#but this movie always hits hard because i have an older brother and holy shit if i’d lost him at fourteen i would’ve just straight up

[thelilylav]

Do u think Hiro ever goes through Baymax’s recordings of the tests with Tadashi when he’s feeling lonely, do u think he ever starts crying and Baymax just kinda holds him as the recording keeps playing in the background, do u think about how a little piece of Tadashi is still there and it’s not the same and it never will be and it’s not enough but Hiro’s trying, he really is and he has help now and people in his life, do u think he ever asks Honey Lemon and Gogo and Wasabi and Fred for a hug on the bad days do u think about how sometimes Hiro probably looks at Baymax and sees Tadashi, and it’s sweet but so so painful, do u think about how Tadashi’s death plays such a big role in his life even years after cause boy oh boy i sure do

#tadashi hamada #this was originally just supposed to be abt the recordings #but i got a little sidetracked #but this movie always hits hard because i have an older brother and holy shit if i’d lost him at fourteen i would’ve just straight up #stopped working #anyway doing so well #don’t mind me #big hero six #big hero 6 #hiro hamada #baymax

[generallybarzy]

under twinkling lights.

an: christmas in april? sorry this took so long.. but here’s a little bit of established relationship and soft cute Christmas smut! Its been too long since we had something so sweet and smutty about our fav cute ass couple. It’s all sweet and soft and cute and then it gets filthy... the perfect dynamic, i want what they have. i was only inspired to finish this because of barzys hatty tonight haha, he deserves everything. I didn’t really spell check this yet, just needed to post finally!! Personally, I think its the hottest thing I've ever wrote. Lemme know!!! 💕

tagging: @softboybarzal​ @fallinallincurls​ @matbaerzal​ @npatrickz​ @canadianheaters​ @selenophileangel​ @deleausvp​ @colecaufields​ @hockeyhughes11​ @nazdaddy​ @barzysreputation​ @comphybiscuit​ @aboveaveragehockeyboys​ @ifiwasshawnmendesidslapmyself​ @petey-patty​ @starswin​ @heatherawoowoo​ ​

word count: 6.5k

You never believed you’d find someone to spend your life with. If anyone told you your holidays would one day be spent cuddling up with your boyfriend of almost two years in the apartment that you had just moved into together earlier that month, you would have told them they were wrong. Flat out wrong. Things as beautiful and destined as that only happened in movies, and you certainly weren’t lucky enough to get something like that. But, now, here you were.

And here was Mat.

Even after two years with Mat, there was still nothing better than spending the evening cuddled up with him on the couch. No matter how many fancy, expensive dinner dates he took you on at upscale restaurants in the city or how many helicopter rides you took together out in B.C. when he was showing you his home, or how much you loved hanging out with his friends and his family and his teammates, nothing was better than cuddles at home. As much time you spent together, you still felt as giddy and comfortable and safe and at-peace as that first time with him. Things didn't simmer down, that spark didn't fade away after a bit like you feared they would. But they became more subtle. You no longer had to ask him to come to the couch to cuddle, you no longer worried that maybe he wouldn't want to. It was a habit, at this point, to fall into his arms at the end of the day just the same as he did with you. You were each other’s safe havens, the place you laid your head to rest. You loved each other, and there was no place you’d rather be than together.

You’d spent the evening baking cookies, decorating the new tree, and wrapping his family member's Christmas gifts- a book his mom had been wanting, along with some of the cookies you'd made and various at-home spa items; hockey memorabilia and classic jerseys for his dad; and some new pieces of technology and the latest eye shadow palette that his sister had been wanting, along with some stupid jokes gifts that he wrapped in duct tape like the annoying older brother he was. Now, after the sunset bared its last light over the horizon and through your window, you lay together in bliss, with the tree twinkling its colorful lights across the room as you and Mat snuggled on the couch under a fluffy blanket, and everything felt right. 

"I don't know why we went through all that work to decorate the tree if we're not even spending Christmas here." Mat grumbled playfully, his head on your chest, partially hidden under the blanket. 

"Well," your face glowed in a smile as you remembered the flight out to Vancouver you had in a few days. Spending holidays with his family was always your favorite. Your family wasn’t the best, and it wasn’t too healthy to spend your holidays with them, but you always had Mat and his family. They were so welcoming, so kind, and for as many years now as you’d gone as Mat’s girlfriend, they had accepted you like family. "Because this is our home, Mat. It'd be wrong not to decorate it for the first time." 

"I don't need a tree for this to feel like home." 

“Aww, baby.”

“It’s true.” He pushed himself up onto his hands and knees above you on the couch, bringing his face level with yours. His warm breath hit your lips as he brushed his nose against yours, eyes slipping shut and grinning. “I love you. Always.”

“I love you always too.” 

"I'm so glad you're here. I'm so happy we live together, finally." 

"I'm glad we live together, too." 

Mat snuggled down into your neck, the locks of dark hair that had been growing out lately tickling your face. You reached up to brush them aside and curl your hand around the back of his head, cupping his head against you tenderly . His hair was getting so nice and long, and you knew he’d have to cut it soon, per the team's guidelines, but god, you were gonna cherish it now. 

"I actually have something for you, Maty."

"A Christmas present?" 

"Well, an early Christmas present." You smiled at the excited look on his boyish face as he leaned back, the lights from the tree highlighting the sparkle in his eye. "You can't open it at your parent's house, so we're gonna do it here instead."

"What is it?" 

"Try to figure it out." 

He sat up then, his eyes scanning the room for anything that might seem out of the ordinary, anything that might be hidden. He was looking for his present, and you had to hold back a laugh at the sight. 

"Maty…" 

"No, no, I'll find it."

"Babe…"

"I got this."

"Let me give you a hint, at least." You sat up with him and took his hand in yours and cupped it against your cheek, turning your head to the side to kiss his fingers. He smiled at the touch, melting back into you and tracing his thumb across your skin. 

"Alright, gimme the hint."

You pushed his hand down the smooth skin of your neck, the swell of your breasts, down the curve of your waist, and to the hem of his hoodie that swallowed you up. "It's right in front of you, baby." 

"For real?" The joy in his eyes was the same you saw the first time you told him you were ready to take that step, almost two years ago now. No matter how many times you were together, he was always just as excited.

“You say that as if we’ve never done this before.”

“It always feels like the first time.” 

You glowed and let go of his hand to reach up and cup his face between both of you. His words came so simply and without hesitation that you knew he was sincere. “Aw, Mat…”

“I’m serious.” 

“You’re so sweet tonight.”

“Maybe I just really want to lay some love on you.” He hitched his hands under your thighs and tugged you close, lying you back against the couch once again. His hands slid up the soft skin of your tummy and waist, dipping under your shirt momentarily, and causing your breath to hitch in your throat- his hands always managed to do that to you- as you breathed out the words against his lips. 

“Maybe I’m gonna let you.” 

With one last grin, his face dipped down to yours, locking your lips together in a familiar, electric dance. Soft, gentle lips moving against yours had never felt as good as with any other boyfriends as they do with Mat. His touch was intoxicating, made your mind wander and your heart race flushed your skin and shocked you to the core. Ever since the very first time his hand grazed against yours when he reached out to hold it for the first time, to the first time your bodies connected in passion under the covers, it felt the same. Like fire. Even two years later, he drove you insane, and all you wanted, and frequently achieved, was to drive him insane as well. In the best way possible. Mat broke apart from your lips momentarily to slip the hoodie over your head, revealing his gift. “Fuck…”

Right there, in front of his eyes, your breasts were covered only by a lacy crimson fabric, held together behind a pretty red bow. With each heavy breath of anticipation, your chest was heaving softly before his eyes, and he found himself hypnotized by the gentle rise and fall. 

“You like it?"

“Holy shit, you’re hot.” 

“So are you.” 

His eyes were wide, warm, and gentle, looking over you. He dragged his gaze away from your chest even though you could tell how hard it was, and shook his head. “Not as much as you.”

"Mmm", you took the liberty of taking his hands from where they had frozen beside you and placing them, big and warm, over your chest. "Go ahead, baby." 

"No, no, I wanna savor this first."

His mouth dipped down, soft hair tickling your neck as he nibbled at your chest, laying little love bites and kisses along the tender skin. He cupped your boobs and squeezed them around his face, humming in content. You couldn’t help but laugh as he buried his face against you, and you could feel his grin break out against your skin. “Having fun, baby?”

“Oh my god, yes. You’re gorgeous. So soft.” 

“Mmhm.” You sighed into his touch as he kissed his way back up your chest.

“Baby.” He spoke softly to get your attention, and your eyes opened lazily to see him, biting his lip and holding the delicate ribbon between two fingers. “Can I?”

“Please.” He gave a gentle tug, and with one last heave of your chest, the lacy bralette fell open, revealing one of Mat’s favorite parts of your body. 

“Fucking Christ.” 

“Bub, you can’t be swearing like that so close to Christmas.” 

“How do you expect me not to when you’re…. God, just so perfect…” You saw the way his eyes glazed over mid-sentence in the colorful lights of the tree, the way his jaw went slack as you arched your chest up towards him. He reached out, slowly, as if worried you were going to disappear if he moved too quickly, and when the large, rough hands curled around the side of your waist and slid up and down, you felt goosebumps pop up along your skin. 

“Your fingers are cold.”  

“But you love it.” He ran the pad of his thumb over your nipples, watching as they pebbled under his touch in the cold air. “So do I.” 

“Warm me up?”

“Always.”

He dipped his head down, his mouth hot and wet along the peaks and valleys of your chest, down your stomach.

His fingers traveled over the familiar layout of your body, colored in soft golden and red and green in the dancing Christmas lights, tracing each recognizable landmark with specific care- every memorized freckle and birthmark he had kissed since your first night together and every dimple in your skin that he cherished, every spot that had his fingerprints imprinted onto like memory foam after so many nights spent holding you tight with everything in him, as if you'd slip away. As if you'd want to. With each inch his hands followed, he found more, there was always more territory to be marked down, jotted down in his brain for future reference. He was always finding something new. Something more to use against you, to use against you in the best way possible, to push you further and further to that blissful end goal.

He made his way down, down, down, until his breath was hot over your lace-covered core, his hand gripping your hips tightly. Mat smiled as your hands found his hair, curling your fingers through a fistful of the dark locks before releasing and smoothing it back into place again. Mat's favorite thing about going down on you, besides the way it pleasured you, was the way your hands felt on his head, massaging and grabbing and twisting and pulling. It was heaven to him, letting you guide him around like that. 

“Can I take them off?” 

“Hmm.” As much as you wanted him to ravage you right there, with those soft, sultry eyes he was giving you, he was wearing far too many clothes. “You first.” 

Mat didn't say anything else before stripping out of his dark crew neck sweater and jumping up off the couch to kick his gray sweats down. His smile was contagious as your gaze dropped from his face, down his bare chest and the little chain you’d gotten him for your anniversary, down towards the tent in his boxers with a silly, excited grin. He laughed. "Not tired of seeing me yet?" 

"Never."

"You sure you’re not getting bored of my dick yet?"

"No, baby. Definitely not.” You grinned, the thought of spending the rest of your life with him bouncing around your mind. “Why? Are you getting bored of me?"

"No way." Mat leaned down to lace your fingers together and lock lips. "How could I?"

"How could I get tired of you, Maty?"

Mat hummed. He loved this little play, the little banter, the back and forth. He'd loved it since you first started dating, and he always would. He knew you loved him endlessly, but he played along. "I'm just a hockey player."

"No, you're my hockey player. My boyfriend. My pretty, pretty baby."

Mat settled back down between your legs with a warm smile. "Yeah, I am. So can I take these off now?" He hooked his fingers in the waistband of your panties. "C'mon, I know how much you love my tongue."

Your thighs squeezed around him at the words. “Fuck, please.”

“Anything for my baby.” 

You lifted your hips for him as he tugged the lacy fabric down your thighs with nimble fingers, stopping momentarily after they were off to just look at you. He let out a sigh, his eyes finding yours again with a soft look as you squirmed a bit beneath him- not because you were shy, no, you were long past that point in your relationship, but because you just needed him to do anything to you. Mat had spent the past two years helping you love and appreciate your body, and this, right here in this moment, was the perfect showcase of how much he helped- as he was gazing down at your naked body and the only thing you felt was just the absolute need and desire for his body to move against yours and his warmth to cover you up. No nerves. Only love, and need. 

“Shit, you’re gorgeous.” 

“I know.” 

The lack of hesitation in your reply had Mat bending over you and laughing. “That’s your response?”

“Yeah! I mean, you let me know. You make me feel so confident.”

“Mmhm, good, babygirl.” He scooted back down to lay his head against the soft, naked inside of your thigh gazing up at you through his eyelashes. “I always wanna make you feel good. Physically and mentally.” He turned to lay open-mouthed kisses against your thighs, and any thought of response you may have had dissolved completely as you leaned back and waited for him to do his magic. His hand reached up to cup your heat, just feeling you against his palm for a moment before swiping a long finger through your fold, smiling and raising his eyebrows at you. “Oh? Already so wet for me?” 

“Always, baby. You should know this by now.”

“Yeah?” He dipped his fingers at your opening teasingly and his head dipped down to connect his lips with your clit, kissing it gently and watching you squirm. “Ugh, I could fuck you right now if I was in a rush. But you know the foreplay is my favorite part.”

“I know. And you’re so good.” 

“Good.” 

He went silent then, his tongue wide and wet, licking a long stripe along your slick and gathering the wetness at your clit, giving it soft, kitten licks and wet kisses. He listened intently for every soft sigh that left your lips- music to his ears- and felt every tug on his hair when he flicked his tongue in small circles around that spot like he knew you loved. And the best part was that he knew. You didn’t understand how couples could get tired of each other after years. You didn’t understand how the excitement could flicker away or how they could get tired of each other’s bodies or minds. Never in your relationship with Mat have you felt as excited as now, two years in. The thought that he knew your body inside and out, maybe even better than you did, was just so overwhelming in the best possible way, and the longer you lay there, with Mat’s mouth on you, you couldn’t stop thinking that this is your man.   

Mat was lying flat against the long couch, his face between your thighs and his hands holding your legs open for him. His dark hair was a wild mess, and you could see the gentle movements of his lower back and ass and the back of his thighs illuminated golden in the lights, rolling lazily against the couch cushion- covered by a blanket, of course- to provide any friction for his sadly untouched cock. 

You hadn’t even noticed the noises dripping from your lips until Mat pulled back, and the lack of feeling his mouth against your core had you whining for him.

“Fuck, I’ll never get over you.” 

“Mmmmat.” You hummed his name, dragging out the “M” in the way you knew he loved.  

“Yeah, baby?” 

“Please keep touching me.” 

He sat up, between your thighs, knees digging into the couch, and his bare thighs and torso on display for you. You loved him, all of him, and all of his body. His legs, his abdomen, his chest, his arms… all of it was amazing. Perfect to look at and perfect to touch, to grab, to dig your nails into as he railed you. To ground yourself with. “Baby, you know I love eating you out. But I just gotta see you right now. And talk to you.” His big hand slid up the inside of your thigh, and your breath caught in your throat when he started rubbing soft, small circles against your clit. “So this position will have to do, okay? I promise I’ll spend all day before our flight eating your pussy.”

“I’ll remember that.” 

“I hope so. God, this fucking thing. Could eat it for days.” He pushed a single finger inside you, slow and steady, but enough to make you clench around him. His fingers were so much better than yours, just a little longer and a little thicker in a way that had you squirming for more. “So fucking tight and wet. So hot. I’m so lucky to have you.” His free hand left your hip, leaving nothing but cold, empty fingerprints on your skin, and rubbed against the bulge in his dark boxers. You could see how much he was aching, and you were determined to make it better. 

“Mat, c’mere.” 

“I’m knuckles deep in your pussy, babe, how much closer do you want me?” You laughed at him, rolling your hip down against said finger. How he could be so funny and sexy at the same time was beyond you.

“Lie down with me. I wanna touch you.” You held your arms out for him and scooted to the side, and he obliged quickly, lying on his side between you and the back of the couch and hooking your left leg over his right thigh. His hand dipped back down between your thighs, pressing into you before you could even catch your breath, feeling exhilarated at the much more intimate position. “Oh, fuck, Mat.” You reached out to him, willing and eager to reciprocate the feeling. He drew in a sharp breath at the way your hand rubbed over the thick bulge in his boxers, pulling the waistband down just enough to release him from his cotton prison.  

His cock jumped up against his lower belly, stiff and pink and needy for you and only you. Your hand, your mouth, and you could tell by the way Mat’s fingers paused inside you that he was anticipating the moment your fingers wrapped around his length. “Oh, that feels so good. Always does, baby.” And then, as you worked your hand against him, he pumped his long fingers inside you, bringing his other thumb to rub mercilessly at your clit. But still, even with the way he was fucking you on his hand, the most intense part of this moment was the way he held your gaze; the lust, the need, the twinkle of amusement in his hazel eyes at the sheer amazement that he got to do this with you; and the love- the pure, unadulterated love that soaked from his skin to yours, in every touch, in ever moment spent together, every kiss, and every time you laid together, bare and vulnerable, in the heat of passion, under the twinkling lights or in the dark, safe haven of your home to show each other how much you loved each other. His warm eyes glittered in the light, reflecting the gold and green and red lights from the Christmas tree that illuminated the room, and the city lights outside the window of your apartment lit up his body and highlighted every muscle. Your apartment, the one you own together, and the one you knew you were going to make countless memories in. His eyes glittered with love, with the question of “can you believe we still make each other feel so good?” and with the statement “I want to kiss you so bad right now”. Your hand pumped his length, pulling a soft moan from his lips, one that you had used to have to work so hard to hear. “I want to hear you, baby” You had used to say, practically begging him to let himself go as he bit his lip to hold back the moans. It had taken a bit of encouragement, but now he never held back with the sounds that left his pretty mouth. You lay there, vulnerable and exposed to each other, staring into each other’s eyes as with hands between each other's thighs, cheeks pink and hearts full of love as you helped each other climb to that climax. 

You broke eye contact first, laughing breathlessly and feeling your cheeks go hot under his gaze. Despite the lack of shame you felt in front of him, he could still get you so flustered and giggly. 

“What’s so funny, beautiful?” He asked between shaky breaths. 

“You’re so beautiful, Mat. Those moans are so pretty. I can’t believe it.”

“Yeah?” He smiled with another laugh. “I can feel how wet you are. It’s crazy.” He slipped the tip of a third finger into you, your hole aching and pulsing around them already. “Oh, fuck, I love your moans too.” And you could tell he did, as his hips jerked helplessly up into your hand. “Faster, baby.” 

“Only if you kiss me.” 

Without hesitation, he leaned over and his lips locked onto yours, needy and begging but oh, so willing to go slow and passionate. The hand that had been teasing your clit came up to grab at you face, squeezing a tit on the way up, and you reached a free hand out to tangle in his dark hair as you leaned in and continued to jerk him in your hand- up and down, and up and down, twisting around the head just like he liked. “I love you.” He whispered against your lips, breaking apart for only a moment to look down at you one more time in awe. “I love you so fucking much.” 

“I love you, Mat.” 

“Fuck, I love you.” His lips crashed back against yours again, his fingers plunging deeper inside you as he kissed his promise into your lips, the promise that he was there and he’d always be there. He was yours. And you were his. Simply that. The heel of his palm rubbed against your clit as he curled his fingers inside of you, hitting that wonderful spot and making fireworks twinkle behind your eyes. He groaned into your mouth as your hand curved over the head of his cock, palms getting slick with his pre-cum, and stroked back down to cup his balls gently. He let out a breathy laugh at the tender feeling. 

“Baby, look at me.” You cupped his cheeks between your hands and pulled him back when you began to feel your peak rising. He whined when your hand left his cock, aching and hard, and his fingers halted inside of you, cupping his palm against your heat.

“Oh, baby,” His eyes locked on you, making a show of how they were scanning up and down your body. “I’m looking.”

“I need you inside, right now.”

His bottom lip was sucked between his teeth and his eyes nearly rolled back in his head at the words. Even after so long, he still couldn’t handle hearing those words. His eyes fluttered shut. “Fuck, say less.” He rolled over you to sit upright on the couch, finally pushing his boxers all the way down his thighs and onto the floor. He gripped his cock in his hands and slid between your thighs, bending down over you to kiss your lips. “How do you want it?”

“Just like this.” Your hands fell to his hips and pulled him close. 

“Yeah?”

“Wanna see your face. Maybe it’s basic, but I love this position.”

“Yeah. It’s simple, but so intimate. I like it too.” He paused and leaned back for a moment, looking down at his sweatpants on the floor for something. “Shit, ugh, I don’t have a condom here, hold on-” 

“No, no, no.” Before Mat could run off to the bedside drawer, you grabbed his hands in yours, pulling him back to you. His eyes went soft and cautious for a few moments. 

“No? Babe, shouldn’t we…” 

“We’ve had conversations about this, right? About doing it without?” Mat nodded, a little smile beginning to pull on his lips. “I’m still on the pill, and I know I remembered to take all of them recently, so we’re still pretty safe, if you want.” 

“Fuck, I want.” He settled back down between your knees. “Are you sure?”

“A hundred percent.” 

“Alright.” Mat chuckled in boyish excitement. He reached a hand down between your bodies to adjust himself, nudging the blunt head of his cock against your clit and rubbing his pre-cum along your slit, lining up with your tight entrance and sending sparks through your body. “God, my God, I can’t wait to come inside you. Feel you around me completely. See my cum on you.” One last time, he bent his body down over yours, his weight warm and heavy, the metal of his chain cool between your chests, and pressed his mouth to yours, breathing in your warmth. One of your hands curled around his waist, slid to the small of his back, just like he always did to you, and the other cupped the back of his neck, fingers curling into the hairs and playing with the chain around his neck and pulling him in closer to your face. He broke away slightly with a sigh against your lips, his forehead bumping against yours and his nose nudging yours in a familiar gesture. He didn’t need to say the words anymore, because his quiet affections were ones that you’ve known for a long time. 

His question was loud and clear, and your answer was just as obvious. 

Mat brought a forearm down next to your head to steady himself, stroking the pad of his thumb against your warm cheek as his hips finally pushed against yours. Hands tightened their grips on each other’s bodies, sliding across hot skin slicked with sweat, and a euphony of moans mingled together in the air at the initial feeling of finally being connected in such a primal way again. His hips were flush against your own, and the weight of his thick cock inside of you was heavy and intoxicating; you could feel his tight abdomen expanding and contracting with every heavy breath and shudder through his body. He let out a long string of moans, his head dipping down to nibble at your throat, and fuck, did you know what he meant. You were connected, everywhere- heart, skin, and mind. “Fuck, oh my God, baby, hot as ever.” 

“Oh, Maty…” 

“I’m gonna give you so much love, beautiful.”

“Please.” 

The first withdrawal of his hips from yours was painstakingly slow, and all you wanted was for him to plunge back in again and again and again. And he intended to do that, in time. Mat loved to take his time, but it didn’t take him long to fulfill his promise, sliding back against you, his cock hard and aching inside your wet cunt. He found a steady, easy pace rolling his hips into yours, each stroke like electricity through your body, long and languid, taking his time to draw your pleasure out, taking the time to feel your body around him. His knee dug into the couch hard, steadying himself and getting more traction so he could pull closer to your body, snapping his hips against yours with slaps that had you both gasping for air. 

“Oh fuck…” 

“Feels so good, Mat.”

“You’re fucking amazing.” He let out another high-pitched whine and arched your leg over his hip. “More?”

“More, faster, please baby.” 

His hips slapped against yours with a groan, his big hands holding behind your knees and opening you wide for him. He leaned back to take a good look at you, at the scene in front of him, trying to take in every image he possibly could. Because these were the best moments. Not only the sex- god, but the sex was good- but just being together, being close, being intimate and so so close, yet only craving to become closer and closer. “God, you’re so hot, babe. So tight, so wet, all for me, right?” When you couldn’t answer, too overwhelmed with the way he was pounding against you, he took it as a sign to keep running his mouth. God, you loved to listen to him talk. “So wet, all for me. Getting all turned on over this big cock inside you, yeah?” You nodded your head enthusiastically, pulling his body closer to yours. He followed without hesitation, down and down until your bodies were glued together and he was just pushing against you, his hips driving yours into the couch cushions. “All fucked up for my cock, are you? Fucking beautiful.” 

“It’s so good, Maty, baby, so big, fills me up so good.”

“I love you. I love you, (Y/N).”

“Oh my God, Maty, I love you.” 

His mouth locked onto yours, sealing your lips together and swallowing your moans down. Dark locks of his hair shielded your face and tickled your cheeks, and as soon as he inched away to take a deep, shaky breath, your eyes opened up. He steadied himself on strong arms, framing your face, his veins prominent, and you curled a small hand as far around his thick bicep as you could, watching in awe as his head jerked back, throwing his long hair off his forehead and squeezing his eyes shut as he concentrated on pounding against your dripping cunt. 

Slowly, his body peeled back off of yours, away, away, and he brought himself up to his knees in front of you. You let your eyes roll slip the long length of his torso, decorated with glittering reflections of gold and red and green, shining off the sheen of his sweat, and you looked from his thick neck, covered in your love-bites, down his chest, down the hard muscles of his abdomen and tummy, and down the V of his hips to the small patch of prickles that rubbed against your clit with every thrust. His thighs were spread open with your legs wrapped ever so gently around his hips, and his cock was stilled, aching inside of you. He shifted around on the couch momentarily, readjusting his knees on the cushions. “Ya know, we’d be a lot more comfortable in our bed than out here.” 

“But it’s so pretty out here. All the pretty twinkly lights on you…” 

“On me?” He laughed, “Look at yourself, babe. I’m fucking lucky.” 

His big hands traced down your cheeks, squeezed down your chest, curled down the curve of your waist and hips, before finally wrapping around the backs of your thighs and pulling you closer, hoisting your legs up, up, and over his shoulders and spreading you wide open in front of him. 

“Ooh, Mat…” You giggled a bit as he easily positioned you in the way he wanted, smirking down at you wickedly and rubbing his thumbs up and down the wet slick of your pussy. 

“Gonna make you fuckin’ come, babe, my god… you want that?”

“Yeah, yeah, please, Maty.” 

“Just a little bit longer, ‘kay?” He rolled his hips against yours again, starting up that steady pace again. His hands held your thighs open, lifting your legs up the length of his torso and locking them over his shoulders, and he never failed to make you seem tiny compared to him. You watched, mesmerized, as his abdomen tensed and hardened and spasmed as he tried to keep himself under control. 

“Please.”

“Little… longer.” 

With one more low moan, your boyfriend bent closer to you, his chain dangling in your face tauntingly as he got back to pounding away at you, heavy balls slapping against your ass with every erratic movement, his thrusts getting sloppier and sloppier and his breaths getting deeper. He was so goddamn close to that edge. He could tell you were getting there, too. You’d been on the edge ever since he started pounding you, but now, you were only a few feather light touches away from falling over that edge. And Mat was ready for it, he could barely hold his own seems together, he could barely think about anything except how rock hard he was and how your tits were bouncing so perfectly in rhythm with his hips, the way your eyes were rolling back and the way his cock felt inside you, fully covered in your slick, both your lower halves sticky messes. He was ready to fall apart completely, and ready to help you reach your own. “You look so fucking good taking my dick like this, babygirl. It’s so big, isn’t it? But you just take it so good, yeah? My good, good girl with her perfect fucking pussy, taking that cock so well.” He reached his fingers down to roll his thumb lazily against your clit, ever so gently, but enough to make you fall apart. Your eyes rolled back as you gasped out for him. 

“Please, M- Maaaat…” 

“Oh, you- you want it, don’t you?” Mat’s words were getting shaky, his sentences choppy. He was so close, so close his mind couldn’t comprehend anything beyond just fucking letting go. “Want your boyfriend’s hot cum filling you up, just flooding that- ugh, that tight little cunt, yeah? My balls emptied inside you? You want that nut so bad, you’re so desperate for it, huh? Tell me, baby. Tell me how you want the love of your life to just… fucking f- flood your pussy.”

“I want it, Mat, I want you to cum, baby.” 

His thrusts became erratic, his hand leaving bruises on your thigh and his thumb absolutely torturing your swollen, sensitive clit. He was getting desperate, too. “Where? Where do you want my big fucking load?”

“Cum inside, fuck, fuck, please, Maty-”

“Ohh, gonna fucking nut inside you, babygirl-”  

“I’m gonna cuuuum, Mat…” 

“Ohhhh, fuuuuuck, oh, oh (Y/N)...!” Mat let out a long, strangled moan, his voice shaking and whiny and breathless in exasperation. His hips stuttered and his thighs trembled beneath him as he nearly collapsed onto you, absolutely flooding your aching, spasming hole with his cum. Your mind went fuzzy and white when you finally felt his stitches come loose, and he finally emptied all of himself- all his hot, gooey warmth- inside of your throbbing cunt. And flood, he did. It felt like the thick ropes of cum were never ending, filling you to the brim, until finally, he was done, his eyes squeezed shut and hair falling into his eyes above you.

Forming sentences would be a miracle at this point, but you reached up to curl a finger around Mat’s chain and yank him down to your face, ushering him to collapse against your body. And he did, eyes glancing open for a moment and lips locking with yours, always thankful to be able to fall onto you after a hard day, after absolutely spending himself. He groaned against your lips and buried his face against your neck, panting against your skin and kissing your neck and breathing in your scent as your hand found it’s rightful place at the back of his neck.  After a few moments of stillness, he reached down lazily and let his cock slip out of you, both of you whining and the loss of contact, and you felt a familiar wetness on your tummy as his cum dribbled down the head of his spent cock to fall on your warm skin. 

You were silent, panting for a few minutes, just letting your heartbeats steady back to normal and your heads to recover from the dizzying orgasms. Then, a breathless chuckle vibrated through Mat’s chest and into you. “Merry fucking Christmas to us, right?” 

“I think that was the hottest thing we’ve ever done, Mat.” Mat hummed in agreement, squeezing you between his arms. “Now you see why we couldn’t do this at your parent’s place?”

“I mean… what’s stopping us?” 

“Mat, I know for a fact you can’t keep quiet enough to fuck in your parent’s house.”

“Says the one who was just screaming my name.”

“As if you weren’t moaning mine just as loud.”

“Hmm.” Mat laughed again at the banter, the playful back and forth, and rolled to the side, his back to the back of the couch, and pulled you against his side. “How do you feel, anyway? About… me coming inside? Still feel good about it? Wasn’t too much?”

“No way. I really… really enjoyed that. Everything about that. A lot.” 

“Mm, that’s good. So did I.” 

“But… I kiiiiiinda feel like we should clean up. It’s starting to feel… sticky, like, everywhere. And not a good sticky.” 

“Yeah, how about we take a bath together? A nice warm bath in the lights of the pretty Christmas lights you love so much? How’s that sound?”

“Sounds like heaven, Mat.”

So Mat scooped you up in his arms, his own legs weak and shaky after an unbelievable orgasm, and he pressed kisses against your cheeks as he carried you through your brand new home, lit in the pretty pinks and gold of the Christmas lights, stopping before the bathroom door only momentarily to ponder on the beginning of the rest of his forever with you. This truly might be the beginning of the best years of his life. The beginning of an even more serious relationship with you. He felt your fingers playing with the chain that still hung around his neck, the one the guys teased him about the charm on the end, but the one he always wore for you, and he glanced down, his eyes warm and contemplative as he searched yours. This. This was eternal love.

“I love you, babe. Always.” His heart felt dipped in syrup when you smiled up at him with that soul melting look. Yep. You’re it for me.

“I love you, bubs. Always.”

#mat barzal #mat barzal x reader #nhl reader insert #nhl fanfiction #mat barzal fanfiction #mathew barzal #mathew barzal x reader #mat barzal imagine #fic #op

[lilacs-fandom-garden]

Incorrect Quotes 3

Sorry for not updating in a while, anyway, Merry Christmas! Heres Incorrect Quotes 3! 

Ships: 

Crossmare

Errorink

Dustberry

Scifell

Horrorlust

Driller/Kreme

Afterdeath

Fandom: Undertale AU’s

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Blue: I'd like to address Ink's annoying personal habits.

Ink: Oh my God! What personal habits?

Blue: I have a list. FYI overuse of the phrase "Oh my God" is number 12. 

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Dream: I'm sorry for all the stuff I said.

Ink: And for punching me in the face?

Dream: No, you definitely deserved that.

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Ink: It's a good thing I still have this sexy cat costume!

Blue: I really don't think you were the target audience for that costume.

Lust: There is nothing gendered about a sexy cat.

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 Blue: I made tea.

Ink: I don't want tea.

Blue: I didn't make tea for you. This is my tea.

Ink: Then why are you telling me?

Blue: It's a conversation starter.

Ink: That's a lousy conversation starter.

Blue: Oh, is it? We're conversing. Checkmate 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Ink: Am I cool or what?

Geno: What.

Ink: I said, am I cool or-

Geno: Yeah, I heard you.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Ink: You go big or you go home. And you don’t seem like the kind of person that goes home.

Cross: I’m not. I don’t even really have a home.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Dust: Those pants look great, and I bet they’d look even better on Horror’s floor.

Horror: Are you hitting on Lust... for me?

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Killer: I've lied to every girl I said "I love you" to. I thought I loved them but then I met you and realized I've never been in love before.

Dream: Aw. I did not know that.

Killer: Yeah, it was eating me up inside. So, I called them each individually and said "I never loved you."

Dream: Okay, that seems unnecessary.

 ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 Blue: We're going mattress shopping.

Dust: You know, once we get it, we'll have to break it in.

Blue: Oh, I hear what you're saying. Mattress trampoline.

Dust:

Blue: Wait, no. You were talking about sex.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 Blue: Uh oh.

Fell: What?

Blue: Somebody's in love.

Fell: Yeah, right. I just think Sci’s cool. It's not like I lay awake at night thinking about him.

Fell, later that night: shit.

 ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 Dream: You guys just got back together. You might not want to ditch him on his birthday.

Blue: I think Dream has a point. You can see it another day.

Ink: But someone might spoil the movie. No one can spoil Error's birthday for me. Surprise, he's even older. Who saw that coming?

Dream: Aww, that's nice. Put that on his cake.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Dust: We're lost.

Horror: Lost? As in "where the hell are we?"

Dust: We're not totally lost. We're still in Waterfall.

Killer: You said this was a shortcut.

Dust: It is a shortcut! Look how fast we got lost!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Killer: Before I do anything, I ask myself, would Dust do that? And if the answer is yes, I do not do that thing.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 Cross: Nightmare, I typed up your symptoms into the thing up here, and it says you may have network connectivity problems.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Cross: I would have been here sooner but the bus kept stopping for other people to get on it.

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Dust: How do you keep your pants up when battling? Its incredible!

 Error:

 Error: belt. 

 ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Dust: Nightmare!! Theres an ugly monster under my bed!

Killer (who is on the bottom bunk of the bunk bed): Alright. Screw you too!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Dream: You took so long in the shower!

Ink: Yeah sorry, I was at a concert.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Cross: Holy crap, you’re so violent-

Error: Yeah, but i'm short so it's adorable.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Nightmare: I scared them again didn’t I?

Cross: They’re terrified of you-

Nightmare: 

Nightmare: That makes me so happy! 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Ink: Error?

Error: What?

Ink: You kicked me in your sleep!

Error: ….who said I was asleep?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Horror: Why would you give Dust a knife?! 

Killer: He felt unsafe.

Horror: Well now I feel unsafe!

Killer: …...would you like a knife as-well?

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Error: Okay, lets stop using the term ‘butt-hurt’. We are adults not 12 year olds.

Cross: You sound fannytroubled.

Ink: A little bootybothered if you asked me.

Dust: Someones having a tushytantrum

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Nightmare: HAS ANYONE SEEN MY SONS?!

Nightmare: OH GOD HORROR!

Nightmare: THAT MOTHERS ADRENALINE IS KICKING IN-

Nightmare: DUST!

Nightmare: I CAN SEE EVERY EQUATION!!

Nightmare: Excuse me ma’am?! Have you seen my sons?! They’re about this tall- all clearly gay but we havent had the talk.

Nightmare: KILLER ARE YOU IN THERE?!

Nightmare: *kicks down trash can violently*

Error: 

Error: Cross control your boyfriend jesus-

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Enjoy some quotes from Disney/Nickelodeon Shows!: (I uh- also added some cusswords lol-)  

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Dust: I'M PREGNANT- 

Killer: You’re not pregnant! 

Horror: Wait- who’s pregnant?! 

Dust: ME!

Horror: Congratulations! 

Killer: He’s not pregnant!

Dust: Easy Killz! I’m with child-!

Killer: You’re not with child!

Horror: I’m gonna be an uncle!!!

Killer: YOU’RE NOT GONNA BE AN UNCLE!

Horror: Then who’s gonna teach the little guy how to ride a bike?!

Error: Calm down Dust! You’re not pregnant.

Dust: Then why am I so moody and nauseous?! 

Dust: I think it's the morning sickness!

Error: ...Dust…

Error: you’re a boy. 

Dust: ...oh yeah-

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Sci: Sorry, but the convertants of air streams coming from the vents are creating a dangerous draft on the guest chair. 

Blue: Alright...but if I catch a cold and start coughing and sneezing uncontrollably it will be on you. LITERALLY-

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Blue: Ink! Geno! Please..! Violence is never the solution-  

Blue: *gets hit in the face by a pillow and falls down*

Blue: HECK WITH THE NON-VIOLENCE..! I AM ON YOU LIKE STRIPES ON A TIGER-

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

Killer: *snoring on the couch*

Nightmare: Awww- he fell asleep mid clean! I’ll wake him.

Nightmare: KILLER!!!!

Killer: AHH! *sprays cleaning spray on Nightmare’s face* 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Cross: Who took all my scarfs?! I need them for tomorrow--

Dust swinging on a rope made out of cross’s scarfs: *doing a tarzan yell and crashing into the kitchen*

Dust coming out of the kitchen with spoons forks and knifes on him: Now that was awesome!!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Sci: Well...I brought a book you could read-

Ink: NOOOOOOOOO- *runs away*

Sci: Too easy. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Blue: I'm a hugger!!!!

Dust: I'M A HUGGIE-

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Killer: I did not see that coming.

Killer: *gets smacked in the arm by a drone* OW!

Nightmare: Apparently you don't see a lot of things coming.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 Horror: ...what's that?

A random stranger: It's lasagna… and it's for a Christmas Party I’m going to.

Horror: We could have a party right now-!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Cross: What are you all getting Nightmare for his birthday?

Killer: A slightly used lip balm. 

Dust: A free hug. 

Error: My profound admiration. 

Horror: *picks up salt shaker* This salt shaker.  

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Ink: Oh, this is my chum bucket! I’m going to catch a giant squid and tame it! 

Dream: ...you’re a weird kid.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Lust: Now all we have to do is wait for the guests to show up!

Lust:

Blue: 

Lust: Oh...we forgot to invite people….

Blue: Yup, sure did-

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Nightmare: Its not like anybody died…!

Dream: We haven't seen the rest of the tape…..

Nightmare: 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Killer: IS THAT A TATTOO?! 

Killer while rubbing Dust’s arm: COME OFF COME OFF COME OFF!!!

Dust: Hey! The only thing coming off is my arm! 

Killer: What am I going to tell Nightmare?! Oh….oh! I got it! We’ll just cut off your arm!

Cross: Good idea! Because that's easier to explain then a tattoo.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Horror and Dust: *battling with pool noodles*

Blue laying on the ground: HALT!

Horror and Dust: …?

Blue: Does anyone have a pillow? This ground is really hard! 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Killer: Nightmare can you do me a big favor…?

Nightmare: You need a handsome man to go with you to the reunion? No problem...I’ll do it! 

Killer: I meant to see if you could call one of your friends or your brother but uh-

Nightmare: *death stare*

Killer: okay...you’ll do-

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Dust: Two days to learn a language?

Dust: I got some spanish for ya! No way Jose- haha!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Cross: And I’m sorry I said he was my favorite-

Horror: It's alright Dad! To be honest, I always preferred Nightmare. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Dream: I know there is still some good left in you!

Nightmare: No there isn’t-! Wait. 

Nightmare: *visibly cringing* 

Nightmare referring to Passive Night: Agrh! There's still a piece of good. DARN IT!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Dust: *pretends to yawn to sling his arm over Blue to dim the lights*

Dust: Do you mind?

Blue: Not at all. While we’re at it.

Blue: *throws one of Error’s puppets at the radio to play some convenient romantic music*

Blue and Dust: *about to kiss on the couch*

Horror in the kitchen doorway: *holding a glass of milk* What are you doing?

Blue and Dust: AH! HORROR! 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Ink: What are you saying? That I’m dumb?!

Error: Well- no… you’re just not very….thinky.

Ink: Thinky? Why did you say that?!

Error: Because Geno told me I cant call you dumb.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Dream: Hey Killer? Can you get me some punch?

Killer: Sure, I’ll be right back.

Passive Nightmare: Cross? Can you get me some punch too?

Cross: What? Your feet dont work? 

Passive: 

Cross: Ice or no ice…?

Passive: Surprise me. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Nightmare: If you all want your phones….

Nightmare: *shows box of phones* They’re right here.

Blue: 

Dream: 

Horror: 

Dust: 

Killer:

Ink: 

Blue visibly shaking: 

Dream: Blue…

Blue starts vibrating a bit: 

Dream: Blue. 

Blue starts vibrating:

Dream: BluE- 

Blue: *war scream* 

Everyone except Nightmare and Blue: OH SHIT- 

Blue: I NEED MY PHONE- *starts running at nightmare* 

Everyone else: BLUE NO *tries to restrain Blue* 

Blue screaming: *kicks Ink in the stomach causing him to fall backwards*

Dust and Horror screaming: *trying to hold Blues legs and arms* 

Blue still screaming: *elbows Horror in the ribs*

Horror letting go of Blue: OW!!

Dust accidentally lets his grip loosen on Blue: HOLY SHIT! HORROR?! 

Blue who is still screaming: *pushing Dust to the ground and running at the box* I NEED MY PHONE- 

Killer: *tackles Blue* 

Dream: *helping Killer restrain Blue*

Ink: *confused screaming* 

Nightmare: *laughing*

Blue: *flips over also flipping over Killer and kicking him in the chest* 

Killer: FUCK! *rolls over and clutches onto his chest*

Dream: HOLY CRAP BLUE CALM DOWN- *grabs onto both of Blue’s arms*

Blue screaming and kicks Dream in the shin: I NEED MY PHONE- 

Dream: *falls down grabbing his shin* MOTHER FU-

Blue running and grabbing the box of phones: GIVE ME MY PHONE-

Ink trying to grab hold of Blue: BLUE WAIT- 

Blue screaming and hits Ink in the face with the box: AHHH

Everyone else except Ink: *charging at Blue*

Blue grabs phone from out of the box: I GOT IT I GOT IT- 

Horror: *hoists up a screaming Blue in the air*

Dust: *grabbing Blue from the thighs lifting him up even more*

Killer: *grabbing Blue’s phone from his hands*

Blue: NOOOOOO-

Killer: *puts Blue’s phone in the box*

Blue screaming and squirming: NOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!

Ink: *grabbing a chair*

Dream: *helping Dust and Horror restrain Blue* 

Blue: *flipping around screaming and kicking*

Nightmare: *still laughing*

Everyone: *sets Blue down on the chair Ink grabbed*

Dream, Horror, and Dust: *holding Blue down on the chair and shushing him*

Blue: *calms down*

Ink: Holy shit...

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Here are more incorrect quotes: 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Killer: Hey do you want to- stop screaming, its just me- do you want to watch a movie with me? 

Dream: I'M IN THE SHOWER- 

Killer: Okay well when you’re done with that do you want to watch a movie with me?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

F!Frisk: You don't think I can fight because I'm a girl. 

Blue: I don't feel like you can fight because you are in a wedding dress. But for what it's worth, I don't think Ink could fight in that dress either.

Ink: Perhaps not, but I would make a radiant bride.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Classic banging on the closet door: Fell! Open up!

Fell: Well, it all started when I was born-

Classic: No I meant-

Blue: Shh....let him finish.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Dust: *sneaking in through the window at 2am*

Nightmare *flicking on the light and turning around in his chair*: So, Where were you?

Dust: I-I was with Cross!

Cross *turning around in his chair*: Wanna try again..?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Epic: Bruh, I want to give you the whole world but like...I only have 20 bucks.

Cross: Dude, come here.

Epic: *moves closer*

Cross: *hugs him*

Cross: I don't have any money but I got the world right here in my arms.

Epic: B r u h...

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Killer: How high was I last night?

Dream: You forgot what milk was and called it cereal water.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Blue to Ink: What time is it...?

Ink: Don't know. Hand me that flute and I'll find out

*Ink plays the flute*

Dream: WHO THE FUCK IS PLAYING THE FLUTE AT 2 AM?!

Ink: It's 2am

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Cross doing a CROSS-word puzzle: I need a 9 letter word for disappointment....

Ink: Nightmare.

Dream and Cross slowly rising from their seats: Are you ready to fucking die..?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Blue: How do Horror and Dust get out of these messes?

Killer: They don't. They just make a bigger mess to cancel out the first one.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Passive Nightmare: Do I want to be feared or loved? Easy.

Passive: Both. I want people to be afraid of how much they love me.

Cross under his breath: Then I'm fucking terrified.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Ink: I'd like everybody's attention. Christmas is canceled.

Blue: You can't cancel a holiday.

Ink: Keep it up, Blue, and you'll lose New Year's.

Blue: What does that mean?

Ink: Dream, take New Year's away from Blue.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Lust: okay so the gingerbread house instructions say to be very delicate-

Sci: *holding power drill* DELICACY!!!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Killer: I can't believe you and Horror broke the bed last night.

Dust: It must have been wild.

Lust: Haha... Yeah...

[Last Night]

Lust: Bet 35G you can't jump high enough to touch the ceiling.

Horror: Try me.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Cross: Hey ya'll. So, I know I'm the new guy here, but I think I can speak for everyone when I say... I don't know what the fuck is going on.

The Bad Guys: Agreed.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

[Sets kitchen on fire]

Dust: shit- we need an adult.

Horror: You ARE an adult!

Dust looking extremely terrified: oh...oh fuck.

Horror: WE NEED AN ADULTIER ADULT. QUICK GO GET KILLER!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Nightmare: It's hard being the leader of the bad guys sometimes, but I love them all and that's all what matters-

Horror: Nightmare! Me, Fell, Dust, Killer, and Lust tried to make ramen in the coffee pot and we broke everything....

Nightmare: [inhales]

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Killer: You need a hobby Dust.

Dust: I already have a hobby Killer.

Killer: How many times do I have to tell you stalking Blue is not a hobby.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Error: Ink? Why are you on top of the fridge?

Ink: Can I not be wherever I want?! Maybe I like it up here!

Error:

Error: Wheres the spider?

Ink, quietly: Underneath the table...

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Dust: I have come up with a three-step plan to get Nightmare to marry you!

Cross: Okay...Im listening....

Dust: Step one! Get him to play truth or dare.

Cross: Never mind please stop.

Dust: Step two! Wait for him to pick dare.

Cross: Dust. I swear.

Dust: Step three! Dare him to marry you.

Cross: God damn it.

Horror from another room: IT MIGHT WORK!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Killer: Synonyms are weird. Because if you invite someone to your cottage in the forest, that just sounds nice and cozy, but if someone invites you to a cabin in the woods, you're going to die.

Blue: My favorite is 'butt-dial' vs 'booty call'

Sci: It's called connotation

Lust: Also, 'forgive me father for I have sinned'

Lust winking at horror: Vs 'sorry daddy, I've been naughty'

Horror whose face is now completely red: I-

Nightmare: Congrats! Language has officially been canceled.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Dream, joking: I should have Killer kill you for that

Killer from another room: who?

Dream: Oh no its okay, I was kidding around-

Killer, walking in, with a hammer and knife in both hands: No, is he bothering you?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Classic teaching Fell how to drive: Alright, you see Dust walking in the middle of the road. What do you hit?

Fell: ...oh definitely Dust.

Classic: The brakes Fell! You hit the brakes.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Dust: Quick! Take my hand!

Blue: *grabs Dusts hand* Now what?

Dust: Nothing. I just wanted to hold hands!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Cross upset: I hate you guys and I'm never talking to a single one of you ever again!

[10 minutes later]

Cross kissing everyone's forehead: Goodnight Horror, Goodnight Lust, Goodnight Dust, Goodnight Killer, Goodnight Error.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Blue: Psst! Error!

Error: what?

Blue: I made this friendship bracelet for you!

Error: Blue... you know I'm not really a jewerly person...

Blue: Oh. Its okay! You dont have to wear it-

Error: No. I'm going to wear it forever back off.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Dust: Me and Killer get along fine! Right Killz?

Killer: I've never been more stressed out in my entire life.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Cross: I guess I'm just too tough to cry.

Horror: Just yesterday you were crying about snakes.

Cross sobbing a little: THEY DON'T HAVE ARMS HORROR-

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Reaper: Hey bitches!!! I've got starbuckssss-

Dust: YAY!!!

Error: FUCK YEAH-

Lust: AWESOME!

Nightmare: Reaper...please...its 3 am in the morning....

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Dream: Are you a cuddler?

Killer: I AM A MACHINE OF DEATH AND DESTRUCTION- yeah I'm a cuddler.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Classic: Dont talk to me.

Papyrus: What happened brother?

Classic: I went and joined a Sans look-alike contest...

Classic: AND LOST-

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Dream: Sibling relationships are weird.

Dream: Like, I'd give Nightmare my spine but no way is he borrowing my charger.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Dust: Whats it like dating Nightmare?

Cross: One timeI asked him for water while he was still mad at me, and he brought be a full glass of ice and said "wait".

Dust:

Cross:

Cross: I love him-

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Dust: I can't go. Stress is bad for the baby.

Killer: What baby?

Dust: Me.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Ink: I hate it when people ask me "whats the stupidest thing you've done?" Like bold of you to assume I've reached peak dumbass.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Nightmare: If someone ever kidnapped you, I would hunt them down to the ends of the earth so I could kill them.

Cross: If you asked I would literally kill everyone in this room with no hesitation.

Dream [A little terrified and disturbed]: You know this is not what normal couples say to each other right...?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Geno: How do you politely tell someone you want to hit them in the face with a brick?

Sci: One wishes to acquaint your facial features in a fundamental item used in building walls. Repeatedly.

Lust shedding a fake tear: Thats the most beautiful thing I've ever heard....

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Blue, opening a Capri-sun: Guess I'll just drink my sorrows away.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Sorry if I posted a quote twice-

#crossmare #errorink #dustberry #passivecrossmare #Nightmare sans #dream sans #driller #kreme #dreamxkiller #nightmarexcross #dustxswap #murder sans #bloodlust #horrorlust #horrorsans #lustsans #horrorxlust #scifell #classic sans #afterdeath #bad guys #Star Sanses #Bad Sanses #reaperxgeno #reaper sans #fell sans

[goldencorecrunches]

WHO’S READY FOR MORE QUICK-BANGED-OUT MODREN WANGNINXIAN

(Part I) (Part II)

--

Lan Zhan and Wei Ying have the kind of love that epic poems are built on. The kind that boils seas and tumbles mountains, that could raise the dead or put whole nations under the ground. The kind that little girls sigh about, and old men speak of in memory, a twinkle in their eye, gnarled hands and age-smoothed wedding rings. They are not dating. Wen Ning is the person who most often has to break this news, as the one who is most frequently around them both. He has worked out a system: people that matter get a “no, they’re not together, really,” followed by a return of the inevitable incredulous look. People who don’t matter, or who Wen Ning doesn’t expect they’ll ever see again, get a “yes,” because it’s the closest Wen Ning can come to describing who they are to each other without the long-winded explanation. (Once, three shots in at a bar—so not sober, but not drunk enough to find it amusing—he snapped and told a particularly persistent busybody that they were in fact both dating him, and then had to go hide in the toilets until he could face his friends again. Wei Ying laughed so hard, when Wen Ning shamefacedly came clean, that he spilled his violently pink mixed drink all down his front and Wen Ning and Lan Zhan had to dab him down with cocktail napkins. Wen Ning made the mistake of meeting the busybody’s eyes again across the room and was granted the sight of their poor beer-sodden brain finally deciding not to ask for a threesome.)

Trying to convince Lan Zhan in the middle of a twee café that his deep, life-defining romance is reciprocated is beyond Wen Ning’s ability even when he isn’t dead on his feet from back-to-back shifts. They should talk more about it, he knows, but the relief that Lan Zhan doesn’t hate him is so heavy it steals all his will to do anything else but put his head down on his crossed arms and nap. And then Wei Ying swings back within grabbing distance, draping an arm over Lan Zhan’s shoulders and setting a plate of some kind of honey cake in front of Wen Ning, and the window for the discussion is lost.

It may be for the best (it’s not for the best. Wen Ning knows enough about relationships to know that, but dammit it’s so hard to do what the “How To Interact With People Like You’re Not An Anxious Mess, You Anxious Mess” books he has piled ten deep on his nightstand tell him). Wen Ning is consumed with the thought that Lan Zhan doesn’t regret kissing him. That Lan Zhan liked it. That Lan Zhan might—do it again. Oh, fuck. It might happen again. Wen Ning never made a plan for this possibility, mainly because he didn’t think it was one. “You’re stressing,” his sister tells him, flat and to the point as usual. Maybe some time, long ago, A-Jie entertained nonsense, but by now she’s been sucked dry of ten women’s worth of patience, and she does not, as she tells people frequently, have time for that shit. She scoots across the floor, rubber tires squeaking, and pokes a finger in Wen Ning’s face. “Stop it.” Renting an apartment actually built with a wheelchair user in mind was the first, and so far the biggest, change he and A-Jie had made when A-Jie graduated and got a job and went from pouring all her money into the medical establishment to having the medical establishment pour some back.  The counters are lower than what is comfortable for Wen Ning’s considerable vertical reach, so as the person who does most of the cooking he stacks up thrifted cutting boards to make a chopping surface that doesn’t hurt his back to bend over. It is indicative of their respective characters that he is the one holding the ten-inch knife and yet A-Jie is the one making him flinch. “I’m not,” Wen Ning says, halfhearted at best; A-Jie narrows her eyes and humphs, and Wen Ning sighs and scrapes the diced tomatoes into the frying pain waiting on the burner. They crack and pop as they hit the oil, spattering; Wen Ning is immune to the splash by now, and he is, besides, wearing long sleeves. “What if it get-t, if tonight is weird?” He says, focusing on the contrast between his hands and the dark green leaves of the leeks, the thunk-thunk-thunk of the knife. They’re sandy, near the base; he has been distracted, if he forgot to wash these properly. Turning on the sink gives him something to do other than keep talking and wind his thoughts deeper into their spiral. “Then it’ll be weird,” his sister says, dismissive. Wen Ning looks at her, fanning the leaves under the tap, exasperated; she softens and nudges the faucet over so Wen Ning doesn’t have to reach so far. “Listen. The three of you are weird enough together that if it is weird, it won’t be anything strange. Weird but not weird, you know? They wouldn’t have invited you if they didn’t want you to come.” “Wei Ying might.” A-Jie snorts. “Okay, true. But Lan Zhan would definitely not.” She has him there. “I guess,” Wen Ning says, though A-Jie has cheered him up at least a little. He dodges the wet hand she tries to whack him with, skittering out of reach against the stove. “Hey! I’m making you dinner! Ungrat-teful!” “Always,” Wen Qing sniffs, putting her nose in the air, and Wen Ning breaks down and smiles. --

 Like most things, A-Jie is right about this. There’s a moment of awkward shuffling when Lan Zhan answers the door, the two of them doing their best not to meet each other’s gazes; but once Wen Ning has taken his shoes off and collapsed onto the couch with a can of the terrible soda Wei Ying likes and Wen Ning has been conditioned into liking as well, it doesn’t feel abnormal. They’ve had fights before, of course: all said this is a lot less uncomfortable than the prickly-polite aftermath of those, and by the time Wei Ying bounds from his bedroom, chosen movie raised like a holy book overhead, he and Lan Zhan have assumed their usual movie-watching position and Wen Ning has been regaled with a bitingly hilarious story of the client Lan Zhan has who smacks her lips every third syllable and will not stop. (If Wen Ning has to work a little bit harder tonight not to stare at the movement of Lan Zhan’s own lips, the quiet flicker of his tongue—well. That’s nothing abnormal, either.) Wei Ying sticks the DVD in, humming a tune Wen Ning is fairly certain he’s invented himself, and plops his lanky body sideways across the two available laps. Wen Ning gets his head, tonight, and sticks his soda-cold fingers on the back of Wei Ying’s neck to make him squeal and thrash. Lan Zhan grabs his ankles to keep from getting kicked in the face and together they manhandle Wei Ying into a position where nobody’s elbows are in anybody’s crotches. Of course, Wei Ying is as incapable of remaining still as Wen Ning is of unassisted flight, but it’s the routine of it all that matters.They make it all the way to the first big fight scene before Wei Ying and his tiny bladder demand a break. He rolls to the floor instead of standing, narrowly avoiding clonking his head on the coffee table (he has, before—Wen Ning has seen it), and half-crawls to the bathroom shouting dire threats if either of them press play without him. Wen Ning has both hands over his mouth to hide his laughter. Ah; he hopes Wei Ying never changes. There’s a whisper from the cushions next to him, and Wen Ning looks over to see that Lan Zhan has gotten a lot closer. He startles, and then turns his laugh on himself, deprecating; it’s not the first time he and Lan Zhan have gravitated towards cuddling on movie night. “Do you wan—” he starts, raising his arm, and he has a moment to see a hard determined look cross over Lan Zhan’s face before he’s being kissed. Again. But, it is not the same. Immediately Lan Zhan’s mouth is insistent, pressing Wen Ning back into the embroidered throw pillows that Wen Ning is vaguely sure Lan Zhan’s older brother gave him upon move-in and have not been changed since. He’s warm, all of him; his hands, bracketing Wen Ning’s cheeks; his chest, hovering above the oversized buttons of Wen Ning’s sweater; his knees, parted on either side of Wen Ning’s thighs as Lan Zhan crawls into his lap. Holy shit, Wen Ning thinks, through a muddled haze, he’s in my lap, and then decides he’d better focus on the kissing thing. The kissing thing—oh, the kissing thing. Lan Zhan kisses like a hurricane, and it is all Wen Ning can do to keep up. He is panting before he realizes it, little puffs of air across Lan Zhan’s lips, and then Lan Zhan dips his tongue into the heat of Wen Ning’s mouth and a zip of electric current crackles all the way from the backs of his teeth to his dick. He makes a truly embarrassing little whimper. That seems, if it is possible, to spur Lan Zhan on further; he slides one wide palm around to the back of Wen Ning’s head and pulls at the strands, and Wen Ning’s mouth falls so far open Lan Zhan has to bite at it to get him to focus. Wen Ning fumbles to press between Lan Zhan’s shoulder blades, urging him closer, and has just discovered the soul-changing revelation of sucking on Lan Zhan’s upper lip when the sound of the toilet flushing echoes down the hall. Wen Ning jerks back so hard it makes an audible smacking sound, when they separate. He can feel that his face is burning. Lan Zhan is looking at him quizzically, head tilted; he is not making any attempt to remove himself from Wen Ning’s lap. “Aahh,” Wen Ning says, strangled. He swallows, and tries again. “Wh—aah, isn’t, here mayb- not?” “Maybe not for what?” Wei Ying’s voice says, sing-song. The bathroom door slams; Wen Ning winces. He can’t seem to make his fingers let go of Lan Zhan’s waist. “Were you two planning a murder without me? I told you the best place to store bodies is in…the….” Perhaps, Wen Ning thinks wildly in complete and utter silence, this is all a dream. If it is, he should wake up…now. Now. Now! “Lan Zhan?” Wei Ying says, in a broken-down-toy-wagon of a voice. “Wen Ning?”

#mdzs #cql #the untamed #wangningxian #wangning #wen ning #lan wangji #wei wuxian #my fics #EHHHHH??? ehhh buT WE'RE GETTING SOMEWHERE AT LEAST #fic: thinking skirt au

[castiel-kline]

happy birthday @angelfishofthelord !!!

here’s Cas being Old and talking about dinosaurs to hopefully make you smile <3

---

“Hey, there you are!”

Castiel is tucked in a corner of the library when Dean’s voice startles him out of the book he’s reading. He stands up, a million things that could have gone wrong racing through his imagination at top speed.

“Dean. Is everything alright?”

He waves a hand in dismissal. “Yeah, no worries. Me, Sam and Jack are gonna watch Jurassic Park. You wanna join us?”

Castiel wrinkles his nose. He’s seen stills from that movie, and those plus the references Dean has made to it over the years make it sound like an inaccuracy-riddled insult to the beautiful creatures he once watched over.

But Cas has never been one to refuse time with his family, so he follows Dean through the bunker’s halls and takes a seat next to Jack on the sofa.

Sam passes him a bowl of popcorn.

“You made it!” he says, looking uncharacteristically relaxed. It’s… nice.

“Of course,” Castiel says, passing the popcorn to Jack’s eager hands and returning the boy’s smile. He’ll enjoy it more than Cas will. He cares much more about the people than the snacks or the film, anyway.

He takes in Sam’s easy smile again, and the calm in Dean’s posture where he stands preparing the DVD. Even Jack looks toward the blank television screen in excited anticipation, despite having learned by now not to trust Dean’s taste in cinema. Jack much preferred getting to explore films on his own, and Castiel was always thrilled to be included in his late night Netflix adventures.

He clears his throat, unsure why he’s so nervous. He does like dinosaurs, after all. “So… you like this movie, right?”

“Hell yeah we do,” Dean says. “Sam and I watched it in theaters when it first came out. He wouldn’t shut up about velociraptors for months.”

“I was ten,” Sam protests, pink creeping across his cheeks. “Besides, it wasn’t even velociraptors. It was... dilophosaurus.” He’d trailed off into a barely audible mumble in his embarrassment, but it was still loud enough for Dean to hear.

“Oh, that’s right!” he laughs, eyes alight with the delighted gleam of a sibling collecting ammunition to tease with. “He’d sit in the library for hours searching for any mention of the damn thing. I always said he’d be better off with a T. Rex obsession like a normal kid, but no-o.”

Castiel leans over, nodding in Sam’s direction. “Well, I think dilophosaurus is a very good choice of favorite dinosaur.”

Sam looks surprised, and Jack, who’d been watching the conversation like a tennis match, looks to Cas directly.

“You know about dinosaurs?”

Castiel frowns, confused. “Yeah, of course I do.”

They’re cut off by Dean, who keeps talking as he’s sitting down on Jack’s other side with the remote control.

“Could’ve sworn we watched this one with you before, Cas. When we found it at that movie rental place in Minnesota, after that ghoul hunt?”

“We would’ve,” says Sam, tone caked in playful bitterness. “But you wanted to get Mars Attacks instead, remember?”

Dean looks a bit sheepish. “Hey, sometimes you need a good B movie after a day of ganking monsters. Today, though, we gotta get the kid another check off the list of Spielberg must-sees, right? Cas, too. We’ve waited long enough as is.”

Castiel has just enough time to hope once more that this movie is of a better quality than many of Dean’s other favorites, and then his thoughts are swept away by the opening sequence lighting up the television.

---

Jack enjoyed the movie immensely. He liked the scares and the way it made his heart beat faster. He liked the way Dr. Grant was so protective of the kids. Most of all, of course, he liked the dinosaurs.

He’d found a book about them the other day when he was cleaning in the library with Sam, and when Dean overheard their conversation he immediately suggested this movie.

Jack thought Cas would be just as interested in dinosaurs as he was, but the angel spent the whole movie with a frown on his face and a furrow between his eyes.

As the brothers stand up, Dean to turn on the lights and Sam to collect the empty snack bowls, Jack nudges Cas’ arm with his elbow.

“Are you okay?”

Cas meets Jack’s gaze with gentle eyes.

“I’m fine. I- I thought that the ending was a bit sad.”

Jack frowns. “How was it sad? Almost everyone got off the island.”

“That’s not…” Cas shakes his head, and takes a moment to compose himself before giving Jack a small smile. “You don’t need to worry about me, Jack. It just made me remember when the dinosaurs died.”

Shocked silence falls upon the room like a fog. Jack knows he’s gaping in disbelief, and feels Sam and Dean doing the same.

Cas glances around, taking in everyone’s surprise. “What’s wrong?”

“Dude,” Dean says. “Did you… are you…”

“Were you really there when the dinosaurs died?” Sam manages, sounding strained.

Cas answers slowly, eyes narrowed. “Yes? It was very sad, but it was a long time ago. I’ve had time to mourn.”

“But you were there!” Dean repeats, dumbfounded. Cas continues staring.

“Yes, Dean, I was there.”

“I mean, what- what was it like?” Sam asks, wonder in his eyes.

“Well, um. It was hot. And fiery.”

“It was hot and fiery,” Dean says, broken record. “Wow.”

“I don’t understand. Why are you… why is this such a surprise? I thought the dinosaurs’ extinction was common knowledge.”

“Yeah, but talking to someone who saw it is… it’s amazing,” Sam says. If he wasn’t holding the butter-greased popcorn bowls, Jack is sure he would be gesturing every which way. “Why didn’t you tell us about it before?”

Cas blinks. “I didn’t know that you were interested. I thought if you wanted to know, you’d just ask me.”

“Dude. We didn’t know we could ask! I mean, we knew you were older than the pyramids, but the dinosaurs? That’s, what, fifty million years?”

“Sixty-five,” chime Sam and Jack, in unison.

“Wait a minute, how old do you think I am?”

That gives them pause. Jack exchanges hopeless glances with Sam and Dean, the three of them clambering for any exact number in the recesses of their minds. Jack draws a blank, both because Cas doesn’t really talk about his past and because time is a little twisted for him to begin with.

He knows he’s almost two, and that two years is not a long time, but to Jack it feels like forever.

He knows his mother was thirty-nine when she died, and he knows Sam and Dean are hovering somewhere near forty. Cas has lived millions of years, and though Jack can’t quite wrap his mind around that vast length of time, he knows that makes Cas near eternal. Like Jack’s supposed to grow up to be.

Oddly, it’s a comforting thought.

“How old are you?” He asks it to put an end to the silence, and because he’s realized he really wants to know the answer.

Cas hesitates, brow creasing in thought. “It’s hard to say. The first thing I really remember is the tiktaalik, so I suppose that makes me…”

“Holy shit,” Sam breathes. He must know what the tiktaalik is, Jack thinks. He’ll have to ask about it later.

“Three and a half billion. Approximately,” Castiel finishes.

Jack can almost hear Dean’s jaw hit the floor.

“That old, huh?” Dean asks. His voice is strained, and he sounds faint.

“I might be closer to four billion, actually,” Cas muses.

“Okay, whoa,” Sam interjects, before Dean’s brain melts entirely. “That’s… that’s really impressive, Cas.”

“I- really?”

“Yeah, man,” Dean manages. But Cas still doesn’t look convinced, so Jack speaks up.

“You’re prehistoric!” he says. “I think that’s really special.”

Cas takes a long moment to respond, inexplicably looking younger as he processes their praise. It’s like a weight has been lifted from his shoulders- like for the first time in eons he feels like the years behind him, drenched in blood and pain and regret as they are, can be a gift rather than a curse.

Sam and Dean clap Castiel on the shoulder and take their leave from the room, the elder brother murmuring something about “antique angels” as they go.

Jack steps closer to Cas, clearing his throat.

“I, um. I found a book about dinosaurs the other day. Dean said that this movie would be educational, but… I was wondering if you could tell me about them? I don’t think I learned very much.”

“I would be happy to.” Cas smiles, reaching out to squeeze Jack’s shoulder. “This film wasn’t very accurate, anyway.”

“Really? How?”

“Well, for one thing, most of those dinosaurs didn’t even live during the same millennium. And they weren’t nearly so lizard-like. They had feathers.”

Jack responds in kind, whispering conspiratorially: “Like birds?”

“Sort of. Come on, I’ll draw some for you.”

Jack follows his father out of the room, smiling from ear to ear. Though the full scope of Castiel’s age remains far beyond his comprehension, Jack thinks it’s incredible. With all those years behind him, it’s no wonder that Cas is such a good parent.

Time is a teacher, and Cas has had a long life in which to learn. He has so much wisdom to share- and it’s not all about the dinosaurs, not because of the things he’s seen or the battles he’s won.

No, Castiel shines brighter than the most beautiful of stars. It’s a brilliance that comes from the inside out, forged through fire and pain and a heart stronger than diamond no matter how many times it’s broken.

Castiel shines with four billion years of love.

#hope you like it! #castiel #team free will 2.0 #my fic #spn fanfic #kitkat writes

[maybedefinitely404]

Day 24: Prinxiety

@tsshipmonth2020

Day 24: When you meet your soulmate for the first time, you get a brief flash-forward of your future.

Content warnings: character getting stabbed, blood, mugging, violence, storm mention, near death experience but he doesn’t die okay I couldn’t do that. 

While replaying SVS in my head at work, the line “I think he’s suggesting we beat someone up and rob their unconscious body” came up. Then little old me thought, yeah, that, but make it angsty. 

Word count: 3.3k

Roman hadn’t been knocked down by the first hit. It had stunned him, sure, but when faced with a fight or flight response, his instinct was to hit back, and hit hard. So even with his eyes throbbing in his skull and a drop of blood trailing down his neck, he spun around to the attacker and swung, elbow cracking neatly against his nose. 

The man was surprised, and for a second Roman thought he had the advantage. Until, that is, he recalled that a surprised person is a dangerous one. By that point, it was too late though, and his hands were already fumbling at the knife sticking out of his stomach. Why couldn’t he just have gone down easily?

The attacker must have pushed him farther into the alley he had sprung from, was Roman’s only thought, as he lay deadly still on the dirty New York concrete, his only sensation being the sickly warm pool of blood spreading out under him. It soaked through his shirt, an uncomfortable feeling that definitely shouldn’t be the worst thing about this situation, but he’d gone numb. He knew distantly that that was a bad thing, that the pain had started fading until it was as dim as the world around him had become, yet he couldn’t bring himself to care. He was dying. And that really should have alarmed him more. It was so peaceful, though, the way the streetlights blurred and shifted, the steady thrum of bass from a nearby building, his own shallow breathing.

As it was shown in every story, in all the movies, he kept waiting for his life to flash before his eyes. There were things he’d gladly see one more time; annoyed tiffs with his brother, building their treehouse, his mom planting a big kiss on his cheek on his first day of senior year. His college drama group, and their stupid shenanigans. Late night rehearsals at his first signed theatre company. Strangely, the closer he got to complete silence, the more annoyed he was that he couldn’t see it all one last time. Is that really so much to ask?

And then, all of the sudden, it was there. It was like settling into your seat in the movie theatre just as it began, reclining in a big chair and just watching it go by. However, his addled mind took far too long to realize this wasn’t in fact, his life. Or, anything he’d lived so far, that is. 

He saw a man standing before him, just barely shorter than him, with a reluctant grin on his face and a blush rising in his cheeks. The guy wasn’t anyone he knew, though; he’d remember such a gorgeous face. Their hands were softly intertwined as they stood on the roof of a building, outlined by the stars and a distant flickering of a candle. Then the scene changed. 

...

The man was sitting on the floor, hunched into the corner of a bedroom that Roman didn’t recognize. Like in a dream, he had no control over his actions as he lunged forward, dropping to his knees in front of his shaking form. He asked something, the exact words contorting in his brain until they were unintelligible mumbles, and the man nodded. In experienced movements, he wrapped his arms around his shoulders, running a hand through his hair and reminding him to breathe, that he’s okay. He felt a sense of protectiveness he hadn’t felt in a long time, pulling the curled up figure onto his lap until his breathing returned to normal. 

...

He was on the stage, a pretty typical place for him to be, but tonight it was different. The butterflies were absolutely nuts in his stomach, and he kept scanning the audience directly after songs, in those brief seconds of pure raging applause where he could just admire the crowd. Finally, he spotted what he was looking for; a lone person sitting near the front, grinning at him like he was a puppy and it was Christmas morning. The single expression on his face was one of pure admiration, and it somehow made the butterflies both completely dissolve and increase tenfold. 

...

Now they were in a park, walking side by side. His focus was carefully set on the path before them, focus switching between the gorgeous red leaves in the trees and the winding path. He recognized the park vaguely, as if he’d been there many times, and was mentally mapping out the best trail for them to go to. He wanted them to stop at the turtle pond, he knew that much. There was a pull on Roman’s arm and he looked down, heart melting at the wide grin the young girl between them was flashing. They were both holding one of her hands for balance as she toddled along, and apparently she’d tugged on both their hands, because they were both looking at her now.

“Swing me!” She giggled, using their support to keep her from falling as she lifted her feet off the ground, hopping in her best impression of a kangaroo. And how could they say no to that (they couldn’t), so they gave into her wishes, tightening their grips and counting down. On one, they both swung her forward and she exploded into shrieking laughter, not stopping until her feet were firmly on the ground once more.

“Again, again!”

...

She was older now, probably just starting school. They were in the same park as before, not that Roman could see much of it from his intense focus on the little girl, but he just knew. Her tongue was stuck out in concentration as she readjusted her elbow pads and helmet before they were perfect, and he gently held the back of her shirt as she shuffled her feet onto the pedals of the small bike. They lapped around the playground twice as she grew more confident, pedaling by herself, before Roman let go and she took off by herself.

“Dad, Papa, look! Look!” 

They both laughed quietly as she continued to shout in joy, riding her bike for the first time. The other man laid his head in Roman’s shoulder, and he felt as though his heart would burst.

...

Dropping her off at college was the hardest thing the two of them had ever done. Unlike every annoyed college student stereotype, she hugged them tightly and tried not to cry, promising to call every day. Roman didn’t even pretend to try and stop the tears that trailed down his cheeks as the other man drove them back home, rubbing his hand soothingly. 

“She’ll be okay.”

He couldn’t make out his own response, but he didn’t have to to know that it was positive. The man smiled lightly, pressing his hand to his lips and kissing it softly. 

...

It was early Sunday morning cuddles and three AM cookie batches. It was falling asleep on the couch after cliche rom coms wrapped in fuzzy blankets and pressed together like they couldn’t get enough of each other. It was electrifying first kisses and dreamy first dates and terrifying proposals and never ending bickering, but it always ended in giggling fits and kisses where they couldn’t stop smiling. It was holding the other as a storm raged outside, the thunder making him shake, and it was spontaneous lunch dates with their daughter. It was everything Roman wanted.

...

And everything he’d never have. 

As the visions faded, the world seemed just a tad clearer, and all the harsher. The knife in his stomach began to burn, white hot pain, as bad as when he’d first been stabbed. Every bone in his body screamed in agony, now the blood under him cooling and causing chills to spread through him. To his left, where the entrance to the alley was, there was some shuffling and a bright light burned through his eyelids, nearly making him flinch. He didn’t quite have the energy for that, though.

“Holy shit!”

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

Not often did Virgil walk downtown after it was dark, but when he did, he followed his own set of rules to a tee. Head down, peripheral vision on high alert, keys clutched between his fingers in his pocket. New York was hell after the sun went down, and today he had no choice but to walk the rarely trodden backroads to get home. The continuous shivers up his spine made his breath hitch, but his anxiety had gotten to the point where he couldn’t tell if it was an actual sixth sense warning or his brain deciding to panic out of sheer boredom. 

As he did when walking past every even subtly suspicious dark alley, he kept his head down but searched the abyss with his eyes, ever vigilant for oncoming attackers. He’d envisioned every possible bad scenario, every mugging and kidnapping possibility down to the minute details. What he hadn’t expected, however, was the sudden barrage of unrelated images that flooded across his vision, like a chopped up movie that he had no control over. 

He was looking up at a guy, maybe the handsomest he’d ever seen. His auburn hair glinted in the light of the candles set around the edge of the building, a nervous smile on his face as he showed the amazing view to him. It was beautiful, Virgil would admit, but he felt more at home in the man’s arms, more dazzled than anything the world could show him.

...

The cold grip of a panic attack was something Virgil was all too familiar with, and in his mind’s eye he could almost feel the tightness of his chest, the adrenaline pumping through him, the dizziness that every shuddered intake of breath caused. A voice called for him, somewhere else in the house, but he was unable to answer, pressing himself further into the wall to try and ground himself on something solid. 

There was a thud and rapid footsteps, but instead of pulling away as he expected himself to do, he felt drawn to it. An almost tearfully gentle voice asked if he could be touched right now and he nodded immediately, wanting nothing more than to not feel alone as he was collapsing in on himself. He was lifted into someone’s arms and he felt instinctively that it was the same man from the first vision, cradling him and hushing him softly. A hand carded through his hair and the panic receded bit by bit, leaving him feeling absolutely exhausted but just as safe. 

...

There was a stage before him, a grand thing with an even grander set. He was caged in by people on all sides, a fact that would usually cause those little ribbons of panic to start blooming in his chest, but he was so focussed on the actors that he didn’t have the energy. One in particular stood out to him, the lead character of the show, belting out perfect melodies with pitch perfect notes and taking on his character with no flaws. After a song, when he was taking a breather during the applause and scanning the audience, their eyes locked, and his character smile turned into one of real elation. And Virgil knew, he just knew, that this was a smile only he was privy to. 

...

There was a girl tugging at their hands. Virgil didn’t know her name, but he knew that he knew her, if only by the way his eyes never left her. He was protective of her, watching her every clumsy little step so she didn’t fall, with the man on her other side looking ahead, choosing their paths and watching for bikers. It was like a little unspoken agreement they had, and his skyrocketing anxiety appreciated that. She caught his watchful eye with a gap toothed smile, expression suddenly alight with a smile. The other man looked down to her as she tugged on his arm.  

“Swing me!”  

So they did. 

...

He hated this, but he knew deep down, if they didn’t teach her to ride her bike now, she’d never learn. She’d already been complaining that all her friends were riding bikes already. Even still, he’d refused to be the one to teach her, not wanting to be responsible for any scratched knees or broken arms or cracked skulls or-

He was gnawing on his fingernails as she fixed her helmet and elbow pads, drawing blood in his cuticle when she finally started moving. It was more of a restrained wobble, what with the man holding her steady, but to his equal horror and excitement, she got the hang of it quickly. It was barely two laps of the playground before she broke free of his grip, with an exuberant shout. 

“Dad, Papa, look! Look!”

The man stood next to him proudly, panting slightly from the run, and Virgil smiled, resting his head on the other’s shoulder as they watched their daughter. His anxiety immediately lessened as he placed a tender kiss on Virgil’s head.

...

She grew up far too quick for either of their likings; it seemed only yesterday that they were taking their baby girl home for the first time, when in fact they were now pulling up to her first college dorm. While he was generally the anxious one of the family, his partner was definitely the dramatic one. Not in a bad way (most of the time), but it was enough to know that Virgil would definitely need to be the strong one today. It wouldn’t help anyone if all three of them broke down. He offered to drive, since the other man was too tear clogged to even see the road.

He reached over and took his hand as they pulled out of the campus, letting his thumb rub over the knuckles.

“She’ll be okay.”

“I know. She has us as parents, duh. I just... miss her already.”

Virgil smiled, still keeping his stoic face on. He’d cry later. For now, in a move that was very much the other’s specialty, not his, he lifted their joined hands to his lips and kissed them. 

...

It was never ending hugs after hard days and midnight dance parties to old songs. It was learning new recipes in the kitchen and settling for take out when it all inevitably went downhill, and holding hands while brushing their teeth like they couldn’t get enough of each other. It was terrifying first kisses and nerve-wracking first dates and unforgettable proposals and never ending bickering, but it always ended in giggling fits and kisses where they couldn’t stop smiling. It was clutching onto the other as a storm raged outside, every lightning flash bringing new rounds of choked sobs (it was still scary, but for the first time in his life, he wasn’t alone), and it was dress shopping with their daughter for her first dance. It was everything Virgil wanted.

...

Everything he’d never thought he’d have. 

He blinked rapidly, his chest tightening. From all the stories he’d heard, that was definitely a soulmate vision. Meaning, he’d just seen his soulmate for the first time, but he hadn’t seen anyone. 

Had he? 

Squinting in the inky darkness, he peered down the alley he was passing. There was a lump on the ground, which could be a person, but could just as easily be a garbage bag. He very much hoped it was not a person, despite what that would mean for his confusing visions. He fumbled his phone out of his pocket, turning on the flashlight setting, and shone it towards the alley.

“Holy shit!” He yelped before he could stop himself, sprinting forward like his soulmate had in the vision and dropping to his knees, ignoring the way the man’s blood soaked through the legs of his jeans. “Holy shit. Holy shit. Oh god. Are you awake? Please don’t be dead, please don’t be dead.”

The man was still for a moment, unmoving, before he let out a low groan. His hand twitched by his side and Virgil immediately took it, social anxiety be damned. It was cold.

“Keep… I don’t know, keep breathing, okay? I’m gonna call an ambulance, just hang on. Don’t die, dude, I’m serious.” The two rings it took for the emergency operator to pick up the phone were the most tense seconds of Virgil’s life, and he almost started crying when a voice spoke from the other line.

“I need an ambulance,” He choked out, describing their location as best he could. The operator kept speaking to him, drilling in him to not touch the knife and to apply pressure around it, asking question after question, but her all-too-calm voice was too much for Virgil and he hung up. She'd already assured that an ambulance was coming, anyways. 

With shaking hands, he turned the flashlight back towards the man on the ground, apologizing when he squeezed his eyes tight at the light. His eyes were both swollen, an abundance of black and blue bruises bleeding down to his lips. He was wearing too much, and was too still, to tell if anything else was hurt on him (aside from the jarring knife, which Virgil was trying hard not to look at). Whether he was shaking from fear or pain, Virgil couldn’t identify. He apologized again, placing his phone on the ground and pushed in around the wound, trying to apply pressure without causing more damage.

His repeated apologies were unable to actually prevent any pain, though, and the moment he made significant contact, the man hissed loudly, eyes shooting wide open. 

“I’m sorry. Shit, I’m so sorry. Please don’t move,” Virgil stammered, shocked when the man actually gave a weak, blood stained smile.

“Don’ think... I could ‘f I... w’nted to,” He breathed, words slurring and breath stuttering. The rise and fall of his chest was so shallow, Virgil doubted he was getting any air at all.

“Don’t die, okay dude? It’s gonna look real bad on me if they get here and you’re dead,” Virgil blurted, letting the tiniest smidge of sarcasm into his voice. To his surprise, the man actually gave a small snort.

“Wouldn’t... w’nt you to look... guilty.”

“I’m glad we’re on the same page,” Virgil smiled shakily, adjusting his fingers lightly around the knife, wincing at the hiss of pain it elicited. “Sorry. What’s your name?”

“Roman,” He whispered as his eyelids began to flutter, eyes losing their brief focus.

“Hey, no no no. Look at me, Roman. My name’s Virgil.”

“V’rgil… Like that name.” Even through his increasing haziness, he was doing his best to listen to the instructions from the other man. Blinking rapidly, he tried to study the blurry face of the man above him. He could just make out his dark hair and eyes, and a faint purple shimmer across his lids. The other details were just a tan blob.

“Yeah, you’re probably the first. My mom thought it was unique, or whatever.”

“I like it.”

“I’m glad.”

“Can you stay with me?” Roman croaked, gaze flitting between the few features of the other’s face that he could see. “I don’t want to die alone.”

“You’re not going to die!” Virgil said vehemently, though his heart broke at the request. Did this guy really think he would just leave him as he was? “You can’t.”

“I’m scared,” Roman whispered, and in the dim light of the street lamps, Virgil could see the glossy tears filling his swollen eyes. 

“I know you are. I am, too. But I’m not leaving, okay? I’m staying here; I’m not leaving you alone. Stay awake for me, okay?” Virgil got a tiny nod in affirmation in response, and he shifted his hands again so he was pressing around the knife with only one. The other one was sticky with blood, but that wasn’t important, as he reached down and took Roman’s hand in his own. 

Roman kept his promise, as difficult as it was, and kept his eyes open and focused on Virgil until a flurry of sirens and flashing lights lit up the alley. 

#lywrites #tsshipmonth2020 #prinxiety #roman sanders #virgil sanders #remus mention #blood tw #stab tw #sanders sides fanfiction #ts soulmate au #sanderssides #sanders sides #sanders sides au #sanderssidesau #sanderssidesfanfiction

[olliedollie1204]

by the book

Virgil didn’t think this day could surprise him further. He was wrong.

Pairings: Platonic Virgil and Logan, Romantic Moceit, Familial Moceit and Logan

Word Count: 3,268

Tags: Librarian Virgil, Kid Logan, building towards eventual Romantic Anamoceit

sequel to my last fic for future reference, bc i’m gay and library meet cutes are ESPECIALLY cute

(Read it on AO3!)

If you had asked Virgil how he’d be spending his afternoon, he wouldn’t have said this.

Usually at this time of day, he’d be finishing up whatever book he’d decided to read during his shift the night before. He’d take his lunch break in the back (which consisted of listening to music as he debated what book to bring in the next day), and by the time he was back on the reference desk he’d be ready to spend the rest of his shift trying to beat his high score on Temple Run.

Today, though, his pattern seemed to be disrupted just a bit. Probably by the fact that a five year old child with a mouth that ran a mile a minute had come up to him unsupervised, asked for his help finding a very specific book, and basically kidnapped him back to the children’s section, where the two of them had spent the last hour doing anything and everything that Logan wanted.

Virgil tried to summon up an ounce of irritation at that fact. He was, overall, unsuccessful.

Right now, Logan was in the bathroom (after giving Virgil an amusingly childish explanation of how he didn’t need his dads to help him go potty anymore) so Virgil was taking the time to straighten up the game table from their activities. Logan had moved on to the library’s Lego collection, so he figured it was alright to put the checkers, dominos, and Connect Four pieces back into their proper boxes.

“Fuck,” he muttered softly as he dropped a handful of game pieces onto the floor. He leaned over to scoop them up, but to his surprise there was already a hand there to grab them.

“Maybe no swearing in the playzone, okay, Virgil?”

Virgil raised his head, giving Dot a guilty look.

“Sorry,” he replied. He always had to fight the urge to call her ma’am, considering she was only a few years older than him.

Dot waved a hand dismissively. “Don’t worry about it. I know you’re not used to being near the kids, but something tells me you weren’t given much of a choice today, huh?”

She smiled and nodded her head toward Logan’s book basket on the floor. Virgil huffed a laugh.

“Yeah. You know he walked all the way to the ref desk?”

“I watched him go,” Dot replied. As Virgil’s eyes widened, she shrugged. “The library really isn’t that big, sweetie. I can see your desk from here.”

Virgil furrowed his brow. He straightened up in his seat, turned his head almost all the way around, and— oh, huh. There was his desk, half obstructed by the shelves and book displays, but easily within sight of the children’s section.

“Guess I don’t look up that much,” he admitted. Dot snorted as she helped him close the last box, grabbing them all and sliding them back into place on the toy shelf.

“Definitely wouldn’t kill you to look at the world around you once in a while,” she agreed. Virgil felt a small burst of anxiety at the notion that she was reprimanding him for not doing his job well enough, but her kind smile and teasing tone made him relax just a bit.

“The book club’s just about done, by the way,” she continued, standing up and walking back toward the children’s desk. “Keep an eye out for his dads for me, hon? I’ve got shelving to do.”

Virgil hummed in assent, now focused on watching the bathroom door as he waited for Logan to exit. While he waited, he saw a group of people spilling out the community room and dispersing through the library.

Keeping one eye on the bathroom door, Virgil bent over to move the young boy’s book basket from the floor to the table. He collected the two baby name books in his arms; just as Logan said, they were too big and heavy to fit into the already overstuffed basket.

He glanced back at the door, a sudden twinge of worry hitting him when he still didn’t see Logan exit. He spun around, ready to scan the library to make sure he hadn’t wandered off again—

And immediately Virgil tripped over his own feet, falling to his knees on the thin colorful carpet. He fumbled the books for just a moment before they, too, fell from his arms and slammed loudly against the floor.

Virgil hoped that his face wasn’t as red as it felt, but he knew he was probably fooling himself.

“Are you okay?”

Virgil nodded, eyes on the floor as he quickly tried to pick up the books. “I’m fine.”

“Are you lying?”

This voice was different from the first, and that fact combined with the strange phrasing made Virgil’s brow furrow in confusion. “No, of course I’m not—”

He looked up, and now his face was certainly as red as it felt (possibly even redder), because he found himself staring at two of the most handsome men he’s ever seen outside of his romance novels.

“Um,” Virgil said eloquently. “I—”

His words cut off as the first man (tall, heavyset, with a pair of wire rimmed glasses on his face) abruptly grabbed his arm, helping him keep his balance as he slowly stood up again.

“Did you enjoy your vacation?” he asked, and Virgil had half a second to wonder if he somehow got a concussion before the man finished, “Because that was quite a trip you just took!”

Virgil felt his jaw drop a bit at the… frankly atrocious pun, holy shit. The other man seemed disappointed but not surprised, whapping the first man’s arm with no real strength.

“Please excuse my husband,” he said formally, his dark eyes shining out from his lean, angular face. “He somehow thinks punning at random strangers is both appropriate and appreciated.”

“It worked on you, didn’t it?” the first man interjected, wrapping an arm around the second man and giving him a kiss on the temple. The second man huffed, but Virgil was quickly understanding that his irritation was mostly for show.

“My name is Janus,” the second man continued, reaching a hand out to shake Virgil’s hand. “And this is my husband Patton.”

It took Virgil an inordinately long second to respond, but he finally managed to shift the books in his arms and shake Janus’ hand.

“It’s, um, very nice to meet you,” he replied. God dammit, did his voice sound weird? Why did his voice sound weird? Did he get a concussion? “Uh—” 

“Oh my gosh, are you expecting, too?”

Virgil cut himself off as the first man, Patton, gasped in delight. Virgil’s brow furrowed before he could help it, but after a moment he realized Patton was pointing toward him, toward the books in his arms. The baby name books in his arms.

Virgil’s eyes widened. “Oh! Um, I—”

Janus gave an overdramatic groan. “Please, Patton, I thought we came here to get away from all of the baby talk.”

“No, I know, but—” Patton replied, waving his hands in excitement. “We did this to meet new people with common interests, and look! A new person with a common interest, right?” 

The corner of Janus’ mouth twitched. For some reason, Virgil very much wanted to see his full smile. “You’re right, darling. Maybe if we give our new friend a moment to speak, we can arrange an outing together.”

“Please say yes,” Patton interrupted, and for a moment Virgil considered doing whatever the hell he asked for as long as he kept talking. “Please say yes! I wanna get to know more new parents in the area!”

“We’re hardly ‘new parents’, dear. We’ve done this before.”

“Yeah, but not for years, honey. And not with twins!”

Oh. Oh. The pieces clicked together in Virgil’s head embarrassingly slowly.

“Wait,” he interjected, causing both men to look at him. “Are you—”

A small gasp came from behind them.

“Daddy! Papa!”

Just like that, Logan darted forward, diving in front of Virgil to wrap his arms around Patton and Janus’ knees.

Patton’s face somehow broke into an even larger smile at his son’s sudden appearance. “Hey, kiddo! Are you okay?”

Logan nodded, bouncing on his heels. “I found the books! I found the books!”

“What books, professor?” Janus asked, resting his hand on the top of Logan’s head in a move that was both fond and protective.

Logan reached up, yanking at the hems of his parents’ shirts. “I found the books for the babies’ names! Mr. Virgil helped me!”

Both men paused for just a moment. Their eyes flickered between Logan, to Virgil, and back again; after a beat, their eyes went wide in understanding.

“Did you do that for us, Logan?” Patton asked, picking Logan up and hoisting him onto his hip. His hands were large and calloused, and yet he somehow managed to hold Logan like he was made of glass. “How did that go?”

Logan took a deep breath.

“I told Mr. Virgil I need to name my baby brothers and he went with me to find some baby name books and I learned that there are ten thousand and one names and that names even mean things and people can name their babies after books and then he went with me back to the playzone and I told him about the cephalopods and we played Checkers and I built a robot with Legos and now you’re here!”

Virgil watched the two men as Logan spoke, intrigued and impressed that they seemed to be catching every single word.

“Well, it sounds like you had a lot of fun, kiddo,” Patton said fondly. He smiled back at Virgil, but his words were directed to Logan as he asked, “Is Mr. Virgil holding your books for you?”

Logan nodded and made grabby hands at Virgil, who belatedly realized he was still standing with Logan’s books clasped against his chest like a shy teenager in a coming of age movie.

“Oh, um,” he stammered, fumbling with the books before showing the two men their titles. “He, um, he wanted to get these two. I know they’re a little dense, but—”

“But our little brainiac asked you to help him find the biggest books possible, right?” Janus asked, his hand coming up to tweak Logan’s earlobe. “We’re used to it.”

Virgil felt a smile growing on his face. “Yeah. And, uh, for what it’s worth, I don’t think they’ll be that hard to read. It’s just lists of names, it’s not, like, in-depth etymology or anything.”

“What’s etymology?” Logan asked.

Patton made a slightly panicked noise, pulling Logan closer to him. “Isn’t that the study of bugs?”

“That’s entomology, dear,” Janus replied kindly. “Etymology is the study of words.”

“Oh,” the first man replied, giving Virgil a relieved grin. “Well, I think Logi’s already got quite a few words under his belt, huh?”

Virgil gave a small laugh; it was obvious Logan always spoke like he was training to become an auctioneer. “All that reading’s gotta go somewhere, I guess. Do you guys come here often?”

Too late, he realized how painfully close his words sounded to a cliche pick up line, but thankfully neither man found it weird.

“We just moved to the area, actually,” Patton replied easily. “I guess that means you’re a librarian, then?”

Virgil nodded, gesturing awkwardly behind them as he replied, “Yep, I’m a reference librarian. I work at the, uh, reference desk.”

Janus slowly raised one eyebrow. “How interesting. Logan, I believe we agreed that you didn’t have to come to our book club meeting as long as you would stay in the playzone, am I correct?”

Both men looked at the small boy, who was beginning to look very sheepish. “Well, technically—”

“Technically I came here first,” Virgil interjected, drawing all three of them to look at him in surprise. “I was making my rounds around the library, Logan asked me where to find the baby name books, and I thought that if it was better for me to take him to them than to risk him walking off by himself.”

Logan looked at him with wide eyes, but kept his mouth shut. Smart kid.

“Oh!” Patton said, pleasantly surprised. “Well, that’s alright then, since you stayed with a librarian the whole time.”

“And I got the babies’ name books!” Logan added, seemingly trying to move the conversation away from his and Virgil’s lie.

“And you got the babies’ name books,” Janus agreed. He held his hands out, and Virgil transferred the weighty books into his arms. “Oh, goody, this one has a thousand pages. How fun.”

“It does sound fun!” Patton added cheerfully, swaying Logan back and forth. “We have nine months for the babies to come, and a thousand pages over nine months is…”

“About 111 pages a month,” Virgil said quickly. “Divided by 30 days, that means you just have to go through about 4 pages a day.”

Patton gaped at him, Janus’ lips quirked into the tantalizing near-smile, and Logan— well, Logan looked at him like he’d just spoken another language. Which, to a five year old, he might as well have.

“Are you… are you a robot?” Logan asked seriously, causing all three men to smile at each other in amusement.

“I don’t think I’m a robot,” Virgil replied, but to his surprise Janus hummed in suspicion.

“I don’t know,” he said slowly, leaning into Logan’s ear to whisper conspiratorially, “Doesn’t that sound like something a robot would say?”

Logan gasped, causing Patton to giggle.

“Hey, Logi! How does a robot sit down?”

The small boy paused, looking at his dad with a wary distrust. “Daddy, this better not be a joke.”

Patton merely grinned. He gave Virgil a quick wink before finishing, “On his ro-bottom!”

Both Logan and Janus groaned, Logan flopping over in Patton’s arms. “Daddy! Your jokes are not funny!”

“Oh, they’re not?” Patton asked, reaching up to quickly scribble his fingers against Logan’s stomach. “Then why are you laughing?”

Logan burst into giggles, wiggling and kicking his feet. “I’m not!”

Janus and Virgil shared an amused look at the scene of total adorableness happening in front of them, before Janus cleared his throat.

“Okay, okay,” he interrupted, placing a hand on his husband’s arm and allowing his son to breathe. “Let’s take this outside of the quiet library, alright, dear?”

Patton smiled back at him, reaching around to cover Janus’ hand with his own. The three of them there looked so— so perfect, Virgil realized. They looked like a perfect family.

“Well,” Virgil said abruptly, shoving his hands in his pockets. “I’m glad I could help your son today. If you have any more questions, Ms. Dot at the children’s desk can help you find what you’re looking for.”

Patton blinked once before his eyes went wide. “Oh, gosh, you’re still working right now, aren't you? I’m so sorry we took up so much of your time—”

“No!” Virgil insisted. “No, no, no, it was no trouble at all, really.”

“Well, regardless, we thank you very much,” Janus added, shifting so he could also grab Logan’s book basket from the game table. “I expect my family and I will be coming here again in the near future, and I hope we’ll see you again.”

Virgil felt his face go warm. He knew Janus just meant it as a friendly, regular-library-visitors-getting-to-know-the-staff kind of way, but for a moment, he couldn’t help but imagine what if they actually meant they wanted to see him again.

“Yeah,” was all he said, nodding once. “It was nice meeting you all. Bye, Logan.”

He gave a small wave before walking past them, moving back toward his desk with a distracted feeling in his head. Maybe if he skipped some of the boring heterosexual sex scenes, he could still finish his novel of the day before his shift ended— 

“Mr. Virgil!”

He froze at the sound of Logan’s tony voice calling his name. As he turned, he saw as Logan managed to wriggle out of Patton’s hold, trotting over to him.

“Logan!” Patton called, making an apologetic face at Virgil as he and Janus followed their son. “I’m sorry, I think he just wanted to say something else—” 

“I really wanna say thank you for the babies’ name books,” Logan interrupted, screeching to a halt just in front of Virgil. “And— and thank you for the, um, the checkers, and the Legos, and— and—”

“Hey,” Virgil interrupted softly, kneeling down and smiling at Logan. “You are very welcome, kid. I’m happy I could help.”  

“And I wanted to know if please can I come play with you again when my dads and me come back to the li-berry, please?” Logan finished in a rush of breath, looking at Virgil for just a second before his gaze dropped to the floor.

Virgil hesitated. “...Oh.”

“Logan, darling,” Janus interjected gently, “Mr. Virgil might not be able to play with you anytime—”

“Actually,” Virgil cut him off, eyes darting up to the grownups before he gave Logan an awkward smile. “I, uh, I can’t guarantee I’ll always be able to play in the playzone, but if you wanna come say hi and… and tell me about the cephalopods, I’ll love to hear about it.”

Logan’s eyes widened, and he broke into a delighted grin. “Really?”

“Really?” Patton repeated, sounding gratefully surprised. “I mean, if you have to work, we wouldn’t want to do distract you—”

“I… don’t actually do much work when I’m at the reference desk,” Virgil admitted. “I usually just sit back there reading all day.”

“Except for when you make your rounds around the library, like you did earlier today,” Janus corrected, giving Virgil a look that revealed he 100% knew Virgil had lied earlier.

“Yep,” Virgil replied anyway, eyes locked onto Janus’ as he gave a slightly cheeky grin. “Except for that, of course.”

Janus stared him down, but didn’t call his bluff; instead he smirked, slow and satisfied, and his smile was somehow even better than Virgil had pictured it.

“Well,” he finished, “the sooner we check these books out, the sooner we can read them. Logan?”

He held out the book basket, and Logan took it with all of the determination of a child on a mission.

“I have to check out the books because I remember-ized the number,” he informed Virgil seriously.

“Well, it’s a good thing your dads have you, then, isn’t it?” Virgil replied. The big grin Logan gave him was only rivaled by the giant one Patton was giving him over Logan’s shoulder.

“Alright, kiddo,” Patton said, placing a hand on Logan’s back and ushering him toward the check out desk. “‘Read’ the way! Get it? Like ‘lead the way’?”

Logan groaned. “Daddy!”

Virgil laughed to himself, watching as the three of them walked away. Just before they turned the corner to the checkout desk, Logan turned around, waving like Virgil was miles away rather than a few yards. Patton and Janus waved too, and something about the way the two of them were looking at Virgil— friendly, fond, and grateful, all mixed into one— made his stomach doing a rather interesting acrobatic move.

It wasn’t until later, when he was safe behind his desk again, that he realized what that feeling was. That blush-causing, stammer-inducing, stomach-flipping feeling. It was a feeling he was well familiar with— not because he’d felt it before, but because he’d read about it.

In his romance novels.

Virgil froze, staring blankly ahead of him.

Ah. Well. Okay then.

He was fucked.

#sanders sides #sanders sides fic #virgil sanders #logan sanders #janus sanders #patton sanders #moceit #anamoceit #my writing #my posts #by the book #for future reference

[edie-k]

Legally Ginger (Chapter 2)

Title: Legally Ginger

Chapter 2/9

Rating: PG-13 (I use fuck more than the MPAA allows for PG-13 but that's a stupid rule - there's no explicit content)

Pairing: Romione endgame

Summary: When Ron Weasley's college girlfriend declines his proposal because he doesn't meet her standard for future husband, he decides comes up with a plan to let her see him in a new light.

Notes: This is an AU Muggle reimagination of Legally Blonde. It's very different than anything I have ever written - and my first chapter story. I intend to update each Monday - although I'm slightly early due to commitments tomorrow.

TRIGGER WARNING: This chapter has a character making a joke about an incident of sexual harassment they were the victim of. This is a line directly from the movie and is bolded to indicate it's not my original dialogue. Unlike the movie, the conduct is identified as harassment.

Shout out to TheKillerTigerBunny’s recent fic for inspiring a scene in the admissions video.

Thanks to adnei again for her feedback!

Read at AO3 or click below for more

Ron mindlessly shoved his hand back into the bag of chips next to him on the bed as he stared at the TV in the corner.

He had spent all day Sunday trying to compose the perfect text. The magic words that would bring her back. He composed dozens of drafts. Some were apologetic - clearly he shouldn’t have sprung an engagement on her but that didn’t mean they had to break up! Some were logical - there was almost a full semester of school left that they could spend together and see where they stood at graduation. Some were just pathetic - begging and pleading her for a second chance.

Finally, he decided to keep it simple.

can we please talk?

She responded.

it’s too hard to talk. I love you but that doesn’t mean this can work I’m sorry

He didn’t respond further. In the end, he couldn’t figure out how to fix what was wrong with him. There was no clear way to make himself worthy of Astoria.

So when the alarm went off Monday morning, he hit snooze. Then he hit it again. And again. And then he just turned it off for the next four days, only emerging from his room in the middle of the night to raid the pantry for more supplies. Apart from a few supportive texts from his siblings and friends, he’d been mostly left to wallow. Which could only mean that news of his humiliation had spread across campus and people were keeping their distance. He appreciated it but had a hunch his brothers’ patience would soon wear thin.

As if on cue, the door flung open.

“All right, Ron,” said Fred, barging in the room. “It’s been a week. Time to emerge.”

“Uh,” grunted Ron. Pig trotted in happily and jumped up on the bed next to Ron.

Fred paused and looked at the TV. “My God, are you watching NBC Sports Network? You need to snap out of it.”

Ron shrugged. “Lost the remote two days ago.”

George poked his head in the room before entering. “God, it reeks in here. And it better be beer in that bottle by your nightstand. Thankfully, we brought reinforcements.”

“Hey bro,” said Ginny, popping into the room. “It’s time to seize the day!”

“No,” he said flatly to his sister.

“Come on, you don’t want to blow off your classes. You’ve worked too hard to have to graduate in the summer semester. You want the celebrity commencement speaker, not whatever ancient associate dean they con into putting on a robe in August,” Ginny appealed.

“I’ve been emailing my assignments. It’s fine.”

“Well, this isn’t fine. Come on! I know what always cheers you up,” Ginny wheedled.

“Ehm,” Ron grunted, turning over.

“Please!” begged Ginny. “I need to blow off steam too.”

“I’ll buy you cheese fries,” George suggested.

“My own order,” Ron said.

“Yes,” agreed George.

“And beer,” Ron added.

“Goes without saying!” said Fred, yanking the covers off of him. “Shower and we’re off!”

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

Forty minutes later, he was moping under the umbrella shaded patio table outside of the batting cages, Pig at his feet, picking at his fries while his beer warmed in the sunshine. Fred and George were taking cracks off the pitching machine with a couple of his frat brothers and members of Ginny’s sorority that had tagged along.

“Come on,” said Ginny. “You need to hit something.”

“I’ll take the next one,” Ron replied listlessly.

Ginny rolled her eyes. “Girls, make him see reason,” she appealed to her sisters, who were seated next to him flipping through magazines. Ginny jogged off to join the others.

“Ron, Astoria is trash,” said Lavender.

“She is not!”

“She’s trash,” agreed Parvati. “Bougie trash.”

“I’m the one that’s clearly trash.”

“No, you’re a fucking straight up 9 and if I wasn’t in love with the moron taking 40 mile per hour softballs to the head - ” Lavender gestured at Seamus who was doing just that - “I would already be in your pants,” Lavender assured him.

“You’re a little too earnest for me, if I’m being honest,” said Parvati. “And you’re a dude, so no. But if you dated one of my friends, I wouldn’t tell her she could do better than you.”

“Yeah,” said Ron, throwing up his hands in exasperation. “Astoria, you should take me back. I’m not as good of a catch as a guy that tries to achieve CTE for fun but at least Parvati won’t shit talk me behind my back.”

The girls giggled. “Ron, I know it hurts that she didn’t feel the same about you but truly, you are better off. She was just flat out wrong. You’re smart, you’re accomplished, everyone likes you. She’s a snob looking for a certain name to hyphenate behind hers. Just like her sister,” Parvati insisted, pointing at the People magazine in front of her.

Ron peered over her shoulder. There was a color shot of Astoria’s sister Daphne, her hand ensconced in the hand of a dark haired man, walking the sidewalks of New York.

“Is that the Kennedy Taylor Swift dated?” asked Lavender. The two girls' voices faded in the background as he read and reread the caption.

Third year Princeton Law.

This is what Astoria was talking about. Her sister was dating some east coast prep school guy who went to a fancy university. In some ways, he got it. That need to live up to your siblings’ accomplishments or better yet, surpass them. He certainly felt it himself.

Bill, with his gorgeous French wife, was on the executive track at a financial firm. Charlie, with his easygoing personality, had somewhat accidentally launched a successful YouTube channel about his wildlife adventures in Asia. Percy, who had somehow managed to weather the civil servant storm and was on his third presidential administration at the IRS. Fred and George had their plans and Ginny knew she’d go early in the next National Women’s Soccer League draft if she didn’t opt to play soccer professionally overseas.

And Ron had had Astoria. The thought of a good life with a good job supporting an amazing and ambitious woman was exactly what he wanted. But she needed a little more. She needed someone that could prove they played at her level and bring a little flash and substance, like Daphne’s fiancé did.

He stared at the picture. Ron couldn’t get the Kennedy name. But he could wear a fucking rugby shirt and throw gel in his hair and...

“That’s it!” Ron shouted.

“What?” both girls asked, startled.

“I’m going to Harvard Law,” he announced.

Both girls stared. “Seamus, sweetie?” called Lavender. “Bring your batting helmet. He’s got some brain damage and we need to protect his skull from further harm.”

Ron rolled his eyes. “Ha ha. So Astoria’s a little… materialistic and thinks about optics. Everyone Is flawed. And Lav, you said yourself that I’m a nine. How does law school, hell, Harvard Law School, not get me to a ten?”

“What’s going on?” asked Ginny. They’d abandoned the cages at Lavender’s call.

“I’m going to law school,” Ron announced proudly.

“Why?” asked George.

“Ron, no. You loved your internship. You have three job offers doing what you enjoy. This is fucking insane,” Fred insisted.

“You can’t give up free beer,” Seamus added.

“Maybe I’ll love law school,” Ron reasoned. “And if I don’t, I don’t have to finish. It’ll be enough to prove to Astoria I can get into Harvard - ”

“Harvard?” George asked.

“—And not embarrass her. The jobs I enjoyed have regulatory aspects to them so hey, a semester of law school can only help, right?”

“This is asinine,” Parvati said.

“Free beer,” whined Seamus.

“Holy shit,” cried Ginny, flashing her phone towards them. “Have you seen the cost of tuition?” She flashed it to George before Ron snatched the phone out of her hand.

“How the fuck are you going to pay for that?”

Ron cringed. “It’s not going to be my proudest moment. but I’ve got an idea.”

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

“Hi, Auntie,” Ron said, as he followed the maid into the giant sitting room.

“Ronald,” Muriel greeted. They stood looking at each other awkwardly a moment. “Well, sit down. You,” she barked at the maid. “Bring us some drinks.”

“Right away, ma’am,” the maid scurried off.

Ron and his siblings came from fairly blue collar roots on both sides of the family. In fact, they were the first to attend college. The cost had made it out of reach for his mother and father to attend themselves. Mom’s brothers had planned to take advantage of the GI Bill but unfortunately were casualties of the first Gulf War. After that, Muriel had set up education trusts for her great niece and nephews with the $20,000 incentive. While his mom and dad had always refused any other financial help from Muriel, education was just too important to pass up.

Muriel had money to burn. Unbelievably, she’d been the trophy wife of an oil billionaire 35 years older than her back in her heyday and other than maintaining her estate, caring for at least 6 dogs at any given time and keeping a steady supply of brandy, she mostly just spent her money on controlling whatever family and non-profits she could sink her claws into.

“So,” said Muriel as the maid returned with a snifter of brandy for each of them. “I assume you’ve come for an advance on your graduation gift. When I saw your mother last month, she said things were quite serious between you and that Greengrass girl.”

“Uh, not exactly. See Aunt Muriel, I’ve had a change to my course of studies.”

“You’re almost done and NOW you realize that culinary arts will earn you pennies?”

“No,” he gritted his teeth. “Not culinary arts. It’s food science. It has to do with the biochemistry of food systems and preservation.”

Muriel snorted. “And you’ve decided that since pioneer women had canning figured out, there was nothing further for you to do.”

“Actually, I’ve decided to attend law school.”

“Law school?”

“Yeah,” he said. “Harvard Law.”

“You think you’re going to Harvard Law?”

“Yes,” he answered.

“Why?”

“Why-why do I want to go?” Ron responded. He wasn’t sure if his reason would impress Muriel much.

“No, why do you think you’ll get in?”

It was a fair question. Before college, he had never been an over achiever. That had started with the CULA soccer coach coming to see Ginny play during the spring of her junior year. He’d joined the coach, his parents and Ginny at the house after the meet and delivered the disappointing news that the only event he’d qualified for in the district meet was the 3200 meter. While his family looked sympathetic, the coach smiled and said, “Yes, I’d expect that you’d be a great distance runner. My husband coaches cross country at CULA. Could I give him your name?”

No one had ever expected him to be great at anything.

He won the state title in his division for 3200 meter that year and went on to win the conference title twice at college.

And once he proved himself there, people expected he’d be good at chemistry and they expected he’d be a good president of the house and good at fundraising. And he was. Doing what he was expected to do worked.

But now, they all expected him to give up on the love of his life.

“Just… want to do the unexpected.”

“You know I’m on the board of the local humane society?”

“Uh, I guess,” said Ron. He was actually clueless to her old biddy affairs.

“I understand you raised $12,000 for us at the end of last year.”

“Me and the rest of the guys,” he answered.

“Violet Pullen led me to believe it was mostly your doing.”

Ron shrugged. “I was the one who knew how to brew the beer. And it wasn’t that hard to get the permissions to bottle it and sell it and stuff. The other guys got it promoted for the most part.”

Muriel looked at him appraisingly before she chuckled dryly. “Bring me an acceptance letter and I’ll cut a check.”

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

“What the hell is all this?”

Ron glanced up from the stack of study guides he was perusing to answer the twins. “LSAT study guides.”

Fred groaned. “Are you still on this?”

“Of course,” Ron said. “My advisor said I need like, a 173 on the LSAT to be seriously considered.”

“Why would they consider a food science major?”

Ron shrugged. “I have a 3.89 GPA. And Stori’s a philosophy major.”

“But that makes sense,” George said.

“How?” challenged Ron.

“Dunno. I guess because philosophy is a snob subject that’s totally useless without at least a graduate degree.”

Ron ignored them.

“And how are you paying for this?”

“Muriel will cover tuition if I get in. I’ll live at home this summer and I’ve got a couple technician jobs I can take that my degree makes me more than qualified for, plus some catering gigs. I figure that’ll be enough to get through the school year.”

“Ron,” Fred said. “Bro, you like your life. Why change it for some girl?”

“I’m getting fucking tired of this. She’s not some girl. I’m in love with her. She’s the one and I just need to show her I’m worthy of her.”

“You ARE worthy of her,” George insisted.

“Then it’ll be easy to prove, right?” said Ron.

The twins looked at each other and sighed.

“Here, take my lucky pencil for the exam. It helped me pass Spanish.” Fred held out the writing instrument to Ron.

“You passed Spanish because you gave Professor Trewlaney a lap dance,” George reminded him.

“Yeah. Luckily.”

“That’s sexual harassment,” said Ron.

“It is?” asked Fred.

“Yeah, it’s called quid pro quo. She should be fired for that.”

“Well hot damn, Ronnie,” said George. “Maybe you’re set for this law school stuff after all.”

“The exam is the least of my worries. I need a two page essay, professor recommendations, and a ‘personal statement’ of some sort. I’ve never been great at selling myself,” he admitted.

“Well Georgie,” said Fred with a grin. “Looks like you just found the subject of your senior marketing project.”

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

“Well,” said Horace Michaels, rubbing his face and looking at his fellow panel members. “That was certainly something.”

“The video was a lot but… I like him,” said Veda Kasyor. “He’s a college athlete and president of his fraternity while carrying a high GPA.”

“Oh, is he an athlete Veda? Did the shirtless jogging footage tip you off?”

“He was also brewing beer in his frat basement.”

“He’s a food science major.”

“And he sold that beer on campus as a Humane Society fundraiser.”

“Who produced this video? Pretty heavy handed with the studying in the library footage,” Richard scoffed.

“He’s got a 3.89 GPA and he got a 177 on the LSAT. He probably studies.”

“Was he playing chess naked in the video?”

“It was his opponent who wasn’t wearing clothes - I believe it was strip chess.”

“If we’re looking for diversity - ”

“A white man’s not it.”

“Typically, no but he’s got, what, 6 siblings? Dad’s a mailman, Mom’s a parapro. He’s not some trust fund legacy case.”

“He had internships with two major corporations. And his resume shows part-time jobs since he was 16.”

“I’m concerned about his course of study. Food science is the hard sciences. Is he going to be equipped to handle position statements?”

“His personal essay was well-written and compelling, plus he minored in business. His Business Strategy prof had a glowing recommendation.”

“Ron Weasley… welcome to Harvard.”

#au romione #ron and hermione #romione fanfic #ron weasley #ron x hermione #romione #ron weasley defense squad #hp fanfic #muggle au

[netherlady]

I’m watching movies/TV shows I used to watch as a kid in the 90s. Specifically, non-Disney animated media. These are my thoughts as they come.

I’m on to a Filmation Associates film called Happily Ever After. It’s a continuation of what happened after the end of Snow White. I actually used to watch the Disney film and this one back-to-back because that’s how I felt things should be done.

Right off, the mirror is recounting Snow White’s story—but get this. The prince didn’t kiss Snow’s corpse to awaken her. With love in his heart, he touched her hand and it was enough to break the spell.

Can I just appreciate the fact they didn’t wanna be like kissing sleeping and/or dead people is okay if you’re supposedly in love with them. Not cool, charming.

Dom DeLuise is the mirror, and a shady bitch right off. Straight up is like lol I don’t know you.

This animation is beautiful, tho. Fluid, expressive, they’re all individual character desiiigggnnn.

Malcom McDowell is iconic in this. Also, adding the dimension that the Evil Queen has family—and not only that, but a good strong relationship to her brother? To the point that he doesn’t even know this Snow White situation other than what he’s heard from his sister over the years, day in day out, holy shit are you STILL talking about this fucking teenager give it a rest maybe? And when he learns that aforementioned teenager is RESPONSIBLE for the death of his beloved sister? No questions, not even any real monologuing; Lord Maliss really said just where is this pasty little fuck I’m gonna set fire to her entire goddamn life.

I never understood why the Bat felt sorry for the evil queen. Seriously, she spent a good week trying to murder a teenager and failed. Over vanity. Just.

Speaking of the whole teenager thing, Snow is supposed to be 14. In lore, and in the Disney film. The prince is over 18. Super not okay. However, the way Snow is animated in this film, she looks older, acts older, and is clearly not a child. She is also voiced by Irene Cara (yes, THAT Irene Cara), which lends an unmistakable maturity to her. I honestly think they mean for her to be older in this. 18 at least. And I appreciate that.

Also, damn is this child traumatized. In the span of a few months, she was nearly murdered by the huntsman, her step-mother (four times), resurrected from a hell-sleep, and when she and the love of her life finally have a moment’s peace, she gets carried off by a giant fucking dragon, chased into another dark and terrifying forrest, and her prince gets kidnapped.

Her prince looks like He-Man with red hair. By the way. That aside, my favorite moment of him is how they animated him watching Snow pick flowers for her dwarven friends. It’s not creepy or possessive. It’s so damn affectionate.

I love the dwarfelles, and every actress that voiced them. Fuck.

Low key, I always thought Sunburn and Muddy were married. Like, knew it, accepted it, moved on from it.

And again, the radical bops of 90s non-Disney animation. Gotta love this shit, sing about your feelings Thunderella.

Phyllis Diller as Mother Nature is also iconic. She is made of bitch. Good for her.

Remember when I said the Prince looked like He-Man? He got turned into Orko. I just saw it and i can’t unsee it now. Fuck.

Anyway, I always liked the Shadow Man, and while I did love that he was the prince, I also would have loved him being a separate entity. Idk.

Maliss is so fucking extra with the magic mirror, like “STFU YOU INSOLENT PIFFLE lol you right tho imma go sic demon wolves on this bitch brb”

The bat is supposed to be the moral one, right. Calling the owl, Scowl, out on his bullshit. Honestly, this bat is an asshole. Straight up a piece of shit.

Man, Snow really out here, fighting wolves, saving dwarfelle lives, being agile as hell. I think about the scene where she gets up in the morning and twirls in front of the dwarves’ mirror, happy to be safe somewhere she calls home. A lot. Like? This is the same bitch. It’s great.

There’s a lot of themes about vanity in this story. I find it so interesting that after being invited to travel with them by Snow, the prince, cursed like to be the shadow man, is so horrified at his new visage, he runs off in shame. In doing so, he leaves Snow vulnerable, and without her mystic companions—and she gets hella kidnapped by Maliss.

Who, again, is a competent villain. No speeches, no posturing, he transforms and grabs her while he has an opening. Like, Maliss legit did not fuck around.

Batso continues to be an asshole.

When Maliss/evil prince says ‘You will look out on this forever’, it always hits. I used to rewind this particular segment up here on the parapet a lot. I loved the betrayal, the final stand-off. But that? That moment? I think about that line on the daily still. Chilling.

The cloak came out of nowhere, but it’s no less terrifying.

Seriously, I want background on the cloak. We got a whole bullshit song out of the chain smoking owl, I wanna know where Maliss got this cloak, and if all the statues in his sister’s castle are because of it. That’s a fucking story.

Straight up, wtf does he do to the prince/shadow man with the eye beams. Like. Mad scary and super fucked up. Maliss is powerful AF, and he wanted the woman responsible for killing his sister to suffer so bad, he gets real angerblind real fast.

This movie went hard. Killed the prince and the dwarfelles right there. Like. They were banking hard that the Magic undo button with the death of the villain was gonna sell right.

I was always low key confused when Snow said she loved the shadow man ‘as dearly as the prince’ when she mourned him. I’m sure it was supposed to be a soulmate hand-wavey kind of thing, but still.

My brother used to make fun of the way she cried. Irene tried, okay.

Ah, yes, the 90s non-smoking PSA. Everyone had one. Now with more owl.

Happily Ever After. I wouldn’t blame Snow if she legit had a guard who’s only job was to test her food and clothing for poisons, and another to watch the sky for fucking dragons for the rest of her life.

I loved watching this again. I forgot how much I loved it. The cast is huge and stellar, with a ton of legends. And the pop ballad at the end is, of course, performed by Irene Cara.

There’s only three songs in this whole thing, and the pop song at the end. I always wished there were more.

Either way. I loved this movie as a kid. Next time I’ll probably watch the Princess and the Goblin.

#things involving me #happily ever after #non disney #90s animation #90s nostalgia #snow white #malcolm mcdowell #irene cara #phyllis diller #dom deluise #i review things for fun

[jelreth]

c!wilbur 👀👀👀

IM SEPARATING WILBUR AND GHOSTBUR TO AVOID CONFUSION

Why I like them

Wilbur knew how to lead, and when to motivate.

Ghostbur is very emotionally intelligent, and very empathetic.

Why I don’t

Also a shit father. He never knew when to stop, and he focused too much on how other people wronged him rather than how he harmed others.

He doesn’t understand when to step out and when to step in, partially because of memory loss. It’s also quite unclear how much “memory loss” is actually taking place, and what he’s just not facing.

Favorite episode (scene if movie)

The final control room! Holy shit! That’s pretty much the point where he started going insane.

The yelling about Friend! His monologue is my favorite Ghostbur quote.

Favorite season/movie

Favorite line

“I’VE BEEN HERE, SEVEN OR EIGHT TIMES, PHIL” oh boy did this hit hard. It really captures that feeling of forward and back, forward and back when there’s something extremely harmful you're going to do.

“I’m the one who sows the seeds of peace, yet i always pay for war” That’s a pretty raw quote considering it’s about a ghost sitting in a smoking hole grieving a sheep.

Favorite outfit

The trench coat for wilbur! I’m a huge fan of trench coats in general :)

The puffier sweater on ghostbur! Very fluffy, very friend shaped :)

Brotp

I feel like Wilbur didn’t have very many people to rely on but Tommy? He was a constant. He was the only one Wil could rely on.

Ghostbur and Puffy! I don’t know why, but Puffy is so friendly that I feel like Ghostbur would be pulled along the good vibe train 

Head Canon

Wilbur’s blue cigarettes? Smell like potion brewing ingredients. My man’s on that good shit.

Whenever Ghostbur touches something it gets covered in blue! Temporary, but you know it had to have annoyed Dream once or twice lmao

Unpopular opinion

Wilbur’s treatment of Tommy was terrible. The kid had so much on his shoulder and now he had to look after his insane older brother? No, no, no.

Ghostbur does remember. He just wants to stay happy as long as he can.

A wish

If Wilbur does come back, I want to see no funny business. He has Ghostbur’s happiness, even if he does have Wil’s memories.

An oh-god-please-dont-ever-happen

Glatt :/

5 words to best describe them

Arson drug man led revolution

Happy ghost man loves sheep

My nickname for them

Wil for Wilbur

Just ghostbur :)

Sorry this one was so long! Took a while, and had to think for a bit, but i’m having so much fun with this.

[sparkleofpizza]

Burn book - Tim Drake x reader

A/n: hey guys, so I’ve had this idea in my mind for a while now, since I watched Mean Girls on October 3 and I thought it would be nice to finally write it and see how goes. Hope you like it!

Warning: the names Bradley, Valerie and Carmen are all made up names to fit in the story. Language, mentions of blood and violence.

Requested: no

Summary: Y/n grows suspicious of her boyfriend activities, something happens at school that only fufil her suspicions.

Word count: 2.368

A movie scene. Your school looked like a movie scene right now. A scene from a movie you’ve seen countless times before. 

You stood at the top of the stairs, arms crossed watching the scene unfold in front of you. Lips slightly parted as a small laugh escaped your throat. You felt like Regina George watching everyone go crazy after their secrets got spilled.

Someone had decided it would be funny to recreate the Burn Book from Mean Girls, and printed the pages trowing them at the hallways for everyone to see. Everyone’s secrets were on those pages and you were a bit afraid that somehow it said something about you - although you didn’t have any secret that would make you want to dig a hole and bury yourself into it.

Everything was a bit funny until you realized that it wasn’t so cool at all. You were enjoining seeing things in real life like one of your favorite movies of all times, but things took an aggressive turn when you saw people punching each other. Suddenly you felt very uncomfortable being in there. It wasn’t cool to spill people’s secrets like that.

You reached for your phone on your pocket, deciding to text your boyfriend Tim, trying to know where he is. It would make you feel a lot more comfortable having him by your side. But you didn’t even know if he was at school at all, lately he was very absent and distant, making you wonder if you did something wrong. Even his brothers seemed to be ignoring you. 

Someone yanked you by your arm, dragging you and making you stumble down the stairs, falling to your knees. Bradley Walters hovered over you, face red from anger as he gripped tightly on your arm, you knew there would be a bruise there tomorrow. You were honestly scared, you sometimes hung out together and got along very well since he was part of the football team and you were a cheerio. 

“How could you not tell me?” He yelled, pulling you up so you were face to face “You knew Valerie is into girls and you still let me make a fool out of myself trying to get her to date me! You’re such a bitch!”

You yelped helplessly as you knew no one was coming to your rescue since everyone was too busy fighting with each other to even notice Bradley being a jerk. 

“I- It wasn’t my place to tell you!” You replied, trying to reason with him “I couldn’t out her to you, she was’t ready to tell anyone yet.”

“Then how come you knew?!”

“She’s my best friend, I was the first one to know!”

Bradley huffed, letting go of you only to shove you against the lockers and walk past you. You massaged your shoulder, trying to ease the pain from the impact of hitting the lockers. You had to get out of there before things got out of control.

You walked past people, trying to blend in and not call unwanted attention. Hearing stuff like teachers hooking up with students was honestly disturbing. The principal was trying to calm everyone down, but no one was having any of it, they wanted caos. They wanted to get at each others throats and demand explanations out the secrets that were out there.

Carmen Diaz showed up in front of you, yelling because she had just found out you were the reason why she was cut out of the cheerios, because you had told the captain she was flirting with her boyfriend. At that point, you were regretting every gossip you had ever made as you swiftly left the girl hanging and yelling on her own. 

But as you left Carmen behind, you saw it. You saw something you wish you had never did, but at the same time it made so much sense. Everything just clicked together in your head. The absence, being ignored, leaving early and ditching you lately, it all made perfect sense. You grabbed the fallen paper, examining it in your hands. 

Sweet Tim Drake and nice Stephanie Brown are two cheap cheaters. Jerk and hoe. 

And bellow it there was a photo of the two of them. 

You felt your heart shatter at this. Stephanie was one of your closest friends, but apparently she wasn’t your friend after all. And Tim, you didn’t even know what to think of him. You always thought he would never ever break your heart, but he did, and he did the last thing you excepted him to do, but it made so much sense now. Everyone knew, all of his brothers and probably his friends that became your friends knew as well, and they left you in the dark, left you to keep making a fool out of yourself. 

There was tears pricking in your eyes, but you refused to cry in front of all of this people. Too engrossed in your own sad thoughts you didn’t see a flying bottle made of glass, aimed to someone else, but that hit you straight in the head, soaking you in both water and blood as it shattered, making you fall backwards and loose your senses for a while.

Oh God, how did all this shit happened?

After way too many accidents like yours happened, the police finally arrived at Gotham Academy, restoring the peace. You watched Tim’s older brother Dick talking to some of the students and you knew all of his brothers were probably there, because they always showed up at things like this. You walked out of school trying not to get attention to you, but it was kind of hard since there was a lot of blood coming out of your forehead and you were way too light headed. 

Your presence, however, did not go unnoticed as Tim’s best friend was the first one to see you, being in front of you in a blink of an eye. Conner Kent eyes were wide when he saw you. 

“Y/N, holy shit! I didn’t think the situation at school was this bad! We need to get you to the hospital, you’re bleeding too much!” He gently grabbed you by your shoulders and started guiding you towards people “Tim is over there, he’s worried sick about you when you didn’t answer your phone. We weren’t in school today and...”

He stopped talking when you abruptly stopped walking. He glanced at you, worried that maybe you were going to pass out from blood loss.

“I don’t want to see Tim.” You whispered

“What?” He frowned

“I said that I don’t want to see Tim. Ever again. Or you, or any of you ever again. Fuck off and leave me alone. You’re all a bunch of liars!”

You stumbled away from him, trying to find someone else to take you to the hospital. Honestly, right now, you pretty much rather pass out on the floor than take any of their help. 

But that was when Tim saw you, and damn didn’t that make his heart beat too fast out of panic because of the way you looked. Your skin too pale, a hand shaped bruise on your arm, your white uniform blouse stained in red and oh, the amount of blood in your forehead. Before he knew it, he was sprinting towards you, pulling you in his arms. He was so grateful you were safe, and now you were with him so nothing else was going to happen to you, he is going to take you to the hospital and then he’s not leaving your side.

You struggled against his grip, making him release you as he though he might has been hurting you, maybe there were others injuries. But there was hurt and betrayal in your eyes, aside from the tears. You did not look happy to see him at all.

“Sweetheart...”

“Don’t.” You cut him off “You’re free to be with her, I’m breaking up with you.” 

Tim opened and close his mouth. Too shocked and confused to even say something. Be with who? Why were you breaking up with him? What did he do? What actually happened inside of the school? He only snapped out of it when he saw you leaving, running right back to you, holding you in place.

“What- What are you talking about?”

“Go be with Stephanie, you don’t have to sneak behind my back anymore. I already know about the two of you. From all the things I excepted when you started drifting away from me, being a cheater wasn’t one of them.”

“I- Y/N I didn’t cheat on you! I could never to do that! Look, you’ve lost too much blood and you’re not thinking straight. Come on, let me take you to the hospital.”

He was desperate, trying to understand what was going on. Did he neglect you so much this past month that it made you doubt his love for you? He loves you more than anything else in this world, he would do literally anything for you, so what did he do wrong for you to stop believing in it?

You dryly chuckled, shoving a paper in his hands before stumbling away from him as he read what was written in it.

Tim tried calling, tried texting, FaceTiming, visiting, but nothing. You wanted nothing to do with him. He just hoped you would give him a chance to explain himself, to tell you everything and by everything he means including the fact that he’s Red Robin and that’s why he’s been absent and also about that picture.

Conner tried to stop by to convince you to talk to Tim and fix things up, but you ended up slamming the door at his face.

Figuring enough is enough, after almost a month you decided to let Tim explain himself. You were hurting way too much and honestly just wanted to move on, but you couldn’t if you didn’t properly end it. So on a Friday, for the first time, you looked him in the face as you walked past him on the hallway. You actually acknowledged his presence during Biology and even offered you the tiniest of smiles. You told Valerie she could stop glaring at Stephanie and being mean all the time. So he knew you were ready to talk.

After school he went straight to your apartament. Knocking on the door and hoping he didn’t get the wrong signals today at school, but when you opened the door for him, for the first time, he felt relief wash over him.

“Hi.” He said awkwardly “Thanks for... opening the door.”

You nodded your head, letting him in before closing the door and sitting on the couch across from him.

You couldn’t help but notice how tired he look, with bags under his eyes and a even paler face than ever. Was he hurting just as much as you were? It kind felt impossible, he had Stephanie, why would he be sad?

“I am so so so sorry for the way I treated you lately. I never thought it would lead you to believing I didn’t love you anymore or that I could cheat on you.” Tim started, fighthing back the urge to wrap his arms around you when he saw tears in eyes “Sweetheart, you’re the best thing that has ever happened in my life and I love you more than anything. I could never cheat on you, nothing happened between me and Stephanie, we’re just friends.”

“How can you expect me to believe in you when all you ever did lately was ditch me?” Your voice sounded so broken, he himself started crying

“The reason why I’ve been so distant lately is because I am Red Robin.” He said

You stood still, staring at him like he had grown a second head. Tim Drake, your ex-boyfriend, was Red Robin? He worked with Batman. Tim Drake, the same boy standing in front of you, fought bad guys every night to make the city safer.

“I’m sorry, what?”

He pulled out a domino mask out of his jeans pocket, holding it up to his face, right at his eyes and you sucked in a breath. Holy shit, he is Red Robin.

“Stephanie and I are just friends, Y/N. We work together as vigilants, but nothing more than this. You’re the one that I want, the one that I love. You’re the first person I think about when I wake up, and the last person I think about before going to sleep. Everytime I’m fighting some bad guy I keep thinking I have someone to come home to, and that someone is you.”

You sobbed, trowing yourself in his arms, allowing him to hold you. You buried your head in his chest as arms went around your waist, carresing your sides. Tim kissed the top of yout head, feeling at ease after a long month. He ached to have you back in his arms and he never planned on letting you go.

“I’m so sorry I doubted you.” You sobbed into his chest

“Hey, this is not yout fault.” He lifted up your chin so you were looking in his eyes “This is all on me and I primise to make it up to you everyday for the rest of our lives, if you take me back.”

You nodded your head, standing on your tip toes to press your lips against his. It’s been a long month and all you wanted to do was to make up for the time you’ve missed with him.

You both layed on the couch, you pressed against his chest and tangled legs.

“Whoever did this burn book is a bitch.” You said quietly, drawing patterns on his biceps

“Yes, everything is still a chaos. And you never told me how you managed to get that amount of bruises beside the bottle of water that was an accident.”

“Oh, Bradley Walters did that to me. I though you knew?”

“What?!” Tim exclaimed, tighining his arms around you “I guess I’m paying him a visit during patrol tonight.”

You chuckled, kissing his jaw. Everything was falling back to place

#tim drake #tim drake x reader #tim drake x you #tim drake x y/n #conner kent #tim drake imagine #red robin #red robin x reader #red robin imagine #batboys #batman

[northernxstories]

Trading in Dignity

It was shocking how quickly it all came to an end. It started in the 2020s and within a decade, after the third global pandemic, they were faced with the worst yet. All the science deniers, those who refused to distance, wear masks and all of that ... well, most of them caught it. Some of them caught it without showing a single symptom. That didn’t matter because approximately eight months after you were infected, after you thought you were all well again, your lungs started to bleed. Nothing could make it stop. You drowned in your own bed, at night, sometimes in mere minutes. Most of the time, you just went to sleep and never woke again. It was grim.

The survivors were rare and the disease progressed so quickly, institutions fell almost overnight. Whole cities became ghost towns. Survivor teams started sweeping, looking for children, infants, pets trapped in houses and then supplies. Survivors came first. There were a lot of supplies. Not that many people.

She was rare and she knew it. Immune. How? No idea. Luck? Genetics? It didn’t matter at the end of the day. The world grieved and cities were abandoned for smaller communities. It wasn’t like in the horror movies or post-apocalypse fiction. No one ate people, bought and sold people, or any of that ridiculousness. For the most part people tried to help one another. Older people banded together to raise the children who survived. With the population reduced in the span of a decade to less than a third, it became very clear that every single human was a necessary addition. Funny how prejudice and differences in sexuality mattered a whole lot less when the end of the human race was at stake. All that shit became real irrelevant real fast.

In a spate of particularly weird coincidence, some communities lost more of a certain type of people. The east coast of North America for example had nearly no men left. It was startling, You could travel for days, scout many towns and communities and find less than a dozen males. West of the Rocky mountains however, the opposite was true. The average was 1 self-identified female to 20 self-identified males (like people were checking - get real). Some communities the ratio was more like 100 to 1. In the mid-west, prairie region, well there was almost no people left there at all. No one knew why they were so hard hit but the coasts survived. Perhaps it was just population distribution. Scientists would be studying it long after she was dead.

So, in a world where you lived with almost 100 men in your community and the number of single women could be counted on one hand, and you wouldn’t need every finger? Yeah. This was fantastic. 

Again, it wasn’t like the books though. She wasn’t chained, or bound or really mistreated in any way. Nope. None of that.

She was a strong survivor. She had a thriving garden and a number of animals of her own. Her house was cute as hell and in really good shape. Her grandmother had taught her to sew and the rest she learned from books. The little town was powered by a local dam that kept the predatory animals such as the dog packs, at bay with electrified fencing in key areas, including around her goats whom the wolves thought looked super yum yum.

But even she needed supplies. I mean, was she going with a raiding party into a city to get tampons and advil? Ummm ... no obviously. That was terrible. That’s how people died! Those places were not safe. It took rigging and expertise she did not have to be on a scavenger team. Plus do you think they would be cool having one of the few women in town go out with them? You’re dreaming if you think that’s gonna happen buddy and no one went without a team. That was a fucking death wish.

So, she had to shop. She had to trade. Fact of life. They didn’t want her tasty preserves or baking. Nope. That they could do for themselves. She traded the one thing that few had around her - her pussy. Fucked up right? 

Prostitution was the oldest game in the book for a reason it turned out. So she went into the store and put in her order for supplies that she needed. Flour, tampons, books for example. There was a tally and a calculation conducted. She was a modest girl. It rarely went above two visits. Then there was a jar. Yup. A fucking jar, with names on it. Men who had paid into the credit system. 

“One” The merchant stated bluntly marking it in his book. 

“One?” She repeated, a little surprised by how light the requirement was. Her list had been pretty long.  

“Yeah, Bernice fell pregnant, she’s off the list until after and maybe permanently since the Bennett brothers are putting serious court to her. All remaining traders just had their value go up.” 

That’s what they called them - traders. Like she was wheeling a cart through town with little jars or something instead of letting men cum in a minimum of two holes per trade. It was awesome. By the way, that was sarcasm in case you can’t tell.

“Nice.” She replied with a nod, “I hope the baby is healthy.” That was the customary statement these days when anyone fell pregnant. You see, the virus didn’t exactly go away and infant mortality was high as fuck. It was depressing as hell. She didn’t know a single woman who didn’t half dread getting knocked up, even if they really wanted to be a mother. It was a huge risk and all too likely to end in just more painful loss. Yay for survival.

“We all do.” the merchant stated sincerely as he pushed the jar toward her. Sliding her hand in, she let slips of paper, card stock that was refreshed so often you couldn’t get a feel for any one particular person, just dance through her fingertips. You just had to stick your hand in and pray to whatever god you might actually believe in that you didn’t get one of the gross old coots who thought bathing was fucking optional. Last time she had one of those she had about forty baths and still felt disgusting.

She pulled out the card and took a deep breath before flipping it over. Both her and the merchant looked surprised. “Well good luck there. Didn’t even know he paid in.” The merchant marked his book and then nodded. “I’ll get your order in as soon as ... you have about four days before you’ll have had to pay up.” 

That was another thing, the man had to confirm you had ‘paid’. However, if that man lied, he was off the books permanently. Not only that but the other men in town usually paid you a visit and beat the holy hell out of you. It was an honour system true but most followed the rules, out of honour or out of necessity, it didn’t matter at the end of the day. Men who might only get one fuck a year with a ‘willing’ woman weren’t about to lose the privilege because you decided to get fucking cute about it.

“Thanks ... Have a good day now.” She replied with a sincere smile. The merchant was a good man after all. He never put his name in and if he found out one of the men was cruel or unkind even, he’d return their credits and tell them to start getting real used to the sweet feel of their left hand because that was about all they were getting from now on. 

She walked through town, that name flipping through her mind. It was just so unexpected. 

Well no time like the present she supposed. She had had a bath last night, given the old cunt a tidy and all that. She had a debt to pay and she just knew she wouldn’t sleep right until it was paid off good and proper. Yes, it was a little fucked up but that was the system and she had lived with it for a while now. Strangely you kinda got used to it. Most men were pretty appreciative about it. 

Walking down the main street, she noted the weird combination of old and new that had blended together in this world. Cars jerry-rigged with solar panels to charge the batteries travelled on the same road as horse-drawn carriages. Kids wore sneakers cause there were still plenty of those left in old stores but paired them with clearly homemade clothes and then spiked them with leather jackets kitted out with studs and chunks of cell phones used as artistic decoration.

She walked until she hit the slight outskirts of the main town area. She could see him now, his arm lifting as he pounded the steel into shape with a large hammer. Farriers, blacksmiths, knife-makers, welders and so on made a nice living in this new world. You could always tell who they were because they smelled like fire and had arms the size of her entire body it seemed. She licked her lips and straightened her back. For the first time in well over a year, she had to admit that she might just be looking forward to this one.

“Hey ...” She greeted. He put down the hammer and shifted up his eye protection, squinting at her in the bright light of day. “Hey.” He replied back, his voice a little gruff. “You looking for something?” He asked.

“Ummm ... pulled your name.” Turns out all the cool things she was saying in her head since pulling his name had just fallen right on out of her brain. Well I wasn’t cool before, she thought bleakly with a tinge of amusement, Guess I’m not now either. Maybe the next apocalypse.

He stopped, frowning lightly as if he wasn’t sure what she was talking about and then his expression cleared and his eyes grew wide. “Oh.” he said. It was actually more of a sound. He cleared his throat. “I ... I  ... yeah. Now?” he queried.

When she nodded, “If you have the time. Otherwise ... I can come back.” I can come back. What the hell, was she Uber Eats? What the fuck is wrong with her?

He shook his head, “Now is good.” He tipped his head toward the interior. “Let me shut this down a bit and then I’ll wash up and be in.” 

He seemed nervous. Why did she like that so much? Maybe she was bored of the older guys who just had you bend over or would just unzip when they saw you coming. No effort man. No fucking effort. Literally. Wham bam, you’ve paid for your groceries Ma’am.

Mr. Muscles here better put in some damn effort at least.

#trading in dignity #bedtime stories #stories to read by the northern lights

[incarnateirony]

God as I’ve gotten older I’ve gotten so cynical about idealization.

In the last few days across various private messages to various friends I’ve said the following things about not understanding people iconizing old SPN as dark or gritty:

Diet dark

Dark but airing at 7PM for teenagers on the WB dark

Dark but airing two hours after Pinky and the Brain dark

Dark but on Fridays at this time I flip a channel to watch a talking cat dark

I’ve said, for example, it wasn’t dark or even gritty really. It was still hollywood glamor, if a little less than it is now. That it was dusty, more than anything

Dusty like offroading in your prius and forgetting to wash your car dusty

Dusty like hitchhiking and maybe stealing some over the counter eyedrops to trade back in for cash and buy a cheap motel room dusty

Dusty like transporting goats in the back of my Corolla dusty

Dusty like that time I slept in a junkyard dusty

I have become an EXCESSIVELY cynical bitch, I see.

Maybe it’s because my life *was* dark and full of grit. Maybe it’s because I DID blaze a dusty path. Maybe it’s because just about anything the guys did in the first few seasons, I did before I hit puberty. Maybe it’s because I lived that and could see through the hilarious glamorization of it all. I don’t know. 

Like, do I MISS the vibe of the old seasons? Sure, sometimes. Which is when I, like, go to netflix and watch the first few seasons for that vibe. I much prefer this thoroughly fleshed out and constructed style of modern storytelling in general, but there was in fact a fun Americana vibe to it. I’m not saying it wasn’t fun. But people act like old SPN was some peak macabre horror psychological thriller and not a teenage drama with overexposed lensing for bleached film stock. And that goes on both sides with people talking about it being “problematic” or whatever. Beyond the old era rimshots at gay people and the habit of discarding female characters or whatever -- while, protip, we all tuned in to a show featuring white male leads by choice -- like. 

I don’t get it. I literally do not get it.  Like as hard as people have romanticized one idealization, it’s like for the sake of argument against the fanon romanticization of that idealization they’ve excessively piled on and built up something to dismantle that barely existed to begin with and, what did exist has literally been show dismantled. Now either side of the fence will scream “codependency, true love/problematic” if brothers like. Breathe in each other’s vicinity. Or don’t just casually let the other die bloody and alone. You know. Basically, whenever they aren’t being absolute terrible human beings that don’t give a shit about their family at all, this flips into magnetic polarization in fandom dialogue. Like, sis, they're eating sammiches. I don't need a 5 page essay on how this "deconstructs the codependency." Dabberens have been on a warpath ever since they dropped Red Meat as the cornerstone sure but literally they're eating bologna and playing foosball chill out.

It’s one thing to like, hm. Take a highlighter to your favorite elements in fanon spaces. Write fics or art that deepen a particular theme or tone. But it’s another thing to like, hold evolving canon to the precedent set up in your own mythologilized fandom spaces.

Things that have /objectively/ changed in the show:

- Genre/cinematography; lighting and set adapted from vaguely horror-esque (halfly to hide the terrible makeup and CGI) to high fantasy over time (in which increased lighting shows that terrible makeup and CGI). Not liking one or the other? VALID!

- Character focus: The first several seasons were pretty much just da bros. Carver era extended into Team Free Will even if people hit denial waves about it. Dabb era seems to play ship-juggling acts and does openly engage in sport like “Oh wow, Rowena is flirting with Cas, I wonder if they’re gonna be a thing :)” while shoving some Sabriel or Samwitch in the way between more central pairs like Saileen or Destiel. Not liking one version or another of this? VALID!

- Mythology: Old SPN demonized literally any tradition that wasn’t christianity. Their alchemists and shamans are, respectively, kind of offensive. Carver only used the established races and a very vague cain and abel concept. Modern SPN is using alchemy and philosophy formerly villainized under the Calvinistic lens. Not liking one version or another of this? VALID!

- Core Principles: While “Family don’t end in blood” has always been there, the current author room’s statements about believing in hope or heroism over tragedy /are/ distinctly different than tragedy-oriented old SPN with the faintest lick of hope-ish-seeming-things with Lisa’s “never too late” kinda slapped on at the end to vaguely tell us there’s silver linings. Characters aren’t fighting just for survival all the time now, they’re often fighting for silver linings. Or gold ones right now. *rimshot* Not liking one version or another of this? VALID!

- Rule of Cool: Literally, this was a thing, and then it wasn’t. Kripke picked cars he liked because he liked them and thought they were cool. Kripke picked guns he thought were cool. Kripke picked name spellings he thought were cool. These are all things he’s said, like, on the record. This is also why the early show attracted more dudes that also operated on Rule of Cool. But maintaining cohesion required less and less rule of cool and more and more intertextual and subtextual poetry that gave less “plug whatever you want in the space with the cool shit” room and more “infinite amount of material that, while defined, all has flexible potential if you think about it and how to employ it.” Not liking one version or another of this? VALID!

Noticing change is /fair/. It’s /valid/. You don’t have to /like/ the change. 

Hell. This started addressing fandom romanticization of the early seasons but let’s not pretend Destiel fandom doesn’t have its own versions of this. All the different wings that romanticize the weirdest fucking eras as “the best” rampage too. Like the parts you like. Enjoy content how you enjoy it. But when you build up a romanticized version of a product in your head, you can’t expect the product to perform like the romanticized version. 

I know first memories are powerful. Nostalgia is powerful. But have you ever... like... gone to turn on a movie you loved as a kid 15, 20 years ago or whatever and load it up now and realize like, “Wow, I used to like some stupid shit.” And hell. We may even acknowledge it was stupid shit and STILL like the stupid shit. Or the stupid shit may annoy us know, depending. Who knows? Not to say seasons 1-2 are “stupid shit” if you will (or whatever season, 4, 8, whatever Destiel fandom may argue about as The Best on a given day) -- but it feels like attaching to these characters, and then arguing about these characters, without EVER unplugging from the content at all has made people lose that perspective where we, IDK, turn Digimon back on for the first time and go “oh wow this is a lot dumber than I remember it being (but it’s still fun)”. Yes, Pikachu IS annoying to hear squeaking constantly like your parents said before you lit up in holy, righteous fury defending the sparking rat. No, that doesn’t mean you can’t have fun watching the reboot of Mewtwo Strikes Back. It just... perspective.

I dunno. Maybe fandom will in fact pan out differently in 15+ years once people have had the chance at this kind of down time. 

Random thoughts.

[weekendwarriorblog]

The Weekend Warrior 12/4/20 – HALF BROTHERS, THE PROM, I’M YOUR WOMAN, BLACK BEAR, LUXOR, ANOTHER ROUND, ALL MY LIFE, NOMADLAND, MANK and Much More!

I hope everyone had an absolutely wonderful Thanksgiving. Mine was relatively uneventful, and I only spent most of my time watching movies.  And holy shit, there are a LOT of movies out this week, but at least a few of them I’ve already seen and reviewed, and there are others that are actually pretty good, so I might as well get to it, hm?

First up is this week’s Focus Features theatrical release, HALF BROTHERS, a buddy road comedy directed by Luke Greenfield (Blue Streak, Let’s Be Cops) that’s fairly high concept but also with quite a bit more depth than the director’s previous movies. It stars Luis Gerardo Méndez as Renato Murguia, a wealthy Mexican businessman whose father left him to come to America when Renato was just a child. Just as Renato is about to get married while having issues connecting to his future stepson Emilio, he gets a call that his own father is dying, so he begrudgingly goes to see him. Once there, Renato’s dying father sends him on a scavenger hunt to find someone named “Eloise” with his annoying slacker half-brother Asher (Connor del Rio), because that will provide all the answers Renato is looking for on why his father never returned from America, remarried and had another son. What could possibly go wrong?

If you’ve seen any of the ads for Half Brothers, you may already presume that this is a fairly high-concept buddy road comedy that is constantly going for the zaniest and craziest of laughs. That probably would only be maybe 25% of the movie. Instead, this fairly mainstream comedy finds a way to take a very common comedy trope and throw in enough heartfelt moments that you can forgive the few times when it does go for low-hanging fruit. We’ve seen so many movies like this where two guys (or sometimes ladies, but not as often) are paired with one having zero patience or tolerance for the other, who is beyond aggravating to them. (Planes, Trains and Automobiles is one of the better ones.) Obviously, Renato fits snugly into the first category, and Asher could not be more annoying, very early on stealing a goat for no particular reason.

The Mexican angle and the fact that a lot of the film is in Spanish – Focus getting into Pantelion territory here? – does add to make Half Brothers feel like more of a personal story than we might normally see in this kind of movie, touching upon the immigrant experience, from the viewpoint of a low-paid worker as well as a well-to-do industrialist. It also deals with things like fatherhood and brotherhood and what it means to be one or both, so everything ultimately connects far better in the end than some might expect. I also want to give the filmmakers credit for putting together a cast of mostly unknown or little-known actors and getting such great results out of them.

On the surface, Half Brothers seems like just another buddy comedy, but underneath, it’s a heartfelt and emotional journey that touches in so many ways and ends up being quite enjoyable.

Another movie opening nationwide this Friday is ALL MY LIFE (Universal), starring Jessica (Happy Death Day) Rothe as Jennifer Carter and Harry (Crazy Rich Asians) Shum Jr. as Solomon Chau, whose wedding plans are thrown off when he is diagnosed with liver cancer. They realize they have to get married sooner since he might not live to make their planned date, so their friends launch a fundraiser so that they can get married in two weeks. The movie is directed by Marc Meyers (My Friend Dahmer), who is a more than capable filmmaker with this being his third movie in the last two years.

Now that I’ve actually seen the movie… I’ll freely admit that this is not the kind of movie I usually have very high expectations for, and maybe that’s because I’ve already been burnt twice this year with real-life romantic dramas, first with the faith-based I Still Believe in March and then more recently with Two Hearts. In both cases, I could count the issues and why they failed to tug at the heart strings as they were meant to do.  Even though I’ve generally enjoyed Meyers’ past movies, I wasn’t even sure he could pull off this type of studio romance movie without having to cowtow to the corny clichés that always seem to slip in – or at least find a way to make them more palatable. (And let’s be realistic. This is the kind of movie that snobby film critics just LOVE to trash.)

First of all, Meyers already has two truly fantastic leads working in his movie’s favor.  I’ve been a true Jessica Rothe stan ever since seeing her kill it in Happy Death Day and its sequel. Shum is perfectly paired with her, and the two of them are so good from the moment they first meet and we meet them.  In every scene, you feel like you’re watching some of that rare on-screen romantic chemistry that’s so hard to fake. Their relationship is romantic and goofy, and you’re just rooting for them all the way through even if you do know what’s to come.

Eventually, Sol does fall ill, and it does lead to some more dramatic and tougher moments between the couple, but all of it is handled so tastefully, including their need to raise money so they can have their wedding rather than waiting. I am living proof that people really do come together to step up when they see someone in real need, so I couldn’t even tut tut at something like their fundraiser getting so many people to chip in. On top of his two leads, Meyers has assembled such a great cast around the duo, the most recognizable being Jay Pharaoh from Saturday Night Live, everyone around Jess and Sol handles the requisite emotions with nary a weak link.

There’s just so much other stuff that adds to the enjoyment of watching All My Life from the use of Oasis and Pat Benatar in the soundtrack just to the quality storytelling that makes it all feel quite believable. These sorts of movies tend to be rather corny and the diehard cynic who doesn’t have an ounce of romance or love in their body will find things to hate.

All My Life finds its way into your heart by being one of those rare studio romance movies that understands how human emotions truly work, and there’s nothing corny about that. It’s a beautiful movie that entertains but also elicits more than a few tears. Watch it with someone you love.

This week’s “Featured Flick” is Chloe Zhao’s amazing film NOMADLAND (Searchlight), which I reviewed out of its Toronto International Film Festival premiere, but it’s (sort of) being released in theaters this week. It stars Frances McDormand as Fern, a woman living in her van as she moves from place to place taking odd jobs within a community of nomads. It’s another amazing film from the filmmaker behind The Rider, who will make her foray into the Marvel Cinematic Universe next year with The Eternals, which I’m just as psyched about. There’s no denying that McDormand gives a performance that’s a knock-out, even better than the one in 3 Billboards if you ask me, and there’s also a great supporting role for David Strathairn, who I’ve been hoping would have another role as good as this one. Zhao is just a fantastic filmmaker, and I’m glad to see that The Rider was no fluke.

Unfortunately, Nomadland is only getting a one-week Oscar qualifying run, and I’m not even sure where it’s getting that run since theaters in New York and L.A. aren’t even open yet. Maybe Searchlight will do some drive-in screenings like they did for the New York Film Festival and Telluride? It will get a stronger theatrical release (hopefully) on February 21, just to make doubly sure it qualifies for Oscars.

Opening in theaters this week before streaming on Netflix December 11 is Ryan Murphy’s adaptation of the Broadway musical THE PROM, the first feature film he’s directed in ten years. The multiple Tony-nominated musical is about a high school girl named Emma (newcomer Jo Ellan Pellman) who wants to take her girlfriend (Ariana DeBose) to their senior prom, but the head of the PTA (Kerry Washington) cancels the prom instead. The national outrage the situation creates gets the attention of a quintet of self-absorbed Broadway actors who decide to improve their PR by taking up Emma’s cause. Oh, yeah, and those actors are played by Meryl Streep, James Corden, Nicole Kidman, and actual Broadway stars Andrew Rannells and Kevin Chamberlin. What could possibly go wrong?

I’ve never had any sort of positive or negative gut reaction to Murphy’s work on television over the past few years, but I’ve definitely been mixed on the three movies he’s directed to date. I wasn’t a huge fan of his Eat Pray Love, though I vaguely remember enjoying his debut, Running with Scissors. Either way, he certainly has found his niche with musicals from Glee (a show I’ve never watched)  and finding a musical like The Promseems to be a perfect fit between filmmaker and material.

Having not seen The Prom on Broadway – surprise, surprise -- I was a little worried that it was going to go down the path of nudge-nudge wink-wink inside Broadway path that helped Mel Brooks’ The Producers become a Broadway hit. That I saw, and I didn’t hate the movie based on it, although I’m by no means a total movie-musical stan. There’s some obvious older ones I love, some newer ones that others love but I hated – Rob Marshall is about 50/50 for me -- and you might be surprised by which of them I liked best.

What I thoroughly enjoyed about The Prom is that Murphy manages to truly surprise everyone watching it, whether it’s in Kerry Washington’s single song – who knew she had such an amazing singing voice? – or how enjoyable Keegan-Michael Key is as the school’s Principal Hawkins, who not only loves musicals but actually admires Streep’s two-time Tony-award winning Dee Dee Allen. Considering my frequent disdain for Streep’s over-confidence, knowing full well that she’s one of the best living actors working today, she’s actually pretty amazing in the role of what many must assume Streep is like in real life, which makes her character more than a little META. In some ways, I can say the same for Corden, who is pretty fantastic as Dee Dee’s frequent stage co-star Barry Glickman, who has his own connections to Emma’s plight having been disowned by his mother (Tracey Ullman, who only shows up for one brief scene late in the movie) when he came out to her. Corden has one dramatic moment so powerful I was taken quite aback.

Even with those two actors and Kidman likely to get much of the attention, there’s no denying that the romance between Hellman and Debose, and the three or four numbers they have together, makes up the true heart and soul of The Prom. So here you have this amazing cast, and it’s a musical made-up of very fun and quite catchy songs, and that’s long before you get to Andrew Rannells as out-of-work actor Trent Oliver, who practically steals the whole movie with his showstopper of a number, “Love Thy Neighbor.” And then watching Key holding his own with Streep, both musically and dramatically, you might start wondering, “What is going on here?”

Like I said before, it’s pretty obvious that Murphy has fully poured his passion of movie-musicals into every second of The Prom, and it shows on the face of everyone joining him on this adventure. As much as the subject at the film’s core is fairly serious and a hurdle that many gay kids across the world every day, it’s also quite funny. Kudos must be given to Murphy for being able to emphasize those moments as well as the more dramatic ones. Besides that, Murphy really takes advantage of being able to go to different locations, including a sequence on Broadway that could have been done during the pandemic (it actually was built on a soundstage), another number at an actual mall and even at a monster truck rally. It also doesn’t hurt that Murphy hired Matthew Libatique, a god-like cinematographer in my book, to film the movie either.

Like most musicals, The Prom might lose a little as it goes along, since it gets to be too much that goes on for too long, but then there are more than enough great moments to pull you back. It’s by far one of the stronger movie musicals I’ve seen in a very long time, and just the right feel-good experience we all need right now.

I’ve already reviewed David Fincher’s MANK – a few times, in fact – but if you’re in one of the places where it opened theatrically in November, you can finally see it on Netflix starting this Friday. This is the general problem with the way things are these days because even though this only opened a few weeks ago, I already feel that it’s been discussed and forgotten before most people will have a chance to see it.  Anyway, if for some reason, you’ve managed to avoid things about the movie, it essentially stars Gary Oldman as Herman Mankiewicz, the Hollywood screenwriter who ended up co-writing Orson Welles’ Citizen Kane in 1940. The film follows Mankiewicz as he mingles with the Hollywood elite in the 30s, including billionaire William Randolph Hearst (Charles Dance) and his young ingenue girlfriend Marion Davies (Amanda Seyfried) who would be the influence for his Oscar-winning screenplay. I expect to be writing a lot about this movie as we get closer to Oscar season sometime next year.

Also on Netflix this week is Selena: The Series, starring Christian Serratos. It’s the kind of thing that I probably would never watch unless I have an excess of time, and as you’re about to learn from the rest of the column, that doesn’t happen frequently.

The third chapter of Steve McQueen’s “Small Axe Anthology,” RED WHITE AND BLUE, will debut on Prime Video this Sunday, starring John Boyega as Leroy Logan, a young black man who joins the Metropolitan Police after seeing his father assaulted by police and wanting to make a difference in the racist attitudes from within. You might remember that I reviewed this out of the New York Film Festival a couple months back, so not much more to say there.

A week from Sunday, on December 13, McQueen’s fourth film, ALEX WHEATLE, will hit Amazon, and guess what? I’ve already seen it, so I will review it now. How about that? Alex Wheatle is also a true story, this one starring Sheyi Cole as the award-winning young adult writer when he was a younger and just learning the ropes as a drugdealer/DJ in Brixton before his involvement in the 1981 Brixton riots gets him thrown in jail.

As with the other three movies in the “Small Axe Anthology” there are recurring elements and themes in Alex Wheatle, mostly about the way the immigrants to England from Jamaica and other islands are treated by “The Beast” aka what they call the Metropolitan Police. It does take a little time to get to that, as McQueen, working from a screenplay co-written by Mangrove’s Alaistar Siddons, takes a far more non-linear approach than the other three films. We first see Wheatle being taken into prison where he’s thrown into a cell with a constantly-shitting Rastafarian, but we then cut back to his schooling for a short sequence that reminded me of Alan Clarke’s Scum. Both in prison and in school, we see Alex being abused by classmates and head matron alike, and this portion of the film includes another one of arty moments of actor Cole laying on the ground eyes wide open staring for what seems to go on forever. In some ways, this sequence reminds me of McQueen’s fantastic early film Hunger, since it seems to be cut from similar cloth.

Eventually, Alex gets to Brixton and that’s where this chapter in “Small Axe” really takes off as we see how naïve and green he is while dealing with quite a tough crowd and trying to adjust to city life among the Rastafarian community.

As with the other “Small Axe” chapters, I love how McQueen and his team used reggae music to help set the tone and vibe for the episode, because like Baz Lurhman’s Netflix series The Get Down, the music is frequently a key to this biopic working so well. Of course, it’s also due to the performance by Cole and the actors around him that helps make you feel as if you’re seeing a real part of history.

As with Mangrove, this chapter culminates with an amazing recreation of the 1981 Brixton Riots, done in protest after a house party fire in New Cross that the police don’t bother investigating. The actual riots were a much bigger and scarier event going by Wikipedia which says that 279 police were injured and 56 police vehicles set fire, which makes it sound more like the ’92 L.A. Riots.

I’m not sure Alex Wheatle does as good a job explaining how the young man goes into prison as a DJ and comes out as an author, but like Red, White and Blue it’s still an important and inspirational story that adds quite a bit to the previous three “Small Axe” films.

And once again, here is my interview with McQueen from over at Below the Line.

Also, I should mention that Darius Marder’s excellent Sound of Metal movie, starring Riz Ahmed, hits Amazon Prime Video this Friday, too. Check out my review!

The magnificent Andrea Riseborough stars in Zeina Durra’s LUXOR (Samuel Goldwyn), playing British aid worker Hana who while spending time in the ancient city of Luxor, runs into her former lover Sultan (Karim Saleh), as she reflects on past decisions and her current uncertain situation.

I was quite interested in this one sight unseen, not only because it’s another great starring role for Riseborough. (Honestly, she is one of the best actors working today, and I strongly believe she is just one role away from being the next Olivia Colman, who had been amazing for years before everyone in America “discovered” her in The Favourite and then The Crown… which I still haven’t watched! ARGH!). I was a little anxious about the movie, having seen Rubba Nadda’s Cairo Time, starring Patricia Clarkson and Alexander Siddig, which seemingly had the exact same plot.

Durra is a much more capable and confident filmmaker and there’s a lot more overall value in watching Riseborough exploring Egypt as Durra quietly allows Hana’s story to unfold through her interactions with others, as well as her time alone, often languishing in one luxurious hotel room or another.  Then there are the quiet and sometime awkward scenes between her and Saleh, the two of them having been lovers when they were both much younger. We also see Hana in far more vulnerable moments, so we know that she’s by no means actor, and it takes a great actor to really pull off such a dichotomy and bring such dimension to a character with so few words.

There’s something that’s almost comforting watching her dealing with emotions like loneliness in such a tranquil way. I’d even go so far to say that Luxor works in many ways similar to Nomadland, which obviously is getting the far more high-profile release with lots of festival love long before its actual release.  Like that movie, Durra’s film benefits from having masterful cinematography by Zelmira Gainza and an equally gorgeous score by Nascuy Linares, to boot.

Luxor is a quiet, beautifully-made film that really took me by surprise. It acts as much like a travelogue of the title city as it does a tourist’s map to what it must feel like being a woman very much on her own in a foreign land.

I also spoke with Luxor filmmaker Zeina Durra, an interview that will be up at Below the Line hopefully sometime later this week.

With all the talk about Aubrey Plaza in Happiest Season (now on Hulu!), this would be a great time to release another one of her indies that played at the Sundance Film Festival this year, right? What can possibly go wrong?

In Lawrence Michael Levine’s BLACK BEAR (Momentum Pictures), Plaza plays Allison, an actor/filmmaker who arrives at the remote lake house of Christopher Abbott’s Gabe and his pregnant partner Blair (Sarah Gadon), to relax and work on a screenplay, only for the night to turn into philosophical discussions that transform into angry and even violent squabbles. In the second part of the movie, Gabe is the director, and Allison his actor wife, who thinks he’s sleeping with Blair, who is also acting in Gabe’s film.

That plot might seem a little vague, and I can’t exactly tell you whether there is much connection between the two parts of the movie other than it features the same three characters. The first half turns from a drama into a thriller before ending abruptly, while the second part is equal parts comedy and drama as we see a larger part of the world around the trio. In fact, the second part of Black Bear reminded me somewhat of Olivier Assayas’Irma Vep, one of my favorite movies, and that might be one of the highest compliments I can pay a movie.

But first, you have to get through the more quizzical and dramatic first part, which easily could have been done as a three-handed stageplay as we see the changing dynamics between the three people as things get crazier and crazier with one “Holy shit!” moment after the next. (It reminded me a little of Mamet or the play “Gods of Carnage,” although I only saw that as the movie version Carnage, directed by Roman Polanski.)

The fact the connection between the two parts is never explained might confound some people who were otherwise enjoying what is a pretty decent three-hander, but the common theme involves jealousy between the two women. Plaza is a fine dramatic actor when she wants to be, and Gadon is absolutely fantastic, which makes Abbot almost literally the odd man out, but the three of them just have great scenes together.

Black Bear is certainly an enigma of a movie, as much a mystery about what must be going on inside Plaza’s head during some of her softer and crazier scenes, but if you want to talk about range, this gives her so much material for her demo reel that no one could possibly doubt her as an actor again.

Thomas Vinterberg’s new movie ANOTHER ROUND (Samuel Goldwyn) reteams him with his The Hunt star Mads Mikkelsen for a comedy…. Ish… about a group of four middle aged Danish teachers who decide to hold an experiment to prove a theory that people only reach their maximum effectiveness and creativity when they’re .05% drunk. It starts out innocently enough but soon, the men are drinking heavily at school, leading to horrible and unfortunate side effects. I mean, what could possibly go wrong?

Even knowing Vinterberg’s knack for strange and twisted “comedies,” Another Round is definitely on another level, opening with a scene of drunken kids playing a drinking game that gets them so out-of-control drunk and rowdy. We then meet Mikkelsen’s Martin, a history teacher, whose rowdy seniors are so bored by his classroom technique that Martin is put in front of an inquisition of parents who think he’s going to make their kids fail their final exams. Martin’s home life isn’t much better with his wife Anika (Maria Bonnevie) or his own teen sons. Although Martin says he won’t drink when he has to drive, his friend Nikolaj (Magnus Millang) convinces him by announcing his theory about how everyone needs to always maintain a certain percentage of alcohol in their system.  Over the course of the rest of the movie, we’re shown the alcohol level of our “heroes,” although most will see their behavior as some kind of synced-up middle life crisis. For Martin, it’s a breakthrough, as he starts feeling more confident and assertive towards his students, even trying to connect with them via their drinking activities, as seen in the opening montage.

Another Round is quite a different beast from The Hunt, because there’s a more humorous tone to the point where I could totally see an American studio trying to remake this with the likes of Will Ferrell and Adam Sandler, which would probably lose a lot of the poignancy of what Vinberberg was trying to achieve here. At one point, he throws in a montage of seemingly drunk world leaders, which is kind of amusing even if it’s not quite so apparent why it’s there. There’s a lot of really bad white guy dancing, too, for anyone who is into that sort of thing.

There is definitely a good amount of grief and sadness to the way this story resolves, although Vinterberg still finds a way to leave Martin in a place of joy with a closing scene that may surprise a lot of people. Another Round is another tremendous feather in the cap of the Vinterberg/Mikkelsen collaboration, and it will be in select theaters this Friday before going to digital on December 18.

Another Round will be in select theaters this Friday and then on digital December 18.

Fast Color director Julia Hart returns with I’M YOUR WOMAN (Amazon), once again co-written with husband Jordan Horowitz. It stars Rachel Brosnahan from The Amazing Mrs. Maisel (which I haven’t seen) as Jean, a woman unable to have a baby with her small-time crook husband Eddie. One night, Eddie brings home a baby for Jean, but then he quickly vanishes and Jean finds herself on the run with a stolen baby and one of Eddie’s accomplices, Cal (Arinzé Kene), and there are bad men wanting to question Jean about her missing husband’s whereabouts.

This is another movie where I really didn’t know what to expect, and having not watched Brosnahan on her award-winning show, I was watching this movie trying to figure out what all the fuss was about.  It’s evident from the start that Hart/Horowitz were trying to make a ‘70s-set movie with all the trappings of ‘70s fashion and music, but when you throw in the crime element, it comes across a little too much like last year’s The Kitchen, which wasn’t very good but also wasn’t based on very good source material.

One would presume that the genre elements and a few scattered set pieces, like a shootout at a club, would be the main draw, but it’s almost 30 minutes before we even get any sort of plot, and that’s a big problem. An even bigger problem is that I’m Your Woman just drags for so much of the movie, and it’s pretty obvious that Hart-Horowitz were trying to create a ‘70s movie like some of the films by Scorsese and the movies John Cassavetes made with wife Gena Rowlands. By comparison, I’m Your Woman is stylized almost to a pretentious degree.  Brosnahan does show a few glimpses of there being a good actor in there, but the material just really isn’t quite up to snuff. It also doesn’t help the movie to have the baby crying almost non-stop throughout.

Jean eventually pairs up with Cal’s woman Teri (Martha Stephanie Blake), her son Paul and Cal’s father (played by Frankie Faison), and this is when she learns more about Eddie’s life that she doesn’t know about. Eventually, things start to pick up in the last act, but the multiple problems Hart has with maintaining a steady pace or tone only mildly is made up for by her terrific DP and whoever put together the musical score.  Essentially, the last 30 minutes of I’m Your Woman does make up for the previous 85 minutes, but it’s going to be very hard for many people to even get through how dull the movie is up until that point.

This is a week with some very fine docs, the first one being Weixi Chen and Hao Wu*’s cinema verité film 76 DAYS (MTV Documentary Films), which goes behind the doors of the Wuhan ICU Red Cross hospital over the first 76 days of the COVID pandemic after it hit the rural area of China. (*One of the film’s co-directors/cinematographers shot the film anonymously.)

Here I thought that Alex Gibney’s Totally Under Control would be the best or maybe even only movie about the pandemic released this year, but here we have a fantastic documentary that captures what it was really like in one Wuhan hospital as it was nearly overrun months before COVID started to rear its ugly head in the States. The film begins in January 23, 2020 and follows a number of cases as we watch the personnel, all decked out in head-to-toe PPE, trying to save lives and keep people calm while trying to struggle with all the stresses that come their way. There’s actually a little bit of humor in a cranky elderly man (clearly with some form of dementia) who keeps wandering around the hospital, frustrating his tenders, but there’s also a very moving story of a young pregnant woman who has contracted COVID, who ends up being separated from her baby after a Cesarian section.

There are moments early in the movie where you can see panic starting to set in as we see how out of control things begin, but the anonymous health care workers soon get things underhand and manage to find a way to deal with the panic that’s setting in. There’s no question that these doctors and nurses – many whose faces we never even see -- are the definition of frontline workers, trying to deal with this unknown virus without all the answers and solutions that have been discovered over the past ten months.

76 Days will open via the Film Forum Virtual Cinema as well as other places presumably.

I’m glad I had Dana Nachman’s DEAR SANTA (IFC Films) to watch after 76 Days, because I don’t think I could have handled another dark or deep movie after that one. This doc is all about “Operation Santa,” the amazing group of volunteers and adopters who receive the letters young kids write to the North Pole and go out of their way to fulfill the kids’ wishes.

I was a big fan of Nachman’s Pick of the Litter, so I’m thrilled to say that Dear Santa is just as wonderful and joyous, starting with a bunch of kids explaining Santa Clause enthusiastically, because they really believe in Jolly Saint Nick. Over the course of the film, Nachman profiles a number of Adopter Elves, who look through the letters written to Santa by unfortunate kids and pick a few to fulfill their wishes. A lot of them are in New York and Chicago where the program has led to a number of non-profits, but Nachman also goes to Chico, California where many of the families from Paradise, the town destroyed by fires in 2018, ended up relocation. One story of an Adopter Elf named Damion is particularly wonderful, since he, like many of those who get involved in the program, are trying to give back and pay it forward.

Operation Santa is such a great program and Dear Santa is such a wonderful movie, I challenge anyone to watch it and not tear up from how big their heart will grow while watching it.

Julien Temple’s doc CROCK OF GOLD: A NIGHT WITH SHANE MACGOWAN (Magnolia Pictures) is pretty self-explanatory from its title, but as someone who was never really a Pogues fan, I was almost as entertained by Temple’s film as I was by Alex Winter’s Zappa about a musician who I actually was a fan of. Temple uses MacGowan’s own narration to tell his story from growing up in Ireland, the early days of punk that led to the Pogues and eventually, mainstream success.

My absolute adoration of well-made music docs is fairly well-known at this point, and you can’t really get much better in terms of music doc makers than Julien Temple, who had his cameras rolling in the early days of punk, captured one of David Bowie’s more interesting mainstream phases and also made a very cool movie about The Clash frontman, Joe Strummer.

Although I never really cared for The Pogues, that’s probably because I didn’t know them from their rowdier days and more from their mainstream success from “Fairytale of New York” but Temple’s movie rectifies that with some amazing footage from the band’s earlier days. Even more impressive is the footage and pictures of MacGowan during the late ‘70s dancing in the audience at Sex Pistols and other punk shows. (Temple even interviewed MacGowan during this period in the ‘70s, then put the footage in the movie.) As MacGowan tells his own story about growing up in Ireland, Temple frequently uses varied animation to recreate the stories being told, and that does a lot to embellish the cartoon nature of MacGowan’s storytelling.

I still think MacGowan is a bit of an asshole -- I’m sure he’d agree with that assessment -- but Temple has found a way into this very difficult musician, sometimes using close friends like Johnny Depp (a producer on the film) and Bobby Gillespie from Primal Scream to try to get MacGowan to open up about as much as he ever might. Crock of Gold is certainly an eye-opening portrait of the Pogues frontman that surprisingly offers something to enjoy even for those who never got into his music, but it also shows another dimension to his many fans. If nothing else, it’s a fine testament to why Temple is one of the best music doc filmmakers.

Magnolia held a bunch of one-night only theatrical screenings on Tuesday and will have more on Thursday, but if you miss those, you can catch it On Demand/digital this Friday. (I also have a really enjoyable interview with Julien Temple over at Below the Line that you should check out.)

A.J. and Jenny Tesler’s doc MAGNOLIA’S HOPE follows four years in the life of their young daughter Magnolia (aka Maggie), who has Rett Syndrome. Maggie’s filmmaking parents talk about noticing her strange behavior and finding out that she had a genetic disorder that makes it harder for children to retain what they’ve learned in terms of movement but also might led to far worse disorders. It makes it almost impossible for her to communicate with her parents, which makes it heartbreaking but also quite inspirational that the parents would allow us into their very own difficult journey to try to get their daughter to use and develop all of the skills she learns by making her practice them every single day. The movie will be available to watch for the month of December on the streaming platform Show and Tell, but it’s such a personal movie and another one where I think it will be hard for many to watch without getting a little teary but more out of joy than sadness.

Also out this week is David Osit’s MAYOR (Film Movement), which follows Musa  Hadid, the Christian mayor of Ramallah during his second term of office and determined to make his city a beautiful and dignified place to lived despite being surrounded on all sides by soldiers and Israeli settlements. It will open today at the Film Forum’s Virtual Cinema in New York after winning the Grand Jury Prize at the 2020 Full Frame Documentary Film Festival.

What there’s more? How about Braden R. Duemmler’s WHAT LIES BELOW (Vertical Entertainment), a thriller starring Ema Hovarth from Quibi’s Don’t Look Deeper as Liberty (aka Libby), a teen girl returning from camp only to learn her mother (Mena Suvari) has a hot younger boyfriend named John (Trey Tucker), who Libby soon begins to question whether he’s human. What could possibly go wrong?

I knew I was in trouble when Suvari is picking her daughter up from archeology camp (that’s a thing?) and I misheard her asking her daughter “Any nice digs?” (think about it), especially since Suvari is playing a stereotypically over-sexed cougar, something that becomes far more obvious once we meet her boyfriend that she’s been sexing up at her lake house. There’s certainly a danger of What Lies Below turning into a prequel to a Pornhub video, but thankfully, Duemmler gets away from the inappropriate sexuality inherent in John’s presence and into the weird behavior that gets Libby suspicious.

Sure, maybe calling the movie “My Stepfather is an Alien” would have been more apropos, and there’s elements of the movie that reminded me of the Tom Hanks’ movie The ‘burbs, and not in a good way. Even so, Hovarth, who really looks like Suvari’s daughter, does a fine job holding this together and keeping you invested in how things might pan out, as things get weirder and weirder and the movie eventually transforms itself into a halfway decent and creepy “body horror” flick.

Weird but well-done, What Lies Below is not even close to the worst thriller I’ve seen this year. That might seem like damning praise, but it’s the best I can do for this one.

Debuting on Shudder this Thursday is Justin G. Dyck’s ANYTHING FOR JACKSON (Shudder), a “reverse exorcism” movie in which a seemingly kindly couple, played by Sheila McCarthy and Julian Richings, kidnap a pregnant woman (Konstantina Mantelos) in hopes of getting the spirit of their grandson Jackson, who died in a car crash, and put him into her baby… with the help of demons. What could possibly go wrong? (If you hadn’t guessed, this is the theme of this week’s Weekend Warrior.)

I’ve been thoroughly impressed with the horror delivered by streamer Shudder this year, and Anything for Jackson is no exception. In fact, going over Dyck’s filmography, it’s kind of surprising how decent a horror filmmaker he is, because most of his other movies seem like Hallmark-style Christmas movies? Crazy. There are aspects of Anything for Jackson, written by Keith Cooper, who wrote some of those holiday movies for Dyck. I honestly can imagine the two of them making this movie just to be able to do something different, so they come into the horror realm with tons of fim making experience and easily transition into horror.

At the heart of this movie are McCarthy, Richings and Mantelos, who are all fine actors who do a great job selling the horrors but do just as well during the quieter dramatic moments.  Not that there are that many of them, as Dyck/Cooper throw so many absolutely horrific moments at the viewer so that diehard horror fans will not be disappointed. Things shift into another gear when Josh Cruddas joins in as a Satanic cult leader they bring in to help them when they realize they’re out of their league. The results are something akin to Insidiousin terms of the types of demons and ghosts thrown at the viewer.

At times, Anything for Jackson was a little hard to follow, maybe due to its non-linear storytelling, but at least it has a substantial amount of decent replay value, since the demons and kills are so gloriously gory.

Eric Schultz’s dark and trippy sci-fi thriller MINOR PREMISE (Utopia) stars Sathya Sridharan as neuroscientist Ethan, who gets caught up in his own risky experiment involving memory loss when he becomes trapped in his home with his ex-girlfriend Allie (Paton Ashbrook), and he doesn’t remember how they both got there.

For his directorial debut, Schultz has taken the cerebral indie sci-fi film route that we’ve seen in other filmmaking debuts like Shane Carruth’s Primer, Darren Aronofsky’s Pi or Richard Kelly’s Donnie Darko, and if you’re a fan of those movies, you’ll already know if this would be for you or not. This is also the kind of movie that really requires the closest attention and fullest focus, which is not something I’m great at right now. Because of that, I don’t have a ton to say about a film that does a good job pulling the viewer in with its intriguing premise.

Schultz is a pretty decent filmmaker and discovering Sridharan, who has done a lot of single-episode TV appearances but nothing major, is quite a coup since this is quite a solid showcase for the young actor. I wasn’t as crazy about Ashbrook, which makes it for a rather uneven two-hander.

Minor Premise is just fine, and I think some people will definitely like it more than I did. I definitely will have to watch it again when I’m not so distracted by ALL THOSE OTHER MOVIES ABOVE THAT I JUST FUCKING REVIEWED!

It will be in theaters, in virtual cinema, and digital/On Demand this Friday, so check it out for yourself.

And finally…

Director Dennis Dugan of Big Daddy and Happy Gilmore directs LOVE, WEDDINGS AND OTHER DISASTERS (Saban Films), a “Love American Style” rom-com anthology with a cast that includes Maggie Grace, Jeremy Irons, Diane Keaton and more. Grace plays Jessie, a fairly inexperienced wedding plan hired to orchestrate the high-profile wedding of Boston mayoral candidate (Dennis Staroselsky), and then… oh, you know what? I’ll leave the rest of the description to the review portion of our review.

We meet Grace’s character as she and her soon-to-be-ex boyfriend are skydiving, which goes horribly wrong as they end up fighting all the way down and crashing through an outdoor wedding, caught on a viral video that gets her dubbed the “Wedding Thrasher.” Imagine what a PR disaster that would be for mayoral candidate Rob Barton to have her planning his wedding, but Jessie quickly bonds with his fiancé Liz (Caroline Portu) and begins preparations. Meanwhile, Barton’s problematic brother Jimmy (Andy Goldenberg) has gone on a game show called “Crash Couples” (that’s hosted by no less than Dugan himself) and he allows himself to be chained to a Russian “lawyer” named Svetlana (Melinda Hill) who is actually a stripper. They’re willing to stick it out since the winner gets a million dollars.

Surely, that’s more than enough stories, right? Nope. Turns out that Jessie’s main competition to plan the wedding is a legendary caterer named Lawrence Phillips (Irons) who is set-up on a blind date with Diane Keaton, who is blind. Oy vey.  Also, there’s Andrew Bachelor as Captain Ritchie, who gives humorous sightseeing tours of Boston via the Charles River in an odd land/water vehicle, but one day, he encounters a young woman with a glass slipper tattoo, and he becomes quite smitten. We’ll get back to him. Maybe. In fact, Duggan spends so much time setting up different stories and relationships without much connection that you wonder whether he can tie things up in the oh-so-predictable way these things normally go.

Although the movie starts out fine, and it’s actually not a bad role for Grace, as soon as Duggan introduces the game show, then we learn that Svetlana (real name Olga) is a tripper connected to the mob and they get involved, things just start going downhill very fast. Also, the idea that Keaton -- who I haven’t seen in a good movie in almost two decades --  would not think twice about playing a klutzy blind person. As soon as she shows up and immediately knocks over one of Phillips’ signature champagne glass fountains, I knew we were in for a very long haul. I didn’t even mention the other storyline involving a musician named Mack (Diego Boneta) whose band Jessie is trying to get to play the wedding – one of the multiple meet-cutes in the movie -- although Mack is squabbling with his bandmate Lenny (Jesse McCartney) who has a new Asian girlfriend who is intruding in their friendship.  (I’m sure the fact her name is “Yoni” is meant as as Yoko Ono reference.)

Then on top of that, Dugan steals the gimmick from There’s Something About Mary, by constantly cutting back to Elle King and Keaton Simmons as they’re playing folksy songs in the park. Okay, the fact that Dugan wrote many of those pretty decent songs they perform is pretty impressive.

But the movie is very predictable, especially how it all comes together for the finale, which obviously has to take place at the wedding to which everything has been building up to.

Otherwise, Dugan’s film is maybe 20% an okay movie but the other 80%? Yeesh!! It’s about as romantic as a date with the Marquis de Sade, and it somehow manages to be an equal opportunity offender... in terms of offending blind people, Asians, Jews, Arabs, gay people and even strippers and Russian mafia. It took Dugan 14 years to get this passion project made, and it’s pretty obvious why.

As usual, there were a couple movies I didn’t have time to watch, but not quite as many as the ones I did make time to watch:

King of Knives (Gravitas Ventures) End of Sentence (Gravitas Venture) Billie (Greenwich) Godmothered (Disney+) Wander (Saban Films) Music Got Me Here (First Run Features) Stand! (Fathom Events, Imagination Worldwide) HAM: A Musical Memoir (Global Digital Releasing) In the Mood for Love (4k Restoration)

By the way, if you read this week’s column and have bothered to read this far down, feel free to drop me some thoughts at Edward dot Douglas at Gmail dot Com or drop me a note or tweet on Twitter. I love hearing from readers … honest!

#TheWeekendWarrior #Movies #Reviews #ImYourWoman #Mank #Nomadland #CrockOfGold #TheProm #BlackBear #Luxor #AnotherRound #HalfBrothers #AllMyLife

[misha-moose-dean-burger-lover]

Movie Night (ft. Cas's t-shirt)

THANK YOU for the ask, Dear Anon! I'm very flattered that you enjoyed the last one, and hope this meets your expectations! I WISH I could tag you in this, but you're on anon so.. Anyways, I went for Tuesday movie night idea, and clubbed it with a 'cute t-shirt prompt' I received and it got long AF but please leave a comment if you read and like!

*

"Ahh," Dean let out a perfect sound of exhaustion meeting the plush comfort of his couch. "It's finally Tuesday."

Sam snorted from the side, because his relationship with tuesdays had been kind of a love-hate. Not that Dean ever took him seriously - he doesn't blame his brother, really, because he wouldn't believe Dean either if he told him 'a piano crushed you to death' or any of those other ridiculous ways in which he'd died.

"If you like movie nights that much," Jack added, from the side - he was settled in one of the big chairs, looking more like a kid than he usually did. "Why don't we watch movies on other nights, too?"

Sam leaped to answer, ever ready to squeeze in a lesson for the nephilim. Good values needed to be a part of the upbringing. Children need to be taught by example. "There's an analogy we can use for this, Jack. Say, uh, Dean loves his birthday very much." Dean frowned at his brother. "Because of the pie, and the gifts, and all the beer." Dean shrugged. "So, he wishes on his birthday candles that everyday be his birthday!" Sam paused, and Dean wondered why he spoke as if he was talking to a kid, and not the strongest 2-year-old ever. "But, what happens then, is that he keeps growing a year older on each birthday - that is, everyday!"

Jack looked alarmed. "That's - bad."

"Yeah, because then I'd grow to be 60 in like a month and die." Dean added, in a deadpan.

"It won't take you thirty years to get to sixty." Sam reminded him.

"Shut up, Sam." Dean scowled and turned back to Jack. "Listen, kid, this isn't about all the good movies in the world getting finished too soon, if we watch 'em everyday. It's more about the attitude."

Jack nodded.

"Like, uh," Dean swallowed. "Like our dad always taught me and Sammy, hunters need to live a disciplined life. Can't just start watching a movie whenever, because that'll make your head feel like you're giving it permission to do crap, just like that, without a routine. That's never good for a hunter - even less so, he'd say, for the sons of an ex-Marine. Messes your head up, and takes away your ability to fixate on your decisions." Dean paused. "It's not like I've not watched movies on a Saturday because I wanted to, but the old man made sense - it's just, a routine is better to stick to."

"That sounds like a horrible amount of behavioral psychology to associate to an activity as trivial as watching a movie." Came a new voice, as Cas stood in the doorframe, his head just slightly tilted as his eyes looked straight at Dean.

Dean's exhale was caught in his lungs, and he blinked, staring at Cas with a chest full of air, and still feeling like he'd sink instead of buoyant. Cas was no longer in the trenchcoat and pants - he wore grey pyjamas which fit snug over his thighs, and a t-shirt which had to be new, because holy fucking shit.

He'd have noticed the angel walking around their bunker, wearing a black AC/DC shirt like that - simple, to someone else, perhaps - yet the way it fit over his biceps, widened his shoulders a bit more, and gave an elevated look to his chest because of the smooth descent to a toned abdomen - rendered Dean incapable of looking away. Complete with his hair sticking up at odd angles, hints of a stubble and inspecting eyes focussed on Dean, he looked like the stuff of Dean's (guilty, oh so guilty) dreams.

"H-hey, Cas." Dean cleared his throat, shifting on the larger couch to make space for him. He waved his hand dismissively to disregard all that he'd just said. "Forget about that, it was crap - come sit down." He suggested, breathlessly.

"Look who finally joined us," Sam addressed, in a normal voice and not even bothering to look up again - making Dean wonder why he didn't get all caught up in Cas's t-shirt, like Dean just had. He was unfairly attractive - but not just to Dean, right?

"I'm sorry," Cas replied, as he sat down next to Dean. Not a single part of them touched, since they were on opposite edges of a large couch Dean originally got for Sam and him - but there was still a tingling under Dean's skin, which had to be Cas's fault. "I couldn't find any socks." He turned to Dean, suddenly smiled, and tugged his pyjama up a little to show him the socks he wore. A pair of fucking novelty socks, they were - but Dean found himself grinning mindlessly, as Cas crossed his legs under him, and the visual was taken away from him.

"Of course, you couldn't." Sam inputted. "Dean hasn't been doing the laundry lately."

"Why am I the only one supposed to do it?" Dean threw back, and Sam didn't say anything to it.

"Nevermind." Cas declared. "I found socks, unwashed though they may be. Let us start." He referred to the movie.

Jack had fell silent for a moment, and he spoke up again. "Yeah! What are we watching today?"

At the same time that Sam opened his mouth - probably to drag Dean on how they better not watch something they'd just watched - Dean spoke up. "We're watching The Fellowship of The Ring, today."

"We just watched that on literally the third Tuesday of March -" Sam complained.

"Listen." Dean threw back. "Don't shove your crazy awesome memory with movies and dates, in my face - 'cause my brain forgot the movie already."

"Forgot? You probably can quote it line by line, Dean." Sam frowned. "But I guess you're not satisfied until you flawlessly recite it in your sleep, like Lost Boys."

Dean flashed his best shit-eating grin, and if that's what he was gonna do, he wasn't gonna agree with Sam. "Well, it's what we're watching, Sammy. Deal with it."

Sam narrowed his eyes. "What about Jack? Or Cas? Why don't you ask them if they want to watch Lord of the Rings again?"

"I do." Jack announced, brightly. "I like Frodo and Samwise Gamgee." Sam rolled his eyes. "But, I could also watch something else. I trust Sam's recommendations, after Harry Potter." He added, faithfully.

"Careful, buddy, Sammy's raising your son to be a nerd." Dean muttered to Cas, and he nodded, as if it was a line that needed to be answered with a nod.

Sam grinned like it was victory handed to him on a platter. "He said he could watch something else, Dean."

"What about Cas?" Dean turned to him, rotating in his seat. "Whadd'ya wanna watch, buddy?"

Cas pursed his lips, as if in deep thought. The deciding element. The one who'd tip the scales in the favor of one of the Winchesters.

"It's not Sophie's Choice," Sam grumbled sourly, as if he already knew what Cas would choose.

"Let him think!" Dean shushed his brother.

"I have reached a decision." Cas informed everyone, looking solemnly at the TV, instead of their faces. "We shall watch The Fellowship Of The Ring, tonight." He turned to Sam. "And if there's no hunts and we're at the bunker tomorrow too, Sam's choice shall prevail - that is, if Dean agrees to go against John's sayings and watch a movie on a Wednesday."

"That's fair." Jack grinned.

Dean beamed at Cas, with his little smile and his goddamn t-shirt, which was gonna drive Dean crazy in due time, he was sure. "See, Sam?" He ignored the comment on his father, because it was rare stilted humor, and in a perfect deadpan.

Sam muttered something under his breath which sounded a little bit like 'profound bond' for some reason, and rolled his eyes in defeated agreement, as Dean began to look for the movie.

"Whatever," Sam substituted, not looking up from his phone as the opening credits began to play. "The three of you can rewatch the entire LOTR series if you want, I'll just leave you to it." He shrugged.

"Hey!" Dean was annoyed. This was family movie night. Sam was supposed to be a part of it too. "Lord of the Rings is right up your alley, nerd. Why're you bitch-facing so hard tonight?"

"Well," Sam chewed on his lip. "It's very long, and I wanted to get to bed for an early night."

Dean narrowed his eyes, and hit pause on the remote just as the elves began to narrate. "Why?"

"No reason." Sam stalled. There was an almost familiar edge to his voice and -

Suddenly, it all made sense to Dean. The dots connected in his head, and Sam's reluctance to watch a three hours long movie was suddenly reasoned.

"Why, Sam?" Cas repeated, intrigued. "Are you alright? Do you not feel well?"

"He feels fine. I know," Dean cut in. "He's got a date." Sam's eyes widened before he vigorously shook his head in denial. "Some virtual crap, I bet, because you don't like to get laid, and an actual date may've involved that - but whatever is your idea of a fun time, hey, I'm not judging."

"It's not a date!" He declared.

"Then it's something like it." Dean shrugged, getting surer, with Sam's panicked expression. He knew his brother well enough to read through this cover. "Tell me Sammy, is this a video call with some chick you met online on those awful sites?"

"Dude, no." Sam balked. "I'm on no such awful site to meet chicks."

"Sure, you're not." Dean narrowed his eyes. "Then, who? Because clearly I'm right about the rest of it."

"It's," Sam looked like he didn't wanna continue, would like nothing better than to not finish the sentence. But with Cas joining in on the stare, he let out a subdued, "Uh, Rowena."

There was a stillness in the room. Dean and Cas slowly exchanged a look, and Sam flushed. "Who?"

"We know her, Dean!" Jack corrected, promptly.

"Not like Sam does," Dean shot at his brother, who looked flustered as crap, and it was all Dean had ever wanted from this conversation.

"Dean!" Sam looked grossed out, while it should've been them. He was the one dating a three hundred years old witch. "We're gonna discuss -"

"- if you're about to tell me you'll discuss a case, I swear to call you on your bullshit by calling Rowena right away." Dean challenged, definitely.

"I -" Sam pursed his lips. "I don't need to have this conversation with you, jerk."

"What about the rest of us?" Cas asked, and there was a smirk playing on his lips, which made him all the more attractive.

"None of you." Sam declared, standing up, looking offended. "You are literally infants! Don't breathe a word of this to anyone, Dean, or I'll - whatever, just watch your frigging movie, I'm out of here."

"If you're gonna do stuff, use headphones!" Dean waited until Sam was far enough to not hit Dean for it and yelled after him, as the latter marched out of the room, embarrassed. It was his duty as the older brother to make that happen, so no issues there. He turned back to Cas, grinning at him - and Jack, of course.

"The rest of us are here without the intention of leaving halfway to call a chick, right?" Dean asked, though it was a pretty stupid question for Jack - and if the answer were yes for Cas, he'd have a major-ass freak out right there.

"Right." Cas confirmed, for some reason; his voice rich and gravelly, and Dean's attention was once again taken by Cas's t-shirt - now that his kid brother was sufficiently out of the picture. True, Jack was still there, but that's a different issue. Dean had to hold a reputation in front of Sam, that he could control his senses in the presence of Cas, and that he could rein it in, and that he could do a lot of things which he was very far from, in reality.

"Me too." Jack announced, brightly, and Dean rolled his eyes.

"Jack, you're two." Cas informed him, and Dean had to stifle a snort at the very notion. Nevertheless, he toned down the weird, made himself comfortable in the couch - maybe shifting a little towards the middle, and let out a small, content sigh, for the second time this evening.

He hit play.

*

“Why do we keep making the same mistake?” Dean groaned, his head falling back on the sofa. Once again, like every tuesday ever - they’d forgotten to get food before they sat to watch the movie. Now, around half an hour in, it was all Dean could think about. But getting up seemed like an awful chore.

Cas nodded his head in agreement, grave and earnest. “It’s because we don’t learn our lesson.”

“Dean, do you want to learn said lesson tonight, by not eating?” Jack asked.

“No.” Dean glared at him. “I may be around Mr. No-Food, and Little-to-no-food, but it isn’t wearing off on me.” They’d not paused the movie to have this discussion, so he kept his eyes on the screen as he spoke. “As a human, I have a few simple needs. Such as beer and something like popcorn to chew as I watch a classic with my - I mean, with you guys.”

“Okay." Cas shuffled in his seat, beginning to stand up. Dean frowned instantly, and pulled him down, gripping his wrist. Cas easily succumbed, and was back on the couch with a surprised little bounce - looking at Dean, confused. "What? I'll get you the beer and popcorn, so that you don't have to get up. I can obviously see you don't want to."

Aww, Dean's brain melted.

"Nope." He said, out loud, popping the 'p'. "You don't need to do that. I'll go."

"I volunteer, Dean. It's not about need," Cas protested. "And you enjoy this movie more than I do."

"Sure, but I've watched it a helluva lot more too." Dean raised his eyebrows, and Cas smiled a little, one of those smiles that he reserved for Dean, and made his insides flutter.

"We could just pause it." Jack suggested, not looking away from the TV yet, for the entirety of the conversation.

"No, you keep watching, there's no need," Dean excused, standing up himself, smiling in spite of himself. Cas looked at him, and not at the screen.

"Dean," And that wonderful voice of his swept over Dean's brain and made the puddle vaporize or some shit.

"Yeah, Cas?"

"I could keep telling you what's happening, while you're in the kitchen." Cas proposed, breaking into a wider smile, all crinkly and toothy.

"Aww, Cas," Dean couldn't stop himself in time, staring blindly at Cas's face and short-circuiting in his head. And instantly cleared his throat, and added in a more composed tone. "Okay, you do that. Thanks, I guess."

Dean wondered, as he walked into the kitchen and went looking for the bacon he'd made earlier, what was up with him tonight. He was usually able to hold his tongue in front of Cas - he was usually able to look away from him, even though it took some persuasion. But there was something today, that had taken away his brain-to-mouth-and-eyes filter.

Must be the new shirt.

Dean knocked, obnoxiously loud, at Sam's door before barging in with a plate of bacon and a beer. He saw Sam fast asleep, on his front, and did not know where to go with that, so he left the table at his bedside in case he was going to wake up and resume his midnight call or something.

Then he took the rest of the food and two beers and went back to the movie room.

All through his venture, Cas had kept yelling updates through the door. "Merry and Pippin just hugged Frodo!", "And now, Frodo just met Bilbo again!", "Arwen is speaking with Frodo now!" This had made Dean grin so hard, that he almost dropped the dishes. Damn, Cas was awesome.

As Dean handed him a beer, and put the plate of bacon between them on the couch, Cas whispered to him. "And Arwen just kissed Aragorn, son of Arathorn."

And Dean stared at Cas, his blue, blue eyes and his eyebrows pinched together in concentration, and his crinkled nose - and his goddamn voice, and his way of speaking, and how he just said the words 'Aragorn, son of Arathorn' like an entire fucking dork, and how adorable it was that he'd been doing a live-commentary for Dean, and just - he was almost overpowered by a desire to kiss the perfect little smile tugging at his lips, and palm the stubble-covered cheeks, and maybe, if Jack weren't here, pull that gorgeous fucking t-shirt over his head, because it was distracting.

Dean was instantly taken aback by his own stream of thoughts. He was clearly going crazy.

He could bet it was the fault of the shirt.

*

Okay, but at this moment, Dean needs the remote.

And it's not just because the remote is on the other side, next to Cas, and Dean's brain instantly launches into a scene in his head, when Dean asks for the remote and Cas is too comfortable (he's already holding onto a large cushion like it's a blanket) to move, and he tells Dean to take it himself - and then Dean will have to lean over Cas to get it, and there'll be a moment where he's almost on top of him, and they'll happen to look at each other, and Cas's eyes will flit down to Dean's lips as Dean adjusts himself to reach the remote, on Cas's lap, and maybe Cas says something like -

That's enough.

Dean doesn't need the remote so that something like that plays out in reality. He only needs the remote to lower the volume, because Jack is asleep and he'll wake up otherwise in the war scene and noise that'll follow.

But this way or that, he can see the said scene happening.

Maybe there's a part of him which wants it to happen exactly how it happened in his head.

Maybe it will.

So, with more energy than the sentence needed, he says, "Cas! I need the remote!"

And Cas turns his head to look at Dean, an incomprehensible expression.

But instead of saying a variation of, 'take it yourself' like he was really, really supposed to -

He picks up the remote with his left hand and hands it to Dean simply.

Dean stares at it for a moment, everything forgotten, especially the reason why he needed the remote in the first place. And then he kicks himself for being a goddamn teenage girl about this, and plays off the disappointment with a 'thank you' in the manliest voice he can conjure, and he's pretty sure it makes up for the kind-of-but-not-really pornography he'd been dreaming up. Sam's irritating voice nags in his head, you're confusing reality with porn again.

Of course, Dean is too lost thinking and staring at Cas sideways when he's sure Cas can't see him - to remember to lower the volume, and Jack wakes up with a jolt at the Uruk-Hai screeching at Gimli the dwarf.

*

Jack's going off to his room. The movie isn't finished yet, but he's been dosing off throughout and Dean can't tolerate the insult to the Classic, so he tells him to just go off to sleep. It's been a long day.

"Will you both watch it whole?" Jack asks groggily, before leaving and Dean looks enquiringly at Cas. He only has to turn his head a little, because Cas is much closer to him now. They've both gravitated towards the middle.

"Of course." Cas answers. "Unless Dean needs to sleep." Dean shakes his head confidently, and Jack nods.

"Okay, goodnight dads." He mutters, at least it sounds like it, and Dean would've lost it if Cas's slight weight leaning on his arm weren't grounding him to his current location instead of somewhere panicky in his head.

"Goodnight, Jack." Dean lets out, and he's aware it doesn't sound as constipated as he thought it would, and he's proud of it.

"Dean." Cas speaks up, a moment later. "I think we should turn off the lights."

"What?" Dean blinks, mildly.

"I know neither of us will want to get up later." Cas justifies. "So we might as well do it now."

"Can't you," Dean grumbles. "Can't you use your mojo to push the switch, or..?"

Cas sighs. Then blinks, and the entire room goes dark. Cas's eyes open, and they're gleaming like blue halos of light in the suddenly dark room - and Dean can still make out his face, in the light of it. It's all hard lines and small smiles, from the little he sees. "I need to remember I can do these things, don't I?" He mumbles.

"Yeah, our human incapabilities are wearing off on ya." Dean tells him and they start looking at the screen again.

"You're not incapable if you have to stand up to turn off the lights." Cas replies, and Dean just hums in response.

A little later, Cas speaks again, and he sounds happier almost. "Dean."

"Uh-huh?" Dean looks away from Gandalf on the screen, to look at the angel.

"Did you notice Jack kept falling asleep?"

Dean pauses. "Oh." He smiles too, it coming over him all of a sudden. "Yeah."

"That means," Cas's tone is bright, and Dean can hear his smile. "He's enough human to fall asleep in the middle of a movie, again."

"Human incapabilities strike again," Dean teases, and Cas chuckles audibly and it's a really, really good moment. Although yeah, it's a bit too domestic for Dean to be perfectly at calm - Cas and he are sitting in the dark, watching a movie they've watched so many times before, discussing the progress of the nephilim they've been raising (with Sam, of course) and Dean has his hand around Cas's seat - in what he now feels guilty on realizing is the oldest trick in every guy's playbook. They're both more in the middle of the couch than not, and the beers have been drained to the last drop. One of them doesn't sleep, the other won't - and then there's Cas's perfect t-shirt, which shall drive Dean to madness each time he sees it, and beyond.

*

Slowly, the arm which is on the couch, falls on Cas's shoulder - and it's a rather rapid course from there to it being slung around Cas, with Cas tucked under it and leaning into Dean so that it's comfortable.

It's not that Cas's head is on Dean's chest, or not even that his fingers are playing with the fabric of Cas's shirt - its just that they're so close to doing that, and somehow Dean can't pull back this time.

Like, he suddenly realizes, he's been doing forever.

It's again, a good thing that he pretty much knows LOTR scene by scene, and in spite of almost completely being distracted by everything Cas, he answers all trivial questions Cas mumbles at him in that deep, deep baritone - and there's a heat pooling in Dean's insides, and he can't quite place if its the spot behind his ribs, or further south.

Both sounds most appropriate.

*

Dean is not proud of this, but he fell asleep.

It's not that he didn't finish the movie, because he did - he remembers the last scene (or it could be from a previous watching that he recalls it) but it's just that he fell asleep right there. Next to Cas.

No, not even next to him. Pretty much wrapped around him. And somehow that's - not so wild, after all. It kinda feels awesome. Its not even morning yet, so he has more hours.

He wakes up with his hair tickling his breath and coughs mildly when he realizes that he'd buried his nose in Cas's hair - and his lips on his head, apparently. He straightens, but is sure to not make much movement - because Cas doesn't sleep like they do, he rather drifts off to a sorta-catatonic state but stays very much awake and alert. He doesn't want to wake Cas up, because the angel looks so comfortable, nestled on Dean's chest - that it somehow invokes a feeling of pride in him.

And love.

And that's that. The not-freaking-out segment of this story abruptly comes to an end, and Dean clenches his fist to stop himself from beginning to tremble.

He ends up with a fistful of that goddamn shirt which Dean blames for everything in that night, and Cas stirring awake, and straightening. The weight rested on Dean's abdomen is lost, and it feels weird and colder.

"It's seven minutes to four. Ante Meridiem." Cas announces, in a voice which is roughened by lack of use.

"You should go back to sleep." Dean begs, because Cas doesn't need to see Dean get anxious about the whole pile of feelings he's beginning to feel crushed under.

"Dean." Cas says, in that voice, and straightens some more. He's at Dean's height again, and their noses are inches apart, and Cas looks worried about him. "Dean?" He repeats, and he's concerned, and he's perfect, and his voice is something else, and the way he looks at him is something else like Dean is worthy of all his attention somehow - and the emotions are brimming and he doesn't know what to do with them until he -

He jerks himself ahead, and grabs Cas's shirt for good measures, pressing his lips against Cas's.

It's a moment of bravery, it's a moment of impulse, and it's a moment of utter stupidity because Cas doesn't react -

Until he does, and he kisses back, and he's excited and into it and Dean's taken aback by his vigor and in awe of his own hands which are grappling at Cas's t-shirt for friction as he moans into Cas's mouth.

"I blame the t-shirt," He whines, when they pull away, to look at each other better. And he does.

Of course, he's not an idiot (except for the many times that he is). But what he definitely isn't, is dense enough to not realize that this had been over ten years in the making.

These urges were familiar, and suppressed each time - the sudden feelings were overpowering, except he'd learn to deal with them tactfully, by crushing them with every means possible.

But what had changed today and he'd actually acted on it instead of swallowing it, had to be the tee. It fit like magic, and it perfectly showcased his lean, muscled chest - and gave a peak of his collarbones, and if he stretched, his obliques - and it was as black as his hair in the dark, and ah, it had to be the shirt.

Because otherwise, he didn't know what it could be, that had made tonight - today - this.

Cas still had his hand on Dean's bicep. "This one?" He looks down at himself. "I got it from your closet months ago."

"What -"

"And, you blame it?" He repeats.

"No," Dean shakes his head, anxiously, truthfully as he captures his lips in a kiss again. Slotting in place against each other, and as loving as they were passionate - he had had no idea that kissing Cas would be this amazing. "I love it. I'm gonna need you to keep wearing it. On Thanksgiving, I'm gonna be thankful for it."

Cas laughs against Dean's lips, and says something which is lost in the bliss of the moment.

Nevermind. He has all the moments after this, to listen to him. But he only has this one, at the end of a Tuesday movie night, to enjoy their first kiss (he's pretty sure all the short, little kisses just make up one major kiss). So he does.

*

Edit: Thank you for reading! Would like to tag @iamcharliebradburylevelperfect @awkward-penguin-in-a-trenchcoat @all-or-nothing-baby @styggtroll @notyoursweetbaboo @moderatelypanickedbisexual @but-for-the-gods-three-days and @emmii4 ! If you don't wanna be tagged, I'll remove you from the list, just ask! Have an awesome day!

#supernatural #season 14 #spn #destiel #ac/dc #supernatural season 14 #not spoilers #sam winchester #dean winchester #castiel #jack kline #the end #casdean #destiel fluff #lord of the rings #destiel kiss #destiel crack #samwena #implied destiel #angel cas #domestic destiel #mutual pining #sheya shall deliver #i wrote a thing #writing prompts #john winchester #john winchester's a+ parenting #deancas #dean and sam

[turtle-steverogers]

Summer Nights

HOLY SHIT ME??? POSTING A FIC??? wow.....

warnings: alcohol, smoking, abuse mentions...would y’all believe me if i said its actually really fluffy? also, the use of ‘pal’ as a term of endearment because i’ve been reading way too much stucky

ship: sprace

editing: actually, yeah

word count: a whopping 4038

-

May 

“So where’d you get your fake ID?” Spot startles and chokes on the glass of Jack and Coke that he had been nursing.  His throat burns as the vile liquid travels down his esophagus much faster than he would have liked and he looks with watery eyes at the person who had spoken to him.  

The guy is tall and somewhat lanky with blonde hair that seems to shoot out in various directions.  His eyes glint behind a pair of black framed glasses and are highlighted by the bags that hang underneath them.  His face is set in a permanent smirk, but there’s a tired essence about him.

“Excuse me?” Spot manages, trying to suppress the coughing fit that threatens to overtake him.

“There’s no way you’re older than me,” The guy scoffs, “So I’m wondering how you managed to get your drink.”

Spot’s gaze travels down to the cigarette perched between the guy’s fingers, nose scrunching as the smell hits him and his neck tingles with desire.  

The guy seems to notice his stare and he scoffs, “You want one?”

Spot shakes his head, “I shouldn’t.”

“But you do want one,” The guy says slowly, raising his eyebrows, “Don’t you?”

Spot gives him a half-hearted shrug, raising his glass to his lips and taking a small sip.  

The guy chuckles, “Suit yourself,” he takes a drag, settling on the stool next to Spot.  Spot gives him a side glance as a bartender swoops past, asking to see the guy’s ID, before sliding a glass of rum and Sprite over to him.

“Where’d you get yours, then?” Spot asks, eyes flicking down to the glass as the guy snubs out his cigarette in one of the provided ashtrays.

“Hm?” The guy doesn’t seem too bothered as he knocks back half of his drink in a single gulp.

“Your fake ID.”

“Oh,” The guy says, swallowing, “A friend.”

“Oh,” Spot pauses circling his drink around for a few moments, peering at its contents, “I’m almost 21.”

The guy looks at him, eyebrows raised, “Yeah? How old are you, then?”

“Twenty,” Spot says, “My birthday’s in December.”

“You’re still like,” The guy furrows his eyebrows, thinking, “7 or so months out then.”

Spot shrugs, “Close enough.  How old’re you?”

“I’m nineteen, turning twenty in August.”

“Cool,” They fall into an awkward silence, although the guy looks generally at ease.  Spot clears his throat, motioning for the bartender to bring him another drink.  Another glass is passed to him and he brings it to his lips, intoxication swirling in his gut.

“You live around here?” The guy asks.

Spot nods, “Just got home from school.”

“Ah,” The guy nods, understanding flashing across his face, “S’that why you’re here?”

“What?”

“Well the last semester just ended, like, last week,” The guy points out, “At least it did for me, so we haven’t been home very long.  Are you already sick of it?”

“Sick of what?” Spot squints at the guy, dumbly.

“Being home,” The guy’s voice had turned from jovial to unsettlingly serious.  He fixes Spot with a hard, knowing look.

Spot squares his shoulders, turning to face the guy all the way, “Why,” he demands, “are you?”

The guy seems to shrink in on himself a little bit and Spot feels a pang of guilt shoot through him before he remembers that the guy had started it.

“What’s your name?” The guy asks, shaking out his shoulders, his smirk returning to his face.

“I don’t even know you,” Spot says, warily.

“Hi,” The guy sticks out a hand, which Spot shakes briefly, “I’m Race.  There, now you know me.  What’s your name?”

“Spot.”

“‘Cause of your freckles?” The guy, Race, blurts out.  His eyes widen and he backtracks, stuttering over his words, “Unless that’s not, like, a nickname and-”

Spot quirks an eyebrow, amusement playing on his lips, “No, you’re right,” Race’s shoulders sag in relief, “My old foster brother started calling me that when we moved in together.”

“Oh, nice.”

“Yeah,” Spot says, “Race?”

“Yeah?”

“No,” Spot shakes his head, “Why Race?”

“Oh,” Race blushes, “I don’t really know.  My dad always told me I was racing to catch up with my head and it kinda stuck.”

Spot nods, tucking the information somewhere in the forefront of his mind, but not answering.  The silence that stretches back out between them is welcome this time, a new sort of familiarity in it.  Something dynamic in the pause strikes a chord with Spot, a rare understanding bounding between them.  Race’s presence no longer renders a threat, although the mischief that seems to emanate off the other boy doesn’t go unnoticed.  But as they sit there, idly sipping their drinks, Spot becomes increasingly aware that the mischief isn’t directed at him.

“Well,” Race grunts, sliding his glass away with a sigh and checking his watch, “I’m outta here,” he hops off his stool, briefly stretching his shoulders, “see you ‘round, Spottie,” he pauses for a moment, eyes boring into Spot intensely before lightening, “try not to commit arson in your home or something.”

Spot barks out a startled laugh, “Same to you, pal.”

But Race is already gone.

XXX

“I quit last year.”

Spot skips the pleasantries, gesturing to the cigarette that Race was currently working to light.  His head is buzzing minutely, nothing to be entirely concerned about, but the alcohol didn’t fail to make its presence in his system known.  He’d lasted a few days sober in his home before he gave into the seedy bar’s beckon call and strolled out the front door, looking for an escape.  

Spot couldn’t necessarily say he’s surprised to see Race back- he seems the type to frequent the place- but his presumptuous aura is absent as he startles, wide, red-rimmed eyes fixating on Spot’s.

Spot’s eyebrows furrow, but Race looks away before he can speak. 

“Fuck off, I don’t need shitty life advice right now,” He grumbles, pocketing his lighter and inhaling a tangy lungful of smoke.

Spot raises his hands in mock surrender, “No life advice, got it.  You okay?”

Race scoffs, gaze still cast to the side.  Spot can see the misty lamplight twinkling in his eyes, but the playful light that had been there last time is nowhere to be seen.  It’s disconcerting.

“You wanna talk about it?” Spot asks casually, moving to lean against the damp, brick wall next to Race, “Believe it or not, I listen pretty well.”

Race doesn’t look at him as he takes a long drag of his cigarette, blowing the smoke out in a long, thin line, “I don’t even know you.”

“You know my name,” Spot smirks, “that was enough for you the other day.”

Race doesn’t seem to have an answer to that.  He takes another drag, then holds his cigarette up to the light, studying it with a resentful eye. 

“I don’t like smoking,” He concedes, “It’s just the only thing that can ever-“

“-Keep you sane?” Spot guesses, knowing all too well what he meant. 

Race spares a glance at him, “Yeah.”

Spot skips letting him know that he gets it.  Hell knows Race probably doesn’t want to hear it.

Instead he asks, “Does anything else keep you sane?”

Race scoffs again. He seems to do that a lot.  Like the world is sad and laughable.  It kind of is. 

“Uh,” Race scrunches up his nose, dropping his arm to his side, cigarette still secure between his nimble fingers, but momentarily forgotten, “Writing.” 

Spot carefully avoids letting his surprise slip, “What kind of writing?”

Race shrugs, fingers going loose.  Spot eyes flick to the falling cigarette.  Something sort of like pride wells in his chest.  The hardest part is already done.  Letting go.  

Not that quitting is going to be easy in any respect from here on out, but that initial admission to the notion is key.  And it looks like Race has given in. 

“Anything.  Stories, memoirs, thoughts,” He trails off for a moment, thinking, “just not poetry.  I suck at poetry.”

“Poetry is overrated, anyway.”

A moment of silence.  Race carefully stomps on the butt of the cigarette, “I guess.”

June

“I haven’t smoked for two weeks.”

Spot looks up from his bottle, something he could almost mistake for fondness swelling in his chest.  Race slides onto the stool next to him, waving over the bartender and gesturing for a beer.  The bartender hands it to him and sidles away.

Spot allows his gaze to scan over his new friend, noting that while he looks exhausted, there’s a healthier quality about him.  The bags under his eyes have let up a bit and the sallow, stretched skin of his cheeks have become fuller- redder.  He catches sight of the notebook that’s cradled protectively in Race’s grasp, but doesn’t say anything.  If Race wants to show him, he will.  

“I’m proud of you,” Spot says genuinely, taking a sip of his beer and facing forward again.

The now expected silence settles over them again.  

“And I’ve been writing more again,” Race admits, sheepishly holding up the notebook.  He delicately opens it, flipping through the pages slowly until he lands on one that has been bookmarked by an old movie ticket.

“I don’t usually let anyone see it, but…” He turns it towards Spot and thrusts it into his grasp, “If you want, uh, you can look.”

Realizing the underlying establishment of trust that accompanies the gesture, Spot takes the notebook, being careful to keep his expression judgement free.  He reads the passage- a short, choppy piece that doesn’t entirely make sense to him.  It’s a memory, that much is clear, but key details are missing.  It’s more of an imagery work, bringing Spot to an old park somewhere in Race’s childhood.  He isn’t sure exactly what importance or deep-felt symbolism the park may hold, but it’s obvious that it’s special to Race.  And if it’s been keeping Race from smoking, well, that’s a win then. 

“That was brilliant, Race,” Spot says genuinely as he carefully closes the notebook and hands it back, “Has it helped?”

Race looks at the notebook, a small, half-smile on his face, “So far.”

XXX

“Wanna take a walk?”

This time, Spot isn’t surprised to see Race standing expectantly next to him.  The notebook is back in his grip, but it seems to be more of a comforting presence than anything else.  Race is fiddling with the movie ticket bookmark that peeks out the top, running his thumb over the worn, leather bounding.

“Sure,” Spot answers before he can give too much thought to the notion.

Race’s face breaks into a wide grin and Spot finds himself mirroring it.

“Awesome, c’mon,” Race says, taking the glass out of Spot’s grip and replacing it with his hand.  

He pulls Spot out of the bar and doesn’t let go as he leads him down the street.  It’s decently late and as they venture further away from town and closer to the surrounding neighborhoods, the company of people surrounding them ceases.  They take a sudden turn into a little cul-de-sac and Race slows their pace as they cross to the other side of the street.  In front of them sits a small playground.  It looks old.  Everything is made of wood or metal and Spot can see pieces of paint chipping off the sets.

“Oh,” Spot murmurs, mind venturing to the passage Race had shown him the other day.

“Yeah,” Race says, leading Spot to the swingset and nodding for him to perch on one of the swings.  They sit, rocking back and forth in companionable quiet, “Why did you decide to quit?” Race asks after a moment.

Spot thinks for a moment, tilting his head to look at Race.  Race is watching him intently.

“I was tired of not being in control,” Spot says, honestly, “I had lost my mom and my dad was being shitty and so I started smoking to help ease off the edge, but after a while it just made me feel more out of control.  So, I quit.”

Race hums, eyes shifting to his own hand clasped around the chain of the swing, “Was it easy?”

Spot watches him fidget with the chain for a moment, “Is it easy?” 

Race looks back at him, “No.”

“Then there’s your answer.”

“But it can be done?”

Spot smirks, “I quit, didn’t I?”

Race nods and Spot allows himself to smile, “Then there’s your answer.”

XXX

“I like you, Spot.”

Spot blinks, turning his head to look at Race.  They’re back at the park, this time in the early morning.  He wasn’t sure when they’d gotten so close, but sometime between the last park visit and now, phone numbers had been exchanged and bonds tied tighter.  What they seemed to have was nice.  Never had Spot felt so real and raw with a person before, but in the span of a few weeks, Race had wormed himself into his life.  They didn’t talk very often about themselves, but the understanding of each other they seemed to have meant they didn’t have to.  They just got it.

“I like you, too, Race,” Spot says, bemused.

“No, like, I like you,” Race holds eye contact and Spot feels his stomach flip.  Race’s bluntness has always impressed Spot and he doesn’t think he’ll ever truly get used to it.

“Oh,” Is all he can think to say.  It isn’t that he doesn’t like Race back, it’s just that he hasn’t given his feelings much thought.  He’s mostly just run with what feels good in the moment. 

“I think I want to kiss you,” Race continues, gaze never wavering.

Spot feels his heart leap to his throat and he swallows, “Okay,” he manages.

Race raises an eyebrow, “Okay okay? Or just...okay.”

Spot nods, “Okay okay.”

Race smiles and stands from his swing, closing the short distance between them until he’s directly in front of him.  He grips one of the chain handles and rests his other hand on the side of Spot’s face.  Spot stares at him, memorizing the movements.  His own hand finds the taller boy’s hip.

Nothing happens for a moment, then Race leans down, capturing his mouth in a tentative kiss.  Spot hums a little and it’s all Race needs to deepen the kiss.  They move in tandem, feeling out each other’s presence for what could be an eternity.  Then, Race pulls back.

Their foreheads stay pressed together and Spot smiles.

“Thank you,” Race breathes.

“For what?” Spot whispers back.

Race shrugs, “For being here.”

“Thank you, too.”

July

“Why do you like the park so much?” Spot asks one day as they walk away from the bar.  He’s always wondered, but asking seemed too personal.  But now that whatever they have has been solidified, it seems appropriate.

Race doesn’t answer immediately.  Spot didn’t expect him to.

“Went there a lot as a kid,” Race says, “always had been an escape.  Still is.”

Spot nods, “Neat.”

Race laughs, squeezing their conjoined hands, “Neat?  What are you, 50?”

“Maybe,” Spot teases, eyes crinkling as he looks up at Race, “What are you gonna do about it?”

“Ewww,” Race whines, scrunching up his nose, “I do not want to think about kissing on an old man.”

“You brought it on yourself, pal,” Spot says, shaking his head.

“I know, but you- ugh, nevermind.”

They take their usual seats on the swings, hands still clasped together between them.  Spot smiles.  He’s happy.

XXX

The first setback happens a month after Race initially pledges to quit.  Spot had been expecting this.  Granted, lasting out a month without a cig was incredibly impressive, but it still wasn’t a surprise when Spot’s phone rang on a Tuesday afternoon.

He furrows his eyebrows, staring for a moment at Race’s contact photo before sliding his thumb across the screen and lifting his phone to his ear.

“Race?”  He sits up when he hears a jagged cough on the other end, “Hello?”

“Spot,” Race rasps.  He isn’t crying, at least, Spot can’t hear it in his voice, but he sounds miserable, “I fucked up.”

Spot purses his lips.  He knows what he’s talking about- it’s obvious enough- but he wants Race to say it.  Needs to have him talk it out.

“What happened?” He asks, already tucking his phone between his ear and shoulder and pulling on his shoes.  

“I smoked,” Race says.  His tone is dull, plain.  He sounds utterly defeated.

“Did something happen?  Or was it just urges, or-”

“My uncle hit me.”

“Goddamnit,”Spot paused in tying his shoes, taking a moment to draw in a measured breath.  Race didn’t talk much about his home-life, but Spot knew the basics.  He knew that his parents had passed in a car crash and Race had been sent to live with his aunt and uncle.  He knew that things had been good at first, but quickly physical abuse had reared its ugly head and Race was subject to things that no kid should know.  He didn’t know much, but he knew enough to make his blood boil.

“Sorry,” Race’s voice was still lifeless and Spot almost wished that he were crying.  This was just plain scary.

“I’m not mad,” Spot quickly reassures him, “I’m actually proud that you got this far without a smoke.  I’m coming, hang tight.”

“I’m at the park,” Race says, “In case you didn’t figure that already.”

Spot had figured, but he bites his tongue, “thanks, don’t go anywhere.”

He spots Race immediately, sitting on top of the monkey bars instead of the swings.  His head is turned outward, glazed eyes staring at the treetops.  There’s a nasty bruise forming on his left cheekbone, still red and glaring.  Spot’s shoulders sag.  

“Hey,” He calls carefully, not wanting to startle Race into falling.  Something tells him that wouldn’t be especially appreciated right now.

Surprisingly, Race turns towards him.  Spot had speculated that it would take a little coaxing to pull him out of his mind.

“Hey,” Race calls back.  His voice is scratchy and Spot vaguely wonders how many cigarettes he’s had.  Though, looking closer, there’s no sign of a pack or any stubs on the ground.

“I threw them in the forest,” Race mumbles, gesturing aimlessly, “S’why you can’t see any.  I didn’t wanna see any.”

Spot raises his eyebrows.  He’s got a million questions, a million concerns, but he elects to simply say, “I’m proud of you for throwing them.  How many did you have?”

“Only two,” Race watches him as he climbs up next to him, settling down on one of the bars, “only two…”

“That’s...not as bad as I thought,” Spot admits, “good job.”

Race scoffs, “Don’t praise me for messing up.”

“I’m not,” Spot says firmly, tapping his chin to get him to look at him “I’m praising you for realizing that it was a mistake and actively preventing yourself from having another.  I couldn’t even do that when I was tryna quit.”

“Oh,” Race looks down at his hands and Spot reaches out to grab one, “Okay.”

“Lemme see,” Spot says gently, lifting a careful hand as Race turns his head to the side, allowing for a full view of the abrasion.  Spot gingerly runs a finger over it, immediately stopping when Race winces, “Hurts still?”

Race nods, “He got me good.”

“Wanna talk about what happened?” It was probably a ‘no’, but Spot always offered, anyway.  Just to let Race know that he could.

“No,” Race mumbles.

“Alright,” Yep, as predicted, “Let’s get you some ice.”

He climbs down, waiting close by to help Race if he needs it.  A moment later, they’re walking towards town, hands linked together in Spot’s jacket pocket.

August

“Hey, happy birthday,” Spot greets Race with a smile, handing him a small parcel.  Race looks up at him from where he’s sitting at the swing and Spot is instantly reminded of their first kiss.  His smile grows.

“You didn’t have to get me anything,” Race says, biting his lip to hold back a smile of his own.

“Yeah, I did,” Spot rolls his eyes, stepping forward so that Race’s knees were resting against his shins, “Open it.”

Race blushes a little, bowing his head as he unwraps the gift.  Spot watches as his fingers slip underneath the tape, carefully unsticking each fold.  It always baffled Spot how meticulous Race is.  He emanates such boisterous chaos that Spot would have never pegged him for the gentle type.  But with Race, the surprises never really stopped.

“Fuck,” Race breathes, jaw going slack as he takes the new notebook out of the paper.  It’s a little bigger than the one he has at home and in much better shape.  He holds it to his nose, closing his eyes as he notes that the leather smells real, “this is beautiful, Spot.”

Spot’s grin turns into something a little more gentle, “I knew you were running out of pages in your other one, so I thought…” Spot takes Race in as he opens the notebook, running the pads of his fingers over the crisp, yellow pages, “Oh and here,” Spot digs into his pocket and pulls out a small pack of .5 mm pens, “these might be a little more fun to write with than a mechanical pencil.”

Race takes the pack and glances up at Spot before cracking open the lid.  He takes one out and uncaps it with his teeth, focusing intently on his paper as he writes out a short message.  His handwriting is surprisingly good and looks even better in the fine, black ink.  He tears out the paper and hands it to Spot.

Spot eyes him amusedly before reading the message,

Much love for you...thank you

Spot smiles, as Race pulls him down by the front of his shirt, “I love you, too,” he mumbles, already closing his eyes.  Their lips fit together like puzzle pieces.

XXX

Spot looks around at the boxes in his room, taking a deep breath as he goes over a mental checklist of anything he might have missed.  

“You all packed?” Race asks, wrapping his arms around Spot’s waist from behind.  He tucks his chin on Spot’s shoulder, pressing a light kiss to his pulse point.

“I’m 99 percent sure,” Spot says, turning to wrap his own arms around Race.

“Good,” Race leans down, pecking a kiss to the tip of his nose, “I’m gonna miss you.”

“S’just college Racer,” Spot says, kissing his chin, “We’ll both be back for Fall and Winter break and shit.”

Race scrunches his nose, an impressive pout forming on his face, “But that’s so long, Spottie,” he whines.

Spot chuckles, “I know, I’m sad, too.”

“One day,” Race’s pout melts away, a smirk spreading across his lips instead, “I’m gonna marry you and college or anything can suck my dick.”

Spot laughs loudly, head tilting back, “You do that.”

Race pulls him back in, capturing him once more in a kiss, “Oh, I will.”

6 Years Later

“Racer, I got the garlic!” 

Spot pushes the door to their apartment closed with his foot, holding the grocery bags above his head as their dog, Linda, bounds up to him.

“Hey, hey, no, Linda- down, babygirl! This food isn’t for you,” He transfers the bags to one hand and shoves Linda off with the other.

“Thank god,” Race pokes his head out of the kitchen, “I was worried that this chicken would have to go herbless and our taste buds would suffer tragically.”

Spot shakes his head, plucking the garlic pod out of the bag and tossing it to his husband, “Drama queen.”

He puts the groceries away, then joins Race at the stove.

“This all smells really good,” Spot says, dipping a finger in whatever pasta sauce Race is making.

“Hey, get your fucking fingers out of my sauce,” Race chides, hitting Spot lightly with a wooden spoon and getting pasta water on the sleeve of his henley.

“Asshole,” Spot bites, but there’s no real malice behind it.

“Mmm, you love me,” Race says, turning back to one of the pots.

Spot gently grabs his elbow, turning him and leaning up to kiss him, “Indeed I do.”

-

hehe

thanks for reading, chiefs

hmu to be added to my tag

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