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calumcest · 4 years

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masterlist

ok firstly please bear in mind most of these fics were written in 2014/15 when i was 16 so please do not judge their quality too harshly

ao3

[there are some fics on there that i haven’t put here, mainly chaptered fics but some others too]

drabbles (malum, lashton, cashton, mashton)

lashton

i can count on the sun to shine

It’s not been the easiest of days, but it’s not been the roughest either, so Ashton’s half-surprised when Luke crawls into his lap and curls up in it, looping his arms around Ashton’s neck and nosing into Ashton’s neck, breath warm and even against Ashton’s skin.

my beating heart belongs to you

“God, you’re all sweaty,” Michael adds, and Ashton snorts because that is fucking rich coming from the guy whose sweat has disintegrated two shirts so far this tour. “That’s how Luke likes me,” Ashton fires back, and Calum pulls a face whilst Michael laughs. “What’s how I like you?” Luke asks, coming up behind Ashton and wrapping his arms around him, resting his chin on Ashton’s head.

young and in love (that should be enough)

“Ashton.” Luke draws out the second syllable, pouting to add effect to his words. “Lukey,” Ashton says, stringing out the second syllable too in a softly mocking manner. “What do you want?” “A cuddle,” Luke announces, “from my favourite boyfriend.”

say you’ll never change

@Luke5SOS: It feels like we’re ready to crack these days you & I

it feels like we’re ready to crack these days, you & i [extended version of above fic]

It’s not really that pathetic that Ashton’s got tweet and text notifications on for Luke. Not really.

we gamble with desire

“Guys,” Michael says, making his way into the back lounge. “Have you heard of fanfiction?”

rules of the band

In retrospect, it’s kind of Ashton’s fault that it all starts. He’d eaten the last of the Vegemite, something he knows Michael and Calum feel very strongly about, and it had resulted in a sheet of paper pinned to the fridge by a frog magnet that had ‘Rules of the Band’ scrawled in Calum’s handwriting at the top. Rules of the Band

NOBODY WILL EAT THE LAST OF THE VEGEMITE!!!

soulmates

“Do you believe in soulmates?”

my friends are a different breed

“What’s happening?” Calum says, walking out into the living room. “Luke and Ashton weren’t kissing,” Michael informs him. Calum nods. “We weren’t,” Ashton says in what he hopes is a believable tone.

i’ve got a lot of friends who are stars

The city’s fucking beautiful at night.

dreams only last for a night

Luke prefers it when Ashton’s asleep.

happy father’s day dad :-)

@Calum5SOS: @Ashton5SOS happy Father’s Day dad :-)

my friends are everything

CH: Who’s eaten the last of the fucking vegemite

AI: wtf that was like rule number 1

my new comfort zone

It’s when it starts getting to the tense, anticipatory bit of the film where the gang of actual idiots are about to enter the house which Luke’s ninety-nine percent sure has a murderer in it, that’s when Luke whimpers and turns away from the screen, burying his face in the crook of Ashton’s neck.

as the night gets older of you i grow fonder

Luke’s eight when Ashton moves in next door. (based on the video for you belong with me)

coffee shop soundtrack

“Mind if I sit here?” the guy asks, and there’s a kind of apologetic hint to his tone. “Everywhere else is full.” Full? The coffee shop's never full- Oh. Apart from today, apparently. Every single seat is taken. “Oh, Luke says. “Uh. Sure.“

taking the long way home

“May we have your attention for flight BA8227,” the tinny voice of the announcement says, and Ashton’s stomach sinks. They never announce anything he wants to hear; there’s never any we’ve upgraded hardworking and broke session drummer Ashton Irwin to first class, he’s also been given unlimited air miles and a refund on his overpriced tuna melt. “We are sorry to announce that this flight is delayed by approximately seven hours. This is due to unforeseen adverse weather conditions. I repeat-”

if these walls could talk (they’ve seen way too many things)

The announcement comes late, at eight p.m., interrupting radio and TV broadcasts and flashing up on phone screens. Due to the current pandemic, the state is now on mandatory lockdown for three weeks. All citizens have until midnight to return to their places of residence. Those outside after midnight will be subject to severe penalties. Further information to follow. “You have to leave,” Ashton says. “You have to go.” Luke blinks. “They’re locking down the state.”

as he faced the sun he cast no shadow

Ashton doesn’t really realise he’s fallen out of love until it’s happened.

you and i were fireworks that went off too soon (soulmate au)

chapter one ~ chapter two ~ chapter three ~ chapter four ~ chapter five ~ chapter six ~ chapter seven

The tattoos appear one Wednesday night. What’s yours?” Michael demands, sounding beside himself with excitement. Luke frowns. “What’s my what?” “Your tattoo.”

fight so dirty but your love’s so sweet

Luke hates a good ninety-five percent of his job. A solid thirty percent of that comes from the fact that he works as a receptionist at a hotel, which he thinks is possibly the most thankless job humanity could possibly have created. A further ten comes from the fact that his desk is right next to the kitchen, meaning mouth-watering smells are constantly wafting under his nose, and Luke’s not allowed to eat on shift. Fifty-five percent of it, though, is Ashton.

there’s no time for running away now

It’s three a.m., and Ashton’s awake. On the surface, that might not appear to be a problem. And ordinarily, it wouldn’t be - ordinarily, Ashton would either roll over groggily, will sleep to come with every fibre of his being and maybe a quick prayer or two, or read something mind-numbingly boring like his urgent work emails to send him back to sleep. This, however, isn’t the most ordinary situation. Ashton is awake because of Luke.

-------

malum

make me a promise here tonight

“Calum,” Michael says, walking into the bunk area and stopping in front of Calum’s bunk. “Cal.” “What?” Calum asks, not looking up from his phone. “I think we should get married.”

we know this is the way it’s supposed to be

Calum’s always the first person Michael rings in an emergency. Like right now, for example. Right now’s an emergency. “What the fuck do you want, Clifford?” Calum groans, voice tinny through the shitty phone line, but he’s picked up after the first ring so Michael knows he doesn’t mean it. “I need help,” Michael says, trying to stop the phone from slipping down his chest from where it’s pressed between his shoulder and his ear. “Green, blue, or black?“

the first time i’ve seen love (and the last i’ll ever need)

“Tell me a story.” The words are whispered into the fabric of Calum’s shirt, and Calum’s arms tighten around Michael as he hums in response. It’s familiar, the situation, because it’s what Michael always asks for when he’s tired, scared, lonely, or just wants to hear Calum’s voice.

it should be criminal that you could be mine

He can’t help but get a little jealous when Ashton and Luke start properly dating, though. He can’t help but get jealous of the way Ashton’s always taking Luke out for dinner, always holding his hand, always buying him presents, always making these romantic gestures that Michael’s never had from Calum. (or calum’s version of a dinner date)

it always will be you (wherever you are)

It started off as something kind of unnecessary. Calum already had a Twitter account, and he wasn’t someone who was afraid to speak his mind. If he had something to say, he’d say it on his public account. He’d only made the account for when he was in a bit of a shitty mood and wanted to vent or when he had an inappropriate joke that only Michael would find funny.

falling asleep on a stranger

As it is, his bus is running late today and Calum had run all the way to the bus stop from his house (a good two minutes of exercise, at least, which means he’s breathless and almost breaking a sweat by the time he reaches the bus stop) because he’d thought he was late. When he realises, however, that he could have had an extra ten minutes and actually eaten some breakfast, he groans, lets his eyes flutter shut and mutters “fuck me.” “Excuse me?” a surprised voice says, and Calum opens his eyes so fast he thinks he might have accidentally blinded himself. Standing to his left, an amused look on his face, is a boy with fluffy-looking blue hair (blue).

this could be the start of something new

He pushes past throngs of tired-looking businessmen to get into the last carriage, looking around for some seats. He’s not the only one who’s had that idea, clearly, as the last carriage is nigh-on full and Calum has the choice of two seats - one next to a balding man who’s eating what looks to be a tuna sandwich (Calum balks at the very idea) and a tattooed-up-to-hell punk kid with a shock of light pink hair in a suit, jacket on his lap. Calum goes for the latter.

you’re already the voice inside my head

“Michael didn’t say anything, mate,” Luke says, confused. “Yes, he did,” Calum says, exasperated. “I…no, I didn’t,” Michael says slowly. “What the fuck, Mike?” Calum says, perplexed. “I didn’t say it, Cal…I thought it.”

i want to teach you a lesson (in the worst kind of way)

“Who’s that, sir?” Lily asks, jabbing at the window. “The new PE teacher,” Michael says. “He’s cute,” Sarah says, and a couple of the girls nod vigorously. “He’s also twice your age,” Michael says. “Go on, off to your practice rooms.” The girls groan, but one by one pull themselves away from the window and start to wander off. Michael stays by the window, one eye on the girls to make sure they actually go where they’re supposed to and one eye on the new PE teacher, who’s dividing the class up into groups and handing out footballs. He is kind of hot, Michael supposes, if you’re into muscular guys who are clearly good at sports. Which Michael most definitely is.

dancing with the demons (holy spirit, holy spirit)

“You’re kind of a shitty demon,” he tells Calum, who scowls. “Fuck you,” he says. “You’re kind of a shitty angel.” “Oh, dude, I know,” Michael agrees.

only you (and you can hear me)

“Uh,” Calum says, looking out into the crowd, and Michael follows his gaze, trying to find what Calum’s staring at. “I’m going to go to the teepee with Heather.” Michael’s stomach sinks. “Really?” he asks, before he can stop himself, looking over at Calum. “Yeah,” Calum says, turning to look at Michael, and Michael whips back around before Calum can see the look of please don’t written all over his face. “Alright.” (tiny dancer scene from rocketman but happy)

i took a walk with my fame down memory lane (i never did find my way back)

chapter one ~ chapter two ~ chapter three ~ chapter four ~ chapter five ~ chapter six

“Fucking shite,” Liam says, over the sound of the crowd’s growing murmurs. “Would’ve rather watched City fucking lose.” They all know he’s lying. Liam’d probably rather cut off his limbs one at a time than sit at home to watch City get thrashed. It reminds Calum where he is, though, as he takes a sip of his beer with slightly shaky hands. He’s in fucking Manchester, in a dingy bar with two of the biggest pricks he’s ever met in his life, watching shitty bands play mediocre songs to avoid having to watch his football team get massacred by Everton. It grounds him, shakes him out of it, makes him remember that he’s here, in England, not in Sydney, and he’s twenty, not seventeen. That was then, and this is now. But for a moment - just for a few seconds - he could have sworn that then and now were the same thing. Just for one moment, he could have sworn he’d seen Michael Clifford. - or: calum's in oasis and michael's in blur and it's the height of the 1990s britpop war

couldn’t make it more obvious could you (be any more obvious?)

“D’you think he was being serious?” he asks Ashton, who’s already engrossed in his phone again. “Hm?” Ashton says, without looking up. “‘Bout what?” “Jack.” That makes Ashton look up, brow furrowed. “What about him?” Calum hesitates. “Y’know,” he says, a little uncomfortably. Ashton cocks his head, raising his eyebrows in an I don’t know sort of way. “About them. Sleeping together.” “Oh,” Ashton says, shrugs, and turns back to his phone. “Yeah, obviously.”

love would burn this city down for you

There’s something so comforting about the city. Calum remembers the first time he’d got it, that rush of everything and nothing and beauty and reverence as he’d stared out at the brightly-lit scene before him, overwhelmed and trying his best to drink it all in. Fuck me, he’d thought, a delicious numbness licking at his nerves. I’m fucking irrelevant. (It was the first time he’d ever known peace.)

——-

cashton

‘cause all of the stars are fading away (just try not to worry you’ll see them someday)

Growing up isn’t easy. Nobody ever told him it would be. You’ll get hurt, his mum would say, eyes big and sad, and he’d shrug and say that’s life, not really understanding what she meant because he was yet to spend three nights in a row staring up at his ceiling, drunk and high and so miserable it somehow felt like everything and nothing at the same time. It’ll be difficult, his manager had warned, when they got their first tour with One Direction, and Ashton had shrugged and said isn’t everything?, not realising that what ‘difficult’ meant was sacrifice; his sleep, his home, his self, everything torn out at the roots and tossed aside for him to gather back into his arms again. The hardest part of growing up, though, isn’t when things happen to him, when someone breaks up with him or wakes him up two hours after he’s gone to bed or puts him on another plane six hours after he’s just got off one. The hardest part of growing up is when he looks around him and realises I’m not happy.

#ignore this post #also im gonna have to put up posts of the ones that i havent posted on tumblr yet soon #cos rn half of them are just linked to my ao3 #but im gonna space it out bc its annoying #and also i'm going to be very discerning #bc some of them are...to put it politely...RUBBISH #and when i say some of them i mean every single one of them #being proud of things you've written? could never be me

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angelkurenai · 5 years

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Not in the plans - Dean Winchester x Reader

Title: Not in the plans

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader, Dean Winchester x Lisa Braeden

Word count: 4,181

Warnings: Implied/Future Cheating

Summary: Imagine Dean being engaged to Lisa and agreeing to visit a wedding planner to help them plan their wedding, you. What he didn’t plan was that he would find true love in a woman who’s not the one he’s about to marry but rather the planner. Who knew love at first sight could hurt so much after all.

“I still find this pretentious.” Dean muttered with a sigh, or more like grumbled, slamming the door of his shut as he looked up at the tall building.

“You haven't had your morning coffee, Dean. You will find everything pretentious.” the familiar female voice snapped him out of his thoughts, making him blink and come back to the bitter reality. Not that bitter with such a beautiful woman by his side, sure, but still very bitter and harsh when he had to get up at eight in the morning, not eaten anything and now standing in the cold in front of a building he'd never seen in his life before – albeit an architectural beauty – for a reason his sleepy brain refused to dig up.

“And whose fault exactly is that?” he narrowed his eyes, turning his head to look at the far-too-cheerful brunette who linked arms with his.

“Yours, clearly.” Lisa said with a smirk, nearly dragging him away from his car to the entrance “If you had not gone out for drinks and then came back late you wouldn't be sporting a hangover right now, albeit light, and, even more importantly, you would have had all the time to drink your coffee.”

“You all but dragged me out of bed!” he nearly exclaimed but taking a look around the fancy place, reminded himself to actually keep it low and not catch anybody's attention because of it. Only because he knew he wouldn't hear the end of it from Lisa. “I didn't even get five minutes to look presentable.”

“Oh so then you suggest we'd call and ask if they could so kindly put off our appointment because my lovely fiancewanted five more minutes of sleep? Or maybe say because you didn't have time for coffee?” she said full of sarcasm but Dean rolled his eyes.

Ah there it was, however, finally the reason his brain couldn't dig up. An appointment. An appointment to meet their possible wedding planner. Well, definite wedding planner seeing how highly Lisa was always talking about the woman. Praising her and gushing over all the wonderful weddings she had arranged in her entire career. She even was speaking non-stop about managing to get an appointment with the most sought-after wedding planner of NYC. There was no way they were not going to be working with her, he was already certain of it.

Of course she wasn't done yet “Oh wait, I almost forgot, she's the most busy wedding-planner in the entire city. I think in two years from now she might have time for us again. Will you be awake by then or need another coffee?”

“Alright. Alright, point taken.” he cleared his throat “But just so you know, there's no hangover because I only had a beer. It's the fact that you insisted on being one hour early to the appointment, which I still don't get why.”

His fiance this time gave her head a small shake but when she parted her lips it wasn't to speak to him but rather the young lady at the front reception that he only now seemed to notice. “Hello, we are here for an appointment with Miss (Y/l/n). Uhm Mr. Winchester and Miss Braeden? In case you need the names.”

“Of course. It's on the sixth floor. Her assistant should be there to greet you first.”

With a polite smile and nod both Dean and Lisa were off to the elevator and as told, the first thing that greeted them was indeed an assistant whose desk was only a couple feet away from the door through which they entered the room.

“You're a little bit early, I must inform you.” she said, smile ever present on her lips, and Dean didn't miss the opportunity to give his fiance a look that she could have kicked him for if the situation was different.

“Oh we're sorry if that's and inconv-”

“No, no by all means. I'm sure Miss (Y/l/n) will actually appreciate it. She will be here any minute now and she can see you earlier than scheduled, she has no other appointment before yours. You can actually wait for her in her office.” she showed them inside her office “Would you like something to drink while you wait?” she asked as the both of them took a seat in front of her desk.

“No thank you, we're both fine.” Lisa said and Dean shook his head only a couple seconds after. Truth was he would have very much liked a coffee if he was to listen at least to half the things they would discuss but Lisa left no room for that.

Instead he chose to take a look around at (Y/l/n)'s office. It was characterised by mostly pastel colors and beautiful pieces of art along with flowers on most corners and parts of the room. It was exactly how he imagined a wedding-planner'splace to be like, with what knowledge he had on the field.

“As you wish.” she nodded her head and exited the room, closing the door but not completely. Leaving it slightly ajar just in case.

It wasn't long before they heard another new voice that they both realized the waiting wasn't going to be as long as they thought.

“Lilies? Who said anything about lilies? We want pink roses! Even though we confirmed five times that we want lilies! Go ahead and find pink roses. More than 500 of them just two days before the wedding, you can find them!” all the words were laced with sarcasm, sounding like the woman was mocking someone, obviously incredibly agitated by them “Do they think I'm a freaking magician and not a wedding planner or what? Maybe a magician would do, pull some flowers out of thin air, that's what I was going to say. But I swear I barely held back because if I did oh I was so going to add “Or out of your asses, bitches. Now kiss mine and watch me go!” and then be done. Done!”

The words were very much audible from the other side of the door, despite the large space that was the waiting room. They were a bit muffled, of course, and the woman wasn't exactly yelling them. She was mostly whisper-hissing the words, but whatever the case both Lisa and Dean heard and their reactions couldn't have been any more different and similar at the same time. Their eyes widened, but while Lisa clasped a hand over her mouth in shock, Dean clasped one over his to keep himself from bursting into laughter.

That did earn a kick on the leg from his fiance.

“Oh my Gosh, (Y/n)!” the assistant almost sounded like she was chastising her, making them wonder as to how close they were “They're clients, you can't talk like that!”

“They're also my aunt and cousin who have made it their personal goal to ruin my life ever since I was 14. So I'm pretty sure I'm very much entitled to.” well that was a relief at least.

“The wedding's fast approaching, just show some sympathy, they want it to be perfect! Wouldn't you?”

“It is going to be perfect and I know it. They're doing all of this just to piss me off which I'll admit is working. Never, never again am I going to work with a relative. Angelina freaking Jolie was nicer than them! And as for the second-” they kept hearing pacing all around the room, maybe some typing and papers moving around “You know that's never going to happen. My wedding's going to be the easiest to organize and there will never be problems with the flowers o-or the cake because- Who the fuck said weddings need a cake? A wedding pie is what they need! Layers and layers of different flavors of pie and on top? Apple cinnamon, my favorite! That's what my “cake” is going to be. And as for the main course? Easy peasy! Burgers with extra fries because whoever doesn't like fries and burgers is an enemy of mine. And no greens, I swear to you, if I have to even face another salad – let alone for my own wedding – I'm gonna kill whoever invented it... even if they're probably already dead. I'll just... go ahead make a deal with a demon to bring them back and then kill them again. And don't you dare get me started on the music! If Led Zeppelin is not playing when I'm walking down the aisle then forget it, I'm not getting married at all. Can't people be more original? If I hear another couple say they want “Strangers in the night” as their first song, I'll-”

“Ok!” the assistant said a bit more urgently than before the woman could add more to her opinion although Dean would very much like to “Let me stop you right there because you clearly haven't had a coffee right now.”

“Nope. Plus, I forgot my car keys at home, got a cab who was insanely late, got stuck in traffic and on top of it I had to talk with ten different people. I'm telling you, I'm this close to stealing a car- preferably that gorgeous Chevy Impala that's parked outside and drive off into the middle of nowhere until my cousin's wedding is done and over with.” a long heavy sigh followed “Yes, I definitely need a coffee now otherwise I'm going to kill someone.”

“I'm guessing that would be your aunt but for now, there is coffee already waiting for you. Just as well two new clients in your office.”

“Seriously? And you let me talk like a madwoman here? Oh dear, help me.”

Dean could picture the assistant shrugging “They have an appointment for later but came early so I suggested you see them now.”

“At this bloody hour?” that was most whispered but Dean was the one who caught sound of it “Who wakes up so early because they want to?!” that one made Dean nod his head in full understanding “Give me a minute to become human again.”

They heard a door open and close shortly after those words, leaving them in absolute silence this time. Not that there was any silence in their minds anyway. Lisa was gaping, her eyes wide as she kept opening and closing her mouth again and again. Dean on the other was trying his damn hardest not to burst into laughter that, he was sure, would be heard crystal clear. It came as the most unexpected yet peasant surprise of the day, if not his entire week, to find his chest feeling so light. To feel his entire body relax and, if by some miracle, his need for coffee - to be able to talk about any topic - vanish into thin air. To feel a kind of urge to laugh loudly and wholeheartedly the way he had done only handful of times in his entire life. To feel all the tension evaporate, in a way he barely got to feel even when asleep. But even more to feel so comfortable that an easy smile rested on his lips

“I mean-” he coughed a bit when he realized a laugh slipped his lips and it wasn't really the right time to laugh when his fiance was in a state of... shock to say the least. He couldn't blame her. When hearing “The most sought after wedding planner.” and “The one behind Angelina Jolie's wedding, and so many more.” you expected something... different. More professional perhaps? Well, they were all humans, Dean would give her the benefit of the doubt. Everyone said she was the best – according to Lisa at least – it shouldn't matter how she was outside job, right?

“I liker her!” a chuckle he couldn't stop “If you ask me, she certainly sounds real cool, and to be honest-- She's definitely the one!”

He would have added “As far as wedding planners are concerned.” but he didn't. It was obvious to him and it was obvious to Lisa, but the moment the door flew open anything that was too obvious or taken for granted was nothing but a mere lie. Take for example the need to breathe. Dean didn't need it apparently because his breath hitched in his throat and it refused to leave for a good few seconds... seconds that he could swear felt like hours. Another example? What he had just said, about her being the one was so very true but not considering the wedding planning. It was the most bitter realization that could make any of the lightness in his chest fade away. Instead his heart dropped to the pit of his stomach in a kind of way he had not felt before. It wasn't heavy, it was mostly... full? Swelling? Funny? Well, his stomach was certainly the last. Filled with butterflies, tied in knots, whatever kind of expression people used nowadays to describe how it was to fall in lo-

Dean's throat tightened and he stopped himself before he could even dare think of it. He was never one to believe in love at first sight, despite how much his mother would talk about it and insist on it being real – the proof she used being her and his father. And yet, as he tried to convince himself it wasn't true, here he was, experiencing everything she had described to him years ago. All he could think about was storming out of the room, desperate to get some air in his lungs without feeling your perfume envelop him and make him even more yours then he already was- Wait, what? Either way, it was impossible. Because all he could do was stare at you, take everything in like thirsty man in the desert.

It was only when those sparkling eyes of yours turned to focus on him and your lips formed his name, pulling then into an even bigger smile than before, which he'd admit made him feel giddy to see more of and also proud to earn one, before he finally realized you were extending your hand to shake.

“So you must be Mr Winchester?” he took hold of your hand to shake it, giving a nod “Pleasure to meet you!”

“Likewise.” he was thankful for how much more confident he sounded.

You held his hand just for another second that mattered a lot more to him than he wanted to admit, before letting go and speaking “Please take a seat.” they did and you sat on yours “First of all let me tell you a great congratulations on your engagement and hope your wedding is everything you ever dreamed of! I wanted to say this because I mean it, even if I may not get to see you again or be the one to organize it.”

“Why wouldn't you?” Dean said with a frown deeper than expected and before he could even comprehend it.

Your eyes immediately jumped to meet his and you offered him a small smile, leaning forward to rest your elbows on your desk “There is no need for... formalities, for lack of better words, Mr Winchester. I can understand that my age seems as a bit of a obstacle if not a big problem. Most people that come to my office, seeking for my assistance, instantly hesitate because of the fact that I am a bit too young and I wouldn't expect you to be exception. However, I can assure you that even at 26 I have organized more weddings in the past seven years than most wedding planners have been able to organize in 20 years. And do not let that scare you, because time is never a problem for me. I can have everything perfectly planned within a month if you ask me to.”

“We have heard so. In fact we have heard only the best about your work, and we can't lie about that. We-” Lisas laughed a bit nervously, glancing at Dean who had not been able to take his eyes off you; too fascinated by the confident yet very soft smile on your lips as you casually leaned back in your seat “We are however a bit surprised by your young age, yes.”

“And as I said, Miss Braeden, that is very much expected and reasonable. I won't try to change your opinion by talking about what I could possibly do or how easily I can already tell what the ideal wedding looks like for you and your fiance. I will let my work speak for itself. There are countless albums with photos of all the weddings I have organised. You are free to take a look if you'd want to?”

“Not that I don't trust you but that would be actually lovely.” she nodded her head.

“Of course. Alex would you please show Miss Braeden and Mr. Winchester to the-”

“No” he said a little fast, making your eyebrows raise a bit. It was too early for him to leave the room yet, he hadn't had enough not enough of you yet, not that he could ever get enough he was sure “Uh no, there is no need to for me. Lisa can take a look herself, I would like to talk to you... a-about the wedding. Talk a bit more about the wedding. See your whole view on the issue a-and what would likely be the best for us. If... it is fine with you?”

“Absolutely.” the way it left your lips in such a soft whisper he felt his heart swell for the second time that day. And when that smile came, well, he could have never been more thankful for the fact that he was sitting otherwise his knees would have given away. It almost made him feel giddy and impatient, especially as you held his gaze for a couple more seconds.

“Alex-” you turned to your assistant “Miss Braden would like to see the albums, would you mind showing her?”

“Of course. Miss, if you could follow me please?” she said ever so politely and Lisa did follow her with much excitement. As soon as the door closed behind them to leave Dean alone with the wedding planner, he felt like it was getting harder to breathe all of a sudden.

“She's a bit skeptical, I'm sorry about that.” he found himself apologizing, almost shying away when you didn't hesitate to meet his eyes “She just-” he cleared his throat “She wants it to be perfect.”

“And I don't blame her for that. It's the happiest day of both your lives, it should be perfect.” you shrugged softly and he only hummed.

“Yeah, I guess.” he shrugged “I mean, it's definitely the most important one of hers, it should be great.”

“Cold feet already, Mr Winchester?” you narrowed your eyes at him, smirking in a teasing way and boy how he'd love to get used to this “Isn't it a bit too early?”

He found himself chuckling instantly “It's always too early when you haven't had a coffee. Too early to even breathe, let alone be human or a fiance.”

He had never felt more proud with something he said, or more happy, when he heard that beautiful sound of your laughter fill the room “You tell me!” the sparkle in your eyes made him feel like a teenager all over again “I swear, every time someone wakes me up too early or I have to leave without a coffee, I am this close to murdering everyone I come across!”

“How about you try being woken up before the freakin' dawn, literally dragged out of bed by your fiance, without time for coffee or breakfast?” he said and watched you wince in sympathy.

“Ouch that's brutal!” you shook your head “Here, allow me-” you added, getting up from your chair and going through another door that was part of the room, only to emerge seconds later with a cup in your hand “It's black, figured you look like the kind of person to like it that way. But if you'd like sugar o-or milk then-”

“No” he shook his head “No, it's perfect. Really. You didn't have to though. I mean, if Lisa finds out about this-”

“Oh please, just allow me to temp you to coffee at least.” oh if only you knew the kind of temptation you really were to him “From one addict to another. Come on, if she doesn't notice when she comes in then you don't have to worry. It's gonna be our secret.”

“I'm gonna have to take your word on that. I hope you know how to keep a secret.” he said back with a smirk of his own that was a bit too flirty.

“We'll have to wait and see then, won't we?” you teased again.

And when you winked at him, your words holding so much more meaning behind them - that either you didn't realize or didn't want to realize the kind of effect they had on him and he was more than thankful for it - he could swear he felt his breath get stuck in his throat once more. He was both excited, as in couldn't control his eagerness to figure out if the words had more meaning, and terrified because... here he was, flirting like he had no single care in the world with a woman nearly 14 years younger than him and whom, above all, was his wedding planner. Or would be. Didn't matter. He understood it. It was fear. Fear because the realization set down harder than ever before, colder and more shocking than a bucket of ice cold water that you were indeed planning their wedding. His and Lisa's wedding. He was meant to discuss his upcoming wedding with another woman with you and flirting or being unable to think of you in any other way but... his long lost other half.

And there were no other words to describe it, despite how much it hurt or made him feel sick. You clicked. You clicked in a way he never had been able to click with another woman, not even Lisa. He felt at ease with you, a mutualunderstanding, a feeling of happiness and peace there and even more an undeniable sort of attraction. Both towards your character and also looks, because he would be damned if he denied you being the most beautiful woman he had ever met.

“We will. Unless-” he couldn't stop it, couldn't hold back “This is a way of you to blackmail me into finally getting my car?” he teased an you frowned for a moment, tilting your head. Too adorable for him to take. “Heard... you said something about stealing the black Impala or something?”

“No way!” your eyes widened and you clasped a hand over your mouth in shock before you inevitably laughed “That car is yours?!” the pure excitement and admiration on your face made him feel even more proud himself “You've gotta be kidding me. That car right there is sex on wheels! You should consider yourself a very lucky man!”

He laughed “You could tell that to my brother. After all these years and he still doesn't get why I love it so much. Yeah I know!” he nodded his head when he saw the look of disbelief on your face “I know. Can't understand how we're related.”

“Impossible. Can't relate.” you shook your head “But now that I know this interesting piece of information I might have to rethink the form of payment I'll take in case I end up working for you.” you said with a sly smirk, leaning back in your seat and sipping your coffee.

“Anything you want.” he shrugged, doing the same “And if you have the time, my car and I are always available for a long ride if you want to. Maybe some burgers and pie could make the deal sweeter?”

“Sweeter? Oh you have no idea!” you breathed out, shaking your head a bit in disbelief before your voice took on a softer tone, almost like speaking a secret “Careful, I might actually not be able to resist.”

“I was hoping you wouldn't.” he dared admit in an equally low voice, eyes not leaving yours.

“Then I'm actually going to hold you onto your promise.”

He should hate himself for all of this and he actually did. But he didn't hate himself more than he hated the universe or whoever was out there that decided that this should be how he was meant to meet you. Was he meant to suffer his entire life? Could he not once get a break? Planning his wedding with Lisa would have been his break, would have been his time to rest after all the pain, and yet he had not felt his chest ache more than when he realized how bad he wanted it to be you and not her... and that it wasn't the case.

~~~

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justforbooks · 7 years

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The Loss of Jonathan Demme

By Anthony Lane

A fellow named Melvin Dummar comes across this guy—“a strange ol’ weirdo wino, layin’ out in the middle of the desert,” with a busted shoulder and a bloody ear. Melvin hauls him into his pickup and drives him to Las Vegas, where the old man asks to go. Along the way, they talk and sing; after some coaxing, the passenger even croons “Bye Bye Blackbird.” Then, after thunder and rain, he rolls down his window and sniffs the air. “Greasewood and sage,” he says. Before they part, he asks for money, and Melvin hands over the contents of his pockets—a palmful of loose change. “That’s it,” he adds. “That’s all I got.”

Such is the prelude, both easygoing and far-reaching, to “Melvin and Howard” (1980). Melvin is played by Paul Le Mat, and Howard, if you trust the movie, is Howard Hughes, played by Jason Robards. The director is Jonathan Demme, who died on Wednesday, at the age of seventy-three. Everything that there was to like about Demme is present in the scene: the contagious warmth that he feels toward his characters; the appeal to all the senses, not excluding smell; the consoling thought that, wherever you are and whatever you’re doing, music should not be far away; and the life-giving mix of movement and stasis—two people just sitting there, revealing something of themselves, while the truck chews up the miles and the day breaks free of the night.

Most of the tributes paid to Demme, in the past few days, have marvelled at the range of goods that was stocked, as it were, in the storefront of his films. Try the early exploitation flicks of the nineteen-seventies, like “Caged Heat” and “Crazy Mama,” made under the aegis of Roger Corman. Or the antsy and energetic comedies of the eighties, “Married to the Mob” and “Something Wild,” succeeded, at the start of the following decade, by the solid studio pictures, “The Silence of the Lambs” and “Philadelphia,” that came away with Academy Awards. Dotted through Demme’s career, meanwhile, were the music videos and the music documentaries, which harkened to figures as disparate as Bruce Springsteen, Neil Young (twice), the Pretenders, and, of course, the Talking Heads, in the imperishable hipness of “Stop Making Sense” (1984). Only last year, Demme filmed Justin Timberlake and the Tennessee Kids in concert at the MGM Grand, in Las Vegas—not far from where the hobo billionaire of “Melvin and Howard” asked to be dropped off, at the rear of his own hotel.

This chop and change suggests a reluctance to settle, not merely in a choice of genres but often in the mood space of a single film. Nobody who saw “Something Wild,” in 1986, can ever forget the giddying swerve of the plot. Jeff Daniels, as Charlie, is hardly the first stiff to be loosened up by a dangerous dame (think of Henry Fonda in “The Lady Eve,” being led in a merry dance by Barbara Stanwyck), but in the hands of Demme, with the hard-staring help of Ray Liotta, the danger becomes a blood sport. A pair of Hitchcockian handcuffs serves first as an accessory to sex and then as a shackle to bind the hero while the villain, in the next room, plies his demonic trade. You want to know if screwball can be used as an offensive weapon? Look and learn.

As for “The Silence of the Lambs,” one cause of its endurance, and the reason that, however busy I may be, I am incapable of dragging myself away whenever it plays on TV, is that its contents shift with every viewing. As we follow Clarice Starling on her first visit to Hannibal Lecter, down the long walk past the other cells, we hear the deep churn of the musical theme, and our scalps, as ordained, begin to prickle; and what do we discover, behind the see-through wall? A sprightly figure, standing to greet the lady, as erect as a butler, with the spectre of a smile. The gourmet has found his amuse-gueule. From here on, the horror of the film will be garnished with comedy, while the comedy (and this is the creepiest touch of all) will bear the rich savor of romance. “People will say we’re in love,” Lecter says, when the young F.B.I. trainee returns to him later in the tale—for a tip, for a clinching clue, or because she can’t help herself. Their expressions, viewed head-on, fill the whole landscape of the screen. Each can see nothing but the other.

That stark composition returns, in very different circumstances, at the end of “Philadelphia,” when the dying man (Tom Hanks) bids farewell to his beloved (Antonio Banderas). Hanging over that film—so timely in 1993, and so dated now, for all its tender and well-meaning ambitions—is a sense that it was, in part, an act of atonement for “The Silence of the Lambs.” Charges of homophobia had been levelled at the character of Buffalo Bill, the killer whom Starling hunts, despite the fact that Demme took explicit pains, as Thomas Harris had done in the novel, to disclaim any link between violence and the transgender community. In consequence, there were protests at the time of release. To someone of Demme’s patent decency, those will have struck home.

The profession of movie director is not one that we instantly associate with the modest and the benign, but somehow, like Anthony Minghella, Demme rose through the ranks. What was a nice guy like him doing in a job like that? Well, he was schooled by Corman, a gentleman on the throne of schlock, who oversaw, with approval, the ascent of his many protégés. (The roster is laughably distinguished: Scorsese, Coppola, Nicholson, Stallone, and so forth. James Cameron designed the spaceship for the Corman-produced “Battle Beyond the Stars.”) To listen to Demme and Corman shoot the breeze, in their commentary on “Crazy Mama,” is like hearing a couple of veterans recalling their comrades-in-arms, without rancor or rivalry (“Jim Backus, Mr. Magoo, God bless him; he was a delight,” Demme says, scanning the credit sequence), and an ancient dispute about a montage is fondly laid to rest. What the master made plain, according to Demme, was that, “if you lose the viewer’s eye, you’re going to lose the viewer’s interest. He also stressed the importance of having as many characters as possible that are in every way just as interesting as your main characters, even if they get less screen time.”

That is a crucial creed, because it implies not simply a visual knack but a reserve of moral generosity. Between “The Silence of the Lambs” and “Philadelphia,” Demme made “Cousin Bobby,” about Robert Castle, an Episcopalian minister in Harlem: a firebrand built like a fortress. I still remember Demme standing in the frame, arms folded, putting questions to his cousin and watching him at work, even if the matter in hand was something as prosaic as a pothole. There was a persistent liberal ardor to Demme’s politics (witness his 2007 film about Jimmy Carter), but he was also blessed by a larger liberalism: the imaginative outreach, hard to discern in the rampant studio movies of today, which assumes that everybody is worth stopping for—that there will always be folks who repay the camera’s attention. What he radiated, before or behind the lens, was an unstinting curiosity, and a faith that the most reliable map of character was the human face.

That faith, rather than nepotism, led him to cast the Reverend Castle in five more films—first “Philadelphia,” then “Beloved” (1998), “The Truth About Charlie” (2002), “The Manchurian Candidate” (2004), and “Rachel Getting Married” (2008). The last of these, starring Anne Hathaway, found favor in some quarters, yet its fretfulness seemed a small thing when set beside the shimmying tensions of “Something Wild,” and even Demme loyalists had to admit that the later movies suffered an unaccountable loss of pressure. “The Truth About Charlie,” especially, looked all the more forlorn because it was a remake of “Charade,” and there is no known galaxy in which Mark Wahlberg could be an adequate substitute for Cary Grant. Not too many people saw “Ricki and the Flash” (2015), Demme’s final feature, despite the zest of Meryl Streep as the middle-aged rocker of the title, yet the movie is worth revisiting, in the wake of Demme’s passing, because it proves that his inquisitive eye had lost little of its gleam. He was, among his other talents, a terrific picker of extras, and as Ricki performs in bars, or at family gatherings, he dishes up, in passing glimpses, a fine assortment of his fellow-citizens.

Demme was a man for small towns and back roads. He liked those pockets of America where there was fun to be had, at a bargain price, and weakness to be gently laid bare. Hence his penchant for Melvin, a near-loser with a wish list of hopes, and for the tallness of Melvin’s tale. Whether the Howard he came across, that night in the desert, really was Howard Hughes, as legend insists, was not the sort of conundrum to bother Demme, and I doubt if he gave a damn whether the infamous “Mormon will”—in which, years later, Hughes allegedly left more than a hundred and fifty million dollars to Melvin in gratitude for his Samaritan deed, like a mega-Magwitch rewarding Pip—was the genuine article or a fake. What Demme knew for certain, because his grip on our everyday fears and fancies was so secure, is that we want to believe Melvin, and that Melvin, the poor dope, wants to believe himself. The stories that we tell, in other words, may not always be true, and yet they are true of us, and that will have to do. The loss of Jonathan Demme is a sad surprise, for the films that he bequeaths to us remain, to an uncommon degree, the work of a good man.

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