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watermelonlipstick · 3 years

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Dreams, Chapter 7

If you haven’t read this series before, you might want to start on Chapter 1, or check out the Dreams Masterlist! Here’s the series description:

When Dean dies for good leaving Sam and his girlfriend (the reader) behind, they must figure out how to carry on without him. Alone, reeling, and unsure what to do next, trying to honor Dean’s memory and follow their hearts gets even more complicated when their nightmares become dreams that feel a little too real.

Title: Dreams, Chapter 7

Pairing: (past) Dean Winchester x Reader, (eventual) Sam Winchester x Reader

Word Count: 4184

Summary: Life moves toward normalcy for Sam and the reader, regardless of emotional turmoil.

Warnings: angst, fluff, swearing, s l o w b u r n

A few days later the Kaisers came into the bar for a nightcap and asked you and Sam to come to their house for dinner. You couldn’t think of a reason not to, and honestly thought maybe it would be nice to have something to structure the week around. It had been quiet, just barely beneath solemn while the dust settled and Sam stayed mostly silent while you moved around each other throughout the day. At least at the Kaisers’ Sam would have to talk to you, maybe even sidle up close to you during waking hours to keep up the couples’ charade. A little zap of guilt moved through you as you politely agreed to a time, that the second thought you’d had was about getting closer to Sam under this guise. In any case, the Kaisers were kind, it wouldn’t hurt to have a nice meal with someone else, and if you were going to stay here, it would be a good idea to avoid appearing standoffish. You bought their last drink and were waving after them when Sam came upstairs from changing a keg.

“We’re going to the Kaisers’ for dinner tomorrow,” you offered, trying to keep your voice even and making a point of not staring at Sam too long. It was a challenge; since Sam had kissed you and even more since he’d divulged that longing was part of the tangle of emotions he was feeling, it was on your mind nearly constantly, adding a murky stripe to the ever-present grief.

“Oh, uh, okay.” Sam jammed his hands into the pockets of his jeans like he didn’t know what to do with them. “What time?”

“They said 7:30. Don’t let me forget; I think we should bring a bottle of wine or something, so I can grab one tomorrow.”

“Yeah, that works.”

You wanted to drag out the conversation but couldn’t think of any way to that wasn’t cloying or desperate. If this (hopefully temporary) emotional distance was what Sam needed, it was unfair for you to try to take it from him. A quick nod and you returned to washing glasses.

The rest of the shift passed agonizingly slowly. Sam put on a podcast about Jonestown for the drive home.

You’d decided to walk over to the Kaisers’ with Sam the next day, bundled up on top of a presentable sweater that you hadn’t worn in a few years. Biting wind sliced through your jeans and seemed to creep into your coat even as you dug your chin inside the collar like a turtle, and when Sam noticed he threw an arm around you. His side blocked a bit of the wind and he rubbed your shoulder to warm it with friction. The impulse to curl up into his ribs was fierce, but you fought it down to wrap your forearms around the bottle of red wine that looked the fanciest of the midrange bottles at the grocery store. Where seconds before you had been wishing the walk were shorter, now you could’ve stayed out in the ice forever if it meant Sam would allow himself to be close to you again without being asleep. You’d made peace with the want, trying hard to decide that feeling crazy on top of your grief wasn’t helping anyone.

“Ready?” Sam asked with a tentative smile at the doorway. The Kaisers lived in a version of your cabin, in the sense that many of the houses in the area were log-hewn and rustic. However, they were clearly here to stay. Window flowerbeds filled with pinecones for the season and delicately carved shutters framed warm casts of light streaming onto the snow through gauzy ivory curtains, and their door opened to a tiny front porch where yours simply had a small ungraceful cement platform. For a moment, you thought about how comforting it would be to come back here at the end of a shift. It didn’t feel like somewhere as darling as this could have a half-broken boiler that rattled all day or plastic-coated countertops. This was a home and not a hideout.

You gave Sam what you hoped was a reassuring grin and watched as his long finger pressed an old-fashioned doorbell encased in wrought iron.

Mike answered the door. He had on a fuzzy pullover that made him look even more like a teddy bear than he normally did, nubbly wool spanning his belly like fur. He had the kind of rosy full-cheeked smile some jolly men combined with their booming voices to seem like the Ghost of Christmas Present, and a well-groomed beard with two starkly delineated streaks of gray-white dropping straight down from the corners of his mouth. From previous neighborly hugs, you knew he smelled like piney aftershave. He was a little taller than average, and built former-linebacker solid. You would’ve bet anything he was the perfect dad to call to help move you into a college apartment or scare an ex-boyfriend, and the thought of it made you cheerful and sad all at once. The hand not holding the doorknob had a pint of dark beer. “Great, you’re here! Babs, they’re here,” he added over his shoulder, gesturing an arm to welcome you into the home.

Sam waited for you to go first, shuffling his feet along the doormat in tandem with you as Mike closed the door. You followed Mike’s socked initiative and gently toed your boots off while you handed him the bottle of wine somewhat shyly. For all the years you’d been on your own, there was something so decidedly adult about bringing wine over to the dinner party of a middle-aged couple that felt like those first few meetings of your parents’ friends after college, when you’re not sure whether to call them by their first names or resign yourself to a life of Mr This and Mrs That. Mike seemed to pick up on it, thoughtfully appraising the bottle and squeezing your shoulder, humming about how you didn’t have to bring anything. He clapped Sam on the back and asked him how he was doing before teasing gently about how long his hair had gotten, and you took in the house.

It was bigger than the cabin you were staying in, the staircase to your left suggesting an upstairs that yours didn’t have, but what was far more striking was how warm it felt both in mood and literal temperature. A fire crackled straight through the main room in front of you, surrounded by giant river rock stonework that offset caramelly beige walls. A deep, plush canvas sofa faced the fireplace, flanked by two equally overstuffed armchairs upholstered with burnt sienna stained leather. Quick visual survey gave you a count of 4 throws in the room of various weights and patterns.

The kitchen was over to the right through the dining room. Barbie was wearing an apron covered in piglets and appeared to be basting something in the oven, turning toward you and absentmindedly wiping her hands. Fluffy, soft-looking hair was held back from her face with a pair of no-nonsense tortoiseshell barrettes. “Oh, perfect! I thought I hadn’t left enough time for the roast, but it looks about done. Can I get you two a drink?”

Sam’s soft, encouraging smile was enough to make you feel a little weak in the knees. “Sure! It smells great in here.”

“How about an old fashioned? We’ve been working through a great bottle of bourbon.”

“Works for me,” Sam agreed, and you nodded as well.

A few moments of small talk later, Sam offered to help Barbie with the food. She graciously accepted, giving him some job you knew she could’ve easily done herself as a way to make him feel more comfortable. Mike noticed you looking at the variety of pictures on the wall and started talking about their kids, putting names to each cheerful face. They were a good-looking family, the Kaisers, all big beaming smiles and limbs protectively wrapped around each other over the course of different seasons and major events. You’d had to let go of this idea years ago, long before Dean was gone, but it still made you ache in a nondescript way to see a family so happy and so each others’, not only in the way they loved but also in the way they so obviously belonged. Mike and Barbie were good people, and they deserved this. You tried to focus on the affection in Mike’s face as he talked, asking a few clarifying questions as he went. A few moments later, Sam came up behind you.

“Barbie says we should go sit down.” There was a pinkness to his cheeks and you couldn’t tell if it was the warmth of the kitchen or residual windburn from your walk over.

The table was one of those single-plank, live-edged ones you’d always coveted and knew were far more expensive than they looked. It fit the elevated rustic feel of the Kaisers’ house and the delicious, rib-sticking meal you were eating off of it. As you fawned over the roast and Barbie did the requisite Midwestern dance of ‘oh it’s nothing I’ll give you the recipe’ it was easy to fantasize about belonging somewhere like this, having parents like this, pictures of your cousins and nieces and nephews lining the walls of your childhood home. Indulgent, clearly, even more so than the rich food and smooth liquor, but you couldn’t bring yourself to feel guilty about it.

“So, have you two always worked in the bar industry? That always seemed so fun to me—but I’m too old to do anything like that now,” Barbie asked.

“Oh, come on, you’d be a great bartender,” Sam insisted, always coming down on the exact right spot between flattering and politely flirtatious. “But uh, no. This is the first bar I’ve worked in for more than a few weeks, actually.”

Mike raised his eyebrows in an indication to continue but Sam artfully avoided his gaze. You couldn’t tell what the cue was—how honest was Sam planning on being? An old classic, the technically-true, seemed like the best option. “I worked as a bartender through and a little bit after college.”

“Silly me, I guess I had always thought that’s how you two had met; you seem like such a good team there! How did you meet, then?”

You artfully popped an entire fingerling potato in your mouth to force Sam to take over. “Uh, our, ah, families were friends.” In the sense that Bobby had been like an uncle to you both, maybe. A complete non-answer that sort of encompassed the barebones of the situation if you squinted at it right, but neither Mike nor Barbie seemed to recognize the opacity of it.

“That’s great. I bet your parents were excited then, seeing you get together,” Mike suggested before taking a sip of bourbon. Both you and Sam smiled affirmatively—not together, many of those parents long dead before we had even met—and hoped the moment would pass. “How long has it been, then? Since you got together?”

That one you couldn’t even guess what the right pretend answer would be and prepared to joke ‘too long’ before Sam said, “About two years. We knew each other for a long time before that, though.” It made sense, as far as answers went. ‘About two years’ since Dean was gone, since your lives changed, but it still ripped through you like an electric shock and sent you reeling. You could have spent an hour looking at that statement from every angle but snapped out of it when Barbie gave you a basket of rolls to pass to Mike.

“So that explains why she doesn’t have a ring,” Mike winked, playfully knocking Sam’s arm with his fork still in his hand. “Two years isn’t that long.”

Two years is a lifetime. Sam blushed and looked down at his plate. “Be nice. Kids don’t get married at 20 like they used to,” Barbie teased from across the table, smirking at her husband with so much love behind her eyes. You couldn’t help but wonder if you would’ve looked at Dean like that across some dining room table if things had been different and your mind flashed on the kitchen counter a few nights before, silently clinking rocks glasses together over pie and wanting to hold Sam until the world got more fair.

The plates were cleared and an amazing, sticky bread pudding was brought out. Mike and Barbie coaxed each other into telling stories that made you genuinely belly laugh until finally you couldn’t suppress a tiny yawn and the final drink was poured with a joke about how it wasn’t like you were driving home, so what was the harm? You all moved to the living room in front of the fire, sitting next to Sam on the couch when Mike and Barbie took what must’ve been their normal spots in each armchair. Old cushions folded up around you comfortingly and rolled you slightly into Sam’s weight next to you, lining up the firm stretch of his thigh along yours. Warmth from the fire and Sam, the pleasant sounds of your hosts’ voices and Sam’s answers to them rumbling through you as vibrations when he spoke were so sweet and heavy under the bourbon, and your eyelids began to droop.

Sam’s hand gently covered your knee. “Ready to go?” he asked, low with a private smirk.

You made a conscious effort to sit up straight. “I’m so sorry, I can barely keep my eyes open! Where are my manners?”

Mike laughed a big belly laugh from his armchair. “Babs, we’re outlasting the bartenders!”

Everyone chuckled as you all got up from your chairs, Sam accepting a Tupperware of leftovers before the at-the-doorway conversation of people who didn’t want to go and hosts who didn’t want them to either. You’d been so nervous about the dinner and now you didn’t want to leave, honestly hadn’t really wanted to leave the sofa, just doze against Sam in the heat and company like a child. It had seemed before like maybe Mike and Barbie were just asking you for dinner because it was the thing to do, but they had been genuinely welcoming and you realized that these were the first non-hunter or hunting-related relationships you had made in literal years as you zipped your coat up all the way to the top and followed Sam outside into the quiet night.

“Man, they are really nice,” he remarked, walking closely enough next to you that your sleeves brushed together.

You could barely see his face when you looked up to him. “Yeah. We should have them over sometime.”

“Our place looks like a flop house.”

You giggled, the sound falling softly on the snow around you. “We can fix it up first.”

“No real point in fixing it up if we’re not staying here for a long time.”

“Maybe we could stay a while.”

Sam looked down at you, slowing to a stop even as the icy wind whipped around you. “You want to stay?”

“I mean, I—yeah, I think I do. Unless you think we should go somewhere else.”

“No, I just…I guess I hadn’t really considered it here, the whole “roots” thing.”

“It’s fucking freezing, can we talk at the cabin?”

Sam’s laugh rang out across the woodsy surroundings as he clapped an arm around you and shuffled you both home.

That night you tucked your cold toes between Sam’s flannel-clad legs and tried to imagine Dean as an old man.

If you’d thought December and January were bad, the intense cold snap of February sent you for a loop. Something about the months of darkness and frozen fingers was making you more stir crazy than normal; the idea of coming home to the cabin seeming less and less enticing as the days went on.

And then the boiler broke.

Well and truly broke, not just making the horrible clanging sounds it was prone to, but no heat at all. It had only been a couple weeks since going to dinner at the Kaisers’ and the experimental conversation with Sam about investing time into the cabin which had since fizzled out. A lack of heat at the border of the Upper Peninsula in winter was obviously untenable, and it forced the topic again as you grumpily helped carry in the remnants of another dead tree Sam had felled to heat the home with firewood.

“Is it worth fixing or is this a sign?” you huffed through the tiny clouds of steam coming out of your mouth. “How much would it cost?”

“I don’t have a ton of experience with boilers, but I’m pretty sure it’s the heat exchanger. And I have no idea how much it would cost to fix, but I can try to do it myself if the parts aren’t too much.” Pragmatic, genius Sam with the patience for machinery that you didn’t have. He snaked a long arm out from the bundle of wood he was carrying to open the door and hold it for you to scurry under his arm before closing it after both of you.

Generally, you thought a landlord would probably fix this kind of thing but it always felt a little scary asking him for anything, knowing you paid cash every month and the owner had never asked for a background check. It could have been fine, but every potential conflict seemed like it might be an opportunity to be unceremoniously evicted. Better to either leave before it could happen or solve the problem yourselves. You put a hand on Sam’s chest before he could go back for another bundle of wood. “Let’s talk about it for a second.”

Sam put his hands on his hips and it accentuated the broad span of his shoulders in his thick jacket. “Okay, right. What do you think?”

“Well, I mean, do you want to stay here? Or do you want to go somewhere else, or start moving again or something? We haven’t even really talked about it.”

He seemed to be weighing the options before biting his lip. “Here seems as good a place as any in a lot of ways, you know? Off the beaten path, probably not going to get spotted by anyone we know—knew—and the money is honest.”

You cut him off with a flippant wave of the hand. “Right, but I’m not talking strategically. Do you want to stay here? Do you like it here?”

A moment of silence fell as you searched his face for clues. “I—yeah, I do. I like being in the woods, I like the bar, I like people like the Kaisers and Steve and Jake. Maybe I’ll feel differently in the summer but right now I do.”

The grin cracked open your face slowly. “Good. I like it here too. Do you think the hardware store would have the stuff you need to fix it?”

“Definitely the first place I would check.”

After getting the rest of the wood inside and leaving it next to the small fire already burning to dry out, you started to follow Sam to the car before he turned around a step before the door. “Where are you going?” he asked as you almost bumped into him.

“Hardware store, I thought?”

“Nice try, we can’t both leave with a fire going.”

“Oh, I get it. So you get to go sit in the warm car and hang out in the warm hardware store while I turn into a popsicle over here.” You were half-joking, but it was genuinely freezing in the cabin, even with the fire going. Sam rolled his eyes over a smirk and strode around you, pushing the couch tight to the fireplace before retrieving the down comforter from the bed and throwing it on top. He grabbed a rinsed plastic bottle from the top of the recycling bin and filled it with water hot from the tap before throwing it in the microwave for a second.

“Unless you feel like learning a lot about boilers today, then yes.” He gingerly pulled the bottle out of the microwave and tightened the cap back on, deftly shifting it between hands before tossing it under the comforter on the sofa.

You were having a hard time holding onto your anger as you watched him make a cup of peppermint tea, still wearing his boots and coat as he moved around the tiny kitchen. Reluctantly, you shuffled over to the couch and removed only your boots and gloves before getting under the blankets, tucking your socked feet around the poor man’s hot water bottle and finally smiling only when Sam brought over the steaming mug of tea with more than a touch of affection under the exasperation coloring his face. “Fine?”

“Fine.”

When he came back, you were well into a worn paperback and had put two more logs on the fire already. “Do you need help?” you called over your shoulder from within the comforter cocoon.

“I think I’ve got it, thanks.” His words came into the room on a gust of cold air while he tapped snow off of his boots.

“Think you know what you’re doing?”

“Actually, yeah. The woman at the hardware store—you’d recognize her, Diane I think—knew a fair amount about it. I’m pretty sure I have it under control.” He brought a paper bag weighted with supplies over to the utility closet you knew held the boiler and got to work.

It was nice watching Sam in this element, always had been. As much as Dean had loved doing little projects and fixing things, both Winchesters were far handier than your average bear and Sam’s natural interest in learning lent itself well to tinkering with all kinds of things. Evidently boilers were not an exception. He shucked his coat off to lie flat on his back, looking up at something you couldn’t see with his hands gently resting on his ribcage before reaching to grab a wrench. The twisting motion raised his elbow and tugged his shirt a bit up his torso to reveal a few inches of Sam’s lower abdomen, the trail of hair tracing to his belt buckle in slightly sharper contrast to the taught skin around it given the consecutive months spent without sun. It made you blush and you quickly looked back to your book, grateful for the heat that the fireplace was bringing to your cheeks as cover.

About forty minutes later, Sam tapped your shoulder and startled you out of the goofy historical fiction of the paperback. “Wanna see if it works?”

He had a stripe of oil or something on his cheek but you resisted the impulse to swipe it off, instead nodding and extricating yourself from the heat of the blanket and couch around you. When you turned it on, the boiler clicked loudly twice in a way you thought might be a bad omen before going silent again. You let an extended beat pass and placed a palm on the side. It was already on the edge of being too hot to touch and you momentarily forgot that you and Sam had decidedly not been continuing your new normal level of comforting affection lately before throwing your arms up high around his neck excitedly. He chuckled into your ear and closed the embrace, forearms crossing your ribcage and hoisting you off the ground as he stood up in your hug. You could feel the fingers of one hand splayed out over your back and side through your jacket, the other still holding the wrench tightly.

“Okay, no promises it’s going to last, but I think that was it,” Sam offered as you released each other.

“Crank it! I want it to feel like the Caribbean in here.”

“You say that now, and in 3 hours you’re going to be whining about how hot you are,” Sam grinned, clearly feeling a little proud of himself even if he wouldn’t admit it. He tapped the wrench absentmindedly against his palm for a moment, considering whether he wanted to say something. “When I was at the hardware store she said our landlord might be open to cutting our rent if we offered to fix up the place.”

“Who’s we?” you teased, holding your frozen fingers close to the boiler like it was a campfire.

“I thought you might say that. But seriously, I know you don’t like the color of the walls or the shower pressure or whatever, could make it feel a little less…sterile.”

You tried not to remember that the last time you’d picked out paint was for a bright pink bedroom at age 12. Sam was right, it could be nice. Even more than that, it would be great to have some leftover cash around, and an extra project to kill a few hours of daylight wasn’t a bad idea.

“I kind of like the sound of that. I’ll talk to him about whether he’d be game.” Sam squeezed your shoulder before massaging your neck, admiring the boiler distractedly when you continued. “And seriously, thank you for fixing it.”

Continue to Dreams, Chapter 8

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skullrock · 4 years

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the campers, chapter seven

chapter seven - the fight

series summary: Steve gets a job as a camp counselor at Camp Know Where, intending on using the summer to discover himself. When things start to go wrong at camp, the only people that can help him are the Party, Hopper, and his mortal enemy - you. [Enemies to lovers, angst, fluff, hurt/comfort]

chapter summary: Steve, Hopper, and the Party talk theories while you and Steve engage in a feud.

warnings: swearin’ <3 angst <3

word count: 2.8k

a/n: you can catch up on the series here! I changed two whole words in the summary to make it more accurate <3

===

The camp was on a full lockdown after the second camper went missing.

Campers now had to be escorted everywhere by a counselor. Counselors also had to escort each other. There was a sinister feeling in the air, one that left everyone uneasy. One camper going missing was one thing; two going missing was another thing entirely. It didn’t seem like an unfortunate coincidence anymore. It seemed intentional and evil.

The people who thought this most were, of course, The Party, Jim Hopper, and Steve Harrington. The evening the news of the second camper broke, everyone squished themselves into a double bedroom, theorizing and planning.

Steve came late - he had to escort campers to the dining hall. His mind hasn’t thought of anything except the missing camper. No one Steve talked to knew who it was, and he had no time to talk to you or any of the kids, beyond Mike telling him to meet in his room at nine. His chest felt tight all day, worried it was someone in the Party. Someone who had been trying to play hero and got caught up in whatever this all was. His heart hammered as he rushed towards Mike’s cabin, slipping into the crowded room with his head spinning.

The room falls silent as he barges in. Hopper is sitting at Mike’s desk while everyone else is spread around the beds and the floor. Everyone looks fearful, and as Steve’s eyes scan the room, he notices the lack of Dustin. Suzie is there, but no Dustin.

Steve’s heart drops.

“Where’s Dustin?” he asks, voice cracking.

“Relax,” Max says. “He snuck out to get pudding from the cafeteria.”

“Snuck out?” Steve hisses, but his body relaxes in relief. “He can’t be out there right now -”

“Steve,” Hopper cuts in, and beckons him to take a seat.

Steve figures that if Hopper’s not concerned, then he shouldn’t be, either. He sits beside El and Mike on Mike’s bed, staying close to Hop as he waits for information.

Hopper keeps his hand over his mouth for a moment, deep in thought, before speaking, directly to Steve, the only other adult in the room. “The camper that went missing was the same age and size as Will.” He tilts his head towards Will, who seems almost catatonic in fear. “And the last camper that went missing was also the same age and size as Will.”

“Well, what do you think that means?” Steve asks. “Do you think it’s looking for him?”

“Will said he can’t feel the Mind Flayer,” Mike interjects. “Right, Will?”

Will goes pale, eyes darting to the floor.

“Right, Will?” Mike repeats, a bit of an edge to his voice.

Will looks back up, shaking his head a little bit. His hand goes to the back of his neck and he shakes his head some more. “I can’t feel him, but I can feel him.”

“That doesn’t make sense,” Max says, brows furrowed.

“It’s like… it’s like he’s not here, he’s there,” Will explains. “But there is close.”

“The Upside Down?” Lucas asks, and Will nods.

“I think it’s close, but I don’t know how close,” he explains. “I can’t feel him in this realm, but I think I can feel him in the Upside Down.”

“I can feel it, too,” El says quietly.

Mike and Hopper look at her, scandalized.

“You can feel it? Feel what?” Hopper asks.

“The Upside Down.” El shifts, pulling her legs up to her chest. “I can feel it nearby, but I can’t see it or find it.”

“Jesus,” Steve mumbles, running a hand through his hair. “So you think the Upside Down isn’t in Hawkins, it’s here?”

El and Will nod in unison, frowning.

“Well that’s just great,” Steve says, standing up. “That’s good. That’s great. So it followed us.”

“Maybe it knew El and Will were here,” Lucas tries to explain, but Hopper shakes his head.

“Why would it want Will again?” he asks quietly. “It doesn’t make sense.”

“If they feel something, then it has to be nearby,” Mike says. “Why would both of them feel it at the same time?”

“I don’t know,” Hopper says harshly. “But I’m taking you two -” he points at El and Mike, “back to Hawkins.”

“What?” everyone asks in unison.

“It’s not safe for them here,” Hopper explains, raising his voice over the racket.

“It’s not safe for anyone here,” Steve says, putting his hands on his hips. His heartbeat accelerates at the thought of you being here when this shit is happening. “We need to get to the bottom of this before anyone else gets hurt.”

The room falls quiet. Steve knows, Steve understands that no one wants to deal with this shit again. He gets that. But someone has to, and if it has to be him, then so be it. That’s usually how it goes, anyway.

“I’m not leaving until we figure this out,” he says. “So if -”

The door opens and Dustin walks in, you on his heels, looking frazzled. Dustin has a copious amount of pudding cups balanced in his arms, and you’re carrying two - the ones he managed to drop. You’d found him sneaking around on his own and accompanied him, irritated that no one else went with him.

Everyone freezes at the sight of you, bodies going stiff. Your eyes scan the room, confused - there are way too many people in here, and you don’t know who the hell this grown ass man is. Your eyes fall to Steve, brows furrowed, and then you say, “Why didn’t anybody go with him?”

“Didn’t know he was going,” Steve says, pulling Dustin into the room.

Steve’s irritated - enraged, maybe. You weren’t supposed to be here - Suzie wasn’t, either, but he could at least control what you were a part of. Dustin allowing you to come so far, literally into the room where they’re referencing things you could be killed for, makes his blood boil. Dustin groans at the feeling of Steve’s fingers burying into his arm and he drops the pudding cups.

“God dammit,” Dustin says, shrugging out of his grip and rubbing his arm. “What the hell was that for?”

“It’s curfew,” you say awkwardly, not understanding what’s going on. “You should all be -”

“So should you,” Steve snaps.

You straighten at his tone, glaring at him. Steve sighs and steps towards the door, holding his hand up to the Party before slipping out with you.

“What the hell?” you whisper. “Why are you so pressed and who the hell is that guy?”

“It’s nothing,” he lies. “I need you to go back to your cabin.”

You cross your arms. “Don’t talk to me like that.”

“Like what?”

“Like I’m one of those kids,” you say, beckoning towards the door. “I can take care of myself.”

“You shouldn’t be out -”

“I wouldn’t be out if you’d just taken Dustin -”

“I didn’t know he was going!” he whisper-shouts, becoming more irritated. “Go back to your cabin.”

“You’re not the boss of me -”

“Right now, I am.”

You scoff, your own rage building. “Tell me what’s going on.”

Steve shakes his head and licks his lips, looking over your shoulder. “I can’t.”

“Why?”

Steve sighs heavily, running a hand through his hair again. “It’s complicated.”

You frown and your eyes soften, letting your shoulders relax. You can see how stressed he is and you step forward to reach for him, but he steps back, out of your reach. You frown further and your shoulders slump. “You can talk to me. You know I’m here for you.”

Steve’s inner turmoil reaches a near-boiling point here. He wants to tell you, just like he wanted to tell you at the waterfall. He wants to be like Dustin, he wants to trust and assume things will work out. But he doesn’t want you dead, and he doesn’t want you hurt. He doesn’t want you caught up in any of this. Steve feels his chest tighten, fighting with himself, before he makes the decision to push you away.

“You can’t be right now,” he says. He steps forward and puts his hands on your biceps, pushing you towards the exit. “You need to go.”

“Steve!” you nearly shout, pushing him off of you. “Do not touch me like that.”

Like muscle memory, Steve’s angry venom takes hold of himself yet again, just as it did in high school. Without thinking, he snaps, “You didn’t say that last night.”

You pause in shock, his words running through your head. You scoff and shake your head. “What does that mean?”

Steve feels bile rising in his throat, and he swears he can see Nancy standing before him, not you. He puts up the wall in a desperate attempt to not break down, his jaw clenching and fists balling up. “Don’t you ever stop to think why I don’t tell you things? Why I don’t trust you? Why I didn’t want to touch you last night?”

“Shut up,” you whisper, feeling your chest twist. “You’re being an asshole.”

“I’ve been pushing you away my whole life, why don’t you get the message?”

You know it’s a bluff, but you don’t understand why. You don’t get the total 180 he’s pulling, but you have a bad feeling in your gut. Like maybe he’s involved in shit he shouldn’t be involved in, or maybe he knows too much about the missing campers. Steve doesn’t seem evil, but his inability to open up to you makes you feel sick, and angry, and hurt.

“Stop,” you beg. “Stop being… stop being… you’re bullshit.”

You know it was a mistake the moment it left your lips, and Steve’s eyes hardening and welling with tears reinforces that. But you’re still mad, and you don’t think he has the right to be tearful right now, and it enrages you so much that you repeat it. “You’re bullshit.”

Steve feels the wall crashing down and he does everything to keep it up, locks his knees upright, clenches his fist, grits his teeth. “You think I’m bullshit?”

“You really don’t care about me, do you?” you ask, trying to keep your own wall up, trying to not let the tears fall freely down your cheeks. “Is that why you can’t remember any good thing about me? Because you don’t want to? Because you don’t care?”

Steve doesn’t know what to say, because it’s all a lie. Of course he cares about you, of course he remembers you fondly. Of course he regrets the way he treated you. Of course he’s proud of the person he’s become, and of course he owes that to you.

But he can not and will not admit that right now.

“I don’t,” he says quietly, not even understanding the words leaving his own mouth. “I don’t.”

You weren’t expecting that.

“You don’t?” you repeat.

“I don’t.” He says it louder this time, trying to convince himself it’s true. But he’s still mad, and he wants what he says to hurt, because you hurt him. “And you know what I think is bullshit?”

You don’t answer - you can only stare while forcing the tip of your tongue into the roof of your mouth.

He still remembers the words he told Nancy in the alley by the gym two years ago. I think you’re bullshit. He remembers the anger and heartbreak behind the words, how they hurt to come out, how they made his mouth dry and knees weak.

“I think you’re bullshit,” he says, and then he walks back into Mike’s room, slamming the door behind him.

You stare at the pattern in the wood of the door, mind blank after that, before walking out, trying to push your tears back in with the heels of your palms.

===

Everyone looks up when Steve reenters, noticing how his cheeks are pink and splotchy and his eyes are wet and red. He speaks immediately, scared that someone will ask him about the talk they almost certainly heard through the door. “What’s the plan?”

“You and me,” Hop says, standing from his chair. “We’re going into the woods to see if anything’s going on, or if we can find any… portals.”

“And if we do?” Steve asks.

“I close them,” El says quietly.

“We have to find out if there are any, first,” Hopper says. He heads to the window and opens it, pulls out a cigarette and then lights it. “And if there are, we close them.”

Steve wonders why it sounds so easy, but maybe it’s because he’s suddenly not the only adult in this situation.

“I’ll get my bat,” he says, eager for the comfort of the heavy weapon in his hand.

Dustin hops up and follows him out, making Steve irritated once again.

“I’m not talking about it,” Steve hisses.

“You just sabotaged your entire relationship with Y/N for what?” Dustin asks, pulling on Steve’s arm to make him stop walking.

“So that they don’t die,” Steve says, yanking his arm away. “Maybe you should try having some discretion for once.”

“I told Suzie because I love her,” Dustin explains, fighting to keep up with Steve’s long strides. “And if she knows the kind of trouble she could be in, then that’s to her advantage.”

Steve whips around, pupils flaring. “How would knowing about this help? Did you forget about the entire stack of papers we had to sign? Did you forget that they could kill us and our families and the people we love if this shit gets out?”

“So you don’t trust her then?” Dustin asks.

“Of course I do,” Steve says, feeling sick again.

“Then why don’t you tell her?”

“Because I am not like you.” Steve reaches his arm out, holding Dustin at bay, two fingertips digging into his chest. “Now back off. I’m not explaining myself again.”

Steve continues to walk towards his car, abandoned in the parking lot, but Dustin keeps up with him. Steve turns around again. “I’m serious, back off -“

“I’m not leaving you out here alone,” Dustin says quietly, looking a bit hurt at Steve’s rejection.

Steve sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose before taking Dustin under his arm, walking slower so Dustin doesn’t have to run.

Nothing is said, but they both understand.

When Steve opens the trunk to his car, a wave of hot air hits him in the face, making him cringe and step back. He leans in for it and pulls it out, smiling fondly as he does, the familiar weight of it comforting. He’d packed it just in case - maybe he’d see a bear and would need it. He never thought he’d potentially have to use it on another Demogorgon.

“You still know how to use that thing?” Dustin asks.

Steve smiles and twirls it in his hand, giving it a few practice swings. “I didn’t score the winning shot on my fourth grade pee-wee team for nothing.”

Steve and Dustin walk side by side as they head back to Mike’s room, both feeling much better with the addition of the bat. Steve’s mind runs off towards you, his stomach twisting again as he processes what he’d said to you. He feels embarrassed and disgusted. He felt like he’d come so far since high school, that he’d gotten over Nancy since October ‘84. It’s a let down for himself, but surely for you, too.

He convinced himself it was the right thing, though. He doesn’t need you to be caught up in this. And once they figure out if the Upside Down has something to do with this, he’ll apologize and come clean. He’ll tell you he was trying to protect you. He’ll tell you he cares about you.

He’ll prove it.

The door creaks open as Steve and Dustin come back in, Hopper finishing up another cigarette. He flicks it out the window and pulls it down, locking it into place.

“Let’s go over this again,” Hopper says.

Steve and Hop are to go into the woods to search for any type of portals or other things that are amiss. It’s a bit of a long shot, since there have already been search parties out for the two missing boys, but maybe they’d find something that the others looked over. The kids were to stay put until Steve and Hop came back. After that, they’d reassess and complete the mission, if there is a mission at all.

Steve silently hopes that there’s nothing out there.

“Ready?” Hopper asks, his hand gripping his pistol.

“As I’ll ever be,” Steve replies dryly, his own hands gripping the shaft of the bat.

===

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#steve harrington #steve harrington x you #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington fic #steve harrington au #the campers #my fics

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hawkinsschoolcounselor · 4 years

Note

Do you have a take on how Max and Mike each behave in a somewhat controlling manner over El and her powers in s3? How their views on her autonomy differ, and whether or not either position has validity? Are they both in the wrong, or both right, but perhaps not going about it in the right way? Any thoughts?

El has been controlled, in one way or another, by multiple people in her life. Fortunately, only one of them had ill intentions for her, and she’s far removed from him by this point. Mike and Max both have used El’s powers, and have influenced her behavior. I don’t think either had any ill intention with it, but they nonetheless did.

In Mike’s case, I think a lot of it goes back to when he first met her. From the beginning, Mike saw her as a tool or weapon. She was someone he could use to find Will. I think he felt a great amount of guilt when he thought she died to save the Party. He felt responsible for her death. Reaching out with his Supercom was a way for him to manage his grief. He didn’t really think she was still out there. When she comes back in Season 2, he’s immensely relieved, and then incredibly enraged when he learns that Hopper had been hiding her. All of the turmoil he had put himself through could have been avoided.

Now, Mike did bond with her over the course of Season 1. I don’t buy that she’s somehow some true love that he stumbled upon, but he did grow fond of her. It is important to note, though, that he basically molded her entire Season 1 persona. He came up with her appearance and false identity. Once we get to Season 3, he treats her sort of like some prized possession. He shows her off to his friends, but mostly keeps her safely away. We don’t even really see El bonding much with the rest of the Party until she goes off with Max. To be fair, El seems perfectly content with this arrangement, but this does not make the situation ok. El doesn’t really know any better, but Mike should.

I do think that Mike is afraid of losing her again. Like Hopper, Mike probably considers her safest at the cabin. However, this runs afoul of Max, as it likely reminds her of Neil and Billy’s controlling ways. Max sets out to “liberate” El from Mike’s control. Like Mike, she takes advantage of El’s powers. It’s somewhat lighthearted at first as they make a game of it, but it progresses to El needing to use them to investigate what’s happening. Max also manipulates El’s behavior, though I don’t think she meant to. She encourages El to try things on and find out who she is without Mike and Hopper’s influence. Unfortunately, Max doesn’t seem to realize that El is now just emulating her.

I think part of Mike’s anger is that he realizes that what Max is doing is no better than how he treated El. He’s mad at himself, but he takes it out on Max. I think part of Mike’s anger at Hopper was also due to self-blame he was harboring. Mike lashes out at Max about not wanting to lose her again because he lost her the first time due to using her as a weapon or tool. It’s not unreasonable to think that Mike had a sort of realization here.

I don’t think this is necessarily a matter or right or wrong. I don’t think either Mike or Max meant any ill will. I’d say Max’s position is a bit better, though. She genuinely wanted El to be her own person, and she allowed El to decide on how to use her powers. Mike seems to think that Max isn’t appreciating the gravity of the situation, but she’s at least treating El as a person with her own agency. Mike, for as much as he wants to safeguard El, doesn’t treat her as a person. He treats, or at least treated, her like a doll or action figure. He seems to have gotten over that by the end of Season 3. Up until she kissed him, Mike was the most at ease around her than we’ve ever seen.

#stranger things #eleven #mike wheeler #max mayfield

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strangestdrabbles · 5 years

Text

We’re With You

A/N: this was so sweet to write and i hope just as sweet to read :o)

Pairing: Richie Tozier x Fem!Reader

The sound of beers opening along with lively chatter filled the air as Ben, Beverly, Eddie, Bill, Mike and Stan sat around the awning covered table outside that was settled at Richie and Y/N’s house, the couple sitting comfortably next to each other and laughing as Ben shared anecdotes and Stan added dry remarks every once in a while. The air felt light and was buzzing with excited energy brought on by wonderful company, the sky the colour of soft cotton candy as a soft breeze rustled the leaves.

It seemed like the day was perfect just for Richie with winks of pretty flowers and the sky an ethereal haze, coaxing the spectacle clad boy to open up and be honest; to alleviate the ache in his chest and allow him to finally breathe. Y/N rested her head on Richie’s shoulder then as if she could sense his inner turmoil, reaching for his hand and intertwining her fingers through his in such a way that had his heart skipping a beat for a moment; the rest of the group too in their own conversations to notice.

“Is everything okay Rich?” Y/N’s voice was soft and genuine, a smile appearing on his lips when she brought their tangled hands to her lips and pressed a soft peck to the skin.

“I-I um,” Richie attempted to clear his throat and formulate his words but it didn’t seem to be working, “I think I’m going to get more beers.”

He was quick to leave the table and walk back into the house, his breathing shallow as tears pricked in the corners along with his stomach filling with lead; a blacking out fogging his peripherals as a panic attack began to take over. Richie tried to control his breathing -in for four, out for four and repeat- but it didn’t seem to be working, the floor feeling like it was slipping out from under him along with a lump growing in his throat.

“Richie? Richie oh my god.” Y/N spoke, grabbing a bottle of water before crouching next to Richie; looking sadly into his glossy eyes before tipping water between his chapped lips.

Richie looked smaller then in the light of the kitchen though his lanky limbs lay limply around him, sweat resting on his brow while rogue tears gathered in his lashes. The water helped his dry throat and shaking hands while focusing on Y/N’s voice caused the noxious black fog to slowly dissipate from his peripherals.

“Hey darling.” Y/N’s voice was a whisper that settled comfortably in Richie’s chest, thankful for her allowing him to finish the rest of the water while grabbing some more drinks for the rest of the party.

“H-Hey. Sorry about that one mah dear.”

Y/N smiled softly before turning to look at him, taking in how his hair was slightly dishevelled and his eyes were blown wide with what could be described as wonder; Y/N’s heart skipping a beat while her cheeks flushed.

“Do you think you’re ready to go back out there? Everyone would love it if you did.”

Richie nodded while coughing as his mind began to slowly ease at the thought of coming out to his closest friends, wanting to be open and honest with the people that had been through everything with him and that he loved; exhaling shakily before standing on unstable legs.

“Look at me, weak at the knees for you.”

Y/N laughed as her cheeks flushed a pretty red colour, arms filled with bottles of liquor as the sound of light conversation filtered through the window. Richie grabbed some more food before following Y/N, breathing in for four and then out for four to steady himself as the view of his group of friends overcame him, happiness bursting in his chest as Y/N looked at him after taking her seat again.

“You all good Trashmouth?” Bill asked, nodding at Mike with a soft smile as the taller man opened another beer for him.

“Oh yeah. Just got overwhelmed at how good looking you all are.”

“Beep beep Richie.” Bev spoke, thanking Y/N for the drink that was handed to her.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” Eddie asked, a crease in his forehead and his mouth pulled into a pout that had a molten feeling spreading through Richie’s lower stomach.

“Of course Eds. I’m really good.” Richie answered, his voice was kind yet teetering on fond, turning away before he could witness the faint blush settling on the apples of Eddie’s cheeks.

“Actually I have something thatI wanna talk to you guys about. Something important.”

The rest of the party looked at each other confused for a moment, all briefly making eye contact with Y/N separately to see if she had any idea what was going on but she seemed just as clueless, the air electric as they waited for Richie to share what was on his mind.

“Of course Rich, take your time.” Ben said in his usual kind tone, Bev’s head on his shoulder with his arm around her shoulders; the couple so casually domestic as if it were second nature, innocent and beautiful.

Ben’s voice cut through the immediate onslaught of thoughts that began to flood Richie’s mind, leaving in its wake a comfort that he was grateful for. Richie was in a seat taking a drink to calm his nerves and gather his thoughts, his leg not being able to stay still before a hand rested on his thigh; a homely feeling settling in his chest as he turned his head to face Y/N’s soft smiling one, his mind calming.

“So I wanted to talk to you guys and be honest,” Richie began, not missing the looks shared between his friends, “because I’ve been holding it in for so long.”

“Richie I promise that we’re going to be here with you through anything. You can tell us anything.” Bev said in a soft voice, Bill and Eddie nodding but the latter’s eyes held so much emotion that it overwhelmed the spectacle clad boy.

“Okay,” Richie whispered in a barely audible voice, Y/N taking his hand in both of hers to ground him, “I’m bi.”

There was a silence that was made sweet by the breeze carrying the smells of far over fruit and soft flowers, Richie’s heart picking up as no-one spoke.

“Bisexual?”

It was Mike’s voice that cut through the static that was plaguing Richie’s ears, the word leaving his lips as a questioned confirmation.

“U-Um yeah.” Richie’s voice sounded foreign in his ears as he spoke around the lump growing in his throat.

“Wow Richie.”

“That’s amazing

“I’m so proud of you.”

The support from his friends didn’t seem real, like he was out of himself looking on and seeing the people he loved most tell him that they love and support him. Y/N looked at him with a soft smile before leaning up and kissing his cheek.

“I love you Richie Tozier and I’m so proud of the man that you are.”

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saint-of-los-angeles · 4 years

Text

Key to Your Heart

Summery: Keying your ex’s car is somewhat of a ‘rite of passage’ when you find out that your boyfriend is cheating on you. Just remember to make sure that the car is, in fact, your ex’s

Pairing: Nikki Sixx x Tommy Lee

Warnings: THERES SMUT IN THIS ONE YALL. WHO AM I?

Listen I wrote this with @merryy-go-round and can I just say I fucking love her? She’s so talented and inspires me to write so GOD BLESS HER CAN I GET AN AMEN?

Tommy wasn’t an insecure guy, honestly. But there’s something about walking into the bathroom to take a piss, and seeing your boyfriend of almost a year, the one that brought you to the fucking party in the first place, with some chick bent over a toilet that makes you want to die.

In his hazy state of mind, he didn’t know if he was more hurt, or more livid.

But as he shoved his way through the drunken, sloppy party guests, and listened to Michael desperately calling his name behind him, he decided that yeah. He was pissed.

Tommy had always tried to be a good boyfriend, he cooked Michael dinner after a long day at work, never complained when Mike was ‘too busy’ to make it to one of his band’s shows, and he always fucking put out for him, even when he got nothing out of their sex life anymore.

But his loyalty and efforts had clearly gotten him fucking nowhere, and as he pushed his way out the front door, he tried to take a deep breath of the warm California night air to convince himself that this was fine.

Tommy took his time walking down the darkened LA roads, he had no real destination in mind- where the fuck was he gonna go anyway? He sure as hell didn’t want to go back to the apartment he shared with Mike- that was out of the question, too many memories of happy times before shit started going south.

Instead, Tommy just turned down roads he had never heard of, just walking and walking with the hope that the farther away he got from Michael, the smaller the hole in his heart would get.

Tommy isn’t that fucking lucky though, and as he turned the corner to yet another nameless street and his eyes met the bumper of a car he would know fucking anywhere.

A quick glance around his surroundings had him hit with the realization that he was standing outside of a liquor store, and isn’t that just fucking typical. Parked right in front of him in the small alley next to the shady store was the black Volkswagen that had driven him to the party to in the first place.

Not only did Mike humiliate him in front of a party full of random strangers, fuck some drunk chicks brains out over a toilet, and completely shatter both his pride and his heart in the same fucking day, but after that he decides to go get some more alcohol to keep the party going?

Fucking asshole.

Tommy didn’t know if it was the heartbreak and rage boiling inside his guts, or the alcohol that was making his head swim, but either way he wasn't even consciously controlling his actions as he pulled out the key to the apartment he shared with his ex and dropping to his knees to carve his sorrow and anguish into the dented metal.

For him to give up on chasing Tommy to go get more booze? Was he really so easy to give up on? A year of his life he wasted on that guy, who clearly couldn’t be bothered with Tommy’s heartbreak. Pure anger and loathing was coursing through his veins, and maybe it was childish, but fuck it. If Michael wants to act childish and immature, then he would act childish and immature right back.

———-

Nikki wanted nothing more than to just go home and relax after the grueling shift that he had just endured. Getting underpaid to argue with drunks, junkies and stupid fucking teenagers all day? Not exactly what Nikki had planned for himself, but a job is a job. Besides it beats working corner jobs, and he prefers to be able to afford to buy actual food.

He walked out of the rear exit, door slamming behind him as he walked towards the parking lot. He had been in the middle of stuffing his lighter in his pocket, freshly lit cigarette resting between his lips, when he stopped in his tracks.

Who the fuck was messing with his car?

It wasn’t like he had a fancy car. He had bought it after his Chevy Bel Air had died on the interstate, and half the time the engine wouldn’t even turn over, but who was this fucking stranger to think he could just get away with fucking with Nikki’s shit like that?

His first instinct was to alert the scumbag to his presence, and maybe kick his ass, but his curiosity won out. So instead he stood back to look at the man who was now carving a very shaky ‘t’ on his driver side door. Upon further inspection of the scribe he could make out the words ‘Fuck you for breaking my heart’.

Wait, what? Nikki’s anger melted into confusion as he looked at the man again. Who was this guy? Sure he wasn’t a ‘settle down’ kind of guy but he couldn’t recall any recent conquests that would be the cause for someone to claim heartbreak? Nikki’s mind was reeling, but before he could dwell on this for too long the younger man shakily stood up.

As he stared at the lanky form, who was now standing back to admire his artwork, Nikki couldn’t stop himself from commenting, “Babe, I don’t remember breaking your heart, and trust me I think would remember that ass.”

At Nikki’s gruff voice, Tommy jolted as if he had been hit by a bolt of electricity. Turning around Tommy began to look back and forth between the, now damaged, car and Nikki. Dropping the key that was in his fist, he threw his hands up to cover his face, but not before Nikki could catch a glance at his mortified expression paired with the swollen features that clearly came from crying.

He was young, probably younger than Nikki, but only by a few years. Face framed in brown, curly hair, Nikki took note of the red rimmed eyes and felt his chest tighten. This fucker just keyed his car. Why the fuck did he care? Nikki didn’t know, but the kid just looked so distraught, and Nikki found himself wanting to change that.

“This cannot be fucking happening. Oh my god, dude, please tell me that this isn’t your car, I am so fucking sorry. You’re totally gonna beat my ass, fuck fuck fuck-” As the curly headed strangled continued to ramble, Nikki slowly started to step closer and decided to put an end to the younger man’s tangent.

Nikki was no stranger to getting caught doing stupid shit, and he wasn’t going to make this guy feel worse when he was clearly acting out of heartbreak.

“Chill out man, I’m definitely not going to beat you up. Just stop freaking out.” Tommy’s panic fueled words were cut short immediately, and he slowly lowered his hands from his face. Still holding his breath out of instinct, ready for the first hit that he was still expecting.

Instead his eyes were met with the sight of Nikki barely containing a smile as if the situation was hilarious. “What is wrong with you? Some stranger fucks up your car and you don’t even yell at them?” Tommy half-shouted in exasperation. His arms were flailing as he talked and he stumbled back a bit, and Nikki’s smile grew a little when he realized the man in front of him was probably drunk. This poor kid was fucking adorable.

“Well, would you like for me to yell at you?” Nikki replied in a teasing, light hearted tone at the sight of the other’s inner turmoil. He was too fucking cute. “I mean, no, but, like-” Tommy started again, before he could get too worked up again, Nikki was quick to redirect.

“I promise I’m not mad, it was a mistake. Besides, I'm not one to pick fights with pretty boys like you.” He stated with a wink. Not giving the other man time to react to his words, Nikki continued.

“Besides this car is a piece of shit anyways, and so is anyone who would be stupid enough to hurt you.” As he spoke he held Tommy’s gaze and hey when did we get so close?

They were close enough to where Tommy could smell the cigarette smoke on the raven haired man’s breath, surprised to notice that his heart was absolutely pounding out of his chest, and not for the fear of being beat up anymore.

This guy’s eyes were green, deep, and so confident as he looked at Tommy like he was looking at the most gorgeous thing he had ever seen. Tommy found himself edging closer, despite the fact that he didn’t know this guy’s fucking name. Something was pulling Tommy toward him, like he had his own gravitational pull, something that exists inside Tommy needed to be closer to this mysterious stranger.

Tommy took a shuddering breath and looked down at the others lips, maybe he was reading the situation completely wrong or he wanted to get back at Mike, or maybe he just needed a fucking ego boost after having his confidence completely shot, but at this point he didn’t care. He had to go for it at this point, because he would never forgive himself if he ignored this magnetic feeling, it was too special to walk away from. With one more deep breath Tommy lunged forward, and kissed this beautiful stranger full on the mouth, feeling the other inhale sharply in surprise.

But none of that mattered, because after a couple beats of shocked stiffness, Tommy felt the other man pressing closer, and his lips were moving against his and his hands were pulling at Tommy’s hair like they knew exactly what to do, like they did this all the time, and Tommy was in absolute fucking heaven.

He didn’t know what this even was, he had never felt this exhilarating feeling from someone he had just fucking met, but the sparks he felt in his chest chased away every doubt the younger man had. He could think about the consequences later.

The raven haired man was pulling away then, backing Tommy up to press his back against the car, nipping at his lip in an almost shy manner, perhaps the only apprehension Tommy had sensed up until this point.

Tommy’s hands seemed to move on their own as the slipped slightly under the raven haired man's shirt to pet at the warm skin of his hip in reassurance, an encouragement that served its purpose, because then the stranger was shuddering at the sensation, brushing Tommy’s hair off of his shoulder, and trailing his lips down to press kisses to Tommy’s exposed neck.

Tommy couldn’t help but to let out an absolutely sinful moan then, because this was fucking hot, this guy was fucking hot, he was unattached now anyway and honestly, he was always a horny drunk.

Tommy felt a chuckle brand itself into his neck then, and he couldn’t help it as his lips let out “I feel like I should at least know your name, dude.”

Those green eyes were pulling back to look at him again, the same confident glint in them that he had admired in them before, but they were almost softer now.

“It’s Nikki.”

Fuck, even his name was hot. If Tommy wasn’t a goner before, he definitely was now.

“Tommy.” He managed to choke out without sounding too breathless. Nikki smiled at the airy tone and returned his lips to Tommy’s throat. “Well Tommy, I think I can make you feel good enough that you won't even remember your ex’s name… that is, if you want..”

There was that insecure tone, it was back, hidden under a mask of fake confidence, but it was there, and even though Tommy didn’t know this guy, had no reason to feel any sort of emotional attachment to him other than gratitude for not beating his ass over this situation, Tommy decided he really didn’t like that tone to Nikki’s voice. Nobody that fucking beautiful should feel insecure about anything, ever.

Tommy didn’t think he could choke out a reply anyway, so he bucked his hips against Nikki’s, feeling a shot of pride go through his chest when Nikki’s eyes rolled back slightly and the grip on his hips tightened enough to bruise.

“Are you sure?”

The slight disbelief in Nikki’s voice made Tommy’s heart skip a beat and his cock pulse harder, somehow. It was like he couldn’t believe that Tommy was willing to do this, with him, in this alley, but in reality this is all that Tommy ever could have wanted for this night.

This man was beautiful, and Tommy could see the kind soul under the rough exterior, and right now all he wanted to do was feel the passion that he had always been missing with his ex, and something in him told him that Nikki could provide that for him.

In a burst of sudden confidence, Tommy was rolling his hips, pressing his hard cock against Nikki’s thigh and somehow managing to choke out: “Pretty damn sure.”

From there, it was all hands, all over his body. Tommy felt lightheaded at the feelings this man was bringing out of him, the anticipation of the pleasure he knew was to come was suffocating him as Nikki’s gentle hands pushed him down to lay in the backseat of the old beat up vehicle.

Tommy was somewhat surprised at the gentle caress of Nikki’s hands so far, he would have expected Nikki to be much rougher, but something told him in the way Nikki’s hands shook that he was holding back for him, and that the best was yet to come.

But for now, Tommy was being driven crazy. Nikki was taking his sweet time, pushing his hands under Tommy’s shirt so deliberately, and the kisses being pressed into his neck were so soft, Tommy thought he was going to lose his mind before they got to the actual sex.

Tommy could feel the warm moist heat of Nikki’s breath as his shirt was pushed up and off of him completely as Nikki turned his attention to kissing down his chest, stopping for a minute to gently lick at each nipple. Each flick of Nikki’s tongue, each nip of Nikki’s teeth sent electricity into Tommy’s nerves, lighting them up and sending Tommy to heaven.

Nikki was palming his cock over his jeans now, and Jesus fucking Christ, Tommy could hear himself moaning and grunting with this voice that was dripping with pure sex, Tommy didn’t know if he had even made any of these sounds before.

His body was demanding more friction to sooth the pulse that was pounding between his thighs, to the point he was almost considering begging because he needed this.

Nikki’s mouth had worked its way down to Tommy’s stomach by the time his vocal cords gathered the control to choke out a strangled “please”, and Nikki’s face warped with a mixture of pure pride and lust, all thoughts of going slow abandoned as Nikki went to work on the button on Tommy’s jeans.

While Nikki rid Tommy of the confines of his jeans, Tommy decided Nikki was wearing entirely too many clothes, and pulled the shirt over the older boy’s head, sighing happily as he ran his fingertips over the warm, pale skin of Nikki’s chest.

The entire world had narrowed down to the inside of this car. Nothing else mattered, not the chatter of pedestrians a dozen yards away, not Michael, nothing else existed except for him and this raven haired stranger that was looking at him with the most worshiping eyes that Tommy had ever seen.

Tommy hissed as the cold air hit him when Nikki managed to slide his pants the rest of the way off. Nikki flat out groaned as he took in the sight before him. Tommy seemed to have thrown any hesitation that he might have felt out the door. He was locked in a pleading gaze, eyes begging for more, for anything.

It must have worked because Nikki seemed to take pity on him and didn’t leave him waiting for long. Their positions were awkward and cramped, okay yeah, Nikki definitely lost feeling in his right leg, but neither of them seemed to mind. The younger boy let out a shout when Nikki suddenly lowered himself to take the younger man’s length in his mouth.

Okay, fuck, Nikki is good at this. Tommy was in pure ecstasy as Nikki drug his tongue along the swollen vein of Tommy's cock, fighting the urge to thrust his hips forward and choke the other man.

Tommy whimpered in surprise when he felt a lubed finger circling his entrance.

Where the fuck did that lube even come from?

Tommy couldn't help it, he was pushing himself down onto Nikki's finger, begging him to keep going, give him more more more.

One finger turned into two, then three and Tommy was a writhing mess under Nikki.

Nikki let out a groan as he took in the sight of Tommy fucking himself down onto his fingers. “Come on baby, take it, that’s right.” He huffed out before pulling his fingers away completely, heat rushing to his lower stomach at the whining that ensued.

“Nggg, Nikki- more- please-”

And yeah, okay, Nikki wasn’t going to be able to deny this kid anything, not when he’s begging like that with that voice. Not wasting any time, Nikki pushed down his own boxers and thrust his leaking erection into the younger boy’s aching hole. Leaning down Nikki crashed his lips into the Tommy’s, capturing the noises that were slipping from his lips, and swallowing them down.

Nikki couldn’t contain his moans for long though. Moans turned to half-shouts as the older man began thrusting, deep and fast. Tommy felt dizzy with pleasure and the adrenaline that came with fucking a complete stranger on the Sunset Strip, where anyone could catch you.

Tommy may have been longer but Nikki was so thick. He relished in the burning stretch causing him to clench around the other’s pulsing member. He couldn’t remember the last time he felt so turned on. He had grown used to the boring, lights off, half asleep, sex that he had grown to accept with Mike.

No this, this was uncensored, raw pleasure. This all felt so new, and he couldnt help but fucking relish in the look in Nikki’s eyes, like he was barely holding it together, like the sight of Tommy alone was enough to make him come. It was hot, but it was also sweet, in it’s own way. He couldn’t help but bury his hands hands in the raven locks as the other man moved to bite at his exposed throat.

Tommy’s moans gradually turned into various versions of Nikki’s name. What started out as “Nikki”, had shortened to “Nik”, and eventually morphed into just sultry moans that vaguely sounded like the older boy’s name.

“You like that, baby?” Nikki whispered as he ground into Tommy’s prostate, causing the younger man to see stars. Tommy couldn’t respond with words, he was choking on his reply of yes, yes he fucking likes it, yes he fucking loves it, he could die right here, being fucked to death in the back of this shitty car in this shitty alley and it would be just fine with him, what a fucking way to go.

“You’re fucking gorgeous, babe, goddamn-” Nikki’s praises were spurring Tommy on, in a way that he had never experienced before. He had never felt so worshiped during sex, and it made him want to give Nikki a show. It made him want to make Nikki feel just as fucking adored as he was making Tommy feel.

With that thought, Tommy was pushing Nikki off of him, Nikki’s eyes growing wide and confused at the turn of events. Tommy watched Nikki’s mouth open, no doubt to apologize, ask what was wrong, something along those lines, but before Nikki could get a word out, Tommy was straddling his thighs, teasing Nikki’s cock with his entrance before pushing down and sitting himself flat on Nikki’s lap.

Nikki’s eyes were wide in awe, his mouth forming a perfect o shape, his head thrown back against the seat, as he hissed out a ‘fuck, baby’, and Tommy was fucking proud of himself.

Tommy grabbed a handful of dyed black locks to steady himself as he started bouncing himself on Nikki’s lap. As his movements increased in speed, and his prostate was hit dead on with every thrust, he could feel honest to god tears in his eyes at the pleasure, he was so close, so fucking close, he needed Nikki to touch him.

He opened his mouth to say something- anything- to convey what he needed, but as it turns out, Nikki knew, somehow he just fucking knew, and he was bringing his shaking hand up to fist Tommy’s leaking erection, pulling in time with Tommy’s movements.

“I- I’m close- do you want me to-”

Tommy knew what Nikki meant, “do you want me to pull out”, and no, no he fucking didn’t, and he just sped up his movements impossibly faster in response. As close as Nikki was, Tommy was closer. He threw his head back and let out a cry as his muscles spasmed, and he came on Nikki’s hand and chest. He fucked himself through his orgasm, and the sight of Tommy’s release was enough to drag Nikki over the edge as well.

Releasing Tommy’s cock, Nikki’s arms coiled themselves around Tommy’s back, pulling him closer and burying his head in Tommy’s shoulder as his body spasmed and his mouth opened to scream a silent cry into his lover’s shoulder.

After a few minutes of labored breathing, Tommy lifted himself off of Nikki’s lap, allowing Nikki to slip out of him, and collapsed down on the bench seat, pulling Nikki on top of him. Nikki let out a startled laugh, a smile permanently etched on his face as he continued to try to catch his breath. Not wanting to crush the younger man he forced himself to sit up a bit, but Tommy was quick to pull him back against him. “Just- just for a minute.” Tommy grumbled out sleepily, eyes still closed. At the softly spoken words Nikki couldn’t help but to oblige. His chest tightened at the implications of the other man asking him to stay. Maybe the other man felt the same magnetic pull that seemed to overtake him the moment he laid his eyes on him. Not wanting to overthink things and be that person Nikki resorted back to the cocky mask that he wore so well, “Still can’t get enough of me, babe?”

But Tommy was looking at him, dark brown eyes scrutinizing and analyzing him, as if to see past the mask that Nikki has been accustomed to wearing all this time. It made Nikki squirm, he wasn't used to people looking at him like that, wasn't used to people caring that much, but he could get used to looking at those brown eyes, that was for sure.

"I mean, that was some pretty great sex, Nik."

Nikki choked out a laugh against Tommy's shoulder as he buried himself into it, pausing for a second to grab the blanket he had stashed under the passenger seat and covered them up. He tried not to let his mind dwell on how fucking good the nickname sounded spilling from Tommy's lips, but the thought had a smile playing on his lips anyway.

——-

Several years later, Michael was just a distant memory, and Tommy was living his best fucking life every day with his lover and best friend on stage, every night, in front of thousands of people. Tommy’s hair was darker, Nikki had bulked up a little bit, both were littered with more tattoos, and neither one had ever been more happy.

Neither had expected that night so many years ago to lead to this. Keying someone’s car, and then fucking them in the back seat of that same car isn’t exactly a fairytail way of meeting, but to both Nikki and Tommy, they lived their own fairy tail every day they were together.

Countless interviewers asked them how they had met and become a couple, and it was always the same bullshit response they gave everyone, they ‘met on the streets of LA and they just clicked instantly’, which wasn't exactly a lie, but not the full truth. With their entire lives being put in the spotlight now, they both agreed they wanted to keep this one memory for themselves only.

Though Tommy was used to the tattoos that riddled the bassist’s skin, his eyes always ended up focusing on the, honestly not very well done, tattoo that rested over his heart. When Nikki had drunkenly told Tommy that he wanted to get a key tattoo one night, Tommy decided then and there that this was his forever. There was no one else in the world that he would rather spend his life with.

Maybe it wasn’t love at first sight, or maybe it was, but it was Nikki and Tommy, and that’s what mattered.

#tommy/nikki #tommy lee x nikki sixx #Terrorcest #terror twins #smut

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andrewrpierce · 4 years

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“I spent two years researching the Christian Right. I traveled across the country, spending time in megachurches, creationist seminars, right-to-life retreats, and even took a course taught by D. James Kennedy in Florida called Evangelism Explosion. I conducted a few hundred interviews, and I met many evangelicals of good will and good intentions, but I came away believing that the leadership of the Christian Right cruelly manipulates the despair of its followers and poses a danger to our open society. Doctor James Luther Adams, my ethics professor at Harvard Divinity School, told us that when we were his age, he was then close to 80, we would all be fighting the Christian Fascists. The warning, given to me more than three decades ago, came at a moment Pat Robertson and other radio and tele-evangelists began speaking about a new political religion that would direct its efforts at taking control of all institutions, including mainstream denominations, and finally the government. Its stated goal was to use the United States to create a global Christian empire. It was hard at the time to take such fantastic rhetoric seriously, especially given the buffoonish quality of those who expounded it. But Adams warned us against the blindness caused by intellectual snobbery. The Fascists, he said, were not going to return with swastikas and Brownshirts. Their ideological heirs would wrap fascism in the Christian cross and the American flag and hold mass recitations of the Pledge of Allegiance. Adams was not a man to use the word Fascist lightly. He was in Germany in 1935 and 1936 and worked with the underground anti-Nazi church, known as the Confessing Church, led by Dietrich Bonhoeffer. Adams was eventually detained, interrogated by the Gestapo, and expelled from Germany. He left on a night train, with framed portraits of Adolf Hitler placed over the contents inside his suitcase, to hide the rolls of home movie film he took of the so called "German Christian Church," which was pro-Nazi, and the few individuals who defied them, including the theologians Karl Barth and Albert Schweitzer. The ruse worked when the border police lifted the top of the suitcases, saw the portraits of the Führer, and closed them up again. I watched hours of the grainy black and white films as he narrated in his apartment in Cambridge. Adams saw in the Christian Right, long before we did, disturbing similarities with the German Christian Church. Similarities that he said would, in the event of prolonged social instability accompanied by economic decline, see American Fascists, under the guise of religion, rise to dismantle the Open Society. He despaired of liberals, who he said, as in Nazi Germany, mouthed platitudes about dialogue and inclusiveness that made them ineffectual and impotent. Liberals, he said, did not understand the power and allure of evil, nor the cold reality of how the world worked. Like Bonhoeffer, he did not believe that those who would fight effectively in coming times of turmoil (a fight that, for him, was a fundamental part of the Biblical call) would come from the Church or the liberal secular elite. Adams told us to watch closely what the Christian Right did to ethnic and religious minorities, as well as those who did not adhere to rigid sexual stereotypes. He watched the Nazis use "moral" values to launch state repression of opponents. Hitler, days after he took power in 1933, imposed a ban on all homosexual and lesbian organizations. He ordered raids on places where homosexuals gathered, culminating with the ransacking of the Institute for Sexual Science in Berlin. Thousands of volumes from the Institute's libraries were tossed into a bonfire. The assault was cheered by the German churches. Adams said that the GBLTQ community, Muslims, immigrants, and poor people of color would be the first deviants singled out by the Christian Right, but we would be the next. I remember thinking his warning was perhaps too apocalyptic. But nearly four decades later, the power brokers in the Christian Right have moved from the fringes of society to the floor of the House of Representatives and the Senate, the White House, the judiciary, and major government departments. FRC Action, the legislative affiliate of the Family Research Council, gave 245 members of congress a perfect 100% for votes that support the agenda of the Christian Right. The Family Research Council, which called on its followers to pray for God to "vanquish the demonic," that's their quotes, "forces behind Trump's impeachment," is identified by the Southern Poverty Law Center as a hate group because of its campaigns to discriminate against the LGBTQ community. Trump has elevated members of the Christian Right to prominent positions of power, including Mike Pence to the Vice Presidency, Mike Pompeo as Secretary of State, Betsy DeVos as Secretary of Education, Ben Carson as Secretary of Housing and Urban Development, William Barr as Attorney General, Neil Gorsuch and Brett Kavanaugh to the Supreme Court, and the tele-evangelist Paula White, who promises her donors their own personal angel, to his Faith and Opportunities Initiative. Frank Amedia, the Trump campaign's Liaison for Christian Policy, claims to have raised an aunt from the dead. And the Christian Right, which makes up as much of a quarter of the country, or close to 80 million people, has its own version of the Brownshirts: the four higher mercenary armies and private contractors amassed by people such as Erik Prince, the brother of Betsy DeVos. Reason, science, facts, and verifiable truth are useless weapons against this belief system. I think the Christian Right is best understood as what anthropologists will call a crisis cult. Crisis Cults arise in most collapsing societies. They promise, through magic, to recover the lost grandeur of a mythologized past. This magical thinking banishes doubt, anxiety, and feelings of dis-empowerment. Traditional social hierarchies and rules, including white, male supremacy, will be restored. Those blamed for our decline: intellectuals, artists, liberals, immigrants, undocumented workers, poor people of color, feminists, will be dis-empowered. America, freed from the contamination of these "degenerate forces," will be restored. The Christian Right propagates its magical thinking through a selective Biblical literalism. They hold up as sacrosanct Biblical passages that buttress their ideology and ignore or grossly misinterpret the ones that do not. They live in a binary universe. They see themselves as eternal victims, oppressed by dark and sinister groups seeking their annihilation. They alone know the will of God. They alone can fulfill God's will. They seek total cultural and political domination. The secular reality-based world, one where Satan, miracles, divine edicts, angels, and magic do not exist, destroyed their lives and their communities. This secular world took away their jobs and their futures. It destroyed the social bonds that gave them purpose, dignity, and hope. In their despair, they often succumbed to alcoholism, drug, gambling, and pornography addictions. They endured familial breakdowns, divorce, jail, evictions, unemployment, and domestic and sexual abuse. And then from the depths of suicidal despair, they suddenly discovered that God has a plan for them; God will save them; God will intervene in their lives to promote and protect them. God has called them to carry out His holy mission in the world, and to be rich, powerful, and happy. The only thing that saved them was their conversion, the realization that God had a plan for them, and would protect them. These believers were pushed by the wreckage caused by neoliberalism into the arms of charlatans. All who attempt to reach them through the rational language of fact and evidence are hated and ultimately feared, for they seek to force believers back into what they call the "culture of death" that nearly destroyed them. Trump has handed veto and appointment power over key positions in government, especially in the federal courts, to the Christian Right. He has installed 133 district court judges out of 677 total, 50 appeals court judges out of 179 total, and two U.S. Supreme Court justices out of nine. Almost all of these justices were vetted by The Federalist Society and the Christian Right. Many have been rated as unqualified by the American Bar Association, the country's largest non-partisan coalition of lawyers. Trump has moved to ban Muslim immigrants. He has rolled back Civil Rights legislation. He has made war on reproductive rights by restricting abortion and defunding Planned Parenthood. Trump was the first president to address the radical anti-choice March For Life event in person. He permits discrimination against LGBTQ community people in the name of "religious liberty." He has ripped down the firewall between church and state by revoking the Johnson Amendment, which prohibits churches which are tax exempt, from endorsing political candidates. His appointees routinely use Biblical strictures to justify an array of policy decisions including: environmental deregulation, endless war against Muslims in the Middle East, tax cuts, and the replacement of public schools with charter schools, an action that permits the transfer of federal education funds to private "Christian" schools. The iconography and language and symbols of American Nationalism are intertwined with the iconography, language and symbols of the Christian faith. Megapastors will often share Trump's narcissism, rule despotic, cult-like fiefdoms. They make millions of dollars by using this heretical belief system to prey on the despair and desperation of their congregations. They distort the Bible to champion unfettered capitalism, the cult of masculinity, the belief that violence can purge the world of evil, white supremacy, bigotry, American chauvinism, religious intolerance, anger, racism, and conspiracy theories. Those within the evangelical movement, such as the editors of the magazine Christianity Today, who have attempted to state the obvious about Trump, that he is corrupt, inept, and immoral, and should be removed from office, are brutally attacked. Nearly 200 evangelical leaders, including former Arkansas governor Mike Huckabee, former representative Michelle Bachman, Jerry Falwell Jr., and Ralph Reed, signed a joint letter denouncing the Christianity Today editorial. Evangelical Christians who criticize Trump are as swiftly disappeared as Republican politicians who criticize Trump. Trump received 80% of the white, evangelical vote in the 2016 presidential election, and in a poll during the House impeachment proceedings, 90% of evangelicals said they opposed the impeachment and ouster of the president. Among Republicans who identified as white evangelical protestants, that number rises to 99%.”

-Chris Hedges, 24 Feb 2020

#chris hedges #christian right #dominionism #religion #fundamentalism

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willel · 5 years

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For the people that wanted the whole convo

What would you say where are[sic] Jonathan’s and Lucas’s character arcs in season 3[sic]. They’re side characters. They don’t get big arcs.

Jonathan and Lucas aren't meant to be side characters, that's the point. They are not Bob or Barb or Hopper's officers or Terry or all the other side characters.

Lucas is one of the original 4 boys and Jonathan is Will's brother and one of the original teens.

They are though. They’re not minor characters like the other cops, but they clearly aren’t as important as El or Mike or Hopper or Joyce.

It’s been like this for two of the three seasons. It’s not an accident. The Duffer brothers didn’t just forget about them. They’re just not the focus of the story, and that’s okay.

It's not about being the focus of the story, it's about writing their characters period.

In season 1 and season 2, Jonathan was depicted as a caring family man, going out of his way to support his family even though he's just a teenager. He has trust issues and didn't trust authority figures, but slowly came to trust Hopper to help him protect his family. In season 1 and season 2, they stressed this idea Jonathan regretted not being there for his brother when he needed him.

But guess what? Jonathan and Will didn't even have 1 proper conversation in season 3. They're finally together fighting the evil and yet they don't even have 1 or 2 scenes together like the previous seasons.Two brothers on the same team with not even 1 scene together?? How did Dustin and Steve manage to seem more like brothers than the actual brothers in the show? (the answer is memes about mom Steve)

In season 1, Jonathan and Joyce's relationship was so heartfelt and they were both trying to save their third family member in their own way. Jonathan and Joyce have 1 5 second scene in season 3 where she tries to wipe lipstick off his face. That's it. She doesn't hug him goodbye before breaking into the Russian facility. Jonathan doesn't come rushing up to her at the end to hug her after a deadly situation. Slowly but surely over the course of the seasons, the Duffers are dropping this plot thread as if they aren't mother and son. You don't find that weird, at all?

Then we have Lucas. Lucas is the tried and true loyal friend. They did a good job displaying that this season actually. He was trying to help Mike out with his romantic issues AND he even tried to personally apologize to Will whereas Mike didn't. But in season 1 and in season 2, Lucas had his own mini plot. In season 1, he went off to save Will by himself and was able to connect the dots that they were being followed and spied on by Hawkins Lab. In season 2, he had a MikexEl kind of plot where he slowly introduced Max into the party and gave her the emotional support she was looking for because her family is whack.

Just as we started seeing hints of that in season 3 (Where Lucas was trying to apologize to Will for example), it stopped and we got nothing else. We didn't get the pleasure of seeing Lucas make up with Max whereas in the previous seasons, we definitely would have. I feel like in the previous seasons, Lucas would've continued trying to talk to Will and got through to him and made up properly. (in fact, if you listen hard enough in some cut away scenes, Lucas repeatedly addresses Will and goes out of his way to include him in their conversations) Wouldn't it have been neat to see Lucas and Will setting up the fireworks together or something??

I'm not asking for a fully fleshed out season all about certain characters over others. I want the Duffers to at least keep the few character threads these characters do have going instead of dropping them in favor of others. It's not good writing and feels off. It's not that hard to write in Will and Jonathan talking to each other. It's not that hard to write Joyce caring about her eldest son. It's not that hard to show Max and Lucas having a more serious conversation like last season. And it's definitely not hard to show Lucas trying to straighten out the party after the big blow up that happened instead of pretending like nothing happened.

I just don’t feel that the show needs to repeat itself. We’ve seen Jonathan being a caring brother. Do we need to see it again and again each season as a reminder? I’d much rather see new things, rather than just tick off boxes. That doesn’t make the show “poorly written meme material.”

This should've been Jonathan's opportunity to be there for his brother. We should've gotten a "This time I'm actually here right next to you to protect you." acknowledgement from the show. We have never seen Jonathan and Will acting as a team because Will was missing or out of commission. That is completely new and unseen before.

Will was going through so much emotional turmoil this season and for the last 2 season, we witnessed Jonathan being one of the few people who can get through to Will and make him feel a bit better but we couldn't even get that kind of conversation. This would just be consistent character writing which is GOOD.

Lucas helping set the party straight? Or having his own interactions with Will separate from Mike and Dustin? New. We've never seen Lucas and Will interactions outside of the group. Heck, we haven't gotten to see Will interact with much of anyone at all because of what happened to him so almost any interactions with Will, whether it's Jonathan or Lucas or El or Max, would be brand new and never seen before in full.

The problem I'm seeing with the writing lately is they put more effort into memeable moments than fleshing out plot threads they already started and suddenly dropped.

We spent a good 2 or 3 minutes listening to Suzie and Dustin sing, time that could've been spent on something more valuable because it offers nothing to the story but memes. Ever since S3's release, the Stranger Things twitters post about it meme after meme after meme. (not to mention their mom Steve posts and abundance of other fandom memes).

How about that bit with Lucas advertising New Coke? That time could've been spent elsewhere, an opportunity to build character instead of product placement. Coke, Burger King, Slushies, just everywhere.

The entire plot line with Steve and Dustin. Steve and Dustin were separated from the main crews and got their own little band of peeps because the mom Steve meme is too popular for the writers to ignore. They went full in on the mom Steve meme just like they did for the Justice for Barb meme.

Imo, the show suffers when they do that.

You know what I didn't want? Steve and Dustin spending the majority of the season together because MOM STEVE. You know what I didn't need last season? Nancy and Jonathan separated from most of the cast for most of the season because people wouldn't shut up about Justice for Barb.

Sprinkle a twinkle of comedy in the show and move on. Mix up the cast, place them with new people entirely, that's how the whole Steve and Dustin situation happened. They shuffled and voila, surprise new relationship. The only shuffle that happened this season was El and Max and that's a shame.

They should feel more comfortable shuffling characters up. Lucas and Will. El and Will. Nancy and Mike. Mike and Max. Dustin and Will. Dustin and El. Jonathan and Will. Jonathan and Mike. Jonathan and El. So many other cool interactions could've sprouted this season, but the teams felt more restrictive than usual because they needed their comedy team (Dustin + Steve and the others), the less memeable characters (Jonathan, Lucas, Mike, El, Will, etc etc), and then they shoved unnecessary drama into Joyce and Hopper like some kind of soap opera. And memes.

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diyunho · 5 years

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The Joker x Reader - “The One That Got Away” Part 2

The terrorist attack targeting Wayne National Bank nearly three years ago left only one survivor behind: Y/N almost died from the injuries, but she was lucky enough to wake up at the hospital days later. It was so hard to cope with the news: on top of losing her eyesight, the young woman lost her co-workers also and strangely enough the one responsible for the entire tragedy wasn’t The Clown Prince of Crime.

Four weeks later

“Now we’re going up five steps,” Bruce announces and you carefully walk holding on to his arm. “Almost there. Do you want more champagne or a cocktail?”

“Actually Mister Wayne, I would like a shot of whiskey,” you reply and he signals the bartender.

“I wouldn’t mind one either,” he adds and orders: “Two shots of whiskey please!”

“How long do we have to be here?” you exhale, enjoying the ambiance nevertheless. You wish this could be one of the instances when you are able to see; it must be a really fancy venue. Unfortunately, your vision didn’t return at all after the incident leading up to The Joker saving you from the Triple Star gang.

“Maybe another hour or so, unless you don’t feel well and then I can drive you back to your apartment.”

“I’m ok, no worries. It’s just a bit weird: I’m not used to this kind of stuff,” a nervous Y/N confesses.

“Charity balls can be overwhelming,” Bruce nods in agreement. “Everyone talks and talks, eats, drinks and talks some more. The purpose is to make these rich people give up on their money for good causes so it’s worth it.”

You laugh at his honesty, making sure to underline you’re grateful for the opportunity:

“Thank you for including my charity; I really appreciate it and it means a lot. I will be able to help more people.”

“It’s the least I can do,” Bruce sighs, grabbing the drinks from the bartender. “Here you go,” the glass is given to you. “Since this year it was my turn to organize the event, might as well use the hype from what happened to the Angel of Gotham and get you more funding. Sorry, I don’t want to sound insensitive,” he apologizes when he notices the change in your mood. “That was stupid to say,” Bruce admonishes himself and you try to stir the conversation towards another topic.

“It’s fine; I understand what you mean, Mister Wayne,” you taste a sip of alcohol and continue. “If you want to ask any questions about what happened… you can.”

The billionaire puckers his lips, debating on the unexpected chance to dig out some information that could shed some light on your abduction and surprising intervention from The Clown Prince of Crime. He did read the police report with your statement courtesy of Commissar Gordon, yet off the record discussion is more than welcomed.

“Let’s go on the terrace then for more privacy,” he suggests and you take Bruce’s arm again, following his guidance.

You pass by people engaged in several chats, hoping nobody will stop you for trivial interrogations you’re not comfortable answering.

“Did they… did they…e-hem… do… anything…ummm…to you?” Bruce stutters because he has no idea how to convey the inquiry without sounding like a total jerk invading your personal life.

“I said it to the cops also: no, I wasn’t sexually assaulted,” you reaffirm and he grumbles, relieved.

“Thank goodness,” the 35 year old taps your fingers. “I don’t even know why my mouth even uttered such rubbish…I know it’s none of my business,” and he immediately corrects the sentence. “As in of course I would care about something like that, but I shouldn’t force you to share.”

“You’re digging your own grave, Mister Wayne,” you interrupt his tirade since he doesn’t know how to handle the situation.

“Uh, I know. I’m sorry Y/N,” and you laughter makes him chuckle too. “Bad luck,“ Bruce concludes as soon as you are both on the patio. “There are lots of people outside; do you mind using the small conference room? It’s empty,” he gazes through the opened glass doors and you follow him, compliant.

“Of course, no problem.”

“Let’s take a sit on this purple couch,” he urges and you oblige, smiling:

“So many purple items around here,” Y/N has to emphasize because Bruce kept on describing the environment to her and that stood out. “A splash of color never hurts; it must be really nice.”

“I like purple; it’s my favorite color,” he stares at you, searching for a reaction when the tip of the knife he’s holding almost touches your cornea. But there’s no reflex and the man smirks, returning the blade to his pocket. He drinks some more, restarting the debriefing:

“Do you know where you were taken? I mean, I know you are not able to see, still did anything catch your attention? Any noises? Particular smells?”

“No, nothing” you pout. “I assume it was outside town: it was quiet and Gotham is never silent. They transported me in a van, a larger vehicle. I’m sure of that since there were several individuals with me. A few moments after being kidnapped I was hit in the head and passed out.”

And when you woke up you were blind again, not that Bruce needs to know.

“I think I was locked in a basement, very tiny space…I was given some food and water. I lost track of time and at one point I heard someone yelling that The Joker arrived, then a lot of turmoil and a harsh argument. It worsened and almost lost my mind when the shooting started: I was so scared and had no clue about what the hell was happening.”

You pause and gulp, the memory of the frightful circumstances making you shrug.

“My apologies,” Bruce remorsefully hums. “I shouldn’t make you recall such an unpleasant experience… I will get us some grape juice on ice.”

“Grape juice?...” you take advantage of the welcomed change in topic. Great way to divert your attention from the anxiety you feel while saying out loud what you already disclosed to the cops.

“It’s such a refreshing beverage; I can’t live without it,” he admits and tries to stand up but you stop him.

“Please don’t go; if someone stumbles upon this room in your absence it will be awkward for me; you’re the only person I know at this reception.”

“Of course,” Bruce agrees right away. “I’m definitely not in my best shape today; we can go and get the drinks together.”

“That’s better,” you smile yet don’t show any signs you want to move so he patiently waits; the philanthropist assumes there’s more you wish to say and he doesn’t push for a continuation of your story.

Y/N finishes the drink and glares at the man veiled in darkness just like everything else surrounding her.

“Do you know what the scariest part was, Mister Wayne?”

Complete stillness and you whisper:

“When I heard somebody screamed: Grenade! It was such a powerful explosion, it reminded me of what happened that day at the bank…”

Bruce doesn’t respond and a tearful Y/N wraps up her story in a way that makes her date impatient for the grand finale:

“The air was so thick I couldn’t even breathe and I fainted. I remember hands digging me out from under the rubble, words and sentences I couldn’t comprehend since I was drifting in and out of consciousness. And then I woke up at the hospital…”

“Mmm…” Bruce pouts. “Do you have any idea why The Joker saved you?”

“I was told about the incident at my Soup Kitchen…and I was shocked. I have no idea why he did that…” you reveal not mentioning you spent countless hours debating about it.

“Possibly because he’s sick and tired of The Triple Star gang meddling with his plans? What kind of stupid name is that anyway? Triple Star!!” he hisses. “Do you know they all have three star tattooed on their backs?! Who does that anymore?! What are they?! Kindergarten brats?!”

Why is Bruce getting so mad?!

“The Joker owns Gotham! Nobody else!!!”

You’re a bit uncomfortable with his rant and it shows.

“Mister Wayne…”

He has no more patience and you get cut off:

“You know why The Joker rescued you? Because he needs you for something, otherwise he wouldn’t have bothered. And to prove he’s in charge and not the competition!”

“Mister Wayne, please calm down. You’re making me nervous…” a concerned Y/N pleads.

The man scoffs, straining to regain control over himself.

“I didn’t mean to frighten you,” he chuckles and takes your hand into his, amused by what he’s about to divulge. “We’re friends, aren’t we?”

“Y-yes, of course,” you stammer and want to continue when he reaches over and kisses you, biting your lower lip seconds afterwards.

You wince in pain, freezing when the tone changes to one you hoped you won’t hear again:

“Oh my; am I too rough, sugar?”

You yank your hands away but he won’t let go.

“What is this?!” you pant, struggling to distance yourself from The Joker without success.

He laughs with all his heart, enjoying your stunned attitude.

“It’s your old pal J with the best voice synthesizer money can buy. It’s not that hard to copy someone’s voice with these things, especially since you can find interviews online with the pretty boy.”

You stop fighting his clasp and carefully listen to the wireless mike hidden in your ear:

“Remain calm, Y/N! No matter what you do, don’t set him off!”

The Clown Prince of Crime though has to brag about his achievement and makes sure to bring you up to speed:

“I picked you up in my limo before he did; the rich boy probably wondered where you were when he showed up at your apartment. Congratulations, sugar: you just stood up a billionaire,” the green haired madman snickers. “I have plenty of resources to recreate a party and people that work for me to pose as guests. You’re not at a charity ball, sugar; I simply took you to one of my humble abodes.”

You feel so exposed, yet your current situation demands a strong determination to help maintain the appearances. The Joker’s fingers suddenly go around your neck, the immediate threat resonating in the room:

“You will do money laundering for me! You will do as I say or I’ll make your life a living hell to the point of you now knowing what’s real and what’s not! Do I make myself clear?!!” he snaps and you nod a yes, obedient to his request.

“Good girl,” he sniffs your scent. “Now I should take you back, I’m tired with the charade; it was fun but exhausting,” he grins and can’t shut up: “The pretty boy must be wondering where you are.”

You want to hold in the defiant remark but can’t:

“What makes you think Mister Wayne doesn’t know where I am?”

“Oh shit!” you hear in your ear. “We’re moving in!”

The Joker frowns, intrigued: the red dots focusing on his chest are an affirmation of snipers ready to take him out.

“What did you do, sugar?” he barks and takes the knife out of his pocket, stabbing your abdomen: the resistance he encounters gives another clue he got played. Y/N is wearing a customized bullet proof vest under her cocktail dress but it’s not enough to stop the blade.

“T-thank you…” you have time to tell him before they barge in.

“For what?” he resentfully snarls, removing the knife from your body.

“For proving you don’t deserve to be saved,” you admit with such serenity he’s thrown off for once.

The noise of broken glass and shattered objects makes you jump as you moan in pain.

“On your knees!!!” the squad barges in, aiming their rifles at The Joker. “Drop the weapon! NOW!”

The gun shots echoing throughout the house are a logical testimony that the SWAT team is swiping out the premises, taking out those from The Joker’s crew daring to fight back.

“Hands above your head!” the team leader shouts and the kneeled King of Gotham obeys with a demented smirk as the knife he dropped is being kicked away from him.

“Civilian hurt, requiring medical assistance!” another team member requests, pressing on your wound. “Don’t worry Miss, you’ll be fine. OK?” the guy reassures. “You were very brave,” he praises your skills. You lay down on the couch, shaking from the throbbing ache.

“I don’t feel very brave…”

**************

5 Months Later, Arkham Asylum

The buzz lets you know the 6th gate for Level 1 Clarence is opened and you can pass towards you final destination: the highest security area inside the Arkham Asylum reserved for the most dangerous criminally insane.

“Here she is,” the guard points at the one of the screens depicting Y/N searching the space in front of her with the cane. “Punctual as always,” he tries to joke with Bruce Wayne.

“I know,” he flatly responds. “I’m the one that brings her here.”

The head of security gives the guard a disapproving gaze and the subaltern shuts it down, pretending not to notice the sour expression on his boss’s face.

The four men present watch the monitors in silence while a geared up staff helps you enter the interrogation room where The Joker already awaits, tight up in his straightjacket and chained up to the floor. You take a sit across from his chair, the white table separating the two people being the only object standing out in the padded room.

The Clown intensely stares at the table and you blankly glare at him; that’s how every visit goes: 10 minutes every week on Wednesdays, perfect quietness since he didn’t articulate a single word after he was captured 5 months ago.

The Arkham Asylum patients are not allowed to have visitors, yet Bruce Wayne and his lawyers found a loophole that allows Y/N to briefly visit The King of Gotham once every seven days. That’s all they were able to obtain without going to court and it was fine with you: it’s better than nothing so you didn’t argue.

The Joker has the right to refuse the visit but he never does: he shows up for the short meetings, not talking nor looking your way. Who knows what’s going on in his brain besides the obvious insanity?...

“I admire her courage,” the head of security addresses Commissar Gordon since he’s the fourth person there. “Even if I don’t get it: why would she want to be around a crazy psychopath? He tried to murder her!”

Jim scratches his chin, sharing a theory him and Bruce talked about:

“He didn’t aim to kill, otherwise he would have cut her throat or stabbed her in the head. I suppose that in his twisted mind he sees Y/N as a worthy adversary because I’m sure he didn’t expect a blind woman to give him so much trouble. We’ve been trying to catch him for a long time and we finally succeeded thanks to her agreeing to be the bait. When we approached Y/N with the idea, we knew he might target her after he saved her from the kidnappers. There’s no way The Joker would do something like that without a purpose. We discretely guarded her 24/7 and made sure to stay out of sight in order not to arise any suspicions since he was watching for sure. He’s not stupid: he planned his scheme carefully and maybe we had sheer luck with the whole operation. Who knows?”

“Sorry to interrupt,” the guard gestures at the screen. “I think he said something!”

“Holy crap!” Gordon blurs out. “Rewind and turn up the volume!”

The camera feed is replayed for the small group watching the short conversation that just took place.

“Can I help you?” The Joker’s husky tone is discerned.

“No,” the indifferent Y/N instantly replies.

“I’ll be damned!” the guard opens his mouth in amazement. “He talked to her!”

The monitor reverts to live broadcast and everyone holds their breath when you get up from your chair and J protests:

“Your 10 minutes aren’t up yet!”

You’re still standing and he wiggles in his straightjacket, uncomfortable.

“I have this strand of hair tickling my cheek; drives me nuts. Would you fix my locks? I can’t do it myself since I’m in a little bit of predicament for the moment.”

They watch you walk around the table and searching around with your hands while the madman grins, actually guiding you.

“Two more steps to your left. Now one more straight forwards. Another one. Jackpot!” he purrs when your fingers search for the strand of green hair you cannot see, but it’s not that hard to find.

“Alert the wards to intervene!” the head of security orders but Gordon has a different opinion:

“No, let her do it if she wants to.”

You caress his hair a few times, turning around to go back to your chair.

“Thank you sugar,” J sarcastically offers fake gratitude. “I truly don’t know what I would do without you.”

“Yes, you’re fortunate The Angel of Gotham took pity on you and got rid of that horrible itch.”

The Joker can’t hold in a disturbing laugh since he finds your statement entertaining by his quirky standards.

“I’m honored. Hey... hey, come back here: I have another itch you can scratch!”

You get ready to criticize his remark and he’s aware.

“It’s my collar bone, sugar! I’m not a perv, don’t get worked up for nothing!” The Clown pretends to get angry at your assumption.

You return by his side and bury your fingers in his jacket, gently scratching the soft skin.

“That’s moooore like it,” he purrs louder, the satisfying groan making you retract your arm. “Ahhh, so nice of you to help a friend in need,” the entitled silver smile dies out on his lips once you interrupt:

“We’re not friends!”

“Of course we are,” he sneers. “I stabbed you: that’s how I seal the deal.”

Gordon furrows his eyebrows, totally captivated by the chat.

“What is she doing?...” he asks as a rhetorical question and Bruce enlightens everyone anyway:

“Playing his game…”

Back in the padded room you stump back to your spot and grab your cane, preparing to bail.

“Are you gonna come see me again?” The Joker curiously demands to know.

“No.”

“Why not?”

You huff and he cackles, entertained:

“That’s fine, I’ll survive: just like you survived the Wayne Bank terrorist attack and the basement I dug you out of.”

It’s so hard not to fight his venomous barking.

But you keep it together and the custodian opens the door, a weary Y/N emerging from her weekly visit with The Joker yelling and squirming behind her, enraged he cannot escape confinement:

“Who dug you out, huh? Who dug you out? Was it The Batman? The police? Or me?”

He’s becoming more and more agitated, the chief of security pressing a button that opens a sealed exit to The Joker’s left.

“Sedate him,” he commands the six caretakers rushing in while The Clown keeps screaming:

“Get back here!! That’s an order!!” and your disobedience prompts another tantrum as they inject him with the sleep medicine: “Who do you think you are, hm?” he shouts so loud it finally triggers a reaction from your part; you slowly spin towards him, making sure to articulate the perfect words:

“I’m the one that got away.”

Part 1: diyunho(.)tumblr(.)com/post/185672114796/the-joker-x-reader-the-one-that-got-away-part-1

Also read: MASTERLIST

diyunho(.)tumblr(.)com/post/153664676321/joker-x-reader-masterlist

You can also follow me on AO3 and Wattpad under the same blog name: Diyunho.

#the joker x reader #the joker imagine #the joker fanfiction #the joker jared leto #the joker suicide squad #the joker #joker #joker fanfiction #joker x reader #joker suicide squad #joker jared leto #mister j #Mistah J #mr. j #dc #bruce wayne #batman #bruce wayne x reader

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marril96 · 5 years

Text

Tonight

Chapter 5: These Monstrous Things

Pairing: Rowena x reader

Characters: Rowena, reader

Summary: It was supposed to be a happy, carefree outing. After tonight, however, nothing will ever be the same for you and Rowena.

Editor: @rowenaisfabulous

EARLIER…

The nightclub, once full of life, now resembled a graveyard. Bodies were strewn everywhere. Covered every surface. Piled on top of each other. Bled. Grew colder and colder with every passing second.

Gone was the life Illuminae used to radiate with, bright as the morning sun.

All that was left was death. Cold. Unforgiving. Permanent.

Rowena shivered, skin breaking out in goosebumps. She looked at the dead around her as the hunters led you and her out of the loo. There were so many young people. So many teenagers — practically children. She shoved the realization aside, smoothened her features into a look that, she hoped, showed the bare minimum.

She would've preferred to show nothing, but she wasn't that good an actress.

Some of the corpses had their eyes wide open, forever frozen in shock. As Rowena glanced at them, over them, it felt as if were looking back.

They killed them. All of them. Just like that. Without a moment's hesitation. Just killed and killed and killed until everyone was dead.

Yet they called them monsters. They called you and her monsters.

All the people in this club did was live.

And they died for it, for their life, their living, was different. Non-human.

The bulky hunter that had attacked her earlier shoved her into one of the chairs at the bar.

"Sit," he barked.

Not wanting any trouble — yet — Rowena did as he asked.

Her breath hitched as she caught sight of one of the bodies behind the bar. The bartender's striking blue eyes stared back, open wide.

She didn't even know her name. This girl liked her, and Rowena hadn't even bothered to ask for her name.

"Here's how this is gonna go," one of the hunters, a slim, tall man dressed up like a lumberjack, said. "You tell us what we wanna know and you die quickly. You play games, and you'll beg for death."

"I don't beg," Rowena said. An automatic response, uttered before she could shut her mouth to keep the words in.

"Oh, you will," he all but purred.

She snorted. Huffed. Rolled her eyes in that signature dramatic way you always teased her about. "Think this is my first time being captured?"

She'd had her encounters with hunters in the past. Had once, centuries ago, almost been burned at the stake. Had been captured by the British Men of Letters, by that brute sadist Arthur Ketch. Had spent weeks in a dungeon, tormented by demons. Had been trampled and burned to death.

She'd survived it all. She'd survived with her head held high. Scars remained on her soul, some still aching, still fresh, but she'd survived.

And she would survive once again.

Iron didn't hold her long. Especially not now, with her magic unbound, almost limitless.

The wee cuff on her wrist would loosen sooner or later. She just had to wait. And then…

Then these hunters — these utter monsters — would beg for mercy.

And they would get none. Just as their victims hadn't.

"I know how these things go," she said, a tad too confident, but she couldn't help it. Confidence was better than fear, which she'd shoved deep within. They didn't get the satisfaction of seeing her frightened. "I don't talk, you torture me, rinse and repeat. So why don't we just get it over with? Start the torture, because I am not telling you a bloody thing."

"No!" you screamed.

You tried to run to her, to break free, but the hunter next to you captured your forearms in his iron grip and held you in place. Held you back, away from the person you loved, the person you wanted to protect.

Rowena's heart swelled up. You precious wee thing. Always fighting for her, trying your best even when there was nothing you could do. Loving her so purely, so endlessly. So recklessly. She didn't deserve you. Didn't deserve someone who put her first — not after everything she'd done, after all the pain she'd caused. After she'd destroyed and betrayed everyone she loved, everyone who loved her.

After she'd promised to keep you safe and had instead allowed these brutes to get their hands on you.

"Rowena!" you called.

"It's okay, love," she said, locking eyes with you in an intense, decisive stare. I can take it, it said. I'll live. I'll survive. "Don't worry."

But you did. You worried, and your face echoed it. Tears spilled down it like a bitter, salty river. Never ending. Unstoppable. Rowena held her own ones back. She had to be strong for you. Whatever happened, she had to take it with dignity, with pride, for that was what you needed. That was how you would survive.

The Lumberjack laughed, heartily, happily, as if he were watching a comedy. "This is hilarious," he said, and meant it. He meant it from the bottom of his wicked soul. "Nice show they got here, right boys?"

The others snickered. Chuckled. Snorted like the pigs they were.

Rowena stared them down. Each and every one of them. Shot them a deadly glare, the one that sent even the boldest, bravest to their knees.

Her weakness wouldn't last long.

Their deaths, on the other hand, would be permanent. Demons would await them with open arms, would no doubt have fun torturing their souls.

Eternal suffering. That would be her gift to them. And she would deliver it with a smile on her face.

"I'm sorry," you said through tears, voice raspy, breathy. "Rowena, I'm sorry."

"It's not your fault," Rowena told you.

It's mine, she thought. If she hadn't said yes — if she hadn't readily agreed to go out to avoid her demons…

"It actually is," your capturer said with a grin, a wide, smug one that Rowena wanted to wipe off with her fist. He looked down at you. Brushed his hand over yours in a gesture that seemed a tad too intimate to be accidental.

Rowena's heart raced, a rush of heat flowing over her. Her knuckles turned white as sheets as her fists shut tight, nails digging into her palms, biting down almost to the point of drawing blood.

He had no right to touch you like that. No right to be that close to you.

When she killed them, she would start with him, she decided. He would be first. An example to others of what was to come.

"I enjoyed our chats," the hunter said.

Your eyes widened in shock as realization set in, cruel and unforgiving.

He chuckled, amused. Way too pleased with himself. "Yeah, I'm Lana. Nice to finally meet you in person."

For a few seconds you just stared straight ahead. Petrified. Confused. Processing what you'd just been told so casually, as if it were a game.

To him it probably was.

Toying with you, pretending to be your friend, slowly gaining your trust… It was a game of pretend, and he excelled. He played the part perfectly. Said all the right things, played on all the right emotions, and bam — you were a fly captured in his cobweb, an unwitting player.

Oh, how Rowena would enjoy killing him!

"You motherfucker!" you suddenly screamed, all the anger and rage and desperation rushing out in a fury of words. "You sick, twisted motherfucker!"

"Says a monster," he retorted.

"I'm gonna kill you!"

"Ooh, I'm scared."

You ignored the remark. "I'm gonna rip your eyes out and feed them to you!"

"That how you usually kill people?"

"Fuck you!"

It wasn't. Rowena knew that, and he would have, too, if he'd bothered to learn anything about you. You killed in self-defense. In defense of others, of her. Killed to avenge. Not a single innocent had suffered at your hand.

Not that any of it mattered to hunters. You weren't human, and that was enough to warrant your death.

"If it makes you feel any better, we weren't interested in you," the hunter said. "We just wanted your girlfriend. She's quite infamous, that one!"

It was for her?

All these deaths, these lives lost and yours in danger, so they could get to her?

"You did all this just to get to me?" Rowena asked.

"Oh, no. We've been planning this raid for months," the Lumberjack said. "Getting you here was a bonus. Mike did good, don't you think?"

Mike.

Arsehole fit him so much better.

He grinned proudly.

Rowena wished she could spit on him.

"You've wasted your time, lads," she said. "You're not getting a single word from me!"

"I think you'll come to change your mind," the Lumberjack said. "Torturing you wouldn't do anything, true. Lucky for us, we've got other options."

He looked back. Rowena's eyes followed his, heart stopping as they landed on you.

The leverage.

Of course.

"Y/N's such a pretty girl, isn't she? It'd be a shame if something were to happen to her."

"You wouldn't dare!" she snarled.

But she knew he would. She'd known it from the start, but it was easier not to think about it. It was easier to pretend she would be the one getting hurt, getting beaten and broken as she kept her mouth firmly shut to every question, while you cried in the background and begged for mercy that wouldn't come.

She would gladly subject herself to it. Gladly take your place. No questions asked.

"Oh, we would," the Lumberjack said.

As if on cue, Mike caressed your arm, ran his hand up and down your skin. You shivered at the touch. A whimper escaped you, fear etching over your face, digging into your bones.

"This is low, even for the likes of you," Rowena said, pouring all her strength into keeping her voice from wavering. From revealing her weakness, the utter turmoil she was in.

The Lumberjack shrugged. Puffed out a breath. Careless, utterly indifferent. "We're professionals."

"You're cunts!"

A few "oohs" echoed through the massive room.

He chuckled. "You Scots really are liberal with your insults."

"You've heard nothing yet!"

"I bet I haven't. And I hope I won't, otherwise your little girlfriend will pay for it. So use your pretty mouth wisely, would you? I'd hate for her to break before we got to the questioning."

"What do you want?!" she snarled a tad too desperately for her liking.

"Information," he said.

Then she would give it to them, she decided, even as her heart broke and shattered and crumbled in her chest at the mere thought. Whatever they wanted, she would give. Anything for you.

If they wanted to torture her, she would keep quiet. But with the threat of harm hanging over your head, she couldn't risk it. Couldn't afford to risk it.

She'd made you a promise she'd already half broken — and she would do her best to make good on the rest of it.

"I want you to tell us about the covens," Lumberjack continued.

Rowena frowned. Heart racing. Blood running cold. "What?"

With a sneer that sent chills down her spine, he said, "Tell us everything you know about the witch covens in the United States."

And just like that, she knew she was in trouble. That you were in trouble.

For, save for the long gone and broken down Grand Coven, she knew not of a single coven.

*****

A/N: Credits to @rowenaisfabulous for coming up with the Lana thing. I liked her idea, so I decided to use it.

Tags: @werewolfbarbie @oswinthestrange @songofthecagedmoose @apurdyfulmind @getthesalt-sam @metallihca @salembitchtrials @jay-eris @hellsmother @elizabeth-effie @victoriasagittariablack @rowenaswife @dropsofpetrichor @xfireandsin @liddell-alien @hotdiggitydammit @lae-lae @darkhumorsblog @wayward-kaia @angel7376 @rowenaisfabulous @ruthieconnells @evil-regal-vampiress @collectorofsecretsandsouls @angel-e-v-a @melisandre02 @a-queen-and-her-throne

#rowena #rowena macleod #rowena x reader #spn #supernatural #my fics #fanfiction #spn family

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yurtletheturtlehenderson · 5 years

Text

S.T. REWRITE - S2:E1; Chapter One, MADMAX - [Pt. 1]

A Will Byers x Reader Series

As the town preps for Halloween, a high-scoring rival shakes things up at the arcade. Will begins seeing strange visions as the anniversary of his disappearance creeps up.

Warnings: LOTS-O-FLUFF

||3rd Person POV||

"Son of a bitch! Son of a bitch!"

Dustin Henderson riffles through the plump cushions of his sitting room couch, throwing them around as he searches frantically for loose change. He abandoned the now disheveled couch and runs into the living room, where his mother sits, watching television and petting the cat.

Dustin begins riffing through the living room couch, angered at his lack of luck.

"Another stupid penny!" He huffs, chucking the penny across the room, startling the cat.

"Dusty, watch it!" His mother scolds. "You almost hit Mews."

"Can I please check under your cushions?" He pleads.

"Dusty."

"Mom, please? It's an emergency!" He whines.

In a mocking tone, his mother lets out a fake whine as she stands up from the chair which the boy returns.

"Who's your buddy? Who's your buddy?" She coos softly into the feline's ears.

Dustin, all the while wasted no time in checking the rocking chairs cushions.

"Honey, where's your sister? She's going with you, right?"

"Yeah, she's coming. Don't know where she is though." He throws over his shoulder as he continues to search.

Dustin stops when he feels the tips of his fingers graze the cold metal of the coins. Grabbing a hold of them, he smirks knowing he has some arcade money.

He hastily runs out of the room, bidding his mother farewell.

"Love you, mom."

Running down the halls, he comes to a stop at his bedroom door. Grabbing his headset off the nightstand he switches it on.

"Lucas, you copy? I've got four quarters. What's your haul?"

There is hardly a beat of silence before a response from Lucas Sinclair comes through.

"Take your puny haul and multiply it by five."

"How?" He asks bewildered.

"While you were scrounging around like a homeless bum, I mowed Old Man Humphrey's lawn."

"Old Man Humphrey's got that kinda cash?"

"Dustin!" A voice echoed throughout the house.

Sighing, Dustin brushed off the calls knowing he would only be a second.

"Just call Mike already."

"You call Mike." His face was contorted in frustration and a little bit of jealousy as he spoke.

"Dustin!"

"I have to go take a shower from doing real work, like a man. Over and out."

The walkie crackled signaling the cut off and Dustin sighed dropping his headset on the ground next to him.

Suddenly, a blur of [H/C] hair popped into view.

"There you are, I've been looking all over for you! You almost ready?"

There in the doorway stood [Y/N] Henderson. She was in the hallway, grip on the door frame as she leaned in, she seemed a little out of breath but she radiated energy.

Despite her playful energy and kid-like qualities, she had definitely aged in the past year. The young gang that had faced such turmoil had all grown in the past year, but [Y/N] more so than them. She stood a few inches taller and more of her clothes had filled in.

Dustin sighs, grabbing his quarters and standing up. "So, how much did you..."

The boy trailed off when he saw his sister hold up a small bag of change, a smirk plastered on her face.

"How did you...?"

"What? I save," she smirked and shook the bag slightly letting the contents rattle around.

"So, have you called Mike yet? I talked to Will, he's gonna meet us in twenty minutes."

"No,"

"Well, what have you been doing this whole time? Gimme that," the girl playfully grabbed the headset on switched it on.

"Mike, it's [Y/N]. Do you copy? Mike, do you copy?"

There was silence and then a voice crackled over the headset.

"Yeah. Yeah, I copy." Came the voice of Mike Wheeler.

The girl's face scrunched up in confusion for a brief moment.

"Wait, wait what are you doing on this channel?"

"Nothing,"

"So listen, Lucas, Dustin and I have, about uh," The girl paused, gesturing to her brother how much he and Lucas had gathered. "About ten bucks total, thirteen counting Will's, what's your haul?"

Dustin's eyes bulged at the number. Mike was just as shocked.

"Seriously? Um, shit, I don't know yet."

"What do you mean? You haven't checked yet? We're meeting in fifteen" The girl said, her voice rising as she began to pace.

"Just hold on, I'll be there."

The radio crackled and signaled that he had shut off his comm.

Sighing, the girl ripped off the headset and tossed it on her brother's bed.

"He doesn't even know his haul yet. I swear, sometimes I get the feeling he's hiding something."

Dustin chuckled and cracked a smile. "That's rich, coming from the girl who practices magic in her room when no one's there,"

"Would you-!" She lightly smacked her brother on the arm, shushing him.

"You want mom to hear?" She hissed in a warning tone, getting closer to her brother so she could whisper. "And for the last time, it's not magic. I may not know much about it, and I figure the more I practice the more control I'll have."

"I just don't understand why you can't tell mom,"

"Dustin, we've talked about this. You know how sketchy that lab was and how they searched Mike's house and it got his parents involved. I don't want mom knowing about this, maybe someday but definitely not anytime soon. I don't want to put her in danger. Plus, you know how she is. Now, please, please promise me you won't tell her."

"To be fair, I never said I would,"

The girl fought the urge to roll her eyes at her brother's technicality, given that he was keeping her secret.

While she and her friends had been looking for their friend Will who had gone missing, [Y/N] had discovered things about herself that she never imagined to be possible. In the week spent looking for Will, the girl and her friends had been chased by federal agents when they befriended an escapee from their laboratory, a young girl the same age as her who had telekinetic abilities. When cornered by these agents, [Y/N] had managed to fight them off without even trying, thanks to her newfound abilities of her own.

Thankfully, Will had been brought back and everything had returned to normal. Unfortunately, Eleven, the girl they had befriended, didn't make it, for she had saved the group by destroying the monster and disappeared with it. A few weeks passed and [Y/N] began to explore her new abilities.

Having been adopted as an infant, [Y/N] had no idea who her birth parents were or how she could have these powers. All the strange things about herself all made sense; she had always been able to heal abnormally quicker than anyone else. She could also revive any plants and seemed to have a way with them.

So from time to time, [Y/N] would test these abilities. Attempt to control them. When she accidentally scraped her knee on her skates over the summer, so she sat herself down and managed to heal herself. She had been getting quite good. She what talents she could to help her friends. Given that they were apart of the mess and most of them had witnessed her use her powers in person, she had no choice but to explain herself after everything and cooled off.

After the initial shock of it all, they all thought it was amazing. Will Byers most of all. The boy had harbored feeling for the Henderson girl for years. It wasn't until his disappearance had the girl realized her feelings towards him. The two were often teased by their friends despite nothing happening. The pair knew of each other's feelings and that was enough for them.

They were happy.

Being the protective brother Dustin was, he didn't mind so much. He knew Will made her happy and that's all that really mattered to him. Didn't mean it wasn't still a little weird for him. Although, being the brother and the friend he had double the opportunity to tease and tease he did.

"So," He said, shoving his hands into his pockets. "we better get a move on,"

[Y/N] began nodding her head in agreement when Dustin slipped in a comment that caused the girl to scoff, hiding a small blush.

"wouldn't want to keep that boyfriend of yours waiting."

[Y/N] scoffed, rolling her eyes. She extended out an arm and yanked Dustin's hat over his eyes, causing him to laugh and readjust it. By the time he had fixed it, his sister was already out of the door.

||Reader's POV||

Dustin and I had met up with Mike and Lucas and as we pulled into the parking lot, I spared a glance at my watch to see that we just barely made it. We all dismounted our bikes and hauled them on to the curb and parked them. The sound of a car honking grabbed our attention.

I looked over to see the familiar green Ford Pinto and a smiling Will. Joyce had just pulled up and she gave me a warm smile which I gladly returned.

"Hey!" My brother shouted.

Will waved at all of us, and I waved back and his smile widened. He turned to talk to his mom, and the guys headed inside. I stuck my hands in my jacket pockets and lingered near the bikes, wanting to wait up for him.

Soon enough, he shut the car door and he quickly made his way over. We walked side by side to the front doors.

"Hey there," I chirped.

As we walked side by side, I playfully nudged him with my shoulder and he laughed and blushed a little.

"Hey," he kept his eyes on his feet, but he never stopped smiling.

Suddenly, he walked forward a few steps and pulled the door open for me.

"Thank you," I giggled.

"Of course," he mumbled, sounding dazed.

||3rd Person POV||

Joyce Byers watched, waiting to make sure her youngest son got inside safely.

She smiled to herself seeing how happy he was around [Y/N]. Joyce was so lucky to have such a great girl to look out for him. Joyce always loved [Y/N], and she proved to be more than worthy for her son.

Her chest filled with pride when she saw her son hold the door for his "girlfriend".

Every time she brought up the subject, or even the word, Will would insist they were just friends. But she knew they were just too shy to admit it.

The last thing Joyce saw before she pulled away was the lovesick gaze on her son's face whenever he looked at [Y/N] Henderson when she wasn't looking.

+++

Tag List: @fuckwaad @aimee-lucass @iblesstherainsdown-in-africa@miscellaneoustoasts

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idkthisisjustforfanfic · 5 years

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Chapter 13 - Come Sunday

I was in the back of an Uber on my way to the label when it came on the radio. I wasn’t really paying attention--more just mindlessly scrolling on my phone--when I heard words that sounded eerily familiar.

Hearing my songs on the radio wasn’t new--I’d grown used to hearing phrases that once felt intimate get cycled in and out of headphones, radios and stereos alike. But my mouth went a bit dry, though, when I realized that not only was this song mine and mine alone, but it was also on Capital FM.

One Direction had made it big, clearly. Their singles were on the most popular radio stations and played in every mall across the world. But my song, with a different artist, and not written with the help of four or five other people, this felt like a different accomplishment entirely.

I didn’t want to ask the driver to turn it up, so instead, I leaned forward and closed my eyes to listen more closely.

In aIl honesty, I hadn’t paid much attention to all of the meetings I’d had with Julian in the week since I’d been back from the States. I had signed on the dotted line like I always had--I’d get X percent, the label would get a different chunk, and a large piece to the artist(s).

I’d met the two girls, Bella & Rae--as they were calling themselves, and they felt like a good fit. They could produce harmonies that sounded chilling and beautiful at the same time, which definitely sounded better than my double tracks on protools.

But I hadn’t really prepared for the song to do this well. The group was new--they’d done some small tours around the U.K., mostly some songs they’d written and some covers. They were popular on the small club scene, and it almost felt safe to give my first solo song to them.

They weren’t huge--if the song was a flop, if they were a flop, no one would have to know.

Hearing the song I’d written on my couch about Harry over the speakers in my Uber felt as if people would know. Suddenly, what was once a private moment of uncertainty and heartache was suddenly public, accessible, and on the radio.

When the Uber pulled up to the label, I was surprised to see Julian waiting outside. I reached for the backpack I was bringing my computer in and gave him a wave as I climbed out.

“Hi,” I said, offering a smile as he stepped forward on the sidewalk to greet me. People rushed around us--it was a Friday afternoon, and the building we were heading into was sure to be buzzing with weekend-ready people.

“Have you seen the charts?” He asked, turning on his heel to join me as we headed for the door.

“For the song?”

“Yeah--Maggie, it’s number four.”

“Number four?” I asked, my mouth hanging for a second before I picked up my own jaw. It’s not like that song wasn’t any good--I mean, it was a good one. For some reason, though, I hadn’t expected my work to be so well received.

Writing for a big name like One Direction--even when they were getting started--provided a bit of a safety net. We knew they had a fan base. Even if they didn’t last long or if they weren’t a mega-success, there’d be a group of people from the X-Factor crowd that would definitely bring things home.

Bella & Rae--on the other hand--had no platform. They had a following of maybe thirty thousand on social media and most of their distribution before the label was through Soundcloud.

And all of that, more or less, meant that my song was making it, on its own, without the help of a big named star.

“I think it’s gonna be number one, Mags. There’s already been booking requests for Bella & Rae. I think they’re going to get an LP deal. They can’t not.”

Julian and I made our way into the lobby, my head still kind of floating from the news and the energy around us. It was a warm day--warmer for Spring, at least, and I couldn’t help but let my mind drift.

Should I ask Julian why he played the song for Harry? Should I ask him what they said about me? Should I ask him about Harry in general?

“But anyway, I’m meeting you out here because Peter Bouchard wants to meet with you. He really likes the song.”

“Peter Bouchard?” His name was familiar, but I couldn’t quite place it. I didn’t meet with a lot of higher ups, maybe once in a while I’d deal with Mike--the Creative Director who seemed to have a knack for making me want to quit. That was, at least, until I got fired.

“He’s Mike’s boss.”

“Mike’s boss?”

Julian nodded, holding the elevator door open as we stepped inside. “He’s the one who gets to really make the final call about if the girls get an LP--Mike loves it, he’s totally on board.” The doors shut behind us, the elevator dinged to let us know it would fullfil our request to find the 17th floor.

“So why does he want to meet with me?” I asked, shifting my bag from one shoulder to another, suddenly nervous about the possible conversation. I couldn’t handle getting fired again. Twice in the span of twelve months? I’d be forced to move in with my parents just to deal with the emotional turmoil that would ensue.

“Dunno, Maggie, but Mike made it sound like it was good,” he could see the look on my face--the anxiety and the uncertainty that’d be sure to give me early wrinkles.

I didn’t reply. Instead, we stood in silence until the elevator dinged again, it’s doors opening to revolve a much nicer floor than the one with the writing rooms. We stepped off and I followed Julian down a carpeted hall--glass doors peered inside nice offices with dark wood desks and big apple computers.

He finally stopped in front of a door, turning the handle without warning to greet a man that I certainly recognized. He was old enough to be my father--gray hair on top of his head and a smile that seemed to make me only slightly less terrified.

“Maggie, come in, sit down,” he greeted, motioning to a chair opposite his desk. Julian landed in the one beside me, much more comfortable in Peter Bouchard’s presence than I was.

I slid into the seat, offering a small smile as I took inventory of my surroundings. A framed picture of three women--his wife and two daughters, presumably. A shelf of old vinyl lined the wall behind us--Peter was clad in a golf shirt, much less formal than I’d expect for Mike’s boss.

“We’re really glad that the song is having so much success--have you seen any of the numbers?”

I shook my head, looking over to Julian. I’d never seen any numbers for anything. I handed in my work, signed where I needed to, and got decent paychecks via direct deposit. I knew the percent of each song, each download, each album I’d be entitled to. I knew I signed away the rights to my songs when I started working with the label. They’d never really be mine again.

“Here,” Peter said, turning to his computer to open up the internet browser. He clicked open an email, typed in an address, and then shifted the monitor so Julian and I could see. “This is the live number of downloads from BPI. This is streaming numbers, so spotify, iTunes, the like,” he pointed at the screen, his number gracing over tiny zeros that lined up neatly.

“It’s number two now?” Julian asked, leaning forward to get a better look. “Jesus, Mags, even in the last half hour since I saw it it’s changed.”

I couldn’t help but smile--this felt much more personal than anything I’d written for One Direction or even for Harry. I’d written this song alone, it’d been born in my living room and it didn’t have a big name to ride on the coattails of.

Sure, I’d long been of the mindset that it was the writing skills of me and Chelsea and Kyle that really made the band what it had been. Take five good looking kids, slap them with good clothes and good hair, and sure, you’re bound to have some success. But if the music sucked, if the music was the same old simple pop that we’d poured out for the first album, they wouldn’t have lasted the way they did.

But then again, maybe there was a part of me that wondered if that was really true. Because here, in Peter Bouchard’s office, it felt incredibly reassuring to know that I could write good songs--successful songs, really--that did fine enough on their own without the name of the world’s most popular boy band.

“The reason I wanted to meet with you, Maggie, is because we’re interested in buying a back catalog, if you have one.”

If I had one? Of course I had one--of course I had a book of songs and endless iPhone notes of demos with shitty three part harmony done on Garageband on my Mac until I could get into the studio.

“Oh,” I said, letting his words take a second to settle. It was strange--I would have guessed that he’d want to buy a few more, get a little more information about the genre I typically wrote, hear more of my solo work. Instead, he seemed ready to write me a check. “Really?”

Julian let out a laugh, leaning back in his chair as if he were a proud older brother.

“Yes, really,” Peter nodded. “You did amazing things with One Direction and it was rather stupid of us to let you go in November.”

I bit at my lip, feeling a swell of emotion in my chest. He was right--and not in the sense that I was the most amazing thing they’d ever had or ever would, but he was right in the sense that I had a knack for shaping words into a story that floated above the melody.

“Will you at least consider it? Take a look at what you have--demos, finished products, really, and let me know what you think would be an appropriate fee?”

Oh, right, the money. I looked to Julian quickly. I had no idea what he meant. Me come up with the appropriate fee? Me tell them what I wanted them to pay me for my finished songs? Julian nodded in encouragement, so I spit the words out of my mouth.

“Yeah, sure, absolutely.”

Peter stood from his chair and reached his hand out to shake mine. “We’re thrilled, Maggie, really. Thank you for all of your hard work.”

I was sat on my couch, staring at the computer in front of me and the notepad I’d scribbled some numbers on. I had 43 songs that were whole and finished and polished enough to hand over to the label. Out of that number, 25 were actually good enough to be on someone’s album. I didn’t have the slightest clue how to come up with a price for the songs I’d given so much energy. There were the first three songs I’d written when Harry and I started spending time together, one that I wrote when the band broke up, another angry one that had been written sometime after Zayn left.

There were four or five from the summer of 2012 when I briefly dated a boy that Chelsea had introduced me to--stupid and romantic. There were plenty of sad ones--some about being lonely, about being hurt, about making mistakes.

Did I charge a price for each song? Did I add on a percentage I wanted if they got released and distributed on various platforms? I certainly didn’t have the answer, but I was hoping that Harry would. Maybe it was wishful thinking that he’d want to even discuss anything money related, but I figured he at least didn’t want me to get taken advantage of by a big name label.

I typed out a question and erased it three times before finally pressing send.

Do you have a few minutes to talk? The label offered to buy my catalog and I have no clue how to handle the pricing.

I set my phone down on the couch and heated up some food, picking it back up with a bowl of leftover pasta in my hand. Still nothing. I watched an episode of Jane The Virgin and then I finally heard my phone ring.

I pressed the green button and held it up to my ear, trying to calm the heartbeat that was slowly rising in my chest. “Hey,” I said casually, hoping he’d be less boundaried than last time.

“Hi,” his voice was low, I wondered where he was. “What’s up?”

“Not much,” I said quickly, standing from my spot on my couch to move towards the window that overlooked my street.

“So they want to buy your catalog?” He let out a little bit of a laugh, I pulled my head back in offense.

“Are you surprised by that? You sound surprised.”

“M’not surprised, Maggie,” he let out a sigh. “I’m happy for you.”

I cut to the chase, mostly out of fear that going off script would lead to an argument or more chest pain than I was already experiencing. “Well--do you have any idea how I’m supposed to come up with a figure? I mean, Pete Bouchard should know this stuff, right? Shouldn’t they give me a number?”

“You’ve got to up-sell yourself, Maggie. I heard that Paul McCartney sold a catalog once to someone for three or four million.”

“I’m not Paul McCartney,” I reminded him.

“I know--m’saying that you need to not be afraid to ask for what you think it’s worth.”

“I don’t know what it’s worth.”

He let out another sigh, and frankly, I was surprised that he was being as cordial and calm as he was. “How many songs?”

“Forty-three total, out of that, twenty something are decent.”

“M’sure they’re all decent,” he said, I could practically hear him rolling his eyes.

“How do I come up with it though? You’re missing my point altogether,” I accused.

He cleared his throat before replying. “Ten thousand each.”

“Ten thousand each?” I asked, unsure of how he’d even gotten that number.

“Yeah--I mean, if any of them are released it’ll be way more than that. You should ask for at least 10% of the final cuts. Albums, music videos, touring, et cetera.”

I let his words sink in for a second as I watched a couple walk hand in hand on the street below. Charlie, who was sat on the window sill, seemed to be peering up at the phone in my hand. Maybe I was crazy, but I swore it’s because he could recognize Harry’s voice.

“So you think I should walk in and ask Peter Bouchard for four hundred and fifty thousand dollars,” it was more of a statement and less of a question, but he answered me anyway.

“I do.”

“Why ten thousand each?”

He made an unpleasant noise and seemed to draw out my name. “Jesus, Maggie. You asked me to call and I gave you my answer.”

I pulled my head back, turned off by his sudden anger. “I just want to know where you got such a specific number from.”

“My head--I got it from my head.”

I was appreciative of the fact that Harry thought my songs were worth such good money--yet I was fearful that he’d be the only one. Peter Bouchard had no reason to pay me that much as far as I was concerned. Sure, I was in a business where people made a lot of money. In my time with the band I’d made more than the big figure already discussed, but that was over the span of five years.

“Alright, okay. I’ll do ten thousand each.”

“Tell Peter you spoke with me about it,” he said casually, as if that weren’t a big deal.

“What? No, I’m not telling him that.”

“Why not?” He sounded somewhat offended, I could picture the puppy eyes he had on as if I’d said he had a shitty taste in shoes (which he did).

“Because he doesn’t need to know that you and I,” I paused, wondering how on earth to describe what we were and how things were and what this was. “Talk,” I decided.

He let out a sigh, which was followed by an awkward pause as Charlie stretched his back and let out a loud meow.

“Is that Charlie?”

I let out a laugh, looking down at him as he cocked his head to look down at the people passing by. “Who else would it be?”

“How is he?”

I suddenly felt weird. I felt like Harry wasn’t allowed to ask how my cat was if he wouldn’t even have a conversation with me about our fight and our relationship. He didn’t get some type of double standard just because my feline companion had a strange attachment to him.

“He’s fine, but, I should go. I’ve got some stuff to do,” I lied.

“Yeah, okay, of course. Let me know, I guess, how it goes.”

“I will,” I nodded, wondering if he’d answer next time I called.

I met with Peter Bouchard on a Wednesday to discuss the financial compensation, which is the technical term he had used to describe it. It was rainy and cold for a Spring day in London, but Julian met me inside with a cup of tea and a smile on his face. It was all the encouragement I needed to walk into Peter’s office with the confidence to ask for enough money to pay for someone’s entire college education and first home in the state of Ohio.

Peter was friendly and excited that I was willing to make the deal, and he didn’t even flinch when I mentioned the number I had in mind. Maybe he was used to dealing with large sums of money, but he certainly played it cool when he took down more information to write up a contract.

So that night, when I was out to dinner with Kyle and Mark to celebrate, I gushed on and on about how I’d actually handled it all by myself (minus the input from Harry). I’d made a business deal, been responsible, and now was getting adequate compensation for something that I’d worked so hard on.

Bella & Rae’s song had been number one for a week straight, I’d already received a paycheck from that, so dinner, tonight, was on me.

“So what will be the next step? Can they sell your songs to anyone?” Kyle asked, picking up his wine glass to watch the legs drip down the side of the glass.

I was appreciative and grateful that kyle was happy for me--not that he wouldn’t be, but I did wonder if he’d feel strange that the label had brought me back and offered this deal. It wasn’t necessarily a stable gig, I certainly wasn’t a staff writer for them, but the money from my catalog would certainly hold me over for a while.

“Anyone signed to the label can record my songs,” I corrected. “Technically they own the rights and the royalties, but Peter said he’d work on a percentage of what I’d get from additional revenue--so tours, albums, stuff like that.”

Mark tilted his head to the side and let out a laugh. “Sweet deal, mate. Depending on how many they use, you’ll make money off of it for a long time.”

I nodded, taking a sip at my own drink. A pang of guilt hit me in the stomach--was I focusing too much on the financial aspect of this, exactly like Harry had accused?

I could understand his fear of me being with him for the wrong reasons, but that didn’t invalidate my need to be financially secure and responsible.

“You’re doing that thing,” Kyle laughed, reaching over to snap his fingers in front of my face. Mark reached for a piece of bruschetta and plopped it into his mouth. “Where you zone out and think about Harry.”

I rolled my eyes, thankful for the noise and the energy in the restaurant. We were only a few blocks from Kyle and Mark’s place--my uber ride home would be a good chance to call my mom.

“I’m not thinking about Harry,” I told them, waving a hand to dismiss his silly allegation.

As if on cue, my phone lit up on the table between us. It was face up, so there was no way to hide the name on the screen as a text message rolled in.

I looked down at it, then back up at them, both of whom were keeping their lips sealed together to avoid a smile. I reached for it before they could say anything, ignoring Kyle’s lazy attempt to small talk about the weather.

We’re having a wrap party for my album on Friday if you want to come.

I didn’t want to sound desperate or too eager, so I thumbed back a response slowly.

What time? I’m meeting with Julian that day.

It was a lie, but I doubted that Julian would out me if Harry ever mentioned it. I looked back up to my dinner dates, who were both munching on another bite of our appetizers.

“Things seem to be a little less hostile,” Kyle said with a smirk, bringing his wine glass up to his lips.

“Nothing’s happening,” I shook my head, still holding my phone in front of me. “He’s literally telling me something about his album. Relax.”

My phone buzzed again.

8pm. Hopefully I’ll see you there.

It wasn’t the fact that Chelsea had taken entirely too long to get ready for the party--it was more about the fact that now she was insisting on getting one more glass of champagne before we made our way over to the food.

She’d been in town for two nights so far, and she had me out and about all day doing the things she said she missed most about London (which, mostly, was just shopping at High Street shops). We’d had lunch and tea in the afternoon but that was four whole hours ago, and after trekking all over Mayfair, I was either about to throw up, or pass out. Both of which from lack of sufficient sustenance.

Pair that with the sweating that was occuring due to the proximity to Harry, and I was nothing less of a hot mess.

“There’ll be another waiter in one second,” Chelsea said quietly, completely annoyed by the way I was fanning myself.

“Just meet me over there,” I said, raising my hands in exasperation, stomping away and over towards the delicious table of finely placed miniature meatballs and fruit.

It wasn’t much of a selection, but I was starving and we weren’t likely getting a real meal any time soon--this seemed like more of a cocktail hour type of event.

I hadn’t even said hello to Harry. I saw Jeffrey first when we came in--he gave me a big hug and thanked me for coming. He greeted Chelsea and then brought me over to see Ryan and Tyler. I was grateful that things didn’t feel as weird as I’d expected, but I hadn’t yet seen everyone.

Chelsea, up until momentarily, had fulfilled her obligation of being my date. She stayed by my side and made small talk with people we didn’t know. She was the Queen of Humble Bragging about my catalog being sold to the label, which I think impressed Jeff Bhasker quite a bit.

Now, however, her heart was set on more alcohol and my stomach was set on food.

I forked four mini meatballs onto my plate and had just forked one into my mouth when I turned around and walked into Harry’s back.

“Hi!” I said, covering my mouth with my hand as I tried to swallow quickly. “Sorry--chewing.”

He let out a laugh and didn’t seem as angry as I’d expected. He was fine enough on the phone, but something told me that seeing him in person (without the barrier of technology) would be a whole different ball game.

“It’s good to see you,” he nodded, waiting for me to remove my hand from my mouth before moving in to give me an awkward side hug. “Thanks for coming.”

“Thanks for--” I paused, unsure of how find the right words. “Inviting me?”

“Thanks for writing on the album,” he shrugged slightly, clearly running out of ways to make this as normal as possible.

The truth of the matter was that Harry and I had a lot of unfinished business. There were things that needed to be said and addressed and right now certainly wasn’t the time to do that. Chelsea sauntered up next to us, champagne flute in her hand, and held her glass up to clink against the one in Harry’s hand.

“Cheers, mate, to a great album. Haven’t heard it yet, but if Maggie wrote on it, I’m sure it’ll be fantastic.”

I rolled my eyes--but Harry found her toast amusing. He laughed and nodded in Chelsea’s direction. “She’s a great wingwoman, huh?”

“She’s something,” I tried to act as if I wasn’t completely overstimulated by the alcohol I’d drank, the noise in the restaurant, and the lack of food I’d eaten.

I didn’t have a chance, though, to plan my next move, because Peter Bouchard was suddenly in front of us and reaching an arm around Harry’s shoulders.

“You didn’t tell me just how involved you were on Harry’s album, Maggie,” Peter said, his head tilted in a way that communicated his affection towards the both of us.

I hadn’t told Peter much about Harry’s album or my involvement with it, because, frankly, I didn’t know if Harry would cut out every song I’d written on when I left Jamaica. I kind of imagined that he’d find new songs, suddenly grow to hate the ones I’d been a part of. I hadn’t yet seen the track listing, however--I did my best to keep my distance.

“She was very involved,” Harry said with a nod, his smile somewhat solemn as he looked from Peter to me. “She’s very talented. You’re lucky to work with her.”

I could feel heat rise to my cheeks, feeling extremely uncomfortable with the attention on me at someone else’s album wrap party.

“Well, Harry’s a great guy, Maggie. Really went to bat for you in terms of payment for your catalog.”

The room seemed to freeze and suddenly my feet felt glued to the floor. “What?”

Harry’s eyes--which had been watching Peter as he spoke--were now as big as silver dollars. His lips parted as if he wanted to speak, but couldn’t find the words.

Chelsea took a swig of her champagne and looked on in pure shock.

“He wanted to make sure you got the money you deserved. And the catalog is amazing, really. We’re very excited to see who will be the right fit for each song.”

Peter, whose intentions were pure, didn’t understand that he needed to just stop talking. Harry, whose eyes were still wide and whose lips were still parted, seemed to teeter on his feet.

I looked up at him, thankful that Chelsea had stepped right in front of me to compliment Peter’s choice of suit, and turned to head for the door.

There was no use--for some reason Harry and I would never be on the same page. I was a Monday and he was a Friday. No matter how many times the sun would rise and set, we’d be on opposite ends of the week. We’d be the same number of days apart, the same number of sleeps between us.

Because if he wasn’t mad at me, I was mad at him. If he wanted to be with me, I didn’t want to be with him. And if we were finally brave enough to stop avoiding each other like the plague, something always came in between.

#come sunday #harry styles #harry styles fanfic #harry styles story #harry styles writing #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles fan fiction #harry styles fiction #harry styles fic #harry styles blurb

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grigori77 · 4 years

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2019 in Movies - My Top 30 Fave Movies (Part 2)

20. FROZEN 2 – so, another year, then, and once again Disney doesn’t QUITE manage to net the animated feature top spot on my list, but it’s not for lack of trying – this long-awaited sequel to the studio’s runaway hit musical fantasy adventure is just what we’ve come to love from the House of Mouse, but more importantly it’s a most worthy sequel, easily on a par with the much beloved origin. Not much of a surprise given the welcome return of all the key people, from directors Chris Buck and Jennifer Lee (who also once again wrote the screenplay) to composer Christophe Beck and songwriters Kristen Anderson-Lopez and Robert Lopez, as well as all the key players in the cast. It’s business as usual in the kingdom of Arendelle, where all is seemingly peaceful and tranquil, but Queen Elsa (Idina Menzel) is restless, haunted by a distant voice that only she can hear, calling to her from a mysterious past she just can’t place … and then she accidentally awakens the four elemental spirits, sending her homeland into mystical turmoil, prompting her to embark on a desperate search for answers with her sister Princess Anna (Kristen Bell), ice harvester Kristoff (Jonathan Groff), his faithful reindeer companion Sven, and, of course, living snowman Olaf (Josh Gad). Their quest leads them into the Enchanted Forest of Northuldra, a neighbouring kingdom, ruled by simple, elemental magic, that has remained cut off from Arendelle for decades, where they discover dark, hidden truths about their own family’s past and must make peace with the spirits if they’re to save their home and their people. So, typical Disney family fantasy fare, then, right? Well, Frozen 2 certainly dots all the Is and crosses all the Ts, but, like the original, this is no jaded blockbuster money spinner, packed with the same kind of resonant power, skilful inventiveness and pure, show-stopping WOW-factor as its predecessor, but more importantly this is a sequel that effectively carves out a fresh identity for itself, brilliantly taking the world and characters in interesting new directions to create something fresh, rewarding and worthwhile on its own merit. The returning cast are all as strong as ever, Menzel and Bell in particular ably powering the story, while it’s nice to see both Groff and Gad getting something new to do with their own characters too, even nabbing their own major musical numbers; there’s also a welcome slew of fresh new faces to this world, particular Sterling K. Brown (This is Us, Black Panther, The Predator) as lost Anrendelle soldier Mattias and former Brat Pack star Martha Plimpton as Yelena, leader of the lost tribe of Northuldra. Once again this is Disney escapism at its very best, a heart-warming, soul-nourishing powerhouse of winning humour, emotional power and child-like wonder, but like the first film the biggest selling point is, of course, that KILLER soundtrack, with every song here a total hit, not one dud among them, and there are even ear-worms here to put Let It Go to shame – Into the Unknown was touted as the major hit, and it is impressive, but I was particularly affected by Groff’s unashamedly full-bore rendition of Lost in the Woods, a bona fide classic rock power ballad crafted in the fashion of REO Speedwagon, while the undeniable highlight for me is the unstoppable Show Yourself, with Menzel once again proving that her incredible voice is a natural force all in itself. Altogether, then, this is an absolute feast for the eyes, the ears AND the soul, every inch the winner that its predecessor was and also EASILY one of Disney’s premier animated features for the decade. So it’s quite the runner-up, then …

19. ONCE UPON A TIME IN HOLLYWOOD – since his explosion onto the scene twenty-seven years ago with his runaway smash debut Reservoir Dogs, Quentin Tarantino has become one of the most important filmmakers of his generation, a true master of the cinematic art form who consistently delivers moving picture masterpieces that thrill, entertain, challenge and amuse audiences worldwide … at least those who can stomach his love of unswerving violence, naughty talk and morally bankrupt antiheroes and despicably brutal villains who are often little more than a shade different from one another. Time has moved on, though, and while he’s undoubtedly been one of the biggest influences on the way cinema has changed over the past quarter century, there are times now that it’s starting to feel like the scene is moving on in favour of younger, fresher blood with their own ideas. I think Tarantino can sense this himself, because he recently made a powerful statement – after he’s made his tenth film, he plans to retire. Given that OUATIH is his NINTH film, that deadline is already looming, and we unashamed FANS of his films are understandably aghast over this turn of events. Thankfully he remains as uncompromisingly awesome a writer-director as ever, delivering another gold standard five-star flick which is also most definitely his most PERSONAL work to date, quite simply down to the fact that it’s a film ABOUT film. Sure, it has a plot (of sorts, anyway), revolving around the slow decline of the career of former TV star Rick Dalton (Leonardo Dicaprio), who languishes in increasing anonymity in Hollywood circa 1969 as his former western hero image is being slowly eroded by an increasingly hacky workload guest-starring on various syndicated shows as a succession of punching-bag heavies for the hero to wale on, while his only real friend is his one-time stunt double, Cliff Booth (Brad Pitt), a former WW2 hero with a decidedly tarnished reputation of his own; meanwhile new neighbours have moved in next door to further distract him – hot-as-shit young director Roman Polanski (Rafal Zawierucha), riding high on the success of Rosemary’s Baby, and his new wife Sharon Tate (Margot Robbie). Certainly this all drives the film, along with real-life events involving one of the darkest crimes in modern American history, but a lot of the time the plot is largely coincidental – Quentin uses it as a springboard to wax lyrical about his very favourite subject and pay loving (if sometimes irreverently satirical) tribute to the very business he’s been indulging in with such great success since 1992. Sure, it’s also about “Helter Skelter” and the long shadow cast by Charles Manson and his band of murderous misfits, but this is largely incidental, as we’re treated to long, entertaining interludes as we follow Rick on a shoot as the bad guy in the pilot for the Lancer TV series, visit the notorious Spahn Ranch with Cliff as he’s unwittingly drawn into the lion’s den of the deadly Manson Family, join Robbie’s Tate as she watches “herself” in The Wrecking Crew, and enjoy a brilliant montage in which we follow Rick’s adventures in Spaghetti westerns (and Eurospy cinema) after he’s offered a chance to change his flagging fortunes, before the film finally builds to a seemingly inevitable, fateful conclusion that Tarantino then, in sneakily OTT Inglourious Basterds style, mischievously turns on its head with a devilish game of “What If”. The results are a thoroughly engrossing and endlessly entertaining romp through the seedier side of Hollywood and a brilliant warts-and-all examination of the craft’s inner workings that, interestingly, reveals as much about the Business today as it does about how it was way back in the Golden Age the film portrays, all while delivering bucket-loads of QT’s trademark cool, swagger, idiosyncratic genius and to-die-for dialogue and character-work, and, of course, a typically exceptional all-star cast firing on all cylinders. Dicaprio and Pitt are both spectacular (Brad is endearingly taciturn, playing it wonderfully close to the vest throughout, while Leo is simply ON FIRE, delivering a mercurial performance EASILY on a par with his work on Shutter Island and The Wolf of Wall Street – could this be good enough to snag him a second Oscar?), while Robbie consistently endears us to Tate as she EFFORTLESSLY brings the fallen star back to life, and there’s an incredible string of amazing supporting turns from established talent and up-and-comers alike, from Kurt Russell, Al Pacino and a very spiky Bruce Dern to Mike Moh (in a FLAWLESS take on Bruce Lee), Margaret Qualley, Austin Butler and in particular Julia Butters as precocious child star Trudi Fraser. Packed with winning references, homages, pastiches and ingenious little in-jokes, handled with UTMOST respect for the true life subjects at all times and shot all the way through with his characteristic flair and quirky, deliciously dark sense of humour, this is cinema very much of the Old School, and EVERY INCH a Tarantino flick. With only one more film to go the implied end of his career seems much too close, but if he delivers one more like this he’ll leave behind a legacy that ANY filmmaker would be proud of.

18. CRAWL – summer 2019’s runner-up horror offering marks a rousing return to form for a genre talent who’s FINALLY delivered on the impressive promise of his early work – Alexandre Aja made a startling debut with Switchblade Romance, which led to his big break helming the cracking remake of slasher stalwart The Hills Have Eyes, but then he went SPECTACULARLY off the rails when he made the truly abysmal Piranha 3D, which I wholeheartedly regard as one of THE VERY WORST FILMS EVER MADE IN ALL OF HUMAN HISTORY. He took a big step back in the right direction with the admittedly flawed but ultimately enjoyable and evocative Horns (based on the novel by Stephen King’s son Joe Hill), but it’s with this stripped back, super-tight man-against-nature survival horror that the Aja of old has TRULY returned to us. IN SPADES. Seriously, I personally think this is his best film to date – there’s no fat on it at all, going from a simple set-up STRAIGHT into a precision-crafted exercise in sustained tension that relentlessly grips right up to the end credits. The film is largely just a two-hander – Maze Runner star Kaya Scodelario plays Haley Keller, a Florida college student and star swimmer who ventures into the heart of a Category 5 hurricane to make sure her estranged father, Dave (Saving Private Ryan’s Barry Pepper), is okay after he drops off the grid. Finding their old family home in a state of disrepair and slowly flooding, she does a last minute check of the crawl-space underneath, only to discover her father badly wounded and a couple of hungry alligators stalking the dark, cramped, claustrophobic confines. With the flood waters rising and communications cut off, Haley and Dave must use every reserve of strength, ingenuity and survival instinct to keep each other alive in the face of increasingly daunting odds … even with a premise this simple, there was plenty of potential for this to become an overblown, clunky mess in the wrong hands (a la Snakes On a Plane), so it’s a genuinely great thing that Aja really is back at the height of his powers, milking every fraught and suspenseful set-piece to its last drop of exquisite piano-wire tension and putting his actors through hell without a reprieve in sight. Thankfully it’s not JUST about scares and atmosphere – there’s a genuinely strong family drama at the heart of the story that helps us invest in these two, Scodelario delivering a phenomenally complex performance as she peels back Haley’s layers, from stubborn pedant, through vulnerable child of divorce, to ironclad born survivor, while reconnecting with her emotionally raw, repentantly open father, played with genuine naked intensity in a career best turn from Pepper. Their chemistry is INCREDIBLY strong, making every scene a joy even as it works your nerves and tugs on your heartstrings, and as a result you DESPERATELY want to see them make it out in one piece. Not that Aja makes it easy for them – the gators are an impressively palpable threat, proper scary beasties even if they are largely (admittedly impressively executed) digital effects, while the storm is almost a third character in itself, becoming as much of an elemental nemesis as its scaly co-stars. Blessedly brief (just 87 minutes!) and with every second wrung out for maximum impact, this is survival horror at its most brutally, simplistically effective, a deliciously vicious, primal chill-ride that thoroughly rewards from start to finish. Welcome back, Mr Aja. We’ve missed you.

17. SHAZAM! – there were actually THREE movies featuring Captain Marvel out in 2019, but this offering from the hit-and-miss DCEU cinematic franchise is a very different beast from his MCU-based namesake, and besides, THIS Cap long ago ditched said monicker for the far more catchy (albeit rather more oddball) title that graces Warner Bros’ last step back on the right track for their superhero Universe following the equally enjoyable Aquaman and franchise high-point Wonder Woman. Although he’s never actually referred to in the film by this name, Shazam (Chuck’s Eugene Levy) is the magically-powered alternate persona bestowed upon wayward fifteen year-old foster kid Billy Batson (Andi Mack’s Asher Angel) by an ancient wizard (Djimon Hounsou) seeking one pure soul to battle Dr. Thaddeus Sivana (Mark Strong), a morally corrupt physicist who turns into a monstrous supervillain after becoming the vessel for the spiritual essences of the Seven Deadly Sins (yup, that thoroughly batshit setup is just the tip of the iceberg of bonkersness on offer in this movie). Yes, this IS set in the DC Extended Universe, Shazam sharing his world with Superman, Batman, the Flash et al, and there are numerous references (both overt and sly) to this fact throughout (especially in the cheeky animated closing title sequence), but it’s never laboured, and the film largely exists in its own comfortably enclosed narrative bubble, allowing us to focus on Billy, his alter ego and in particular his clunky (but oh so much fun) bonding experiences with his new foster family, headed by former foster kid couple Victor and Rosa Vazquez (The Walking Dead’s Cooper Andrews and Marta Milans) – the most enjoyably portions of the film, however, are when Billy explores the mechanics and limits of his newfound superpowers with his new foster brother Freddy Freeman (It Chapter 1’s Jack Dylan Glazer), a consistently hilarious riot of bad behaviour, wanton (often accidental) destruction and perfectly-observed character development, the blissful culmination of a gleefully anarchic sense of humour that, until recently, has been rather lacking in the DCEU but which is writ large in bright, wacky primary colours right through this film. Sure, there are darker moments, particularly when Sivana sets loose his fantastic icky brood of semi-corporeal monsters, and these scenes are handled with seasoned skill by director David F. Sandberg, who cut his teeth on ingenious little horror gem Lights Out (following up with Annabelle: Creation, but we don’t have to dwell on that), but for the most part the film is played for laughs, thrills and pure, unadulterated FUN, almost never taking itself too seriously, essentially intended to do for the DCEU what Guardians of the Galaxy and Ant-Man did for the MCU, and a huge part of its resounding success must of course be attributed to the universally willing cast. Eugene Levy’s so ridiculously pumped-up he almost looks like a special effect all on his own, but he’s lost none of his razor-sharp comic ability, perfectly encapsulating a teenage boy in a grown man’s body, while his chemistry with genuine little comedic dynamo Glazer is simply exquisite, a flawless balance shared with Angel, who similarly excels at the humour but also delivers quality goods in some far more serious moments too, while the rest of Billy’s newfound family are all brilliant, particularly ridiculously adorable newcomer Faithe Herman as precocious little motor-mouth Darla; Djimon Hounsou, meanwhile, adds significant class and gravitas to what could have been a cartoonish Gandalf spoof, and Mark Strong, as usual, gives great bad guy as Sivana, providing just the right amount of malevolent swagger and self-important smirk to proceedings without ever losing sight of the deeper darkness within. All round, this is EXACTLY the kind of expertly crafted superhero package we’ve come to appreciate in the genre, another definite shot in the arm for the DCEU that holds great hope for the future of the franchise, and some of the biggest fun I had at the cinema this past year. Granted, it’s still not a patch on the MCU, but the quality gap finally seems to be closing …

16. ALITA: BATTLE ANGEL – y’know, there was a time when James Cameron was quite a prolific director, who could be counted upon to provide THE big event pic of the blockbuster season. These days, we’re lucky to hear from him once a decade, and now we don’t even seem to be getting that – the dream project Cameron’s been trying to make since the end of the 90s, a big live action adaptation of one of my favourite mangas of all time, Gunnm (or Battle Angel Alita to use its more well-known sobriquet) by Yukito Kishiro, has FINALLY arrived, but it isn’t the big man behind the camera here since he’s still messing around with his intended FIVE MOVIE Avatar arc. That said, he made a damn good choice of proxy to bring his vision to fruition – Robert Rodriguez is, of course, a fellow master of action cinema, albeit one with a much more quirky style, and this adap is child’s play to him, the creator of the El Mariachi trilogy and co-director of Frank Miller’s Sin City effortlessly capturing the dark, edgy life-and-death danger and brutal wonder of Kishiro’s world in moving pictures. 300 years after the Earth was decimated in a massive war with URM (the United Republics of Mars) known as “the Fall”, only one bastion of civilization remains – Iron City, a sprawling, makeshift community of scavengers that lies in the shadow of the floating city of Zalem, home of Earth’s remaining aristocracy. Dr. Dyson Ido (Christoph Waltz) runs a clinic in Iron City customising and repairing the bodies of its cyborg citizens, from the mercenary “hunter killers” to the fast-living players of Motorball (a kind of supercharged mixture of Rollerball and Death Race), one day discovering the wrecked remains of a female ‘borg in the junkyard of scrap accumulated beneath Zalem. Finding her human brain is still alive, he gives her a new chassis and christens her Alita, raising her as best he can as she attempts to piece together her mysterious, missing past, only for them both to discover that the truth of her origins has the potential to tear their fragile little world apart forever. The Maze Runner trilogy’s Rosa Salazar is the heart and soul of the film as Alita (originally Gally in the comics), perfectly bringing her (literal) wide-eyed innocence and irrepressible spirit to life, as well as proving every inch the diminutive badass fans have been expecting – while her overly anime-styled look might have seemed a potentially jarring distraction in the trailers, Salazar’s mocap performance is SO strong you’ve forgotten all about it within the first five minutes, convinced she’s a real, flesh-and-metal character – and she’s well supported by an exceptional ensemble cast both new and well-established. Waltz is the most kind and sympathetic he’s been since Django Unchained, instilling Ido with a worldly warmth and gentility that makes him a perfect mentor/father-figure, while Spooksville star Keean Johnson makes a VERY impressive big screen breakthrough as Hugo, the streetwise young dreamer with a dark secret that Alita falls for in a big way, Jennifer Connelly is icily classy as Ido’s ex-wife Chiren, Mahershala Ali is enjoyably suave and mysterious as the film’s nominal villain, Vector, an influential but seriously shady local entrepreneur with a major hidden agenda, and a selection of actors shine through the CGI in various strong mocap performances, such as Deadpool’s Ed Skrein, Derek Mears, From Dusk Til Dawn’s Eiza Gonzalez and a thoroughly unrecognisable but typically awesome Jackie Earle Haley. As you’d expect from Rodriguez, the film delivers BIG TIME on the action front, unleashing a series of spectacular set-pieces that peak with Alita’s pulse-pounding Motorball debut, but there’s a pleasingly robust story under all the thrills and wow-factor, riffing on BIG THEMES and providing plenty of emotional power, especially in the heartbreaking character-driven climax – Cameron, meanwhile, has clearly maintained strict control over the project throughout, his eye and voice writ large across every scene as we’re thrust headfirst into a fully-immersive post-apocalyptic, rusty cyberpunk world as thoroughly fleshed-out as Avatar’s Pandora, but most importantly he’s still done exactly what he set out to do, paying the utmost respect to a cracking character as he brings her to vital, vivid life on the big screen. Don’t believe the detractors – this is a MAGNIFICENT piece of work that deserves all the recognition it can muster, perfectly set up for a sequel that I fear we may never get to see. Oh well, at least it’s renewed my flagging hopes for a return to Pandora …

15. AD ASTRA – last century, making a space exploration movie after 2001: A Space Odyssey was a pretty tall order. THIS century, looks like it’s trying to follow Chris Nolan’s Interstellar – love it or hate it, you can’t deny that particular epic space opera for the IMAX crowd is a REALLY tough act to follow. At first glance, then, writer-director James Gray (The Yards, We Own the Night) is an interesting choice to try, at least until you consider his last feature – he may be best known for understated, gritty little crime thrillers, but I was most impressed by 2016’s ambitious period biopic The Lost City of Z, which focused on the groundbreaking career of pioneering explorer Percy Fawcett, and couldn’t have been MORE about the indomitable spirit of discovery if it tried. His latest shares much of the same DNA, albeit presented in a VERY different package, as we’re introduced to a more expansive Solar System of the near future, in which humanity has begun to colonize our neighbouring worlds and is now pushing its reach beyond our own star’s light in order to discover what truly lies beyond the void of OUTER space. Brad Pitt stars as Major Roy McBride, a career astronaut whose whole life has been defined by growing up in the shadow of his father, H. Clifford McBride (Tommy Lee Jones), a true pioneer who led an unprecedented expedition to the orbit of our furthest neighbour, Neptune, in order to search for signs of intelligent life beyond our solar system, only for the whole mission to go quiet for the past sixteen years. Then a mysterious, interplanetary power surge throws the Earth into chaos, and Roy must travel farther than he’s ever gone before in order to discover the truth behind the source of the pulse – his father’s own ill-fated Lima Project … this is a very different beast from Interstellar, a much more introspective, stately affair, revelling in its glacial pacing and emphasis on character motivation over plot, but it’s no less impressive from a visual, visceral standpoint – Gray and cinematographer Hoyt van Hoytema (who, interestingly, ALSO shot Interstellar, along with Nolan’s Dunkirk and his upcoming feature Tenet) certainly make space look truly EPIC, crafting astonishing visuals that deserve to be seen on the big screen (or at the very least on the best quality HDTV you can find). There’s also no denying the quality of the writing, Gray weaving an intricate story that reveals far greater depth and complexity than can be seen at first glance, while Roy’s palpable “thought-process” voiceover puts us right into the head of the character as we follow him across the endless void on a fateful journey into a cosmic Heart of Darkness. There is, indeed, a strong sense of Apocalypse Now to proceedings, with the younger McBride definitely following a similar path to Martin Sheen’s ill-fated captain as he travels “up-river” to find his Colonel Kurtz-esque father, and the performances certainly match the heft of the material – there’s an impressive collection of talent on offer in a series of top-quality supporting turns, Jones being just the icing on the cake in the company of Donald Sutherland, Liv Tyler, John Ortiz and Preacher’s Ruth Negga, but the undeniable driving force of the film is Pitt, his cool, laconic control hiding uncharted depths of emotional turmoil as he’s forced to call every choice into question. It’s EASILY one of the finest performances of his career to date, just one of the MANY great selling points in a film that definitely deserves to be remembered as one of the all-time sci-fi greats of the decade. An absolute masterpiece, then, but does it stand tall in comparison to Interstellar? I should say so …

14. BRIGHTBURN – torpedoing Crawl right out of the water in the summer, this refreshing, revisionist superhero movie takes one of the most classic mythologies in the genre and turns it on its head in true horror style. The basic premise is an absolute blinder – what if, when he crashed in small-town America as a baby, Superman had turned out to be a bad seed? Unsurprising, then, that it came from James Gunn, who here produces a screenplay by his brother and cousin Brian and Mark Gunn (best known for penning the likes of Journey 2: the Mysterious Island, but nobody’s perfect) and the directorial big break of his old mate David Yarovesky (whose only previous feature is obscure sci-fi horror The Hive) – Gunn is, of course, an old pro at taking classic comic book tropes and creating something completely new with them, having previously done so with HUGE success on cult indie black comedy Super and, in particular, Marvel’s Guardians of the Galaxy movies, and his fingerprints are ALL OVER this one too. The Hunger Games’ Elizabeth Banks (who starred in Gunn’s own directorial debut Slither) and David Denman (The Office) are Tori and Kyle Breyer, a farming couple living in Brightburn, Kansas, who are trying for a baby when a mysterious pod falls from the sky onto their land, containing an infant boy. As you’d expect, they adopt him, determined to keep his origin a secret, and for the first twelve years of his life all seems perfectly fine – Brandon’s growing up into an intelligent, artistic child who loves his family. Then his powers manifest and he starts to change – not just physically (he’s impervious to harm, incredibly strong, has laser eyes and the ability to disrupt electronic devices … oh, and he can fly, too), but also in personality, as he becomes cold, distant, even cruel as he begins to demonstrate some seriously sociopathic tendencies. As his parents begin to fear what he’s becoming, things begin to spiral out of control and people start to disappear or turn up brutally murdered, and it becomes clear that Brandon might actually be something out of a nightmare … needless to say this is superhero cinema as full-on horror, Brandon’s proclivities leading to some proper nasty moments once he really starts to cut loose, and there’s no mistaking this future super for one of the good guys – he pulverises bones, shatters faces and melts skulls with nary a twitch, just the tiniest hint of a smile. It’s an astonishing performance from newcomer Jackson A. Dunn, who perfectly captures the nuanced subtleties as Brandon goes from happy child to lethal psychopath, clearly demonstrating that he’s gonna be an incredible talent in future; the two grown leads, meanwhile, are both excellent, Denman growing increasingly haunted and exasperated as he tries to prove his own son is a wrong ‘un, while Banks has rarely been better, perfectly embodying a mother desperately wanting to belief the best of her son no matter how compelling the evidence becomes, and there’s quality support from Breaking Bad’s Matt Jones and Search Party’s Meredith Hagner as Brandon’s aunt and uncle, Noah and Meredith, and Becky Wahlstrom as the mother of one of his school-friends, who seems to see him for what he really is right from the start. Dark, suspenseful and genuinely nasty, this is definitely not your typical superhero movie, often playing like Kick-Ass’ deeply twisted cousin, and there are times when it displays some of the same edgy, black-hearted sense of humour, too. In other words, it’s all very James Gunn. It’s one sweet piece of work, everyone involved showing real skill and devotion, and Yarovesky in particular proves he’ll definitely be one-to-watch in the future. There are already plans for a potential sequel, and given where this particular little superhero universe seems to be heading I think it could be something pretty special, so fair to say I can’t wait.

13. STAR WARS EPISODE IX: THE RISE OF SKYWALKER – wow, this one’s proven particularly divisive, hasn’t it? And I thought The Last Jedi caused a stir … say what you will about Rian Johnson’s previous entry in the juggernaut science fiction saga, while it certainly riled up the hardcore fanbase it was at least well-received by the critics, not to mention myself, who found it refreshing and absolutely ingenious after the crowd-pleasing simplicity of JJ Abrams’ admittedly still thoroughly brilliant The Force Awakens. After such radical experimentation, Abrams’ return to the director’s chair can’t help feeling a bit like desperate backpedalling in order to sooth a whole lot of seriously ruffled feathers, and I’ll admit that, on initial viewing, I couldn’t help feeling just a touch cheated given what might have been if similarly offbeat, experimentally-minded filmmaker Colin Trevorrow (Safety Not Guaranteed, Jurassic World) had stayed on board to helm the picture. Then I got home, thought about it for a bit and it started to grow on me, before a second viewing helped me to reconcile all everything that bugged me first time around, seemingly the same things that have, perversely, ruffled so many more feathers THIS TIME. This doesn’t feel like a retcon job, no matter what some might think – new developments in the story that might feel like whitewash actually do make sense once you think about them, and the major twists actually work when viewed within the larger, overarching storyline. Not that I’m willing to go into any kind of detail here, mind you – this is a spoiler-free zone, thank you very much. Suffice to say, the honour of the saga has in no way been besmirched by Abrams and his co-writer Chris Terrio (sure, he worked on Batman V Superman and Justice League, but he also wrote Argo), the final film ultimately standing up very well indeed alongside its trilogy contemporaries, and still MILES ABOVE anything we got in George Lucas’ decidedly second-rate prequels. The dangling plot strands from The Last Jedi certainly get tied up with great satisfaction, particularly the decidedly loaded drama of new Jedi Rey (Daisy Ridley) and troubled First Order Supreme Leader Kylo Ren/Ben Solo (Adam Driver), while the seemingly controversial choice of reintroducing Ian McDiarmid’s fantastically monstrous Emperor Palpatine as the ultimate big bad ultimately works out spectacularly well, a far cry from any perceived botched fan-service. Everyone involved was clearly working at the height of their powers – Ridley and Driver are EXCEPTIONAL, both up-and-coming young leads truly growing into the their roles, while co-stars John Boyega and Oscar Isaac land a pleasingly meaty chunk of the story to finally get to really explore that fantastic chemistry they teased on The Last Jedi, and Carrie Fisher gets a truly MAGNIFICENT send off in the role that defined her as the incomparable General Leia Organa (one which it’s still heartbreaking she never quite got to complete); other old faces, meanwhile, return in fun ways, from Anthony Daniels’ C-3PO FINALLY getting to play a PROPER role in the action again to a brilliant supporting flourish from the mighty Billy Dee Williams as the Galaxy-Far-Far-Away’s own King of Cool, Lando Calrissian, while there’s a wealth of strong new faces here too, such as Lady Macbeth’s Naomie Ackie as rookie rebel Jannah, Richard E. Grant as suitably slimy former-Imperial First Order bigshot Allegiant General Pryde, The Americans’ Keri Russell as tough smuggler Zorii Bliss and Lord of the Rings star Dominic Monaghan as Resistance tech Beaumont Kin. As fans have come to expect, Abrams certainly doesn’t skim on the spectacle, delivering bombastic thrill-ride set-pieces that yet again set the benchmark for the year’s action stakes (particularly in the blistering mid-picture showdown between Rey and Kylo among the wave-lashed remains of Return of the Jedi’s blasted Death Star) and awe-inspiring visuals that truly boggle the mind with their sheer beauty and complexity, but he also injects plenty of the raw emotion, inspired character work, knowing humour and pure, unadulterated geeky FUN he’s so well known for. In conclusion, then, this is MILES AWAY from the clunky, compromised mess it’s been labelled as in some quarters, ultimately still very much in keeping with the high standards set by its trilogy predecessors and EVERY INCH a proper, full-blooded Star Wars movie. Ultimately, Rogue One remains THE BEST of the big screen run since Lucas’ Original Trilogy, but this one still emerges as a Force to be reckoned with …

12. JOKER – no-one was more wary than me when it was first announced that DC and Warner Bros. were going to make a standalone, live-action movie centred entirely around Batman’s ultimate nemesis, the Joker, especially with it coming hot on the heels of Jared Leto’s thoroughly polarizing portrayal in Suicide Squad. More so once it was made clear that this WOULD NOT be part of the studio’s overarching DC Extended Universe cinematic franchise, which was FINALLY starting to find its feet – then what’s the point? I found myself asking. I should have just sat back and gone with it, especially since the finished product would have made me eat a big slice of humble pie had I not already been won over once the trailers started making the rounds. This is something new, different and completely original in the DC cinematic pantheon, even if it does draw major inspiration from Alan Moore’s game-changing DC comics mini-series The Killing Joke – a complete standalone origin story for one of our most enduring villains, re-imagined as a blistering, bruising psychological thriller examining what can happen to a man when he’s pushed far beyond the brink by terrible circumstance, societal neglect and crippling mental illness. Joaquin Phoenix delivers the performance of his career as Arthur Fleck, a down-at-heel clown-for-hire struggling to launch a career as a stand-up-comic (badly hampered by the fact that he’s just not funny) while suffering from an acute dissociative condition and terrible attacks of pathological laughter at moments of heightened stress – the actor lost 52 pounds of weight to become a horrifically emaciated scarecrow painfully reminiscent of Christian Bale’s similar preparation for his acclaimed turn in The Machinist, and frequently contorts himself into seemingly impossible positions that prominently accentuate the fact. Fleck is a truly pathetic creature, thoroughly put-upon by a pitiless society that couldn’t care less about him, driven by inner demons and increasingly compelling dark thoughts to act out in increasingly desperate, destructive ways that ultimately lead him to cross lines he just can’t come back from, and Phoenix gives his all in every scene, utterly mesmerising even when his character commits some truly heinous acts. Certainly he dominates the film, but then there are plenty of winning supporting turns from a universally excellent cast to bolster him along, from Zazie Beetz as an impoverished young mother Arthur bonds with and Frances Conroy (Six Feet Under, American Horror Story) as Arthur’s decidedly fragile mother Penny to Brett Cullen (The Thorn Birds, Lost) as a surprisingly unsympathetic Thomas Wayne (the philanthropic father of future Batman Bruce Wayne), while Robert De Niro himself casts a very long shadow indeed as Murray Franklin, a successful comedian and talk show host that Arthur idolizes, a character intentionally referential to his role in The King of Comedy. Indeed, Martin Scorsese’s influence is writ large throughout the entire film, reinforced by the choice to set the film in a 1981-set Gotham City which feels very much like the crumbling New York of Mean Streets or Taxi Driver. This is a dark, edgy, grim and unflinchingly BRUTAL film, frequently difficult to watch as Arthur is driven further into a blazing psychological hell by his increasingly stricken life, but addictively, devastatingly compelling all the same, impossible to turn away from even in the truly DEVASTATING final act. Initially director Todd Phillips seemed like a decidedly odd choice for the project, hailing as he does from a predominantly comedy-based filmmaking background (most notably Due Date and The Hangover trilogy), but he’s actually a perfect fit here, finding a strangely twisted beauty in many of his compositions and a kind of almost uplifting transcendence in his subject’s darkest moments, while his screenwriting collaboration with Scott Silver (8 Mile, The Fighter) means that the script is as rich as it can be, almost overflowing with brilliant ideas and rife with biting social commentary which is even more relevant today than in the period in which it’s set. Intense, gripping, powerful and utterly devastating, this truly is one of the best films of 2019. If this was a purely critical Top 30 this would have placed in the Top 5, guaranteed …

11. FAST & FURIOUS PRESENTS HOBBS & SHAW – summer 2019’s most OTT movie was some of THE MOST FUN I had at the cinema all year, a genuinely batshit crazy, pure bonkers rollercoaster ride of a film I just couldn’t get enough of, the perfect sum of all its baffling parts. The Fast & Furious franchise has always revelled in its extremes, subtle as a brick and very much playing to the blockbuster, popcorn movie crowd right from the start, but it wasn’t until Fate of the Furious (yup, the ridiculous title says it all) that it really started to play to the inherent ridiculousness of its overall setup, paving the way for this first crack at a new spin-off series sans-Vin Diesel. Needless to say this one fully embraces the ludicrousness, with director David Leitch the perfect choice to shepherd it into the future, having previously mastered OTT action through John Wick and Atomic Blonde before helming manic screwball comedy Deadpool 2, which certainly is the strongest comparison point here – Hobbs & Shaw is every bit as loud, violent, chaotic and thoroughly irreverent, definitely playing up the inherent comic potential at the core of the material as he cranks up the humour. Dwayne Johnson and Jason Statham take centre stage as, respectively, DSS agent Luke Hobbs and former SAS black operative Deckard Shaw, the ultimate action movie odd couple once again forced to work together to foil the bad guy and save the world from a potentially cataclysmic disaster. Specifically Brixton Lore (Idris Elba), a self-proclaimed “black superman” enhanced with cybernetic implants and genetic manipulation to turn him into the ultimate warrior, who plans to use a lethal designer supervirus to eradicate half of humanity (as supervillains tend to do), but there’s one small flaw in his plan – the virus has been stolen by Hattie Shaw (Mission: Impossible – Fallout’s Vanessa Kirby), a rogue MI6 agent who also happens to be Deckard’s sister. Got all that? Yup, the movie really is as mad as it sounds, but that’s part of the charm – there’s an enormous amount of fun to be had in just giving in and going along with the madness as Hobbs and the two Shaws bounce from one overblown, ludicrously destructive set-piece to the next, kicking plenty of arse along the way when they’re not jumping out of tall buildings or driving fast cars at ludicrous speeds in heavy traffic, and when they’re not doing that they’re bickering with enthusiasm, each exchange crackling with exquisite hate-hate chemistry and liberally laced with hilarious dialogue delivered with gleeful, fervent venom (turns out there’s few things so enjoyable as watching Johnson and Statham verbally rip each other a new one), and the two action cinema heavyweights have never been better than they are here, each bringing the very best performances of their respective careers out of each other as they vacillate, while Kirby holds her own with consummate skill that goes to show she’s got a bright future of her own. As for Idris Elba, the one-time potential future Bond deserves to be remembered as one of the all-time great screen villains ever, investing Brixton with the perfect combination of arrogant swagger and lethal menace to steal every scene he’s in while simultaneously proving he can be just as big a badass in the action stakes; Leitch also scatters a selection of familiar faces from his previous movies throughout a solid supporting cast which also includes the likes of Fear the Walking Dead’s Cliff Curtis, From Dusk Till Dawn’s Eiza Gonzalez and Helen Mirren (who returns as Deckard and Hattie’s mum Queenie Shaw), while there’s more than one genuinely brilliant surprise cameo to enjoy. As we’ve come to expect, the action sequences are MASSIVE, powered by nitrous oxide and high octane as property is demolished and vehicles are driven with reckless abandon when our protagonists aren’t engaged in bruising, bone-crunching fights choreographed with all the flawless skill you’d expect from a director who used to be a professional stuntman, but this time round the biggest fun comes from the downtime, as the aforementioned banter becomes king. It’s an interesting makeover for the franchise, going from heavyweight action stalwart to comedy gold, and it’s a direction I hope they’ll maintain for the inevitable follow-up – barring Fast Five, this is THE BEST Fast & Furious to date, and a strong indicator of how it should go to keep conquering multiplexes in future. Sign me up for more, please.

#frozen 2 #Once Upon A Time In Hollywood #crawl #crawl movie #Shazam!#Alita Battle Angel #ad astra #Brightburn #star wars the rise of skywalker #joker #joker movie #hobbs and shaw #2019 in movies

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