. “Yeah?”

“Yes,” Cas replies. “But I don’t have a costume, and I don’t think we have time to find something for me.”

“You can borrow mine,” he says quickly. “I was going to use one of Charlie’s, anyway.” Dean glances at the clock. It’s eight at night, and they still got few hours before some of the costume stores and thrift stores around town to close. Dean does have a midterm tomorrow and he’d be in a bit of a tight spot, but he might just have enough time management skills in him yet to work with whatever time he has left after costume shopping. “Unless you want to try to find something for yourself…?”

“No, that’s fine. We both have a midterm tomorrow, so I’d rather not.” Cas smiles. “You were going as the cowman, right?”

“Cowboy,” Dean corrects, and thumps him on the shoulder few times. “Dude, I’m stoked! I can’t wait ‘til you meet everyone.”

“Me too.” Cas beams, standing there with his cup of coffee in hand, his hair still ruffled from unconsciously running his hands through it while he looked over his notes. Dean wants to reach over and flick at the strands that are standing up. “Thank you, Dean.”

“Don’t mention it,” Dean nudges. “Study hard, so we can party hard, alright?”

Cas nods, and Dean watches him retreat back into his room. He makes himself a cup of hot chocolate with a little bit of the instant coffee mix they have, and sit back down in front of his desk himself.

Maybe now he’ll be able to focus on studying.

Dean’s midterms come and go, and he finds out just how much he hates molecular bio all over again, but he’s quick to put that behind him now that he’s free for the weekend.

He has a slight bounce to his steps on his way back, no worries for tomorrow and nothing to do tonight except to hang out with good company and chill. Needless to say that he’s wholly unprepared for the sight that greets him when he steps into his apartment.

“Oh, Dean,” Cas turns around casually. His wings are poking out from underneath the dark brown trench coat, relaxed as Cas stretches his arms to the side. “What do you think?”

What does he think. What does Dean Winchester, trademark Bisexual, think of Cas in jeans with a decorative belt buckle and a (toy) gun strapped to the side, a black vest accessorized with a fake pocket watch, with a red scarf tied around his neck and a dark brown cowboy hat sitting just above his dark brows.

“You look good,” he manages. Should’ve just put Cas in a potato sack instead of, whatever, is what he wants to say. “Dude, damn. I’m impressed.” Maybe too far. “Glad that you’re fit. It. It fits you. Glad that it fits you.”

Cas smiles, which is just about the hardest thing for Dean to endure right now. “I won’t have these out, of course,” he says, his wings fluttering a little. “But this is nice.”

Dean laughs. This was a mistake. “The trench coat is a look I never thought would be for you, but hey, maybe next year, you should be Constantine,” he says, and regrets it immediately. He, Dean Winchester, trademark Bisexual, does not have the strength to see Cas in a Constantine outfit.

Cas cocks his head to the side at the mention of someone he’s never heard of before, and Dean leaves him to looking up who Constantine is while he himself gets ready for the party. He’s excited to find that the knight costume is slightly tighter around his shoulders compared to when they ran the Moondoor campaign over the summer. When he steps out of his room, Cas grins.

“Ready for a taste of Halloween?” Dean smiles, and Cas nods. “Okay, then. Let’s go.”

Cas meets Charlie, who’s dressed as a Ravenclaw (“Ravenclaw? You are not a Ravenclaw.” “Don’t judge a girl by her house, Dean.”) and has had a lot to say to Dean in private on his choice of costume for Cas (“I just lent him mine, Charlie. Nothing else to it.” “It’d be more convincing if it came from someone who didn’t have the biggest cowboy fetish I’ve ever met.”).

Cas also meets the rest of the nerd club (Jo as a kraken, Ash as goblin king, Victor as Captain America, Jesse as Falcon, and Cesar as Hawkeye), who collectively decide to take turns to bring up one embarrassing thing Dean did during LARPing per person, those sick fuckers. Dean hates that every time there’s someone willing to listen in their nearest vicinity they bring up that one time he fell face-first straight into a puddle, but Cas, surrounded by his friends, steals a glance at Dean and smiles, and the story becomes a hundred times more embarrassing, but, well, it’s alright.

Jesse lets Cas poke at his wings and lift it here and there, letting him inspect it with a smile, and he listens as Cesar explains about the Marvel universe. Cas also listens to Jesse bicker with Victor about how they’re both technically Sam Wilson and how they should’ve discussed this beforehand. Dean can tell that Cas doesn’t understand, and that he’ll have a million questions after this party.

They play a game of Catan where they don’t miraculously kill each other after, probably because Cas wins. Everybody else calls it a beginner’s luck, but Dean knows better. So doe Charlie apparently, because she tries to scout him into playing for the next time they start a new DnD campaign.

“That sounds fun,” Cas says, glancing at Dean. “Will you be there?”

Dean ignores everyone else’s knowing looks and nods at Cas, because they’re dumb and they don’t know that Cas isn’t some socially inept roommate who’s overly attached to Dean but an actually different species altogether, and that he’s still somewhat hesitant when it comes to joining the rest of humanity, so he needs at least one human he knows to be there for emotional support. Understandably.

After, they all cram into Charlie’s two couches with a box of pizza and a bowl of chocolate bars in front of them, and argue on whether to watch The Haunting or The Rocky Horror Picture Show, and Dean wins with the latter by using the Cas-has-never-watched-it-and-it’s-a-classic-Halloween-movie-so-it’d-be-a-tragedy-if-he-didn’t card.

“It’s more fun at a showing with more people,” Dean says as Charlie hands out the bells, “but these kids are all nerds so you’re probably okay.”

Dean gets a shower of popcorn for that, which is totally unfair, because they all prove his points by throwing rice like confetti and yelling at the top of their lungs on their cues. Cas is bewildered, but he shakes his bell and does the Time Dance even though he has no idea what the hell he’s doing or why, and he laughs while they hop around in Charlie’s living room, and throwing toast and toilet paper in the air. Ash knocks over the pizza box, and he’s banned from standing on the table after that.

After that’s the clean-up, and then back home. Charlie seriously invites Cas to come to their nerd club the next time he’s around, and he thanks her for the invite. Dean watches the exchange as Charlie hugs Cas, and he tears up a little, but that’s really dumb so he’s going to pretend it didn’t happen.

“So,” Dean prompts on their way back, both of them stuffed full of pizza and popcorn and chocolate, “how was it? Your first human party?”

Cas forgot his cowboy hat back at Charlie’s place, and he’s loosened the red scarf around his neck a long time ago. He has it tied onto his belt where he rests one of his hand as they walk back. “It was… enjoyable,” he replies with a nod.

“Ah, don’t be like that. You had so much fun.”

Cas grins. “I did. They all care greatly about you.”

“What?” Dean laughs. “What’s that got to do with this?”

“They tried to make me feel welcome, for you.”

“I guess. They wouldn’t have done that if you were a dick, though.”

Cas laughs, ducking his head a little as the sound echoing low into the night sky. “I guess.”

“Wait, hold on.” There’s a grain of rice stuck on Cas’s hair. “You’ve got a—”

They stop in the middle of the street, and Dean holds his shoulder steadily while he aims for the white grain. Cas’s eyes go together as he looks up at Dean’s hand on his head, and Dean makes the mistake of looking down at Cas while he’s holding him by his shoulder.

There weren’t any alcohol at Charlie’s, but Dean feels like he’s drunk on something, the way his entire body feels light and somehow removed from the rest of the world. It’s a physical feeling, too, a tingle in his chest as he’s suddenly too aware of how empty the rest of the street is, and how easy it would be to just lean over right now and give Cas a kiss.

It’s a fleeting thought, and then it’s gone, as if it hadn’t existed at all. His heart beats steadily as Dean gets out the rest of the grains of rice that was hiding in Cas’s hair. “Did they all pelt their rice at you or something? Why d’you have so much in here?”

Cas chuckles quietly, vibrating with joy as rice falls out of his hair. It’s a sight, alright, and damn does it feel good to make someone happy like this.

“So what was this Marvel Cesar was talking about?” Cas asks.

“Marvel, pff. Wait ‘til you hear about Batman and the rest of DC, dude…”

They walk the rest of the way back, mostly with Dean filling Cas in on everything he knows about Marvel and DC. It’s almost two by the time they’re home, and Halloween is officially over as they retire to their rooms. Dean is changing into his pajamas trying not to think too much about how he did on his midterms when there’s a knock on the door.

Cas pokes out from behind the door, changed out of the costume he’s now holding in his hands. “I just wanted to return this, and thank you for inviting me along,” he says. “So, thank you.”

“Hey, no problem. I had fun.” Dean gives him a good tap on the shoulder. “Besides, that’s what friends are for, right?”

Cas smiles with a nod. “Good night, Dean.”

“Night, Cas.”

Dean stares at the door as it clicks shut. He’s gotten few texts in the group chat on how he should bring Cas for the next club event. He rolls over in his bed.

A good Halloween overall.

#orange and grapefruit verse #my writing #destiel #au #spn #ficlet #*dusts off this old relic and finishes it after one encouraging comment*#this is from last year haha but it's okay #halloween is eternal in our hearts

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moriganshaw · 5 years

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Indie-Author Adventures #9 - Gnothi Seauton

Let's get to work, writers. Welcome back to my fantastical journey in indie-authoring! Phew... today's episode is going to be a wee bit different in that it's more of a "rubber meets the road" installment. So let's jump in. For you just joining me, each week in 2019 I'll be making a new post on my adventures in indie-ing. What I learn, what challenges I face, what works, what doesn't (!), and hopefully some tidbits, tips, and tricks that can help other indie-authors out along the way. This Past Week Blah, blah, blah... tech work... blah, blah, blah... not enough writing. Yep, that's been pretty much my 2019 summed up so far. 😉🤦‍♀️ And - let's be very real here... I can "blame" that on my author-tech biz, I can "blame" that on life, I can blame that on whatever I want. But at the end of the day - that is still 100% on me. (Yeah, sometimes we gotta call ourselves out on our own bullshit - harsh, but necessary lol) So, I had to ask myself, whatcha gonna do about it? Whine? Or get to work? Whining takes too much energy and gives very little in ROI... so that's not really a viable (or common-sense) option. Let's start at the beginning and go from there, eh? One of the biggest complaints / challenges I hear from indie-authors the most is: "I don't have (enough) time to write!" I feel ya -- all the way down to my little, shadowy writer soul. That begs the question: How do I Write - Every - Single - Day? A writing ritual. Yeah, I know, I know... sounds contrite, forced... even "duh". But, don't take my word for it, look at every successful author out there, indie or trad-published. But... but... I have kids, a family, a job, a life, a this, a that, and one of those others, too! Uh-huh. Me too. Self-employed, single-mama with a chronic illness here... I feel ya. But - and here's where we get real and have to call ourselves out on our own BS again - if we want to actually DO this "writer thing", then we have to... you know... DO the writing thing. 😉 Your Personal Writing Ritual (& How to Find It) Just like with most things indie, there is no "one right way". No one-size-fits-all solutions. And finding your own personal writing ritual that works for you is no different. It takes some investigation, it takes some research, and mostly, it takes some trial and error. You'll see a lot of tips out there on the interwebz for what you "should" do during your writing ritual. And again - being real here - some of them are bollocks. "Schedule it" Great. I have words written on my calendar. My problems are solved! 🤦‍♀️😒🤦‍♀️ I don't know about you - but life tends to not care about my day-planner. So while this isn't completely bogus advice -- you absolutely will want to guard and protect your writing time -- but a simple "put it on a calendar" doesn't actually solve anything. "Set a daily word count and don't get up until you hit it" Riiiiiight. Now, this may work for you, I can't say. Personally, I have two thoughts about this one. I tend to not be my most free, creative self under the lash of the "word count whip". Um... life. If you are to the point of writing exclusively as your career, then this one may not be entirely possible or relevant. I will one day be like one of my favorite authors and have this set count - but until that day arrives, I still have to run my business, and take care of all those pesky little life things that happen all around us, all the time. "Keep a Writing Journal" Hmm... now we're getting somewhere. Huh?! You may ask... write before I can start writing for the day? Kinda - but this actually is a GREAT tool for discovering your perfect writing ritual. Let's dispense with all the small-chat here, eh? Here's what you need to craft your perfect writing ritual: gnothi seauton (know thyself) You need to know when your creative brain is at its peak. Is this when you first wake up? The middle of the day? At midnight with candles casting a flickering glow over your parchments? The best way I found to figure this out is self-reflection -- and self-reflection becomes MUCH easier if you keep a simple journal and record your thoughts / feelings / observations throughout the day. Before long, you'll see your own patterns. Be okay with whatever words come out. Are they inspired? Are they utter crap? It doesn't matter, truly, it doesn't. You can edit and revise a badly written page - you can't edit a blank one. Create your "sacred space". You'll probably want to refer back to your journal for this one. Does your creative brain work better in an organized, clutter-free space? Do you prefer natural light? Do you need to keep a 'doodle pad' nearby to scribble or jot down random ideas? Sideline your electronics. I can't 100% stand behind the "turn off all electronics & internet" to minimize distractions advice. One - I run a biz, I have to have some level of availability. Plus, I prefer writing on my laptop AND I have writing music playlists on YouTube for whatever project / scene I'm working on. Again - this is what works for YOU - test out both ways and see which works best. Track your writing! This is hands-down the best way I found to perfect my writing ritual. But wait, isn't this the same as the whole "keeping a journal" thing? It is a part of it. Each day, jot down what time you started writing with a few short notes about the where, how, weather, how you're feeling, etc. You aren't writing a dissertation here, a few simple notes will do. When you are done writing - do the same thing and include your word count. This info is invaluable in finding what works for you. Go Pro - Casual Friday - or Naked Cowboy! WTH!? You may be asking. Are you able to get into the author-writing mindset better if you treat it as a professional gig, more biz-formal clothing, like a corporate meeting? Are you better able to get into the flow in more comfy, casual clothes? Or go full-on naked cowboy and let the words fly? Figure out what works best for you - it really does matter. Meditate, pray, call to your muses. This isn't about religion, this is about quieting your 'monkey-mind' so you can let your creative-self come through all the noise. Don't meditate or pray? No problem - Steven Pressfield is known to recite Homer's invocation of the Muses before he writes. (psst... it's about what works for you, remember?) LAST - but certainly far, far from least -- this one is so important that it needed to be kept separate from the list above... 🔥 HAVE ONE PAGE in your journal, taped to your mirror, whatever works -- and as you are experimenting with what writing ritual practices work for you, write down the ones that felt good on this sheet. Only the ones that felt really good, or where you got lost in the writing flow. The ones that felt forced or awkward - toss them out. 🔥 After a surprisingly short amount of time, you are going to have a mish-mash list of things that are the components of your perfect writing ritual. Your writing ritual is YOURS. Not mine. Not the Joneses next door. Not Stephen King's. Not J.K. Rowling's. Yours. And you'll know when you find it - it feels like coming home. ❤ What I Accomplished Blog updates Weekly author-biz review (read Russell Nohelty's, Sell Your Soul book!) Author newsletter Website server migrations Authors Mojo PAWs - prepping for product launch Author customer work - book formatting (x2), website updates (x4) Podcast interview! 😮🥰 Author-tech coaching call & class Novella book cover completed Testing out new 'book plotting' method (details coming soon!) 😉 The Big Takeaway Read the full article

#writingdaily #writingritual

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huckleberrynpancakes · 7 years

Text

No Place Like You

Chapter 2: Cat Got Your Tongue?

Summary: Maya needs to do some laundry. Unfortunately for her, it’s not that simple. Especially when a tall blonde manages to interrupt things.

Read it on AO3 and FF.net.

Maya shut her laptop with a sigh.

It had been nearly two hours since she sat down at her desk to start her first history assignment. She meant for it to only be half an hour, but somewhere along the way she lost track of time. Three and a half pages were now filled with small black letters. Her muscles ached and she could barely read the words without seeing them dance around the page. She couldn’t take another minute of it. She needed a break. Especially after everything she had been through.

The first week of school had been a long one for Maya. Her free time during the week hadn’t really been free at all. She had used it to hang out with Riley and Farkle, got a head start on homework for the second week of classes, and visited any activities that included free food or t-shirts. Her classes weren’t so different. Fifteen hours a week felt more like a hundred. The professors didn’t hesitate to use every last second until the end of class, making them overlap and draw out and just suck in general. On Tuesday, she had had to rush out of class to catch a bus and get halfway across campus for her first art lab field trip. The buses were running late and the professor left without her. She had spent the rest of the day upset that she wasn’t able to see the local art museum. The end of her week was by far the worst. On Friday, she had tripped in the dining hall and landed on her lunch. The incident left her pride bruised and her shirt covered in spaghetti sauce. She couldn’t have been more relieved when she made it back to the comfort of her room that afternoon, her week finally over. She was free to do whatever she wanted for the next two days. At least that’s what she thought.

She spun around in her chair, boredom setting in. Her gaze landed on the white laundry basket sitting by the door. The lid wasn’t shut; Clothes spilled over the top. It sat there, silently screaming at her to wash it. Unable to sit still any longer, she grabbed the bottle of detergent from her closet and walked out the door with the basket in tow.

Maya reached the laundry room a few doors down. Inside, the rumble of machines was a constant hum in her ears. The smell of detergent, wet clothes, and lavender scented dryer sheets filled the air. Twelve dryers lined one of the walls. Half of them shook gently, the drums inside spinning as they heated loads of clothing. Around a small corner in the room were six white washers. All six were running. Each one was filled to the brim with laundry. Dark and light colored fabrics swirled around in soapy water on the other side of the viewing glasses. Some of them had just been started, half an hour still on their displays. Others were halfway done with their cycle. Only one washer’s glowing screen displayed a five in bright red lines.

It felt like an eternity before the inside of the machine slowed its whirring and finally came to a stop, three shrill beeps echoing from it. The distinct click of the door unlocking followed soon after. She wanted so badly for the person to come claim their clothes now, but this was college. She knew that wasn’t going to happen. After five more minutes dragged by, she decided she had waited enough. She needed her laundry done before she ran out of anything clean to wear, which was dangerously close to happening. She strolled over and tugged open the door with ease.

Pieces of wet clothing peeled off the side of the soaked mountain and tumbled down like soft, colorful boulders. Maya was quick to catch the t-shirts and socks that tried to escape before they could hit the dirty tile below. She set them on top of the machine. Grabbing two more large handfuls of cloth, she ripped them from the heap. She quickly got to work reaching her small hands inside and pulling mounds of clothing out with them. Halfway through the load, she poked her head near the inside of the washer, looking for pesky socks stuck at the top.

“What are you doing?”

Maya nearly jumped out of her skin. She pulled back quickly, the top of her head hitting the drum.

“Ow! Fuck!”

Her words echoed against the metal. She winced, gently rubbing her fingers over the tender spot that was now throbbing in pain. Muttering a few more curse words under her breath, she turned on her heel.

“You know it’s not nice to sneak up on people when their backs are turned, right? Didn’t your parents teach you any man-”

The words caught in her throat. Standing across from her was the one person whose face she hoped she wouldn’t see until class on Monday. Lucas Friar leaned casually against the wall, arms crossed over his chest. His blue eyes flashed with a mix of concern and curiosity. He looked relaxed, almost as though he had been standing there for a while. A pesky smile graced his lips. Maya wondered just how long he had been watching her. She hadn’t heard anyone come in.

“What’s the matter Hart? Cat got your tongue?” he asked playfully.

“You wish,” she retorted. Her eyes narrowed in challenge.

“My parents did a wonderful job teaching me manners by the way. I just wanted to see the look on your face when I caught you taking my laundry out of the washer.”

Maya glanced over her shoulder at the discarded pile of clothing. She shook her head and sighed.

“Look Cowboy, I need the washer. Yours was the only one that was even close to being finished when I got here. You didn’t come to remove your clothes when it stopped and I have to get my laundry done soon. Have you ever seen anyone walk around campus naked?”

Lucas opened his mouth, his eyebrows raised. She cut him off with a wave of her hand before he could say a word.

“Don’t answer that. Most sane people wouldn’t go to class naked. That’ll happen if people don’t do their laundry. I need clean clothes for this week. This is the only available washer. It’s that simple.”

She rolled her eyes, going back to work and leaving him slightly stunned behind her.

“Uh… Hart? I’m gonna need you to stop taking my clothes out and let me move them to the dryer.”

“Not a chance,” she shot back. She dropped another bundle of fabric on the top of the mound for emphasis.

“Come on Maya. You can have the washer as soon as I’m done. So if you’d kindly move out of the way-”

Maya whipped around, her tiny hands on her hips and a scowl set on her face.

“If you want to get to this washer Friar, you’re going to have to kindly make me move.”

She turned back around, reaching into the washer again. Her endeavor was cut short when a large pair of hands suddenly anchored themselves underneath her arms. He lifted her easily off the ground, her feet dangling a mere foot and a half above the tile. She struggled a bit before being placed on the ground again in the same spot Lucas had just vacated. She slowly spun back around to face him. Not knowing how to respond, her mouth hung open as she watched him smile in triumph.

“There. Problem solved.”

Her stomach churned in anger. Her fingernails dug into the palms of her hands as she balled them into small fists. She wanted to start yelling and screaming whatever obscenities came to mind. Out of the corner of her eye she saw someone walk past the laundry room door, catching her attention for barely more than a second. Biting her lip, she decided otherwise. People walked through the halls all the time. Someone was sure to hear if she caused a scene.

“What the hell was that for?” she asked with eerie composure.

The smile fell from Lucas’ lips. “I’m sorry. What was I supposed to do? You told me that if I wanted to get to the washer, I had to make you move. That’s exactly what I did.”

“I didn’t mean it literally you jerk! It’s just a phrase! People use it all the time!”

“If it’s ‘just a phrase’,” Lucas made air quotes with his fingers, “why the hell did you challenge me to do it?”

“Are you kidding me right now? It doesn’t actually mean you can do something like that to make the other person move!”

“You don’t think I know that?”

She raised her eyebrows and nodded in confirmation.

“You can’t be serious right now.” He gave a small huff, a look of determination set on his face. “You know what? You seem like the type of person who is way too stubborn to give up on anything and needs a little bit of reality sometimes! I guess I just figured it was a good time to…”

Lucas’ voice quickly became background noise to Maya when something behind him grabbed her attention. A smile began to lift the corners of her lips. She tried to smother the giggles that were quickly bubbling up from her stomach by biting her lip. It didn’t work. A string of giggles escaped, causing Lucas to trail off. He followed her gaze, glancing behind him then back at her.

“What are you laughing about?”

She stifled her laughs with a cough, shaking her head.

“Um… nothing?”

She made the mistake of glancing behind him again. This time she couldn’t help it. She broke. Her tiny body shook with laughter. The sound grew loud and echoed around the room. She doubled over, her stomach aching. She tried pointing to what had stolen the laughter from her lungs, but ended up clutching at her sides instead.

Lucas’ confusion melted into concern as he watched her.

“Maya? What’s so funny?”

“You have…” She tried getting words out between bouts of laughter. “You have a pair of… A pair of heart boxers?”

Lucas’ face fell as he sighed. “Is that seriously what you’re cracking up over? You were just screaming at me and now you’re laughing about that?”

Maya nodded. Tears threatened to spill from her eyes. She was a hystericl mess, but she didn’t care. She couldn’t stop.

“Nobody wears heart boxers anymore Cowboy!”

“Hey! Don’t make fun of them! My Grammy Jean gave those to me!”

She laughed harder, slowly sliding to the floor. She could barely make out the resigned look on his face through the tears that blurred her vision. He wasn’t going to win their argument, not this time, and he knew it.

Maya’s breathless laugh continued long after he shoved his laundry in a dryer and left.

#no place like you #lucaya #lucaya fanfiction #the second chapter is finally up!#after literally 5 months or so since the first #i'm disappointed with myself #but i got it up!#keep an eye out for the next!#i have something good planned for it!

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