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kyberconfessions · 3 years

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No Matter Where You Go, I Will Find You. part 3

Hi everyone! We have made it to Part 3! Thank you for coming on this wonderful journey with me. I have at least 6 chapters already written and the story will be longer than that. I appreciate all of your love and reblogs and everything you say about it. Seriously, I love you all. Also, I am toying with the idea of a Bad Batch x reader story AU. Let me know if there is any want for that. Thanks!!!

As always:

This will eventually be a 18+ older fic and will deal with anxiety, death, sex, PTSD, murder, loss, found family, Order 66, and coming to terms. This is not just a fluff fic. It will very much be dealing with very dark and hard themes, so please, if that is something that can be too hard for you, don’t read.

Pairings: Rex x Reader x Cody (polyamory) I should say this is NOT a Rex x Cody fic. There will be ZERO Clonecest on this blog or story. Reader is a consensual relationship with Rex and with Cody. Yes they share, yes they will eventually have sex together, but Cody and Rex are NOT in a relationship nor will they be intimate.

Rating: 18+

TW: Death, Murder, infanticide, death of the Jedi, PTSD, Loss, Anxiety, eating disorders, sleep disorders, Order 66. I will add other things as I think about them

Part 3: Again

It had taken you longer to get to Hondo than you would have liked. But, of course he had to be by some out of the way planet, forgotten by most. You pride yourself on your extensive knowledge of the planetary systems, knowing obscure things that even had Master Yoda chuckling with delight. But this place? You had no idea where it was. It never showed up on any star chart and quite frankly you were fairly certain he gave you incorrect coordinates. But, still, you went there to meet him. You had to laugh to yourself when you saw his ship waiting for you, floating in the dead of space. Hondo was telling the truth.

"Kriffing pirates," you mumbled to no one, chuckling as you started preparing your ship to dock with his. No matter how many star charts you studied, how many space lanes you memorized, he would always know more obscure things than you.

As you finished the docking sequence and began to enter his ship, you mulled over what he would want to show you. Something he was either desperate to have or knew you would want immediately. Something he wouldn’t risk saying over a commed link, even if it was secure. Honestly if this was another wild goose chase he put you on for something he could find at any market stall on any of the core planets...well you wouldn’t do anything except grumble while you went and got it. You should hate the power Hondo had over you, but you didn’t. He never did anything to you out of ill will or because he could. Hondo was just eccentric.

‘But…,’you couldn’t help think. But what if? What if? What if he finally found something you truly needed?

Could it finally be Cody’s helm? Or could it be a piece of Rex? You knew in your heart it wasn’t either of those, it never was, but still you hoped. Still you held on and asked the Force to give you just this one win. Just this once, let you have something of Rex. Anything would do. A pauldron, his Kama, a piece off of his belt, something, anything. You just wanted some piece of him to hold onto. You missed him so much. You missed them both, but where Cody could be hard and demanding and strict, Rex was soft and loving. He would hold your fingers in secret where Cody would just stand. Rex would let his hand linger on your shoulder a few seconds longer than need be, while Cody would just grunt in acknowledgement. Rex would praise you after training; Cody would demand perfection, pushing you harder than Obi-Wan ever would. But when he would show you his love, Cody would love with the brilliance of a burning sun.

Hondo waved at you from the otherside of his door, giving you a flourished bow before opening the airlock. But as you walked in, your mind wandered, thinking to your lovers.

You missed them both so much and you could use a few of their pep-talks, especially now.

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Obi-Wan and Anakin stood on the Training Observation Deck of the Negotiator, watching their Padawans work through a strenuous series of obstacles and training droids.

Cody and Rex stood on the sides of their respective Generals, watching as well.

Ashoka did well, flipping, moving, and swinging her saber with ease. Each of her targets went down with raw power, showing how strong she was getting. You, on the other hand, were tired and sore and not moving as quickly as you usually do. But, that was because Ashoka just came back off a week's leave from Coruscant and you had recently gotten shipside from a long and drawn out campaign with Foxtrot Group. You were exhausted when she was refreshed. But that didn't mean you could slack off in your training. You had to be stronger, you had to be better. You were Jedi, you would not fail.

Ashoka finished the trial a few seconds before you did, landing at the finish line on one foot. Just as you were about to execute your final flip, the training block shifted underneath you, causing your foot to slip. Before you could right yourself, a stun bolt hit you square in the back, knocking you down. You landed on the ground with a hard and loud thud, ending the exercise.

Obi-Wan watched as Ashoka went to help you up, feeling guilty for having you train. He knew you were tired and drained, but you had insisted on working with the other Padawan. He should have put his foot down and told you to get some sleep. But he didn't and here you all were.

Anakin walked forward to the console and stopped the exercise, reseting it.

"Good job Snips, finally getting that barrel flip down.” He called over the comm. “Thank you, Master.”

You were standing behind Ashoka as she spoke to her Master, dusting off your robes and massaging your neck, disappointed in yourself. You should have sensed that bolt coming, you should have been able to right yourself and finish the test. You stood there, mentally berating yourself so much that you didn't realize Obi-Wan had started to address you.

"It's alright Young One, you did excellent, but I fear your exhaustion has hindered your training for today. Why don't you go and eat and get some much needed rest and we can revisit this at a later time."

Obi-Wan, ever the loving caretaker, cursed himself for even allowing you to work in your state. You could have gotten seriously injured and where would that have put you? He knew in all honesty you should be in the medbay getting checked out and possibly doing a little time in a bacta tank.

But, Marshal Commander Cody thought differently. Ever the perfectionist, he would not accept this as the end of your session. With his bucket under his left arm, he walked up to the console and pressed the comm, calling you.

"No Jed'ika. Start over."

You looked up into the window of the viewing deck and saw him staring at you, eyes hard. The others looked on in mild concern and irritation. Obi-Wan was about to chastise his second, when he noticed you move to the beginning and prepare for another assault. You knew he was right, he always was. You could do better, you should be doing better, but you let your exhaustion lie to you. You weren’t so tired that you couldn’t finish this level. You’ve done this countless times, late in the evening, with Cody at your side. There was absolutely no reason you couldn’t finish it now.

Cody looked back to his General for a split second, as if looking for permission, before restarting the training exercise. This time, as you went though the course, you only made it halfway before failing again. There was a trick shot the training droids took that you weren’t prepared for and you took another bolt to your upper thigh. You were going to have an ugly bruise in a few hours.

Gingerly you stood, favoring your leg for a few seconds before shaking it off. Just another color added to your already mottled and scarred skin.

As you went to stand, you saw the course reset once more and heard Cody’s voice over the comms, “Again.”

Rex didn’t like this, but he knew what Cody was doing. He knew if you were just pushed harder, if you were taken to your limit, you would not fail. He also knew that if you left the course without succeeding you would beat yourself up for days, feeling weak and useless. Rex didn’t like it, but he agreed. Obi-Wan watched on, focusing on your resilience and strength in the Force, humbled by his young Padawan. Anakin, on the other hand, didn’t like what was happening and felt that the Commander of the 212th was being too careless with your safety. This went on for some time, Cody would call for you to restart, you would fail, you would get up, and he would call again. Over and over and over.

Finally, after what seemed like hours, Anakin had enough. “This is absurd! She’s clearly tired and needs rest. Hells, she needs time in the Medbay!” He walked up to the console and used his shoulder to push Cody out of the way, calling to you, “Padawan, you’re done now. Go straight to the Medbay. I want Kix to look you over.” He turned to Rex, “See she gets there, I don’t trust the Commander at the moment.”

Ashoka looked visibly uncomfortable from where she stood on the viewing deck and gazed up at Obi-Wan for any kind of reaction. He said nothing, just watching his Padawan try to get up off of the mat while pulling at the hairs in his beard. Before he could give the order for Cody to help take you to the medbay, Cody unceremoniously stomped over to the lift door and went down into the training room. They watched as he approached you and pulled you up, speaking harshly in a hushed tone to you.

You watched as Cody barreled towards you and crouched down at your eyelevel to look at you sternly. “Get up, Jed’ika. Get up. You don’t have time to wallow in your self pity. You don’t have time to lay here. You don’t have time to fail! Get up!” You listened to his words and tried to stand, but your knee where you had just taken a bolt gave out and you fell. Cody wrapped his hand around your bicep firmly and pulled you up.

“Each time you fail, another one of your men dies! You get up and you do it again! Each failure is another soldiers life gone! The men you swore to protect! Get up!” You nodded and stood on your own feet, albeit wearily. He was right. “You are a Jedi. You are not some clanker who falls over with the slightest push. You are better than this! You are better than your failure. You are Jedi. Do better. What is it that you’re always quoting from General Yoda? There is no try. You either do it, or you fail. And I do not accept failure! AGAIN.” Once he knew you were on stable legs, he stalked off to the sideline and prepared to yell at you more as you went through the program.

“Master, this is ridiculous! Cody has lost his mind! She’s too tired and needs medical attention.” Anakin was almost shaking; he was so upset. Who did Cody think he was? You were going to get seriously injured if you continued on. You needed rest and bacta, not constant berating and training. This wasn’t the way one taught a Padawan. This wasn’t the way Obi-Wan taught him.

Obi-Wan quirked an eyebrow at Anakin and breathed loudly out his nose, removing his hand from his beard. “Yes, I do believe you are right, Anakin. It seems I have let this get out of hand.” He stood closer to the control panel, hand hovering over the comms, but instead of turning off the program, he restarted it and turned it to a higher level of intensity. Anakin balked.

“Master! She’s going to get killed!” Ashoka cried out, looked to her Master and back to Obi-Wan, a strange feeling of anxiety sitting in her throat. It seemed through all the arguing and annoyances the Jedi were currently engaged in, they forgot about the Captain standing there, bucket under his arm, watching his brother and his Jed’ika. In his mind he kept a chant of ‘Come on, come on, you can do this.’ Over and over he thought, urging you to finish it. He wanted nothing more than in that moment to run down there and do as Cody was doing. He wanted to push you further, to push you to where he knew you could go. But he couldn’t, he was made to stand at ease and watch everything from the viewing deck. But, everything in him was down there on the mat with you, his most beloved, urging you to be better. The only thing on his mind was watching you finish this training exercise, going to your quarters to help you bathe, wrap your wounds, and finally making sure you ate a good meal. If he knew his brother, which he did, Cody was thinking the same thing.

You stood at the beginning once more and took a deep breath, hearing the mechanical beep signaling the beginning of the exercise. ‘Do better,’ you thought, before starting. You moved quickly through, dodging each blast, flipping and jumping higher and higher onto different ledges, using your saber to volley away bolts you could not dodge on your own, until you got to the point where you kept failing. Through the course, you could hear Cody yelling at you to keep going, keep moving, to not stop. You could hear him demanding excellence from you, he wanted more than what you thought you could give. He wanted perfection. It pushed you to go further, to work harder, to be better. You wouldn't fail your men and you wouldn't fail Cody. You dug deep into yourself and thought back to the training your former Master gave you, to that harsh and dangerous form. You could do it, you just had to concentrate. If you could find your center, you could toe that line made of shadows while still holding onto the light. You breathed deep, ‘allow your emotions to guide your strikes...feel that bubbling of anger and frustration, grab onto it to push you further. But do not give in. Just use it to fuel your power.’ Your old Master’s voice rang in your head, their training at the forefront of your mind. Multiple bolts fired at once, but instead of one landing a hit, you switched into Form VII, into Juyo. The most difficult saber form, Juyo was dark and dangerous, only used by those skillful Masters equipped with the knowledge of what it means to touch the Darkside and still stand in the Light. Used by your old Master.. taught to you by them in the shadows of Malachor… You shook your muscles out before jumping up against a wall structure, running its length with ease as more bolts were blocked. As you reached its end, you bounced over to the other wall and repeated the pattern, running and blocking, before twisting up onto its ledge. You stood, saber drawn across your body, balancing on the balls of your left foot as your right sat crossed on your thigh. You waited, breathing in and feeling the pulse of the machines across the Force.

THERE.

You flipped up, saber swinging around you in a figure eight, blocking each bolt back, volleying them towards the mechanical guns that sprang from the walls.

You landed once more in your previous spot before swan diving to the ground, landing with practiced grace and ease at the end, having finally completed the exercise. “Kark yeah!” Cody grunted, quickly walking to you. You had a tired smile on your face when he reached you. He reached out to grab your shoulder, squeezing it gently, before letting his hand fall away just as quickly. You looked up at him with adoration.

“I knew you could do it, Cyare,” he whispered, praising you, before taking a respectful stance, remembering that you were a superior and that you both were not alone. You nodded your thanks and tried to give him a look that said, "I love you". Hopefully he understood. He did.

Cody went to get you a towel to wipe your face as the others joined you on the mat. There were praises and excitement from the other Padawan, but both Obi-Wan and Anakin shared a look; they knew those moves. Knew that stance. A dangerous form like Juyo left unchecked could cause irreparable damage. It might be time for you to study a little under Master Windu if you are to continue in that form. Either way, Obi-Wan could feel the relief and happiness rolling off you, it could wait for another day. He also noticed a few feelings not very Jedi-like, aimed at the Marshall Commander and the Jaig-eyed Captain of the 501st. He quirked an eyebrow, but still he smiled his dazzling smile at you.

Obi-Wan was so proud of you, you felt giddy. It was all you ever wanted, and you knew you had it. He was proud of you.You proved to yourself and your Master that you weren’t some weak kid playing at being a Jedi. You truly were one and no matter how tired or weary you were, you could finish what you started.

Later that evening, after getting off duty, Rex made his way to your quarters, a tray of food in hand and a few bandages in the other. He hadn't even stopped at his bunk to change out of his armor. He went straight to the mess hall and then to you, wanting to check in.

When he approached your door, he knocked once before punching in your code, knowing he'd always be welcomed in. When the door slid open, he couldn't help but smile under his helmet at the sight.

You were sitting on the edge of your desk, freshly showered, robes put away, wearing loose, grey, linen pants and a black smallshirt. Cody was also freshly showered and in clean blacks, his armor stacked neatly by your bed. He sat in your chair, positioned between your legs, wrapping scrapes and cuts from the campaign and the training from earlier in fresh bandages, rubbing bacta on your bruises, and whispering words of praise and love to you.

Beside you both were 3 trays of untouched food, waiting to be consumed; one for you, one for Cody, and one for Rex.

Rex entered, letting the door slide closed behind him, a soft smile on his lips. He placed the extra tray of food next to the others, took off his bucket, and dropped a kiss to the top of your head before heading to your small refresher. When he exited, loose towel around his waist, Cody’s head was already buried between your naked thighs.

That night you all had the best sleep in ages, you sandwiched between the two men, tangled in sheets and their limbs, finally able to be together after so long apart. None of you would trade it for the world.

#cody x reader #cody x reader x rex #Marshall Commander Cody #rex x reader #captain rex #rebels!rex x reader #angst #Reader is an Ex!Jedi #reader is now a bounty hunter #Hondo Ohnaka #Hondo is your best friend #Dad!Obi-Wan x Padawan!Reader #Anakin Skywalker doesn't know how to NOT big brother #Asohka Tano #Anakin might hate Cody

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whatifxwereyou · 3 years

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The Oncoming Storm Part 26: Sick

Liu Kang x Reader and Kung Lao x Reader (gonna do both, two paths!)

You finally see where they sleep and get to take care of them a little bit. Finally. And Kung Lao is back! Yay!

A/N: I missed writing Kung Lao so much, I didn't realize how much until I was writing him again. He feeds into my sarcastic insides. My biggest suggestion for reading anything I write is to add sarcasm in your head. Lol. Hope you guys are doing well! I got home yesterday but had this chapter prepped and ready to go since I knew I'd be jetlagged today. Smooches.

Part 25 Part 27 Chapter Index

You rejoined Liu Kang who had very much still been watching you. He no longer made any attempt to hide it.

“Everything alright?” He looked weary. You couldn’t un-notice it.

“Yeah. Chen wanted to catch up, but I told her later.” Was it just you or had he gotten paler? You touched his forehead with the back of your hand, and he was radiating heat. But Liu Kang was always a little warmer than most. He pulled your hand away from his forehead and chuckled under his breath.

“I’m fine, Y/N.” He gave your hand a gentle squeeze before letting it go. “Careful down here, by the way. The monks can be a little…” He drifted off.

“Yeah, they’re huge drama queens and gossips. I know. You have no idea how much I know.”

“Yes.” He kept his eyes on the floor ahead of you, as if to purposely avoid eye contact with you. “They are all very nice, but they are also… as you put it… dramatic.”

“I can handle it. I think they’re kind of funny. Besides, I got used to being gossiped around as a kid.” You walked slowly with him through the halls, not exactly sure where you were headed, dragging your bag behind you. “How are you feeling?”

“What, are you worried about me?” He grinned mischievously.

“I am never going to live that down, am I?” You groaned.

“Nope. But it is very sweet that you do. I’m okay. I don’t feel like I have a fever. I’m sore and tired but it has been a wild few days, Y/N.”

“It has been.” You walked, somewhat aimlessly. “Are you going to rest?”

“Yes. Doctor’s orders.”

“How very well behaved of you.”

“My constitution is usually reliable when it comes to illness but if Kung Lao has that high a fever, then I should be careful. Usually, I’d ignore these orders for a little fever but I’m taking the effects of these artifacts very seriously. I know my limits. I don’t know theirs.”

“Is it okay if I make sure that you get back to your room to rest?”

“Oh?” He stopped walking and so you did the same. He stepped closer to you and stood over you and you straightened your posture in response. He tilted your chin up to him, pushing his boundaries with. He smirked which was the most beautiful expression you ever saw him make. “Worried?”

“Oh, god.” You made a sound of disgust. “Yes. Okay? I’m worried about you. Are you happy now?”

“Very.” Liu considered and then resumed his walk next to you. You joined him, relieved that you’d finally kept your composure in front of him. Liu Kang getting that closer to you? He knew what he was doing. You were beginning to think that they both knew exactly what they were doing and were in cahoots! They were cahooting! “I’m fine, Y/N, but yes you may accompany me.”

“I’m sorry for all of that, by the way.” You followed his lead down the hall and up a flight of stairs. “The worry thing, that is. I don’t mind that you worry about me. You were right. I got so far in my head that I was up my own ass.”

“It’s okay, Y/N. I know this has been difficult. I appreciate you taking the time to clarify things. I’m still going to tease you about it. I’m not sorry for that.” Liu led you through a door at the end of the hall. You stopped in the doorway to take in his space. His windows were covered with various draped cloths. There were scrolls hung on the walls, shelves of books, a desk, prayer beads, incense, and a prayer mat nearby. His bed was neatly made.

“It’s funny. This is exactly how I pictured your room.”

“Oh?” Liu turned to you in surprise. “You pictured it, did you?”

“I did. I pictured more books though.” You rolled your eyes at him as he teased you but couldn’t help but smile. You liked that he was teasing you a little bit. It was cute.

“I donate most of my books to the library when I’m done with them to share with everyone so that was not an incorrect assumption.” He sat on the edge of his bed and rested his elbows on his knees, hand over his left eye.

“Are you okay?” You risked being teased to worry about him again, crouching in front of him to catch his gaze.

“Headache.” He was looking gray.

“I’ll be right back.” You left his room, abandoning your little bag. You felt his eyes on you until they could no longer be. On each floor there were several rooms where waterflow had been setup in a rudimentary system that you were thankful for. You found the closest one to Liu’s room, filled a bowl with cold water, grabbed a clean cloth, and then returned to his room. You set the bowl on the little table next to his bed and then dipped the cloth in it. Then you wrung it out and gently dabbed at his forehead and held it next to his eye in hopes it would offer him some relief from the headache. He was watching you with deep admiration. It radiated from him. Sometimes Liu didn’t have to say what he was thinking because you could just tell.

“Thank you.”

“Just returning the favor.”

“You don’t owe me anything.”

“I know. I want to help you though.”

Liu laid back on his bed and you sat on the edge of it next to him and brushed his hair away from his face gently. You could see why he enjoyed doing that to you. “You can stay with me if you want.” You mentally revisited that morning almost immediately and decided you should clear your head instead.

“I’ll stay until I’m sure that you’re resting. If you want, I can read to you the way that you used to for me.”

“I’d like that.”

You stood and perused his books.

There were a handful set atop the bookshelf that were about Huangshan and then even more about ancient curses. You took the book about Huangshan and found where he’d marked in the middle of the book and sat next to him again. You rested the book in your lap, took the wet cloth, and rested it on his forehead, above his eye. His skin was hotter than usual. The fever had gotten worse even over the few minutes that it had taken you to get to his room.

Then you read to him, trying to be as clear and concise as he had been. It was soothing to watch him as he listened to you. He rested one hand on your lap and closed his eyes. Before you knew it, he had fallen asleep. You closed the book and marked your spot. Liu was pale and you took the cloth from his face. Hopefully, the fever didn’t last very long but it had also felt wonderful to take care of him. You knew you didn’t owe him anything, but it was nice to be able to return his kindness.

You sat with him for a few more moments then set the book on the nightstand, tucked him in, and left. Now you just had to find and check on Kung Lao. You dragged your bag behind you deciding you would blindly search the same floor. Besides, this would keep you busy and well, a 104 fever was nothing to laugh at.

You didn’t have to search for long. When you turned the corner, there was Kung Lao, walking right toward you.

“Hey you! You seen Liu?” Kung Lao was pale and had bags beneath his eyes. You could tell with one look at him that he was clammy. Even his usually rosy lips were ashen.

“Yes, but he’s asleep. Not feeling well.” You gestured behind you and then stepped closer and poked his chest. “You are as white as a sheet, Kung Lao.”

“I’m fine. Are you doing okay? I was worried after you left, and I came down with this annoying fever.”

“Unlike you, I am actually fine. Whatever this is? It hit you guys. I dodged it.”

“Because you’re already cursed, right? So, you’re used to feeling like garbage all the time?”

“Wow, that makes me feel great. Thanks, Lao. Shouldn’t you be in bed?”

“I need to talk to Liu first.”

“Well, Liu is sleeping. Talk to him tomorrow.”

“Fine,” he whined, pouting and batting his eyelashes. “But it’s important!”

“Is this something that I could help you with in his stead? I’m going to insist that you let him rest.”

“Well, I need to talk to Liu about something, but you can take my temperature so that I don’t have to go back to the stupid infirmary. Then you could lie to them and tell them I’m fine. Wait, scratch that, you’re a terrible liar. They’ll never believe you.”

“I don’t understand why you hate it there so much. They’re nice.” You placed the back of your hand to his forehead and pulled it back in alarm. “Yeah, wow, you are on fire. Please got to bed. I can’t force you, but I can annoy you until you do.”

“Dammit. Stupid bell,” he grumbled.

“Are you sure that you don’t want to go get some medicine to help with it or something?”

“No. I won’t. You took my temperature. That counts as checking in.” Kung Lao snapped and you cocked an eyebrow in surprise. “Fine. Okay. Yeah. You know what? Fine.” He sighed and pulled off his hat long enough just to push his sweaty hair back. “They’re very nice. You’re right. I know that but I don’t like being confined there or poked at or told what to do. And I don’t care for doctors in general.”

“Why? They’re just trying to help.”

He avoided your eyes and looked at his feet with a pout. “Bad memories.”

“Childhood trauma? Lao…”

“Memories of someone who had a rough time with doctors.”

“What? Me? I’m the cause of all this?”

“Of course, you. You used to come back from those stupid doctors crying or feeling worse off from a treatment for something that wasn’t treatable with medicine.” He looked very much like a defiant child in that moment.

“They were trying to help me, Kung Lao. They had never meant to hurt me.”

“Yeah, well I hated watching you suffer. So there.”

“Wow,” you laughed beneath your breath. Honestly, you were a little touched. You’d had no idea that the short time you’d spent together as kids had such a profound impact upon him. It had on you too, you supposed. No man had ever stood up to Kung Lao. At least not before Liu Kang. “It’s kind of sweet.”

“No, it’s very not sweet.”

“It’s a lot sweet, actually.”

“Please stop.”

“Come on, Kung Lao. You need rest.” You decided not to tease him in his moment of weakness. You would hold onto that information for later though. When he was feeling better, all bets were off. You grabbed his arm and began to guide him in the direction that he’d been coming from.

“Where are you taking me? To your room? To force me to rest?” He grinned.

“No, I’m expecting you to guide me back to your room so that I can force you to rest.”

“Oh, that is closer I guess.” He gestured behind him and turned you around and then stopped to sway and regain his balance. He really was sick. You needed to get him to bed. “This way. Though, I don’t need to go to bed. I’m fine.” Despite his objections he led you down the hallway and presumably toward his room.

“Says the man who almost fell over just turning around. Do you want to end up back in the infirmary?”

“No,” he snapped again.

“Then you need to rest, Lao.”

“Yes, mom.” He rolled his eyes but then turned a corner and led you into the room just on the other side of it. You were surprised when he opened the door. It was tidy. And organized. He had a collection of weapons on one wall, a prayer mat that looked like it had never been used, and a series of ropes tied from wall to wall on one side of the room that you guessed were for movement practice. His bed was unmade but everything else was put away.

“I did not expect this.”

“What?”

“I expected chaos.”

“I have been trained my whole life to be disciplined, Y/N. To have control and respect.”

“Not in my experience with you.”

He laughed and then held his sore side and coughed with a whine. You heaved a sigh and he slowly turned his gaze and whined. “Okay, so maybe I need rest.”

“Uh, yeah.” You nudged his shoulder carefully. “You went through so many doors the other day and now… this fever. Rest will help.”

“Fine.” He kicked off his shoes and then crawled into bed. It was clear to you that he was trying to save face by not whining or wincing as he laid back. It was cute. You tucked him in, and he shivered. You sat next to him. He admired you and then nodded toward his side.

“You still confused?”

You turned your gaze and stiffened up. “We don’t need to talk about that right now. You need rest.”

“That’s a big ol’ yes.”

You couldn’t help but smile.

“I’m cold. Thought maybe you could keep me warm.” He batted his eyelashes at you again. “Kiss me and make me feel better?” He couldn’t keep a straight face while he said it.

“I’m leaving now, Lao.” You stood and he reached for your hand to stop you. It was wrapped in gauze.

“Y/N?” His playful tone had faded.

“What?”

“Stay until I’m asleep? No funny business, I promise.”

How could you say no to that? You’d melted. “Yeah, I can do that.” You sat on the floor next to his bed, resting your back against it. You sat quietly and he tucked his arm back beneath the blankets.

“…did you kiss Liu again?”

“You’re making it really hard for me to stay, Lao.”

He laughed. “So defensive. Okay.” He tilted his head toward you so you turned and leaned with your arms resting against his mattress. He’d done the same for you on more than one occasion. Your grandma wouldn’t let him in on days where you’d been particularly ill or had a bad visit to the doctor. So, he had instead climbed in through your bedroom window and sat next to your bed, arms folded just like yours were now. He’d made you laugh. Stayed with you while you’d slept. You’d forgotten about those tender moments. In your grief, you had forgotten many things about him. “Thanks for not bailing on me when I’m frustrating.”

“You should be grateful.” You teased but in truth you had no real desire to leave until after you were certain he was resting. It didn’t take long. Only moments after he’d allowed his body to rest, he’d fallen asleep. He had needed it. You waited some time afterward to make certain he was really sleeping and not just faking it. He couldn’t be trusted.

He was sweet when he slept.

You had to make your choice. There was no more putting it off.

You’d mull over it the remainder of the day while they rested and then you would decide. You weren’t sure how you were going to make that decision or how you would tell them about it but you would figure it out. You weren’t scared of it anymore.

57 notes · View notes

nitrateglow · 3 years

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Favorite films discovered in 2020

Well, this year sucked. I did see some good movies though. Some even made after I was born!

Perfect Blue (dir. Satoshi Kon, 1997)

I watch a lot of thrillers and horror movies, but precious few actually unsettle me in any lasting way. This cannot be said of Perfect Blue, which gave me one of the most visceral cinematic experiences of my life. Beyond the brief flashes of bloodletting (you will never look at a screwdriver the same way again), the scariest thing about Perfect Blue might be how the protagonist has both her life and her sense of self threatened by the villains. The movie’s prescience regarding public persona is also incredibly eerie, especially in our age of social media. While anime is seen as a very niche interest (albeit one that has become more mainstream in recent years), I would highly recommend this movie to thriller fans, whether they typically watch anime or not. It’s right up there with the best of Hitchcock or De Palma.

The Good, the Bad, and the Ugly (dir. Sergio Leone, 1966)

Nothing is better than when an iconic movie lives up to the hype. Clint Eastwood, Eli Wallach, and Lee Van Cleef play off of one another perfectly. I was impressed by Wallach as Tuco in particular: his character initially seems like a one-dimensional greedy criminal, but the performance is packed with wonderful moments of humanity. Do I really need to say anything about the direction? Or about the wonderful storyline, which takes on an almost mythic feel in its grandeur? Or that soundtrack?

Die Niebelungen (both movies) (dir. Fritz Lang, 1924)

I did NOT expect to love these movies as much as I did. That they would be dazzlingly gorgeous I never doubted: the medieval world of the story is brought to vivid life through the geometrical mise en scene and detailed costuming. However, the plot itself is so, so riveting, never losing steam over the course of the four hours it takes to watch both movies. The first half is heroic fantasy; the second half involves a revenge plot of almost Shakespearean proportions. This might actually be my favorite silent Fritz Lang movie now.

Muppet Treasure Island (dir. Brian Henson, 1996)

I understand that people have different tastes and all, but how does this movie have such a mixed reception? It’s absolutely hilarious. How could anybody get through the scene with “THA BLACK SPOT AGGHHHHHHH” and not declare this a masterpiece of comedy? And I risk being excommunicated from the Muppet fandom for saying it, but I like this one more than The Great Muppet Caper. It’s probably now my second favorite Muppet movie.

Belle de Jour (dir. Luis Bunuel, 1967)

I confess I’m not terribly fond of “but was it real???” movies. They tend to feel gimmicky more often than not. Belle de Jour is an exception. This is about more than a repressed housewife getting her kicks working as a daytime prostitute. The film delves into victim blaming, trauma, class, and identity-- sure, this sounds academic and dry when I put it that way, but what I’m trying to say is that these are very complicated characters and the blurring of fantasy and reality becomes thought-provoking rather than trite due to that complexity.

Secondhand Lions (dir. Tim McCanlies, 2003)

The term “family movie” is often used as a synonym for “children’s movie.” However, there is an important distinction: children’s movies only appeal to kids, while family movies retain their appeal as one grows up. Secondhand Lions is perhaps a perfect family movie, with a great deal more nuance than one might expect regarding the need for storytelling and its purpose in creating meaning for one’s life. It’s also amazingly cast: Haley Joel Osment is excellent as the juvenile lead, and Michael Caine and Robert Duvall steal the show as Osment’s eccentric uncles.

The Pawnbroker (dir. Sidney Lumet, 1964)

Controversial in its day for depicting frontal nudity, The Pawnbroker shocks today for different reasons. As the top review of the film on IMDB says, we’re used to victims of great atrocities being presented as sympathetic, good people in fiction. Here, Rod Steiger’s Sol Nazerman subverts such a trope: his suffering at the hands of the Nazis has made him a hard, closed-off person, dismissive of his second wife (herself also a survivor of the Holocaust), cold to his friendly assistant, and bitter towards himself. The movie follows Nazerman’s postwar life, vividly presenting his inner pain in a way that is almost too much to bear. Gotta say, Steiger gives one of the best performances I have ever seen in a movie here: he’s so three-dimensional and complex. The emotions on his face are registered with Falconetti-level brilliance.

The Apartment (dir. Billy Wilder, 1960)

While not the most depressing Christmas movie ever, The Apartment certainly puts a good injection of cynicism into the season. I have rarely seen a movie so adept at blending comedy, romance, and satire without feeling tone-deaf. There are a lot of things to praise about The Apartment, but I want to give a special shoutout to the dialogue. “Witty” dialogue that sounds natural is hard to come by-- so often, it just feels smart-assy and strained. Not here.

Anatomy of a Murder (dir. Otto Preminger, 1959)

I’m not big into courtroom dramas, but Anatomy of a Murder is a big exception. Its morally ambiguous characters elevate it from being a mere “whodunit” (or I guess in the case of this movie, “whydunit”), because if there’s something you’re not going to get with this movie, it’s a clear answer as to what happened on the night of the crime. Jimmy Stewart gives one of his least characteristic performances as the cynical lawyer, and is absolutely brilliant.

Oldboy (dir. Park Chan-Wook, 2003)

Oldboy reminded me a great deal of John Webster’s 17th century tragedy The Duchess of Malfi. Both are gruesome, frightening, and heartbreaking works of art, straddling the line between sensationalism and intelligence, proving the two are not mutually exclusive. It’s both entertaining and difficult to watch. The thought of revisiting it terrifies me but I feel there is so much more to appreciate about the sheer craft on display.

Family Plot (dir. Alfred Hitchcock, 1976)

Family Plot is an enjoyable comedy; you guys are just mean. I know in an ideal world, Hitchcock’s swan song would be a great thriller masterpiece in the vein of Vertigo or Psycho. Family Plot is instead a silly send-up of Hitchcock’s favorite tropes, lampooning everything from the dangerous blonde archetype (with not one but two characters) to complicated MacGuffin plots. You’ll probably demand my film buff card be revoked for my opinion, but to hell with it-- this is my favorite of Hitchcock’s post-Psycho movies.

My Best Girl (dir. Sam Taylor, 1927)

Mary Pickford’s farewell to silent film also happens to be among her best movies. It’s a simple, charming romantic comedy starring her future husband, Charles “Buddy” Rogers. Pickford also gets to play an adult character here, rather than the little girl parts her public demanded she essay even well into her thirties. She and Rogers are sweet together without being diabetes-inducing, and the comedy is often laugh out loud funny. It even mocks a few tropes that anyone who watches enough old movies will recognize and probably dislike-- such as “break his heart to save him!!” (my personal most loathed 1920s/1930s trope).

Parasite (dir. Bong Joon-ho, 2019)

This feels like such a zeitgeist movie. It’s about the gap between the rich and the poor, it’s ironic, it’s depressing, it’s unpredictable as hell. I don’t like terms like “modern classic,” because by its very definition, a classic can only be deemed as such after a long passage of time, but I have a good feeling Parasite will be considered one of the definitive films of the 2010s in the years to come.

Indiscreet (dir. Stanley Donen, 1958)

Indiscreet often gets criticized for not being Notorious more or less, which is a shame. It’s not SUPPOSED to be-- it’s cinematic souffle and both Ingrid Bergman and Cary Grant elevate that light material with their perfect chemistry and comedic timing. It’s also refreshing to see a rom-com with characters over 40 as the leads-- and the movie does not try to make them seem younger or less mature, making the zany moments all the more hilarious. It’s worth seeing for Cary Grant’s jig (picture above) alone.

The Taking of Pelham One Two Three (dir. Joseph Sargent, 1974)

This movie embodies so much of what I love about 70s cinema: it’s gritty, irreverent, and hard-hitting. It’s both hilarious and suspenseful-- I was tense all throughout the run time. I heard there was a remake and it just seems... so, so pointless when you already have this gem perfect as it is.

They All Laughed (dir. Peter Bogdonavich, 1981)

Bogdonavich’s lesser known homage to 1930s screwball comedy is also a weirdly autumnal movie. Among the last gasps of the New Hollywood movement, it is also marks the final time Audrey Hepburn would star in a theatrical release. The gentle comedy, excellent ensemble cast (John Ritter is the standout), and the mature but short-lived romance between Hepburn and Ben Gazarra’s characters make this a memorably bittersweet gem.

The Palm Beach Story (dir. Preston Sturges, 1942)

Absolutely hilarious. I was watching this with my parents in the room. My mom tends to like old movies while my dad doesn’t, but both of them were laughing aloud at this one. Not much else to say about it, other than I love Joel McCrea the more movies I see him in-- though it’s weird seeing him in comedies since I’m so used to him as a back-breaking man on the edge in The Most Dangerous Game!

Nothing Sacred (dir. William Wellman, 1937)

I tend to associate William Wellman with the pre-code era, so I’ve tried delving more into his post-code work. Nothing Sacred is easily my favorite of those films thus far, mainly for Carole Lombard but also because the story still feels pretty fresh due to the jabs it takes at celebrity worship and moral hypocrisy. For a satire, it’s still very warm towards its characters, even when they’re misbehaving or deluding themselves, so it’s oddly a feel-good film too.

Applause (dir. Rouben Mamoulian, 1929)

I love watching early sound movies, but my inner history nerd tends to enjoy them more than the part of me that, well, craves good, well-made movies. Most early sound films are pure awkward, but there’s always an exception and Applause is one of them. While the plot’s backstage melodrama is nothing special, the way the story is told is super sophisticated and expressive for this period of cinema history, and Helen Morgan makes the figure of the discarded burlesque queen seem truly human and tragic rather than merely sentimental.

Topaz (dir. Alfred Hitchcock, 1969)

Another late Hitchcock everyone but me seems to hate. After suffering through Torn Curtain, I expected Hitchcock’s other cold war thriller was going to be dull as dishwater, but instead I found an understated espionage movie standing in stark contrast to the more popular spy movies of the period. It’ll never be top Hitchcock, of course-- still it was stylish and enjoyable, with some truly haunting moments. I think it deserves more appreciation than it’s been given.

What were your favorite cinematic discoveries in 2020?

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hournites · 3 years

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Bait & Switch

Hournite Week 2021 - Day 3: Secret Admirer

~.~

“And then we can head to the Pit Stop for—eeep!!” Beth jumped from her locker as a piece of white paper landed in her hair.

“Oooooh!” Yolanda poked her side. “Is that another letter?”

Beth reached up for the standard printed paper sheet folded in three. She glanced at it, biting her lip as she scanned the page. “Looks like it, yeah!”

“I’m sorry,” Rick interrupted when Courtney grabbed Beth’s arm to squeeze. “Another what?”

“Beth’s been getting letters in her locker.” Courtney pointed to the little green shelf attachment Beth had on her inner locker next to magnets and pictures of Yolanda, Court, and Rick. A small pile of like creased letters accumulated there, sitting innocuously.

“Love letters,” Yolanda chimed in.

Rick’s frown stayed in place. “Since when did Beth have a boyfriend?”

“I don’t,” Beth corrected him. “I mean, not yet? I don’t know? I haven’t reached out or anything, I just started getting them a few days ago. I’d ask Chuck to scan them for fingerprints or something, but...you know.” She laughed a bit, pushing down the way Chuck’s blown in frames still stabbed at her heart. “Anyway, there’s no handwriting since it's printed, see?” She handed it to Rick.

“Hey Beth, I notice your yellow shoes.” His eyebrows raised past his hairline. “Why does this kid have a foot fetish?”

“Rick!” Courtney scolded.

“Sounds like Bowin.”

Yolanda scoffed at the Isaac comment. “As if Isaac had the balls.”

“To you, maybe.” Beth took the letter back when she realized Rick wouldn't appreciate it. “To me, it’s kinda sweet?” She flashed her friends a shy smile. “They always have something to say about what I’m wearing.”

“So they’re watching you,” Rick deadpanned. “Not creepy at all.”

Her face fell. “You think it’s creepy? Like ISA creepy?”

“Rick!” This time it was Yolanda. Courtney swatted his arm.

“Hey!”

Yolanda veered Rick off to the side, speaking in a hushed tone. “Believe me, you and I both know the guys here can be horrible, but this all seems very PG. I don’t see anything wrong with it, and neither does Courtney. Can we not ruin this for Beth?”

Rick pursed his lips, but Yolanda crossed her arms until he gave in.

~.~

One letter turned into two, and then three. Rick leaned against the metal row of lockers as Beth tried to catch the fluttering paper before it touched the dirty floor.

“More mystery mail?”

“Second one today, I didn’t get one yesterday, I was wondering if they forgot.” She tucked it in her pocket and went for her lunch bag.

“You’re not going to read it?”

“I thought you weren’t interested.”

Rick straightened his back. “No no, I’m interested! I’m very interested.”

“You just want to make fun of what they said.”

“No!” Though he was lying and Beth knew it.

They walked to the cafeteria, Yolanda and Court were already eating their lunches.

“C’mon,” Rick pestered the girls. He leaned his arms on the table conspiratorially. “Don’t we all want to hear what Beth’s secret lover has to say today?”

“I don’t have a secret lover,” she protested, but the girls got excited at the news of Beth getting locker mail twice and Rick leaned back in his plastic chair, satisfied.

“Secret admirer, then.”

Beth shot him another look of exasperation, but he merely raised his eyebrows at her.

“What,” he countered. “Is that not what it is?”

“Um, yeah,” she scooted in her chair, pressing the letter down and smoothing it out, refusing to look up at any of them, embarrassed. “We can call them that. Aw! They said I’m pretty!” Beth squinted at the paper. “Oh, they spelled it wrong.”

As much as he found Beth’s notes weird as hell, he got a rise out of watching her stammer and flush at all the attention. Courtney’s usually the one to flail around with massive blushing and her awkward high pitched voice when confronted about Cameron. In all honesty, hearing Courtney gush about Cameron without either of them making real moves on each other got tiring. Yolanda never looked like she wanted to talk about a love life for herself ever again, so Beth’s bright eyes reading out loud her dumb letters were new. He’d never seen her so eager to get to her locker. She’d drag him out of their class together to make a beeline for it. Really, it was cute. Maybe that’s why Rick couldn’t stop teasing her.

~.~

Later that week, the group sat together at lunch as usual. Courtney’s hair would not stay up in the messy bun she’d been trying and failing to pull off. She kept wrapping a hair elastic around the ball of blonde curls. Rick watched as she huffed out an annoyed breath at the fifth time it flopped over the front of her face.

“You need a mirror,” Rick pipped in unnecessarily. He smirked when she glared at him.

“I give up!” Courtney reached across the lunch table to grab Yolanda’s wrist when she gave up for the sixth time. “Help?”

Yolanda laughed, scooting her chair over and said, “I’ll just give you a braid.”

“Oh!” Beth jumped in her seat as if she just remembered something. “My letter today said something really nice about my hair!” She unzipped her school bag to bring it out. Yolanda peered over at it while she continued to fix Courtney’s mess. She read it out loud for them.

“That’s not even that great,” Rick pointed out when Beth finished. “They like your hair. So what? Your hair always looks great, there’s no effort involved on their part.”

Beth frowned at her letter. “Really?”

“It’s superficial, don’t you think? They don’t say anything about why they like you as a person.”

“Yeah,” Courtney cut in. “Probably because they don’t know her that well? Cut them some slack?”

“I don’t need to cut anyone any slack.”

Yolanda took a bite out of her apple. “If you liked someone, what would you do?” She batted her eyelashes at him as she chewed on her snack, clearly expecting a lame answer.

“I don’t like anyone.”

Yolanda shared a look with Courtney. Courtney would do that a lot with Mike and Beth would do that a lot with himself but when Yolanda did that with Courtney, Rick always felt a bit paranoid.

“Is that illegal or something?” Rick muttered, stabbing his fork into his food.

“No,” Yolanda replied, dragging out the syllable carefully. “But let's say hypothetically that you did, would your answer be the same?”

Now Beth was waiting intently for his answer as well.

Rick pushed his plastic tray away, no longer hungry. “If I liked someone I’d let them know… like a normal person.”

Courtney stifled a laugh that irked him. Her ice blue painted nails covered her mouth to half hide whatever joke she had within.

Yolanda tugged at one of her stray curls as a warning. “Court.”

“What now?” Rick groused.

Courtney leaned forward, gripping the edges of the table. “Would you actually?”

“No offense Court, but if I liked a girl, I wouldn’t run off to tell you about it.”

Now Courtney really did laugh, but Rick was dead serious. If he liked someone, he wouldn’t make it overcomplicated. If it were someone that could actually like him back, he’d just be honest with them. No frilly notes or secret rendez-vous.

He pushed Beth’s little love letter across the table. Beth took it wordlessly, mouth pressed in a careful line, eyes inquisitive.

Not that Rick had much time to think about what he’d do if he did like anyone. There wasn’t much time for Rick to develop feelings other than the deep-rooted anger and hatred that brewed for years over the conditions of his life.

Rick shook his head at her. This wasn’t anything complicated. If he were the one secretly crushing on Beth, he’d tell her. He said as much to the girls when they pestered him some more. “It’s not that hard.”

~.~

Beth got new letters every day for the next week. It became routine for her to read them during their lunch period. The girls pushed their chairs closer together to scrutinize the text, eyes peeled for anyone they might think to be the secret admirer. Rick played along half-heartedly, though mostly ate his lunch suppressing eyerolls.

“That top looks great on you. Also, why did you take off your rainbow necklace? It's cute.”

“Hmm,” said Yolanda. “Maybe it’s a girl.”

Rick scraped his plastic fork against the paper plate on his lunch tray. “Maybe they should stop staring at Beth’s shirt.”

“I don’t mind,” Beth said, looking up at him.

Rick scraped the styrofoam plate again. These letters weren’t amusing anymore.

~.~

Beth approached him that day after training. She drummed her fingers against the green cloth of her cape along her arms, craning her neck up to look at him as he raked through his upswept hair. They were in the loft of the Pit Stop where they’d dumped their bags. Beth was on the couch, in no hurry to change into fresh clothes because she hadn’t sweat through hers the way he had. Chuck was still offline, so she had been cautioned to stay a few paces behind the others for protection. She usually chose to stick by Rick.

Rick shook out his aching fingers. His hood was hanging low over his shoulders and the heaviness of his suit weighed after the effects of his tapered strength.

“What?” he asked after several moments, acutely aware that she just stood there, staring.

“Is there anything you’re not suspicious of? Sometimes you just have to trust people.”

Rick sighed, turning around. He thought this was about the training or the sweat or the way his hair stuck up like a cartoon and he didn’t have enough gel to smooth it back down, but Beth clearly wanted to revisit their conversation from lunch. He’d rather not. “If this is about the letters—”

“It is. What’s your deal with them, really? Even my mom knows! She thinks it’s funny! I’m having fun!” She grinned widely and threw out her hands to back up her words. Like he needed to see her laugh off the fact someone was following her around the school without coming forward about it to prove it wasn’t something to be reasonably concerned about.

Rick sat down beside her on the couch, taking a moment to articulate his phrasing. He didn’t want Beth to bristle at his tone or words. He’d made the mistake enough, seen the hurt written on her face way too many times. She could handle his heat, but it always left Rick feeling shitty to realize she needed to guard herself around him. Steel herself to get offended. He needed to stop offending her, Beth was quite frankly the kindest person Rick knew. This was why Rick felt strongly about the twenty-seven ways this secret admirer situation emerged red flags. “Don’t you want to know who they’re from?”

Beth shrugged. “It’d be nice.”

“Would you date them if they revealed themselves?”

“Um.” Beth flushed. “Maybe? I don’t know. I’m not planning any weddings but I’ve thought about it, I guess.” She side-eyed him. “Are you going all big brother on me now?”

Rick almost said yes, but bit his tongue at the last second, making a face. It didn’t feel quite right. He opened his mouth instead to retort about protecting the team. Beth accepted it well enough, wrapping her arms around his middle to thank him for bothering enough to care. Rick stiffened at her hug, thrown off by the carefree way she clung to him. He placed his hand on her back and she pushed her head further against his shirt.

“I don’t want you upset with me.”

Her words stabbed at his gut. “I’m not,” he said, surprised and dismayed. Of course she’d perceive it that way even after he tried. “I’m not, Beth. Though I guess you’re right, trusting people isn’t my thing.”

“I know, I didn’t mean to be so defensive about it.” She looked up at him and removed her cowl. Her hair sprung out high, decompressed from the tight, restraining fabric. “It’s just that I wish when a note makes me smile...You’d smile back at me.”

He didn’t say anything for a moment. Beth crossed her legs, eyes and hands now at the clasp of her vintage cape. Her hair expanded, reclaiming its crown over her head. It bloomed in front of him. Not just the hair, her wisdom and hope and trust to share that so candidly with him.

“I’ll try?”

A tiny pleased smile began as her thumb looped through the hook. “You will?”

“Yes,” Rick said.

The green of the cape flashed in front of them. Only a trace of that smile remained once it was neatly folded on her lap. “Thank you.”

~.~

Rick tried.

It was like now that Rick gave her his disgruntled blessing of the elusive secret admirer, Beth no longer capped the word count on her inner novel of thoughts about it. She’d speak freely without checking back or worrying that Rick would make any comments and Rick had pretty much shut up about it to her face.

This was her thing, and it made her happy. Why did it matter what Rick thought about it anyway?

Though it did matter, exactly because of how happy those typed letters made her. It wasn’t wrong that Beth saw the best in people or found cheerfulness in all uncertain things. Rick was glad for it, honestly. That persistence in her wrestled with his own stubbornness— somehow it evened each other out. Beth’s drive blazed a fire that refused to be stomped out. Rick liked that drive in her. He appreciated it, even, just as much as it sometimes drove him insane. He didn’t want to be the one to smother that flame— Not him, or anyone else.

~.~

Rick didn’t realize he was intentionally hanging around Beth’s locker to scout out her secret admirer until he caught them in the act.

He straightened up from his slouched position against the wall across the drama room, taking in the uneven dirty blond haircut and letterman jacket worn by the person in question.

At first, Rick figured the guy was at the wrong locker. He stood there rummaging into his gym bag for something. But then he produced a familiar folded paper and Rick realized this was the guy. Beth’s guy. It got very real. Beth had a guy. This guy wanted Beth. Liked her. He liked her and wrote stupid letters every day with things in it that actually made her want to like him back. And he had freckles and looked pretty short, and would probably make her laugh and would offer her his jacket to show her off to the dicks on the football team.

Rick’s eyes narrowed, seizing him up. That was right, the guys on the football team were dicks. Beth’s secret admirer was friends with them?

She wouldn’t take that well.

He looked new. Young, even. Not any of the faces he’d cataloged that tormented Yolanda over the last year and a half. Should he follow him?

Rick lurked.

The kid glanced around nervously, letter slotted in the hinges for the locker. How many days had it been? Two and a half weeks? How was this guy still skittish for sneaking around the school to send love letters to a girl? Wouldn’t he know one of these days he’d get caught?

Alright, Rick had two options. He could turn around and keep this to himself. Never say a word to anyone and let this guy and Beth work out whatever they have and just.... watch.

Or he could walk up there right now and get information. What the hell is your deal? Do you have a foot fetish? Are you another supervillain freak? How did you meet Beth? Why are your notes so uninspired? Do you even know her? Are you embarrassed that you’re into her? Why do you care?

Rick's legs marched him over, having made up his mind.

“Hey!” It came out harsher than he intended by the reaction of the football player. He yelped, backing up against the locker and widening his eyes at Rick.

“It’s not what it looks like, I swear!” This poor kid’s voice cracked.

Rick squinted at him. “Who the hell are you?”

“Huh?”

“Your name. Parents? Date of birth. Alien status?”

The kid didn’t say anything. Rick sighed, already regretting it but knowing he’d have to in order to speed this along. He slammed his fist against the nearby locker, cornering him. The kid looked properly terrified. At least it was something to know those Rick Harris rumors were still thriving. “Well?”

“Joe! Joseph Kindersef. Son of Harold and Shoan Kindersef. August 9th, 2006. Um, Non-alien?”

“Sounds like something an alien would say.”

“I swear I’m not an alien! I’m just a freshman!”

“If I back off, are you gonna run?”

“I’m on the football team!” he yelled out as if that question was undignified.

Rick rolled his eyes. “You’re fourteen years old. I don’t care what team you’re on. Are you gonna run?”

“No.”

Rick relented, pulling back to put some room between them. “So, you’re the one writing to Beth for the last few weeks?”

“Yes, but—”

Rick pulled a face. “She’s a bit old for you, don’t you think?”

“Maybe, but—”

“Beth really likes the letters, okay? She doesn’t need someone that’s too much of a coward to come up and talk to her. So pick it up and do something meaningful or leave her alone.”

Joseph squeaked. “I can’t.”

“Okay so—She really likes yellow and cute shit so try sticky notes to include—“ Rick backtracked and paused. That didn’t sound normal. “What? You can’t? Yes, you can. You just have to find the guts to tell her who you are and ask her out so she can finally meet you so she can decide if you’re worth a—”

“No!” Joe cut Rick off. “I can’t leave her alone!”

Rick’s stomach sank. Joe heaved, eyes blown back wide as he grimaced as if waiting to get yelled at again.

But Rick lost the wind in his rant, lowering his voice to a shocked whisper. “What do you mean? You don’t…want to be Beth’s boyfriend?”

“No! I don’t really know her! I don’t get what the big deal is!”

Rick nearly slammed him back against the metal row. “Then why are you leading her on?”

“Oh my god!” He weaseled out of Rick’s grip, hands up in surrender. “I swear, I can explain! Just don’t beat me up, I get enough of that from the team!” He dropped his gym bag and kicked it, yanking off his letterman jacket. “God, I’m sick of this!”

Rick was at a loss for words. He clenched his jaw, keeping his fuming to a minimum to give Joe a chance. Not that he deserved one, in Rick’s honest opinion, but Beth probably would’ve wanted to at least hear his case before Rick undoubtedly scared her only potential prospect of a boyfriend away with a piss stain in his pants.

He furrowed his brows. “Sick of what?”

“This!” Joe gestured at the floor. “Blue Valley High! The goddamn team!”

It didn’t take a genius to put two and two together. The thought of it all made Rick sick to his stomach. Of course, in a twisted way it all made perfect sense. There was no villain here, only two victims. Raze the newbie recruit on the team and mercilessly bully the girl that raises her hand one too many times in class all at once. Force Joe to do the dirty work and laugh at Beth’s disappointment when her non-existent secret admirer gets shoved in her face.

Wonderful. Great plan for a group of football meatheads that barely even grieved Henry Jr’s death. Rick hated this school so much.

“Can’t you just stop?”

“No!” Joe insisted. “I can’t, I would’ve if I could!”

“What are they doing to you?”

Rick knew the answer wasn’t going to be pleasant. He crossed his arms, eyebrows raised as he stared up at the ceiling while Joe lamented over the football hierarchy in disarray, wanting to make it past waterboy dweeb status, razing punishments incorporating the abandoned construction porta potty beyond the field parking lot, and the daily checks on Joe the team did to ensure he’s following their crazy rules.

“You know what I wanna say?” Rick told the guy when his sob story was over. “I wanna say that’s your problem.” Because after this and his last encounter with Sportsmaster Rick was very close to never watching any organized game in America ever again.

“It is my problem.”

“Actually, it’s not.” Rick scowled. “You’ve entangled Beth Chapel into this, so you’ve made it my problem.”

Joe stared at him. Rick muttered under his breath, dragging a hand over his face. For some reason he pictured Courtney. If she were here right now with him, Rick could perfectly imagine what she’d say: This was part of what it meant to be a superhero. You are a superhero now.

Rick knew this, theoretically, but thinking about that word in association to himself still felt beyond stupid. Stupid, but so painfully accurate by the way a feeling ate at his insides to help this pathetic freshman. Not just because of Beth. Rick had a magical hourglass and a skintight suit and belonged to a secret crime-fighting team. But it wasn’t just about crime, it was about injustice. And this fits that bill to a tee.

He flapped his hand at Joe before he could change his mind. “Go. I’ll take care of it.”

“Huh?”

“You don’t have to do this anymore.”

“But they check at lunch every day for the letters and there are still two and a half weeks left in the month—”

“I know!” Rick groaned just thinking about all the ways this was going to ruin his entire schedule. The sneaking and evasion. The random class cutting he’d have to pull off inconveniently now that Yolanda and Pat have drilled it into Rick that he needed to get a decent pass...

Joe stepped away, looking over his shoulder at the deserted hallway, unable to believe his newfound freedom. “You need to make it sound like you care or else they’ll get suspicious,” he stressed.

“I get it.” Rick shooed him away. “Trust me. I get it.”

The anxious red splotches all over Joe’s face faded away. He sniffed, wiping his nose with the sleeve of his varsity jacket. “You really want to help me?”

“Just tell me what I need to do to make this work.”

He pulled out his dad’s notebook from his bag as Joe ranted about the nonsensical expectations the football team had of him, and what they had planned for Beth via public embarrassment by the end of the month. His dad’s handwriting blurred past as he clicked the top of his ballpoint to start on a fresh page, jotting it all down. He ended up with over a page and a half. A page is more than he thought he’d need. It was excessive and tedious and stupid enough to put an end to today. He wouldn't, though, end it today. Because of one thing Rick knew for certain. He was going to one-up the Stockholm secret admirer deal Joe had going on. Two weeks of nice deeds weren’t completely out of his reach.

~.~

Rick stared at the blank word document in front of him, tucked into the furthest computer monitor desk at the very corner of the library. Sneaking in here was easy, though it was stressful enough to make Rick’s hands sweat. It was dumb, nobody questioned a student at the library over lunch. The tenth graders came in anxious packs to prepare for their PSATs, and the juniors freaked out over college pamphlets at the communal tables. Nobody would care that Rick Harris was hunched over a keyboard, glancing down at his lap to refer to an original letter for help.

Beth didn’t even notice Rick swiped a letter from her. Her locker door swung open while she chatted about the science homework and then the muffins she planned on making and then the recipe Barbara sent to her phone that she pinned on her Pinterest board. That Pinterest board was very important, something she’d curated since elementary school after her mom accidentally forgot to include a lunch for Beth, exhausted by the first surgery she’d operated on as the new head surgeon at Blue Valley Medical Centre. This was all new information Rick only learned from their walk to get her lunch box, so Beth’s talkativeness did have its advantages some days. Rick reached over and plucked a folded letter from the pristine metal basket right over her head to stuff in his back pocket. Even if she were ever tall enough to catch that, the muffin recipe had too many steps for her to list to ever let her take her eyes off her phone.

Rick stood firm in his belief that Joe’s letters were creepy and lame, regardless of how the creepy and lameness parts were now halfway excusable under Joe’s duress and whatever. Still, he couldn’t deny he needed one in his possession to study. At least as an example for formatting one correctly if he wanted to pull this off; the font and size had to be exactly the same. And, most importantly, the letter provided a base of comparison to work from to make the letters going forward less weird.

Rick knew Beth better. He could do so much better. And he should, anyway. There’s no harm done. He’s going to have to tell Beth at the end of the month what exactly happened to her secret admirer, so she’ll know Rick became the author somewhere along the line. He’d never be caught dead authoring notes that made it sound like he had a foot fetish or some other weirdness. And if Beth likes the letters more, Joe won’t get as much shit either.

So why wasn’t this working?

Hey, Beth.

Rick stared at the screen. His eyes were dry, he needed to blink. A Hey, Beth wasn’t going to get anyone anywhere, and this letter had to be slotted through that locker rust a good half hour before the class that went into lunch.

I just wanted to let you know how kind you are. I saw you today give away your extra hair elastic to the other girl in the hallway—

No.

Beth,

Your laugh is out of this world.

Rick slammed his palm against the backspace button, the stiff keyboard jam startled the senior girl half-napping over her notes beside him. He deleted the word document altogether and started over. Nobody needed to see that. That sentence came out of nowhere. Forget that it was bad and sounded like Hallmark garbage, reading the words on the computer mortified him. Maybe it wasn’t out of limit to find Joe and force him here to do the actual writing himself. At least as a draft for Rick to work with. No wonder Joe’s letters came out awkward and stilted. But where would he even find Joe and was the answer something Rick even wanted to find out?

Rick didn’t like Beth like this. How was he going to write to make it seem like it could be implied that he did? This was fucking hard.

“Since when do you study?”

Rick crumpled Joe’s letter into his fist. He minimized the tab for the Word document. Yolanda’s braids swept over the built-in camera of Rick’s computer monitor, peering down at him with an eyebrow raised.

“Since today.” He clicked on the school browser to type in one of the chemistry learning sites he went bleary-eyed scrolling through last semester late at night.

“When’s the test?”

He shrugged. Her braids swung over his screen again. Rick shot her an exasperated high brow, flicking them away.

Yolanda shook her head at him and took the next seat. The binders she pulled out for her math assignment told Rick she wasn’t planning on leaving anytime soon. Fine. Rick put the letter on hold. It wasn’t something he wanted to rush anyway.

~.~

Beth,

Your laugh is special. Because you can make anything sound great, and find laughter in everything. It’s what you do and who you are. I wouldn’t change that about you, ever.

Rick skipped the last ten minutes of class to get to Beth’s locker while the hallway was still empty. In slipped the letter. Out went his breath.

They were just words. Once he was able to wrap his head around that fact it got a lot easier. They were just words. Nice words. For Beth. It didn’t really matter if they were poetic or fancy. They were genuine, though, because Rick wasn’t going to lie on top of everything. But they weren’t in the sense Rick felt anything romantic for her. If Beth and the girls read it and felt otherwise, it was only because they were under a preconceived notion. One Rick would explain away when it is all over.

Above all, he was sparing her any humiliation by lifting her up and giving some nice compliments. It was a win-win situation. Once Rick was able to digest that, it got a lot easier to justify the emotional connection he teased out of himself to work the right sentiment he needed and had written down.

~.~

The problem was, sometimes letters didn’t cut it. Rick didn’t always have the right words. It was because he knew how Beth’s face brightened up when he wrote something right. She’d let out a breath that was almost a sigh, hugging the letter close. It would put her in a mood nothing could deter for the rest of the day. It’s what Rick noticed two weeks ago when these started, but it was all the better now, admittedly, when they came from him. She’d show them to her mom over FaceTime at lunch, to Barbara and Pat. Beth shared her secret admirer letter with anyone that had an extra second to spare.

When Rick missed the mark, that was too obvious. Yolanda and Court never seemed to pick up the difference, and Beth never appeared dissatisfied, but Rick knew it wasn’t what she deserved.

He’d tear out pages in his notebook before and after classes Rick took without her, practicing what he’ll type up by the time he gets to the school library. The pencil in his hand would tap against the paper as he ignored the lesson, thinking about how to best word how much it meant to him to see her turn around and flash him one of those breathless grins without giving himself away. He’d shred the paper after, stuffing it in the trash. The best parts Rick kept memorized to reuse the next day.

It took another three more neutral letters for Rick to change tactics. Instead of stressing over ways to tell Beth things he didn’t mean without revealing his identity, he found a way to work around keeping the secret admirer ploy alive while cutting out the amount of time he spent failing at writing. Small things he could afford like her favourite chocolate bars when he filled his car with gas at the station, or cheap bracelets from the dollar store to add when he wasn’t confident that he wrote enough.

He kneeled down in the wet grass by the bike rack behind the school on a Tuesday, weaving in the red and yellow roses he plucked from a nice garden a block down Main street through the handlebars of Beth’s teal bike. Beth was the type of girl to press flowers in books. She’d find the roses and would smell them and then keep them with the intention of saving them forever.

When he managed to get the stem properly wrapped around her handlebars, he realized Beth forgot to lock in her bike properly. He fixed it, then leaned back, appraising his work.

He froze when he felt a warm breath against his neck.

“I didn’t know you were a part of the garden club.”

Rick dropped his hands to his sides, gritting his teeth through a polite nod at Isaac Bowin, who was peering over the bike rack in his pristine band clothes. “I’m not.”

“I see.” He scratched his nose. “That’s Beth’s bike.”

Rick eyed him. “I know.”

“That’s a nice gesture. I didn’t know you liked her.”

“She’s my best friend.” Rick stood up and brushed the dirt from his pants. “It’s not like that.”

Isaac shrugged. “It looks like that.”

“Okay,” he replied lightly, rolling his eyes. Rick knew he was saving a high school freshman from being bullied by substituting his required secret admirer quotas because of his newfound moral superhero standards, but conversing with Isaac Bowin was something Rick hadn’t yet tolerated the patience for. He slipped his bag and walked around the side of the school building to go through the back. “Bye.”

Later that afternoon, Rick got tackled by Beth. He tensed as he always did when someone got a hold of him from behind, though he released the tension immediately when he looked up and saw her.

“I got flowers!” She wrapped her arms around his shoulders from his seat at their shared sixth-period class.

“Did you?” He replied, measuring his tone.

“Roses! They were on my bike. I wasn’t sure if I locked it properly this morning so I got a hall pass in geography and went to check, and they were there!”

“Wow,” he said. “That’s pretty thoughtful, right? Do you like them?”

“Are you kidding? The KitKat was great but the last time I ever got flowers was like, my fourth grade spelling bee from my mom!” Beth moved her hands from his back to slide into the seat beside him. “They’re so pretty. I love them!”

Rick glanced at her empty desk. She pulled out her school bag and pencil case. “So where are they?”

“They’re safe.” She hauled out the large math textbook and flipped to the middle, revealing the two roses, freshly pressed in. “I want to keep them forever.”

He knew it. Rick suppressed his grin. “Cool.”

~.~

“... You warm my heart, Beth.” Beth paused, taking it in. She looked dizzy. “Oh my goodness. This is a lot.”

“Stop. That’s stupidly cute.” Yolanda groaned as she ran a hand over her face as if the sweetness pained her.

“You’ve gotta write them back!” Courtney urged, taking a swig of juice.

Beth wrinkled her nose. “I dunno.”

“What! Why not?”

“I don’t want to scare them off?” Beth took her eyes off the letter at last, raising her head to meet Rick’s eyes. She straightened her back immediately. “Why are you smiling like that?”

In spite of himself, it grew bigger. “Like what?”

She didn’t reply for a moment. Her eyes squinted and she tilted her head as if to study him. “I can’t explain,” she said at last. “It’s just different.”

Yolanda and Courtney stopped talking to watch him too. Rick felt his face heat up at all of their attention. “Shut up. I’m being supportive,” he mumbled. “It’s what you wanted.”

~.~

The thing with Yolanda was that she didn’t fall for bullshit. Rick should’ve known. Books against the table with a slam, she leveled Rick a serious look of incredulity in their next class. “Who are you and what did you do to my best friend Rick Tyler?”

He stuck a hand in his pocket. Still grinning. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Says every suspicious clone, ever.”

“I’m not a clone.”

“Then what are you, sick?” She poked his cheek at the stretched corners of his mouth. “You’ve smiled more in two days than I’ve ever seen you smile in three years and in art class you were zoned out completely.” Rick batted her hand away when she clapped a whole palm over his forehead.

“I don’t have a fever.”

“You’ve got something .”

“I don’t,” he insisted again. “I’m fine.”

“Well I’m not an idiot,” Yolanda settled on as class started. “But whatever is going on, keep at it. It’s a good look on you.”

~.~

Three reasons why I’d date Beth Chapel

I’d be dating the smartest girl in school

I could share the homemade food she brings for lunch

I’d see one of those perfect smiles & it would be just for me

~.~

Three reasons why Beth Chapel should date me

I’d let her sit shotgun in my car

She could talk to me all day about whatever she’d like and I’ll listen to it all

She can stop wearing fuzzy sweaters to classes without heaters because I’d give her one of my jackets so she’ll stay warm

I actually really like her

“Ah shit,” Rick whispered harshly to himself at the computer monitor in the library. He buried his head in his hands, putting the computer to sleep. It was supposed to be generic. Nice enough that Beth would feel touched but not personalized enough that it could directly trace back to Rick. It was his ‘66 he was thinking about in the first sentence. Her effect on his mood was when she placed her arm on his during an imploring talk in the second. And the way Rick knew exactly which jacket he’d like to see her swallowed in with the pooling cuffs rolled up six times to reach her wrists for the third. And now that it was out in that 12 point font, Rick didn’t even want to delete it.

“Shit. Shit. Shit. I"m a fucking idiot.”

He whacked the side of the iMac too hard to wake up the monitor and printed the thing before he could incriminate himself more by adding extra lines. The heat that crawled up his face was sign enough that this was bad, but he’d felt that same sickly warm feeling drop in his stomach sometime before his brain kicked in to realize what he’d done. He was supposed to be doing a favour for his best friend to not humiliate her unjustly by being her pseudo secret admirer.

Not actually become Beth’s secret admirer.

The next morning, Rick waited until Beth raised her hand for a hall pass during their class before lunch. Their teacher handed over the laminated card for Beth to go to the bathroom. Rick counted five seconds then leaned over and dragged her backpack from the dusty classroom floor to his side.

She started keeping the letters she liked the most in the pocket folder of her agenda. Rick pulled them out, unfolding the papers as he read them over, eyes scanning over what he’d been writing to her, trying to find the moment in which his feelings for her morphed into something more. Rick felt stupid, reading back.

He never wanted to lie to Beth, so he hadn’t.

He couldn’t lie to himself either. This started before meeting Joseph. This started before the letters. Hell, it might’ve even started before the JSA ever stopped Project New America.

A part of Rick wanted Beth all along.

~.~

That evening, Rick locked himself in his bedroom and wrote a long and frankly terribly written letter to get his feelings off his chest. Staying up all night to perfect it, he overslept halfway through the morning. He drove to school late and worried over how to get through the day. His entire schedule was thrown off and he needed to both find a way to get his letter in and survive seeing Beth that afternoon. Bad turned to worse when teachers chased after him to pile on detentions for skipping class after he’d just started to improve his attendance.

If he wanted to make this work he was going to need support. He needed Court.

The only time Rick found Courtney alone was during dodgeball in gym class. They were somehow the only ones left on their team. Courtney used handsprings and cartwheels to avoid the red rubber balls as though her gym mark should be the deciding factor of her Stargirl training success. Rick didn’t take it as seriously, but that’s exactly why he was still winning. He launched the ball to the other side, hitting Cameron Mahkent square in the face.

“Court, get Jenny out, and then we can free the rest.”

“Good plan.”

Rick picked up another that ricocheted off the wall, missing both targets. “Hey, you know Beth’s letters?”

“Yeah?” Courtney hit Jenny, who yelped in her expensive tennis skirt, manicured hands protecting her face even though she got her hip instead.

“They’re me.” Rick caught a ball and everyone came hollering back into the game. Courtney gaped at him, motionless in front of the red line. Rick tried to warn her when another ball came flying, but it bonked the side of her curly hair before Rick could push her out of the way, and then another ball assaulted Rick from the other side, disqualifying them both.

Rick explained it all once they got to the bench. The important parts, at least, without any of the messy stuff. Joe’s razing and the awkward excuses to use the library computer every day.

Courtney grinned so wide. “Shut up!”

Rick regretted telling her immediately. She shook his arm like she wanted to make a protein shake out of it. “Shut up! Stop! Are you kidding me? That’s so sweet!” She slapped her hands to her cheeks. “Oh my god. Oh my god! That’s why you’re smiling so much! You like her!” She gasped. “You love her?!”

“Woah,” said Rick, grabbing her wrist to keep her from bouncing off the gym walls. If he wasn’t careful she’d text Pat this for his advice or something which would be horrifying. “I didn’t say anything like that.”

Courtney rolled her eyes, undeterred. “Okay okay okay but you totally are into her. Like a lot!!! A lot a lot, oh my god, Rick this is such big news! You’re falling for Beth!”

“Oh my god,” Rick muttered to himself, wanting to disappear. “Court, if I say yes will you please be quiet?”

Courtney squealed, dancing in her seat on the bench. “You didn’t deny it!”

“Okay calm down.”

“Why are you telling me? Are you going to confess? Do you need help?”

“I need you to print out her letter for today and get it in her locker. I don’t have the time.”

Court clapped her hands and squealed. “Yes! Deal! Done!”

~.~

“You know what?” Beth layered on an extra woolly sweater over her already thick-fabric shirt. Just by looking at it Rick knew it was expensive and set off some type of fashion pattern-texture dichotomy scheme. Though, what mattered was how warm it made her after shivering all throughout their homeroom period. What mattered was how she clutched at her sleeves now, creating friction to sweep out the cold that seeped into her bones. The way she held herself in front of him and how she’d feel if Rick hugged her like that soft-spun sweater instead. She pulled a sticky note out of her school bag’s front pocket and stuck it to her locker door then stepped away from it, nodding along for Rick to follow her down to their first class. “You’re right.”

“I’m right?” For his credit, Rick was cold too. The school heater conked out over the weekend and the weather was abnormally cold, even for their chilly Spring Nebraska. He shoved a hand in his pocket so he wouldn’t feel the joint pain settling into his bruised knuckles.

“You are.”

“About what?”

Beth half-spun on her heel, facing Rick in the thick of the school crowd. “My heart is in this. I need to know who my secret admirer is.”

The immediate nausea Rick got from that sentence nearly stopped him in his tracks. He couldn’t stop though, it would be suspicious and then Beth would know and then Rick very might well be sick. So he jerkily forced one foot in front of the other and swallowed the lump down his throat. “You...do?”

“We always find my letter after our fourth-period class right before lunch. So they have to be sending it out before then, right? If we both subsequently skip our third-period classes respectfully--”

“How does one skip class ‘respectfully?’” Rick used air quotes around the last word.

Beth elbowed his side lightly. “When a straight-A student like myself has love on the line!”

“ I’m not a straight-A.”

“Yeah, but you’ll be with me so I’ve got you covered.” She linked her arm in his. “It’s a buddy system. I posted a sticky note on my locker for my secret admirer to visit this morning!”

Oh no. Which meant Courtney was going to find it soon and pressure him to tell Beth too. God, no.

“And you need me there...why?”

Beth furrowed her brows, fidgeting with her rainbow necklace. “I haven’t completely ignored what you said to me this whole time. I don’t know who it really is. What if I put myself out there and they show up only to hurt me?”

“Beth, they won’t.”

“But what if you were right and it was the ISA, and they were waiting for me to lure them into a trap to kidnap me because they discovered I’m Dr. Mid-Nite without Chuck?”

“Where was this support when I suggested this as an actual possibility four weeks ago and you all ignored it and called me an asshole?” He was teasing her, honestly, but it was wild to Rick he was finally hearing her address some of his previous legitimate concerns. What good was she doing bringing this up now if she already made up her mind?

“We didn’t!”

“Yolanda did!”

“Yolanda doesn’t use that word.”

“She doesn’t need to say it! You’ve seen her glare, right? Yolanda could glare at you and brand you “ asshole ” just with her eyeballs.”

“You are ridiculous.” Beth huffed out an indignant breath. “And I wasn’t ignoring it completely.” She tugged on his sleeve. “So you should come.”

“I swear you’re going to be fine by yourself. It’s just some person here that likes you. It’s not a criminal. No need to suit up.”

“I want you there.”

He wavered at her pleading face, her big eyes hopeful sucking him into dangerous territory. “Fine,” he relented, dooming himself. “I’ll come.”

~.~

Courtney did not know how the printer at the library worked because she never used the computers at the library because she never came to the school library. Like. Since she moved here. She banged her hand against the table when she got prompted for her Blue Valley High School student account password to access her printing credits. Was she supposed to pay for that? She didn’t know. She promised Rick to get his letter delivered and he was counting on her so there wasn’t any time for messing this up.

“It’s just your initials and the last 3 numbers of your student ID card number.”

A thousand butterflies let loose in her stomach at the tell-tale sound of her crush’s deep voice.

“Cameron!” she greeted with a nervous laugh. “Hi! What are you doing here?”

“It’s the library.”

“Right!” She smacked her head. “Dumb me, of course. You must be studying.”

“Actually, I have an oral presentation after lunch and need to reprint my speaking notes. I spilled paint on my cue cards this morning. What are you working on?”

“Oh!” Courtney laughed it off. “It’s not important. Thanks for the login info!”

“No problem. Maybe we can see each other later after my grief counseling?”

Courtney nearly knocked the magic mouse off the surface of the table. “I’d love that!”

“Awesome, I’ll text you?”

“Great!” She waved as he turned around and sat down at the next computer. Courtney pulled up the tab she had with the word document of Rick’s letter to Beth and fawned over it, imagining herself in Beth’s shoes with Cameron. She printed it out and ambled over to the printing center while it was still warm. According to the school clock, which was probably ten minutes fast if it were anything like the other clocks in her classrooms, she had twenty minutes to find Beth’s locker and get it in securely without being seen. Courtney packed her bag and folded the sheet in three like Beth had been getting since the beginning of March, sticking it between her teeth as she got that bag over her shoulders.

“Court.”

She twirled around at the tap on her shoulder, not expecting to find Cameron waiting for her with a grim look on his face. “Huh?” She removed the paper and crinkled her eyes at him. “Hey!”

“Hi,” Cameron said, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. “I think my essay got mixed up with your uh….letter…”

“What?” Courtney checked Rick’s letter in her hand. “No! This is um, uh it’s ‘ The Republic of Marino is a small country in the region of--’ oooooooh crap.”

Courtney snatched it from him, giving herself a papercut in the process as she swapped sheets, mind racing when she put two and two together. Oh no. Oh no oh no. The blood drained from her face.

“That’s not mine!” she yelped.

The librarian barked at them both from across the room as Cameron blinked at her with a complicated expression.

“I mean!” Courtney added in more quietly but equally harried, hissing at the stinging from her thumb. She sucked at the blood that trickled down her palm. “I printed it obviously! Because we were here and I was at the printer and you were at the printer and I wrote it!” She was going to get blood on Beth’s love letter and make her think that she’s being stalked by an ax murderer or The Gambler’s personal hitman. “These words aren’t from me ,” she stressed. “I didn’t say these things!”

Dang it, this was bad. He wasn’t going to draw her flowers anymore or cute stars passed in notes during their shared homeroom. She continued to ramble when Cameron didn’t say anything. “Actually!” She wiped her palm on her jeans and returned it. “It’s for you!”

Cameron maintained cool and collected when he pointed at the opening address, becoming amused. “It says ‘ Dear Beth ’”

“Does it!? Typo!”

“Look, I don’t blame you for developing a crush on a close friend. It happens, you don’t have to explain it to me.”

“But!”

Cameron backed away. “I’m gonna go.”

~.~

Rick let Beth drag him out of class so they could meet up with her secret admirer in the empty hallway at her locker knowing this wasn’t going to end well.

Beth tapped at the yellow sticky note on her locker that had the details of her rendezvous.

“What happens if he doesn’t show up?” Rick crossed his arms awkwardly when Beth turned around to look at him. “If they don’t show up.”

He should’ve noticed the second that he saw Beth that this had been her plan since she got out of bed. She was wearing a dress and tights that perfectly so matched her colour, it took a second glance to confirm it adhered to the no dress on skin school dress code.

Her hair had clips in them too, a moon clip that parted the left side of her afro in a way that let it drop slightly over her face like her mom’s weave. It was beautiful and she looked beautiful and Rick got stuck in those thoughts all over again when she slid down the lockers to wait, drawing up her knees.

“They will.” She patted on the dusty ground for him to sit.

“You’re not going to check your locker first?”

“You want me to?”

“Do you want to?” Rick countered.

Beth scrunched up her face at him. “I asked first.”

His face warmed and he finally sat down across from her. “Usually you rush to it, that's all.”

She stretched out her legs, pulling at the hem of her dress. “It’s not going to matter what was written in whatever they put in my locker when I get to see who they are. Meeting them in person will be more exciting.”

Bold words to say to her secret admirer, sitting right in front of her. Rick sighed and stretched out too. He drew up one leg, the other bent at the knee. “What if they’re really ugly?”

Beth rolled her eyes.

“Just asking. You can like someone’s sentiments but not their face.”

“I’m going to like their face,” she reassured him. “Even if I’ll have to learn to.”

“Okay,” Rick drawled. He was hoping if he extended the talk long enough, Beth would grow bored and give up. Just because the secret admirer won’t show up today doesn’t mean that they did so with ill-intent. Rick tried to remind Beth of this as they sat around alone. The secret admirer could’ve got swept up in a test in class or had an early dismissal. Beth wouldn’t know the difference. Rick wasn’t hurting her by playing along.

When an hour passed and Rick saw how determined she was to stick this through, the internal panic ramped up.

Of course, the thought came to him that he should come clean. It’s just that. That meant Rick would have to come clean . He hated that Courtney was right to laugh at him over this. It freaked him out to just blurt out the truth. It would take Beth by surprise. Rick hadn’t planned yet how he was going to wind the secret admirer thing down to prepare her about it all. He thought she’d get to read his letter today to gauge how she’d feel.

He stared up at the ceiling thinking through five hundred strategy plans to get out of this mess while untangling the secret as Beth played a game on her phone.

“Soooo,” Beth said some while later. “Are we going to be waiting another hour or…”

Rick jerked up, saucer-eyed and mouth agape. His brain short-circuited.

“Because we can take all the time you need, Rick.”

“You knew?” He banged his head against the metal behind him. She didn’t need a supercomputer to figure out Rick liked her before Rick figured out he liked her, did she? “Of course you knew,” he muttered to himself. The shock wore off as the embarrassment settled in, his face flushing as bright confirmation. A massive shot of adrenaline flooded through him, similar to the rush of his hourglass.

“I pieced it together a few days ago,” she admitted. “I don’t think you realize how much lighter you are now.” Beth picked herself up and crossed the hall to sit by his side. Her hand went to his right knee and she leaned forward. “Rick, it’s okay. It’s okay to like me.”

The words clogged up in Rick’s throat as she spoke softly, overwhelmed. He wanted to explain everything but it was complicated and delicate and if she’d only read his freakin letter trapped in that locker maybe he’d have a chance to get her to understand-

“Oh my god, you’re really nervous.” She lifted her hand up to give him room. “Rick, it’s just me. I like you too, I’m just a bit confused about how this all makes sense.”

“I didn’t know,” he managed out, stilted. “I really didn’t know.”

“Didn’t know what?”

“I’m not your real secret admirer.” Rick corrected himself. “I wasn’t your first.”

“Okay…”

“There were those weird letters at first. The random ones. And I didn’t understand why they got under my skin so much. But they did. So I found the guy who was making them and I-"

"Really," Beth deadpanned.

"I know, I know." Rick scowled. "I found out it was that they were being forced to.”

Sourness etched over her mouth as it pulled her lips thin together. “Oh.”

“And I wanted it to quit but by then it was involving the bullying of that other guy, not just you.” Rick sighed. “So I took over to help.”

“Rick.”

“I just didn’t want you to get crushed!” he told her, going into more detail about Joseph and the football team. “I was going to explain when it was all over what happened, and you were going to laugh it off and thank me and then I would’ve shrugged that off because it was whatever. It was the right thing to do.”

“But?”

Rick rolled his eyes at himself. “But I liked what I was doing too much for it to be normal.” He raised his head to give her a crooked smile. “I like you. ”

“You are so ridiculous,” she giggled out. She stood up and leisurely made her way to the locker. “So you have this important letter in here for me that you want me to read?” She toyed with her combination lock. “What’s in it?”

“Uh. A mess?”

“I’ll keep it for later then,” she decided and grabbed his hand. He stood up and followed her, hyper-aware of the way she led him away with her hand in his. “Come on, we have something we need to do.”

She brought him to the school library, which Rick did not understand. She sat him down at a macbook and darted in to kiss his cheek. Rick stuttered, lightheaded as she booted up his computer.

“Uh- What exactly are we doing?”

“Writing.” She tapped on his keyboard and moved his still hands over them with an exciting squeeze. “There are four more days left in the month and I don’t know about you but I’d really rather spend our free periods and after school with you on a date.”

"That is...a really good idea."

She glanced up from their screen to find Cameron watching them oddly.

Beth awkwardly waved.

“Why is he looking at us like that?”

“I don’t know. I don’t care.” Rick put his arm around her, ignoring everyone else. He leaned forward to steal her move, gently kissing away her curiosity.

Beth grinned and leaned her head against his shoulder as he typed lines and lines of compliments. “Then I don’t care either.”

#beth chapel #rick tyler #hournite #rick x beth #hournite week 21 #hournite week 2021 #secret admirer au #hournites fic

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xpeachesncream · 3 years

Text

acquainted | three

summary: the biggest goal of a grad student is to get through school in one piece - no petty drama involved, no sweating over the little things. however, that plan almost always never follows through. sometimes, you can’t help but fall into the most unthinkable, unexpected traps and learn the hard way. like, exhibit a: being unable to resist your engaged, substitute teacher, kim seokjin.

pairing: (2nd bts member to be revealed later on) x reader x engaged!teacher!seokjin

genre: grad school au, student life au | fluff, angst, smut (to come)

words: 2.0k

warnings: hoe-ish thoughts / implied sexual content, cussing, mentions of death/car accident, your friends being extra like always

notes: flashback scene towards the last half of the chapter. start and end of flashback will be indicated!

tags: @laurynne5, @yiyi4657, @bluesharksandfish, @miinoongi @teamtardis-notdead (pls msg me if you would like to be added to the taglist!)

It was a cold morning, with the wind slowly picking up, bringing the clouds over from across the bay. You grabbed yourself a cup of coffee and sat on a table near the food cart on campus, finishing up your last items on your to-do list for work. You didn't wanna sit in the office for remainder of the day, and luckily, your job gave you that flexibility. You rubbed your hands together, hoping it could provide some relief to the cold taking over. You were too lazy to make your move at this point, and Mr. Kim's [or shall we say Jin since we aren't in a classroom right now] class wasn't too far away from where you were sitting. It'd be an easy, breezy walk.

Your brain felt foggy; even though you didn't have much left on your to-do list, you couldn't seem to focus and you knew why. Chance's death anniversary was coming up, and it was always something you dreaded. You wish you could skip the day and continue on with the week without having to revisit shit like this. Your friends are your biggest support systems, but they too, have their own lives to tend to. And as much as they tried to physically be there for you, sometimes it just didn't end up happening that way.

"Miss Y/N, are you doing alright?" You looked up to see Jin standing in front of you, a concerned expression plastered on his face while he held his cup of coffee.

"Oh yeah, sorry. Just spaced out trying to get things done for work."

"No need to apologize. I feel that, 100%." He chuckled. "Mind if I sit for a minute?" You shook your head and moved your things closer to you so he had some room for himself. "Glad to see you got home in one piece."

"Sure did." You smiled at him, tilting your head slightly to get a good look at his handsome ass face while he brings up his foot to rest on his knee. Honest question: is it ever too early for hoe thoughts to make an appearance?

Did I put on deodorant today?

"You work nearby?" He sipped on his coffee and glanced at you.

"Yeah, I work for a cloud-based software company as a project manager. Sometimes, I'll help chime in with graphic design projects too, if I'm not too swamped." He nodded.

"That's pretty amazing."

"What about you? I assume this isn't your only gig." He chuckled.

"You're right, it's not. I, uh-" He paused. "I'm a CFO for a tech company in the city." Your eyes widened. Handsome, and a fucking boss? You have got to be kidding me.

"W-wow. Holy shit." You quickly shook your head and shut your eyes in embarrassment. "Sorry, holy crap." You corrected your previous statement.

"Y/N, I don't care if you cuss." He laughed. "I'm a 30 year old man who still finds the need to slip it in between every other word when I'm not in class."

"Sorry, just— holy fuck. I wasn't really expecting that, but good on you!"

"What do I look like to you? Honest question."

"Oh, I mean. I just thought you worked in business or something like that. As someone important, but not that important. I-I mean—"You sighed and pursed your lips into a fine line. "You know what I mean, I hope."

"I think I do, don't worry." He smiled, feeling slightly amused with how cute you were acting.

"You must be really busy all the time."

"Mm, no actually. I do have quite a few meetings and deadlines to reach but other than that, it's not too bad." You rested your chin on the palm of your hand. "Are you from here?"

"I am, born and raised. Are you?" He shook his head and slightly pouted.

"I moved here a couple of years ago from Seattle when my fiancé Grace started to get serious about her cooking. She wanted to open her first restaurant here."

"Oh, that's neat. She's a chef?" Stupid question, but you weren't sure how else to keep the conversation going about his soon-to-be wifey.

"Yep. She's a wonder woman, for sure." He pauses to sip more of his coffee. "Do you have family members that live around here?"

"Yeah I do, my parents live about 30 minutes away from here. I go and visit them when I can. But sometimes, I get too occupied with work and school that I just long for time to myself. Being 25, you'd think I could handle more but I'm still learning how to balance my time, I guess." He nods. He's a little relieved to hear you aren't that far off in age, to be honest. He wasn't sure if he was being weird harmlessly getting to know his students. He genuinely wanted to build relationships with them so they didn't think he was a professor they couldn't turn to. However, when it came to you, he couldn't help but feel slightly captivated. He was impressed with the way you carried yourself, down to how you'd participate in class and how you didn't come off like a student who hated every fucking professor they came across in their academic career. He appreciated the tiny details. "Not gonna lie though, I do get a little homesick whenever I don't get to visit for awhile, even though they don't live far. Truly makes me appreciate having my friends around."

"Ryujin, Taehyung and Jimin? No siblings?" He asks. Impressive. He paid attention. Although, it's definitely not hard to figure out when you four were constantly [for the most part] stuck at the hip.

"Yup, those punks. I'm the only child so they've become family to me." You smiled hearing your friends' names. They honestly meant the world to you, and you weren't sure where you'd be without them.

"That's sweet. It's good to have people like that on your side of the court."

There was silence for a moment, with Jin looking at you over the rim of his cup, while you tried your hardest to keep yourself together. You felt the heat radiating throughout your body the longer you kept your gaze on him, the tension slightly building. You were a little relieved he didn't bounce the question back about your love life or anything regarding the matter. You almost feel guilty that you're digging pretty deeply into this situation yet again, but you felt comfortable with the way the conversation was going and the energy he was exuding.

"I, um--" You pause as you tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. He keeps the same gaze on you, almost like he's trying to figure out what you'll say next by reading you and your body language. "I hope--"

"Y/N!" You hear Taehyung's deep ass voice yell for you from behind. "Oh fuck, sorry dude. Am I interrupting something?" To be quite frank, you were happy Taehyung interrupted when he did because you were just about to tell Jin how good he looked, respectfully, of course. You were going to keep it PG and comment on the tie he was wearing and how the pattern complimented him and the rest of his outfit.

"No, not at all." Jin chuckles. "We were just wrapping up, I have to get going." He stands and smiles at the both of you. "See you both in class soon."

"Peace out, Mr. Kim." Taehyung throws up the peace sign like a dumbass as you both watch him take his exit and walk towards his classroom.

"Peace out, Mr. Kim? Really, Tae?"

"I mean, he seems cool enough for me to do that, don't you think?" You shake your head and continue finishing up your work on your work laptop. "What was that about? Are you in trouble already? What'd you do?"

"Why do you have like, so much fucking energy right now?"

"I downed two redbulls before I got here."

"You're an idiot."

"Me and Jimin were up all night hunting."

"I stand corrected— you both are idiots." Taehyung clicks his tongue before raising his eyebrow, manspreading and leaning back into the chair.

"So, what was that really about?"

"We just had a chat!"

"Sure. You both were definitely eye-fucking each other. It was weird to walk into."

"Not everyone is like you, trying to fuck everything they see." You rolled your eyes. "He had just sat here for a minute and we talked about work and where we were from."

"Okay." He snorts and shrugs.

"You're being so dramatic. It was harmless."

"Definitely looked otherwise."

"You weren't even here for the majority of our conversation?"

"Didn't have to be, sweetheart." He winked, playfully caressing your chin. "Your secret is safe with me."

"You are so full of shit. I don't know how I've dealt with you for so long."

"Who's so full of shit?" Ryujin comes strolling along, with a tired Jimin who was sipping on an iced americano. He wore a cap and sunglasses with sweats and a fitted crewneck, looking like he just rolled the fuck out of bed.

"Taehyung, who else?" You both stood up to start slowly walking towards Mr. Kim's classroom. "Are you okay, Chim?" You asked, genuinely worried about him, but also trying to change the subject.

"Tired. Just tired." He shakes his head, lowering his the brim of his cap even more. "This dumbass kept messing up our hunt last night."

"I didn't mess anything up, you just weren't clear on the directions." Jimin smacked him upside the head. "And Y/N's just mad I caught her and Mr. Kim on a date." Ryujin gasped, while Jimin choked on his iced americano and coughed trying to get himself together.

"Excuse me, come again?" Ryujin squeezes your arm, causing you to slightly wince in pain before you can shake her off.

"Tae, really?" You rolled your eyes. "It wasn't a date! He just sat with me for a minute and we talked for a little bit. That's literally it."

"You forgot the part where you both were eye-fucking each other when I came along."

"What the fuck is even going on right now?" Jimin finally chimed in, making you sigh deeply.

"We were not!" You pushed Tae. "You're such an instigator."

"First, helping you with your groceries, now this? I didn't think you had it in you, girl! Actually pursuing an engaged professor." Ryujin joked, making herself laugh out loud. Jimin is now walking alongside of you, while Taehyung throws his arms around both you and Ryujin, swinging his big ass head back and forth between the both of you.

"He helped you with groceries last night? What?" Jimin is honestly so confused and is unable to keep up with the chaotic conversation.

"Look, I just ran into him at Trader Joes and he offered to bring my groceries to my car since it was getting late. And today, we just ended up talking for a little bit. That's it. Can we drop this?"

"Mr. Kim has the hots for Y/N!" Ryujin teased.

"That's it. I'm going to find new friends." You shrugged. "Unbelievable." Did they not listen to one word you just said?

"You should go for it and have fun." Taehyung winked.

"No, no. She shouldn't go for him or do anything." Jimin states loud and clear, making sure he grabs both Ryujin and Taehyung's attention by waving his hand in the air.

"Ah, come on Chim, it's just a little fun."

"Ry." Jimin says sternly.

"Okay, kidding." She rolls her eyes.

"This is getting so out of hand." You say as you all approached the door to Mr. Kim's classroom.

"Hey Mr. Kim." Ryujin waved her hand playfully, followed by Jimin and Taehyung who simply nodded and gave him a toothless smile. He happily returns her greeting, then flashes a small smirk as you pass him while arranging the papers on the front desk.

"Hmph." Ryujin smirks. "Told you so." You roll your eyes.

Chance's death anniversary arrives quicker than you'd like, causing you to pick yourself up and force yourself to get on with the day whether you like it or not. After work, you quickly visited his grave at the cemetery, balling your eyes out as you spend quite awhile sitting in silence, staring at his photo on the tombstone. Every memory, every good and bad moment that you shared with Chance flashed right before your eyes.

It was irreplaceable.

[ start flashback ]

"So, who would you want next to you if the end of the world was coming?" You kept your gaze on the 'List of questions to ask your significant other' photo on your phone.

"What kind of morbid question is that?" Chance laughed as he continued to hug you tightly while you laid on his chest. "You, of course."

"Aw, thanks bebe. Same here."

"Are there any happy questions in there?" He scrolled down the list. "Like this one - what's the cutest thing your partner has ever done for you?"

"When we had dinner on a boat and you sang to me and everyone else having dinner." You laughed.

"Yeah, that was pretty cute wasn't it?"

"Shut up." You playfully covered his mouth. "Your turn."

"The cutest thing you've done? I don't know sweetheart, you've done a ton of cute things. I'd have to say you waking up next to me. It reminds me how real you are." You smiled and pecked him on the lips.

"I love you, chance."

"I love you too." He says almost at a whisper while caressing your chin. He was pulled out of the moment when his phone rang. "Ayo." He says. You watch as his facial expression changes. "For fuck's sake man, alright. Hang tight, I'll be there. Yo, don't be stupid and drive home drunk. I'm about to leave, okay? Your ass better be there by the time I get there." He sighed as he hung up the phone.

"What's wrong?"

"Josh is drunk as hell. I'm gonna go pick him up before he does something stupid."

"Can't he find a ride there?"

"Everybody left him. I can't just leave him there."

"I know, but--"

"It's gonna be fine, okay baby? I promise. I'll be back before you know it."

"Alright." You sighed. "Be safe, please."

"I will."

[ end flashback ]

When you finally arrived at school, you checked out your appearance to make sure you looked decent enough to get through class. You were hoping your psychology classes would go by quickly, just so you could get out of there and feel less suffocated.

"I'm sorry I can't come over." Ryujin pulls you into a tight hug and caresses your back. She had planned to spend time with you, but her sister called her last minute to ask if she could babysit her niece until late night. "But let me know if you need me, okay? I don't care if it's 1AM, I'll be there as soon as I can."

"Same. I'll do what I can to get out of this family thing." Jimin gives your arm a gentle squeeze. Jimin's family was visiting from Korea on a whim, so he had been pulled into some family festivities for the evening.

"Look, you guys. I'll be fine, okay? Don't worry about me. You know I love you both no matter what, do what you need to do."

"I'll text you when I'm on my way?" Taehyung is the only one who is able to spend time with you tonight, after he helps his younger brother with a project. You simply nodded before you split ways with your group and headed for the library. You were going to stick around and do some work at the library until Taehyung was free because there was no way you were going to go home alone, feeling the way you were feeling. You weren't going to get anything done, and you weren't going to have the energy to pull yourself together.

Today was heavy.

The library wasn't any better for you because your thoughts seemed to be louder in such a huge, quiet space. You were looking at the clock time and time again, hoping Taehyung would text you, letting you know he'd be on his way with tons of dessert and wine. Just cause that's what you wanted, right at this moment.

You sighed and cracked your neck from side to side, getting yourself into Steph Curry "Lock in" mode so you can push through your assignments that needed to get done. But, it just didn't happen that way. You were becoming frustrated and restless, so you quickly packed up your things and shoved them into your bag before walking out. The campus was lit with street lights, with barely any students walking around. It felt a little eery, but the walk to the lot wasn't too bad being that the garage was well-lit, with security guards on every level. You felt your phone buzz in your pocket, causing you to try and reach for it even though you were hauling the rest of the books that didn't fit in your bag. Next thing you knew, you had your phone, but your books had fallen to the floor, the papers stuffed in them falling out and getting wet from the wet grass next to the concrete walkway.

"Fuck!" You groaned to yourself as you quickly glanced at Taehyung's 'be there in about 30 minutes or so' text and bent down to pick up your mess. You really had no reason to cry over this shit, but all of the pent up frustration and emotions you had been feeling today pushed you over the edge. You aggressively wiped your tears away as you stuffed your wet papers back into the books and stacked them on top of each other.

"Y/N?" You look up to see Jin, tears still falling from your eyes. "Are you alright?" He bends down to help you gather your books, towering over you as he gathers the majority of your things.

"Yeah, I'm fine. Thank you." You slyly wiped your tears once more as you grabbed the books from him.

"Hey." He placed his hand out to prevent you from walking any further. You look up at him, watching as he dips his head down to examine your face, your eyes still wet and glossy from the tears. "Do you wanna talk about it?"

"Look, I'm fine and I don't wanna take time away--"

"You clearly aren't." His expression fills with worry. "And you aren't going to be taking time out of my evening." He finishes your statement for you. You sigh and close your eyes as your head dips lowly.

"It's just been a tough day, that's all."

"Let's talk about it." You look up at him as he nods for you to follow him to a bench near the parking garage. "Come on. I really won't forgive myself if I went home without trying to help." You silently follow him and place your things down before sitting. He sits next to you, with enough space placed between your position and his. "What's on your mind, Y/N?"

"Um." You pause and look at him. "On this day 3 years ago, I lost the love of my life to a car accident." You wiped your tears in between words. Jin's expression softened as he watched you break down in front of him, his heart breaking seeing you in pain like this. He wanted to do everything in his power to comfort you, hoping it would relieve some of the pain even though he knew it was something that would forever be embedded in you. But if he could provide any relief, then that would make him feel a little better.

[ start flashback ]

"It's been close to two hours, where the hell is he?" You said as you looked at your phone, sitting on the couch as you, Ryujin, Taehyung and Jimin watched a movie. Suddenly, breaking news flashed through the screen, cutting the movie to another commercial break earlier than expected.

"Breaking news - a white Lexus sports car and a Ford truck were involved in a head-on collision early this morning on Highway 101."

"O-oh my god." Ryujin says, as they look at the totaled cars. The Lexus was completely sandwiched at the median, while the truck was wrecked, but still stood in one piece off to the side.

"T-that's Chance's car." You said as you put your drink down on the coffee table to take a closer look at the car.

"Y/N, I'm sure Chance is fine and is on his way back." Taehyung chimed in from behind you.

"N-no." You stuttered, the feeling of despair in the pit of your stomach growing bigger by the minute. "N-no, I know his car."

"We might just be overthinking this." Jimin says, gently grabbing your wrist to pull you back down onto the couch, but you continued to stand.

"There was said to be one intoxicated passenger in the white Lexus, who is in critical condition and is being taken to the nearby trauma center. The driver of the truck was also intoxicated and injured, but is expected to survive. However, the driver of the white Lexus was pronounced dead at the scene." All of a sudden, you felt weak and dizzy because you just knew. You knew Chance wasn't okay, and you knew he wasn't on his way back to you. Soon after the news announcement, loud knocks came at the door. You looked back at your friends before making your way to the door, revealing two police officers standing before you. At this point, you felt like your entire life had been sucked out of you as you fell onto the floor, crying loudly while your friends tried their best to comfort you and speak to the officers for you. All you could remember hearing was the "i'm sorry's" from both police officers before everything turned into white noise. Everything felt numb.

[ end flashback ]

"I am so sorry, Y/N. I know my apologies are going to do much to ease the pain, but please know that I'm here for you whenever you need someone to talk to. I wanna do what I can to provide some relief." Is all Jin says as you continue to divulge about that night's details.

"You know," You looked up at the moon. "It's been 3 years, but it feels like it just happened yesterday. The pain always feels so fresh and it still feels so painful to think about it. It used to make me question why I was so deserving to continue living my life. I'm not an angel, I haven't been perfect. You know? Yet, someone who was so close to perfect, someone who was always so selfless and never hesitated to put others before himself was taken away from this world so easily? How did Josh survive, but Chance didn't? He was just going to help his friend out because he didn't want anything to happen to him, yet he ended up getting the short end of the stick. I was so mad." You shook your head. "I was so mad at Josh for awhile. I never understood and I still don't. I still don't fucking understand this." Your tears fell as you looked back at Jin.

"I can only imagine. There's things we'll never understand and quite frankly, it fucking sucks. But, I really don't want you to beat yourself up over this. I'm sure Chance wouldn't want you to, either. A lot of things happen for a reason, whether we like it or not, and it's hard to look at it in a different perspective. He's still with you, all the time. You're strong, and he knows this."

"I just don't know how I did this without him. It hurts so bad."

"I know, and it's okay to let yourself ride it out. Don't try and suppress the feelings just because you feel the need to act strong. If you don't let yourself process these feelings, it'll never get easier. It's okay to not be okay." He nods reassuringly. You smile at him toothlessly before sighing and getting yourself together. Although it had been quite the day, you felt a little relieved being able to talk to Jin about what's been going on. You felt a little more put together than you did earlier in the day and that's all that mattered. Baby steps.

"Is it okay if I give you a hug?" You asked shyly. You didn't know how else you could thank him for listening to you. You were sure he had tons of things on his plate, yet he still took time to sit with you out in the cold just to make sure you were okay. He chuckles and stands, his arms wide open, ready to envelope you. You wrap your arms around his torso, taking in his scent and breathing him in. He gently rubs your back before you pull away and smile up at him.

"I'll take a hug any day."

"I hope Grace won't be upset with you for coming home a little later than expected."

"She'll be fine. She's at the restaurant working late." His lips were pulled together in a fine line.

"Thank you again." You pull out your phone to check the time. 30 minutes from the last time Taehyung texted you was almost up, so you felt the need to get going sooner than later.

"It's not a problem." He puts his hand out, signaling for your phone. "Do me a favor and just let me when you get home, though? I'd feel better knowing you're safe and sound." You nod and hand him your phone. You knew you couldn't get wrapped up in whatever this was, no matter how flattered you were from the attention you were getting from him. He was still engaged, and he was still planning a life with Grace. The last thing you wanted to do was ruin that for someone genuine like Jin.

But God, was he making it difficult for you.

"I can do that."

"Thanks." He smiles toothlessly at you. "If you're ever in need of company or someone to talk to, don't hesitate to let me know. I'll be there in a heartbeat."

"Okay." You grabbed your things before walking away. Jin stood there, watching you walk deeper into the garage, feeling good about having been there at the right time. Something as simple as the hug you gave him had his thoughts running wild, just feeling your touch and your body against his. Albeit, it could be the lack of attention between him and Grace causing him to feel this way, but it was enticing all at the same time.

You were enticing.

And he could pick up on your little habits that made him want to know more. The way you'd look at him inside and outside of class. The way you always dressed so nicely when you had to take his class. The way you passed closely to the front desk, allowing him to take in your scent. The way you and your friends acted around him, knowing they were teasing you.

He knew, and he also knew what he was doing when he put his number in your phone.

He gets home and just as he mentions, Grace is still out at the restaurant working late. He kicks his shoes off to the side and heats up some leftovers to eat before retreating up to the master bedroom to call it a night early. As he's getting out of his clothes from today and heading into the shower, he notices his phone vibrating on the bathroom countertop, signaling a text.

[unknown number] 9:37pm: Hi, I'm safe and sound at home. :)

He smiles to himself before responding and heading into the shower.

[jin] 9:38pm: :) Goodnight Y/N, see you tomorrow.

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youvebeenlivingfictional · 3 years

Text

I'm Always Curious Part Twenty Four

Previous Part | Next Part | Masterlist Notes: I hope everyone’s having a good week 💕 Voxi - Translator *Ei dotch - (*and you) Warnings: Mentions of canon-typical violence. Summary: While his reasons had been purely self-serving, maybe Spargo’s suggestion of revisiting the topic of Somonia hadn’t been such a bad idea.

When Christopher and I had left Larilia, there were smiles on the Chancellors faces, settled looks as they stood side by side, sisters and rulers.

Now, as I stepped onto the landing pad on Somonia with the Admiral, I found the Chancellors with their antenna rigid, faces stony and set. Standing alongside them was the Federation’s assigned attaché, Soivo. Commander Soivo was a Rigelion. They had been on the planet since Pike and I had left, and I had spoken to them twice since I’d left Larilia: once to get them up to speed with the situation on the planet, and then again earlier that week.

I raised my right hand, raising my right index finger and brushing it across my hairline, where Larilians had their antenna and I lacked one, before I dipped my head in greeting. Choholl and Chihurs both flicked their antenna at me before dipping their heads in turn. “It is good to see you again, voxi,” Chihurs spoke up first. I smiled a little bit. “*Ei dotch,” I answered gently, looking between the both of them.

While his reasons had been purely self-serving, maybe Spargo’s suggestion of revisiting the topic of Somonia hadn’t been such a bad idea. Shortly after the armistice had been announced, and the transfer of power of the territory shifted to Chihurs, factions of the industry’s leaders had spoken out against the change. Choholl had initially doubled down, urging open channels of communication between Chihurs and the leaders. But as tensions escalated, violence was threatened, and both parties refused to back down, manufacturing had come to a halt. Nickel mining and processing was one of Larilia’s largest industries; it was their primary export, employing the majority of their population. And now, with the operation at a standstill, the average Larilian was beginning to feel the effects. Commander Soivo had counseled Chihurs to take a hard line with the industry leaders; that had led to both parties walking away from the negotiating table, and that was when Cornwell had called me earlier that week. It was a play out of Spargo’s book - the kind of play that might’ve worked on a planet like Bajor or Q'onoS. What Sovio had failed to take into account was the Larialian’s warring sensibilities. There was a reason that the sisters had taken one another to task for the last eight decades, and it wasn’t just grief at the loss of their matriarch, or their inability to decide who was their mother’s favorite. Like Romulans, Larilians could be wrathful, and bowed to their emotions quickly.

On the journey to Larilia, Cornwell had updated me that not one, but four attempts had been made on both Choholl and Chihurs’ lives since negotiations had broken down completely.

It was moments like these that I really, really needed my Spock Cap.

-- “How’s it feel?” “Worse than when we were here,” I admitted. I peered out of the conference room window, overlooking a darkened processing plant. We were stationed on Somonia for the time being. The lodgings weren’t nearly as comfortable as they were last time, but that was just as well. Maybe the discomfort would keep me on task and get me out of there sooner. “Worse how?” Chris asked. “Just…” I trailed off, shaking my head and lowering my eyes to my communicator, “Last time, I could feel the want for a change. Now there’s this tension, and-- And I don’t know if it’s the territory conflict or what happened with Soivo, or… I can’t suss it out.” I lowered my head, scrubbing my eyes with my hand as I shifted from foot to foot. “What’d you get up to with your last day of leave?” I asked. I didn’t want to talk about Somonia anymore. “Holochambers-- you were right about those flight sims.” “Oh yeah?” I smiled a little, “What else?” “Dinner with a few people.” “Which people?” “Does it matter?” I could practically hear the wrinkle in Chris’ brow, and I realized that I sounded like I was interrogating the poor guy. “No,” I said softly, “Of course not. Just--... I just wanna hear you talk.” There was a pause on the other end of the line before Chris said, “Spock, and Thaleh-- And Una, of course.” “Of course,” I teased a little. “I would’ve rather been with you.” My smile widened, and I tipped my forehead forward onto my hand, “I’d rather be with you, too. You all on your way to the Pergamum?” “Been on our way for about four hours. We have a few stops set before we get there-- I have to be on the bridge in a little bit, but I’ll talk to you soon, alright?” “Alright. Be careful.” “Don’t worry about me.” “You’re kidding, right?” “Don’t start, sweetheart,” Chris retorted, but besides all of his grumbling, I was suddenly very glad that he wasn’t in front me. He’d never called me that before, and it put the stupidest grin on my face. “Too late,” I finally managed, “I’ve started.” “Well, I’ll finish it when you’re aboard the Enterprise again.” “That a promise, Captain?” “You know it is, lieutenant. Pike out.” I murmured my goodbye before I clicked my communicator shut, staring down at it. I sighed softly, running my thumb over the device before turning my eyes back to the processing plant. “Lieutenant?” I whirled around to find Admiral Cornwell standing in the doorway. I felt my stomach churn uncomfortably. How long had she been standing there? “Admiral,” I greeted, tucking my hands behind my back and forcing my face into a calm set. “Everything alright?” “Yes. Just touching base with Captain Pike.” Cornwell gave a nod, stepping further into the room, “Did he have any words of advice?” “Just-- To comm in if I had any questions.” Cornwell had this...Little look on her face, one that I couldn’t decipher, but she nodded a little. “I’ll be leaving in the morning, I’m needed on Tiburon.” Fear thrummed through my stomach, and Cornwell raised her hand before I could protest: “Commander Soivo is aware, and certain that the two of you can handle this situation. We’ll have check-ins every few hours, you can comm me if you need something-- Or Captain Pike.” “Of course,” I nodded, speaking with more conviction than I felt.

Cornwell was quiet for a moment before: “Lieutenant, your record aside, the work you’ve done on the Enterprise-- and with the Chancellors before -- has shown a lot of promise. I understand that this is….Sort of a hard left turn, in terms of what you likely thought you’d be doing, and how, but I am going to need you to step up. I wouldn’t be going to Tiburon if I didn’t think you were capable of that.” “...Admiral, I appreciate the sentiment, but under the circumstances, I also don’t mind admitting that I am scared shitless.” Cornwell smiled, nodding. “I’d be a little concerned if you weren’t,” She said, “You should get some rest. I suspect you’ve a few long days ahead.”

Commander Soivo and I were up in time to see Cornwell off. We watched the yacht lift away from the landing pad, and I felt my confidence go with it. “Shall we to the conference room?” Soivo asked. “Sure,” I nodded, turning with Soivo away from the landing pad. My eyes caught on something in the distance - a few lights on at one of the dormant processing plants. “...Commander?” “Yes?” “Are the Chancellors set the visit the processing plants today?” “No. None of them are meant to be under operation.” “What do you think those lights are, then?” I asked, nodding toward them. “... Routine maintenance, perhaps.” “Can we get that looked into?” “I’m sure you’re fretting needlessly, lieutenant. Come now, we mustn’t keep the Chancellors waiting.”

I’d come to realize, later, that even if Cornwell had stayed -- even if we had an extra Phaser in that room, we wouldn’t have stood a chance. The negotiations would still have been overrun, the heads of production would still have had the upper hand, and we wouldn’t have made it out cleanly. Tag list: @angels-pie ; @fantasticcopeaglepasta ; @mylittlelonelyappreciationtoo ; @how-am-i-serpose-to-know ; @onlyhereforthefandomandgiggles ; @inmyowncorner ; @tardis-23 ; @2manyfandoms-solittletime ; @paintballkid711 ; @katrynec End Note: .... Just trust me.

#I'm Always Curious #captain pike x reader #Captain Pike/Reader #Captain Pike Imagine #Captain Pike x You #Captain Pike/You #christopher pike x reader #christopher pike/reader #christopher pike imagine #christopher pike x you #Christopher Pike/You

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anna-justice · 3 years

Text

Not a Race - Upstead

Summary: Jay and Will revisit a conversation they had years ago, and this time it has a happy ending. (I promise Hailey shows up later lol)

Warnings: fluff, so much fluff

Requested: No

…

Jay pulled up in front of his and Hailey’s now shared apartment, putting the truck in park. “I’ll see you at Molly’s later?” He asked his girlfriend, confirming their plans.

“Yes Jay.” Hailey said, rolling her eyes. “I will be there at nine, the exact same time I said I was going to be there five times today.”

“And who are you supposed to pick up?” Jay questioned, smirking at her.

“Trudy.” Jay gave her a pointed look, “I am supposed to fake an emergency, but bring her to Molly’s instead.”

Jay smiled at Hailey, finding her annoyance adorable. “I love you.” He said, his demeanor softening a bit.

Hailey’s grumpy look faded and she leaned across the center console, pecking him on the lips. “I love you too.” Jay reached out and pulled her back to him, kissing her again. Hailey smiled into it before reluctantly pulling away. “You gotta go,” she sighed. “How’d you get roped into to doing this anyway?” She asked as she opened the truck door.

“Kim.” Jay said, and Hailey nodded. “Five year anniversaries are a big deal apparently.”

“Apparently.” Hailey laughed, shutting the door. Jay rolled down the window, not quite ready to leave yet. “Platt and Mouch better appreciate it, they’ve stolen so much of my Jay time lately.”

Jay chuckled, “Babe, we work together...and live together. You see me at least twenty-three hours out of the day.”

Hailey shrugged, “It’s not enough.” She smirked at him before heading towards the front door. “I’ll see you later.”

“Wear something pretty.” Jay called at her, laughing.

After he was sure she was safely inside, he pulled out of the parking spot and out of the parking lot. He made the short drive to his brother's apartment, where Will was waiting for him. He was feeling a little jittery, so he opted for the stairs to hopefully wear him out a little bit. “Hey man.” He said, entering the apartment. (He had a key in case Will ever did something stupid...like lose his.)

“Hey.” Will said, getting up off the couch and heading towards the kitchen. “You want something to drink?” He asked.

“No, I’m good.�� Jay said, leaning against his counter.

“How are you feeling?” Will asked, taking a sip of the water bottle he got himself.

Jay shrugged, “I’m good.” Will eyed him, “Listen man, I know we talked about it before, but I just want to make sure that it’s okay...again.” Jay thought back to what felt like a lifetime ago, a few days before Erin left for New York.

Jay stood in front of the whiteboard with Will, looking through photos of victims from their recent drug case. “At least you guys get overtime.” Will said, before fishing in his pocket, Will pulled a red velvet box, surprising Jay. Will had seemed so against him proposing to Erin that he was sure he wouldn’t let him near their mom’s ring. “Mom’s ring. She always said it’s not a race, but whoever meets the right girl first gets the ring.”

Jay took the box in his hands, chuckling. “Hmm.” His mom was so important to him, and having Erin wear her ring felt like the blessing they needed, like his mom was a part of it.

Will watched his brother with caution, but smiled kindly. “You sure about this?” Jay stared blankly at him and Will nodded, he always knew he was the king of stupid questions. “You tell dad?”

“Why do I have to tell dad? It’s mom’s ring, not his.” Jay rushed out, immediately jumping down his brother's throat. Kevin interrupted them before Will could say anything, but Jay walked away feeling confident in his decision.

And he was, maybe even as confident as he was now. Jay pulled the same velvet box out of his pocket and set it on the counter. “Will, I’m sure.” He said, and this time he had the words to express how he was feeling. “I’ve never been more sure of anything in my entire life, but I already had one chance with this ring and if you want it-”

“Jay.” Will said, cutting him off. “I know mom always said it wasn’t a race, but you won. Hailey is…”

“The most amazing person that I have ever met.” Jay sighed out.

Will laughed, “I was going to say ‘going to love it,’ but that works too.”

Jay beamed at his brother, taking the box back in his hand. “She’s the one Will, I know it. And I never thought I would say this, but I wish I could tell dad.”

Will placed a comforting hand on his brother’s back, “He knows man. They both do.”

Jay took a big breath and laughed nervously. “I’m proposing.” He said.

“Yeah, you are.” Will said, sharing his brother’s obvious joy. All he ever wanted was for Jay to be happy, and he knew without a doubt that Hailey was it for him.

“You think she’ll say yes?” Jay asked in a teasing voice.

Will laughed loudly, “I’d say it’s a solid 80 percent.”

...

About an hour later Jay was back in his truck headed to Molly’s. It was almost seven o’clock, two hours from Hailey’s arrival and the unit had a lot to do before she got there. Almost like she could hear him thinking about her, he got a text.

Hailes: I know I’m bringing Trudy, but who is in charge of Mouch? Shouldn’t they be coming together?

Shit. He hadn’t thought of that.

Jay: Ritter is getting Mouch. Don’t worry about it, we have a plan.

Hailes: Okay, whatever you say.

Jay sighed, he would admit a fake anniversary party was a little lame, but the only other thing he could think of was a fake baby shower and something told him that it wouldn’t really be appropriate to throw one of those in a bar.

Hailes: Also, “in charge” Jay is kinda sexy...you should help throw parties more often.

Jay smirked at his phone while he sat in the parking lot, shaking his head he texted back.

Jay: Good to know ;)

Jay: Get ready for the best birthday of your life.

When he pulled the door open, he was met with Kim shouting orders at Herrmann, Mouch, Kevin and Adam. Most of the decorations were already hung and he was informed that there were ten bottles of champagne hidden behind the counter.

“Wow. It looks amazing in here.” He looked at Kim directly. “Thank you.”

Kim grinned, “Of course! It’s not everyday that one of my oldest friends proposes to my best friend.” She says, playfully punching his arm. Vanessa had been gone for over a year and in that time Hailey and Kim had gotten really close, they all had. After years of losing one person after another, the members of intelligence felt more like a family than they ever had before.

“This is crazy, isn’t it?” Jay asked, Adam and Kevin trickling into the conversation.

“It’s a long time coming, that’s for sure.” Adam said, wrapping his arm around Kim.

Kevin scoffed, “Oh, like you can talk.” He teased.

Jay’s nerves got worse and worse, “This isn’t too much right?” Jay asked his friends, “You think she’ll like it?”

“Jay.” Kim said, gaining his attention. “You could slip a ring pop on Hailey’s finger in front of the district and she would love it, because she loves you. But this,” She gestures around the room, “this is beautiful and incredibly sweet and romantic. This is everything she deserves.”

Jay smiles with pride, he wants to be everything she deserves, but Hailey Upton deserves the entire world and he wouldn’t mind spending his entire life trying to give her that. “Burgess, we just need to get you a t-shirt that says ‘I’m basically a hallmark card.’” Kevin says, motioning across his chest.

“Let’s have a toast.” Kim says and on que Herrmann has glasses ready for them.

Kevin raises his glass, “To the OGs.”

Kim rolls her eyes, but raises her glass as well, “To Jay and Hailey.”

Jay raises his glass and so does Adam, giving a toast of his own. “To upstead.”

Jay lowers his arm and glares at Adam, “Man, you have got to stop calling us that.”

“Anyway,” Kim says, “To love.”

“True love.” Adam interjects.

“Adam.” Kim snaps.

“What, you're the only one that gets to be a hallmark card? That’s not fair.”

“How about this,” Jay says, raising his glass again. “To me not shitting my pants before she gets here.”

They all laugh, “I’ll drink to that,” Kevin says shrugging and then all down their drinks.

…

At eight forty-five Jay stood at the bar, his hands sweaty and his knees a little shaky. It was fifteen minutes until go time and he got more anxious by the second. He was pretty sure she was going to say yes, but he wanted it to be perfect for her. As perfect as she was for him.

Most of their friends have arrived and were talking amongst themselves around the perimeter of the bar, leaving room for Hailey to eventually make her way down the middle to Jay. Everyone was buzzing, taking in the decorations and consuming copious amounts of alcohol, something that Jay had decided against doing even though he would love a beer (or five) right about now.

At three til nine, he got a text from Hailey stating that they had arrived and Jay shushed everyone, standing in the middle of the room to wait for his (hopefully) future wife.

Hailey walked down the sidewalk with the desk sergeant, hiding her smile. She was excited to see what her friends had come up with for the happy couple. They reached the door and Hailey smirked at Trudy, “Hey sarge.”

“Upton?”

“Happy anniversary.”

This time Trudy smirked, “It isn’t my anniversary.”

“What-” Hailey started, but froze in her spot as she opened the door. The sight in front of her was breathtaking. The usual fairy lights were still hung up, but also hanging from the ceiling were hundreds of pictures, pictures of her and Jay. Hailey felt her eyes welling up with tears, she took a few steps forward, looking around to see all of her closest friends, her family. At a closer look, she could see all of the tables had empty bottles of various alcohols, all labeled with dates and cards with memories.

He was grinning ear to ear, but when she saw him, it somehow got even bigger. “Jay.” She laughed out.

“Hey.” He said, meeting her in the middle of the room.

“I hate to break it to you, but you decorated for the wrong couple.” She joked.

“Oh no, really?” He gasped and Hailey laughed.

Jay took her in, she was wearing her signature black jeans and a blue sweater. She looked as beautiful as ever, and he was ready. “Quite the crowd…” She whispered.

“I know, I’m a little nervous.” He said, reaching out to take her hand in his. “Hailey Anne Upton, there are not enough words to describe how much I love you. And I have never been good at expressing my feelings, you know that better than anyone. But I have said it a million times and I will say it a million more: I would follow you anywhere. I looked at you and knew you were the most beautiful woman I have ever met. I looked at you and I trusted you, I have trusted you since the day I met you. I look at you, and I’ve got it. I look at you and I see the rest of my life, I see that you are everything I have ever wanted and more. I look at you and I know that you are it for me, there will never be anyone like you Hailey.”

Hailey felt the tears begin to roll down her face, he used her own words against her. Jay reached in his pocket, pulling out just a ring. “This is my mother’s ring, and for so long she was the most important woman in my life. But she has been gone for a long time and Hailey you have taken that place, and she would have loved you. So,” Jay said, finally getting down on one knee. “Will you make me the luckiest man alive, and marry me?”

Hailey took a deep breath, trying to pull herself together. “Yes.” She choked out before launching herself into his arms. Jay caught her with ease and kissed her passionately as their friends cheered for them. Jay reluctantly set Hailey back down on the floor, pressing another kiss to her lips before stepping back and finally slipping the ring on her finger.

“Perfect fit.” He said, pulling her to him and pressing a kiss to her forehead. “I love you.” He said, peeking down at her.

“I love you so much.” She hugged him tighter, “And I cannot wait to be your wife.”

“Let’s just elope, we can get married tomorrow.” Jay said.

Hailey scoffed, “That’s a funny joke, Kim would kill me.”

“Good point.” He said, holding her tightly. “I’m thinking of a June wedding.”

“Did you really just say that?” Hailey burst out laughing.

Jay grimaced, “We don’t have to talk about it…”

Hailey turned to face him, pressing her palms to his chest. “How about this? We can get married whenever and wherever you want, as long as you wear your thigh holster during the whole ceremony.”

Jay gave her a shocked look, “Please tell me you aren’t kidding.”

Hailey got up on her tiptoes and whispered in his ear, “I’m dead serious.”

“Thank God.”

The happy couple accepted some congratulations before sneaking over to the bar. It had turned into a full on party, Herrmann turned the music up and everything. “You know, Hailey Halstead has a nice ring to it.” She confessed as she leaned into Jay.

“I think so.” He said, beaming at her.

“Excuse me everyone.” Kim said, clinking her glass as they were passed around to everyone. She raised hers, “To the happy couple, I love you both and I am so happy for you. We all are.”

“And to the fact that Jay didn’t shit his pants!” Adam interjected from beside her.

“What?” Hailey whispered under her breath.

“Don’t worry about it…” Jay muttered, mentally punching Adam in the face.

Kim shrugged, “Sure.” They all raised their glasses and cheered. Jay set his and Hailey’s down and dipped her dramatically, bringing his lips to hers once again.

“I love you Jay Halstead,” She said as he brought her back to a standing position.

“I love you too, the future Mrs. Hailey Halstead.”

…

A/N: I watched the clip from 4x23 and then debated posting this idea just as a discussion comment, but then I was like “why not” and I just wrote it! I’m so glad I did, I wrote it so fast and loved writing it. I also hope that this didn’t come off as Erin bashing, I try not to write like that. I was the biggest linstead fan and I still love Erin, I just have moved on from linstead and wanted to show the potential parallels. Anyway, I promise I will update Lost or Found soon, it’s been crazy the past few months and I honestly haven’t had the motivation to write, but the scooby gang will be back soon! Thank you so much for reading! <3

#jay halstead #hailey upton #hailey upton x jay halstead #jay halstead x hailey upton imagine #upstead imagines #upstead #kim burgess #will halstead #adam ruzek #kevin atwater #chicago pd #chicago pd imagines

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adamwatchesmovies · 3 years

Text

The Best of 2020

Better late, than never. I enjoy seeing other people’s top-10 lists and I said I’d do one for 2020, so here we go. I haven’t had the chance to watch EVERYTHING I wanted to, but you’ve got to pull the trigger at some point. When the Academy Awards took place on Sunday, I felt like I hadn’t seen ANYTHING nominated but I could remember dozens of times where I felt like I wasted my precious minutes with cinematic detritus. I assumed putting this list together would be easy. It wasn’t. I’ve got a lot of runner ups but for now, here are my Top 10 “Best” (by which I kind of mean my favorite) movies of 2020:

10. Never Rarely Sometimes Always

Never Rarely Sometimes Always gave me a lot to think about. On the surface, it's about a teenager who has to travel outside of her hometown to get an abortion, but it could've been any kind of procedure she's uncomfortable (or unable) asking her parents for. It's about the lengths she has to go to when her main source of support is cut off. You feel uneasy throughout, wondering what lengths the girls will have to resort through and whether something horrible is just around the corner. For this reason, I think many parents would find the film enriching.

9. Mank

I haven’t posted my review of Mank yet - just haven't had the time so consider my star rating for it "spoiled". If you don't know, it's about Herman J. Mankiewicz (Gary Oldman) and the time he wrote Citizen Kane for Orson Welles. I can’t call Citizen Kane one of my favorite films, but I do often think of it. The story, the characters, specific shots, the overall look, etc. Every time I revisit it in my memory, my appreciation for it grows and in a way, Mank helps complete my relationship with the film. For that reason, I foresee myself revisiting Mank in the future - probably as part of a double-bill. I’d love to see it enough times to memorize some of Gary Oldman’s best lines.

8. One Night in Miami

One Night in Miami addresses the present while being set in the past but something about it clicked with me more than Ma Rainey’s Black Bottom. It's essentially a series of long conversations, the kinds that force you to really examine tough questions and see these legendary figures as normal people. Unlike Mank, it isn't so much the individual lines that stand out, it's more the vibes you get from the exchanges. Out of all the movies on this list, it's probably got the best ensemble cast.

7. Sound of Metal

I'm sure you've seen that clip from Un Chien Andalou where an eye gets sliced with a razor? It gives me the willies just thinking about it because if I were blind I wouldn't be able to watch movies or draw. In Sound of Metal, we're dealing with a career cut short because of deafness but the dots are easy to connect. I immediately connected with this movie, which made its ending feel like a punch in the gut.

6. Tenet

I keep telling myself that I won’t love a movie Christopher Nolan directs just because his name is attached to it. Hopefully, this doesn't make me a fanboy, despite my falling for pretty much everything he's released. I love how ambitious Tenet is. The plot is so complicated but then again it isn't because once you're able to grok the mechanics of its reverse-entropy technology, you'll probably figure out most of the plot's mysteries. For me, that was the fun part. It felt good to see my understanding of the story and theories confirmed. I'll be watching it again once groups can gather so my friends and I can discuss everything in detail.

5. Trial of the Chicago Seven

I know The Trial of the Chicago Seven fudges history in ways certain people would say is irredeemable but I never go into a film “based on true events” assuming liberties won’t be taken. At the end of the day, I care about being entertained. My enjoyment was also amplified by the fact that I didn't know what the verdicts would be - my American history is spotty, at best. It's got laughs, outrage, drama, and inspirational moments. Aside from romance, you've got pretty much all the bases covered.

4. Palm Springs

Out of all the pleasant surprises of 2020, Palm Springs was the biggest. I thought the Groundhog Day thing was played out and the 0-star-worthy Love Wedding Repeat did nothing to convince me otherwise. Then, this movie comes along and does everything you want in one of those movies, and then some. Not only did Palm Springs give me the romantic comedy I'd been craving for (feels like we haven't gotten a good one since "Crazy Rich Asians" it also examines what love and relationships mean through smartly written metaphors.

3. Possessor

No, I didn’t put this movie on the list just because it’s Canadian; Possessor is on this list because it’s the most unsettling movie of 2020. I mean that in a good way. I've already talked about how unsettling the premise is but it's also the execution. Those bizarre “dream” scenes with the different identities merging in unnatural ways is unforgettable. That mask of Tasya's face, half-melted is already creepy enough, when worn by Christopher Abbott as he re-enacts her memories is just so weird it makes you wonder if you’re actually seeing what you’re seeing, or if you’re going mad. Then, there's that shot with the fingers at the end! Makes me wince just thinking about it.

2. Soul

During the Oscars, I get a little mad at Pixar. They effortlessly churn out these masterpieces that mean no other studio has a chance of winning an Academy Award for the Best Animated Film category. It makes me wonder if the voters even bother to watch the competition but I don't think anyone could argue against Soul. It's among their best films. It’s gorgeous, profound, and modern without showcasing any issues that might flush your day down the toilet.

Runner-Ups:

Enola Holmes

I never believed Enola Holmes would end up on my "Best of the Year" list but this movie is a lot of fun. If you haven't seen it yet, you should. Just wanted to remind you.

Birds of Prey (and the Fantabulous Emancipation of One Harley Quinn) I was disappointed when audiences didn’t seem interested in Birds of Prey. Seeing Margot Robbie go all-out and given a script that actually makes good use of her character was lots of fun. I also found it refreshing to see a superhero movie (not really, but kind of) that didn’t involve a plot to destroy the world, upheaval all of civilization, or shoot a giant beam into the sky. I think this is one people will discover down the line and go “why didn’t I go see this in theaters when it was playing?”

Borat Subsequent Moviefilm I’m not 100% in love with Borat 2 but boy am I looking forward to showing it to people who have no idea what’s coming. That scene with Rudy Guliani might not have the same impact down the line as it did when I first saw this sequel, but that’s ok. It’ll still have you picking your jaw off the floor.

Nomadland It’s a great movie and I might’ve put it on my list of the best… but I just don’t see myself watching this one again anytime soon. Great movie though. It deserves every accolade you see directed towards it. Chloé Zhao is shaping up to be a major talent. While before I might’ve said “Eternals who?” Now, I’m excited.

The Vast of Night Until I saw Possessor, this was my favorite horror film of 2020. I love the way this movie does so much without showing anything. It’s all about letting your imagination do the work.

Hamilton I’m still unsure how I feel about the casting in Hamilton. Everyone does a terrific job. I understand why actors of color were chosen to portray the historical figures we meet during this story. It still doesn't sit 100% comfortable with me. Then again, who can argue with those results? I’ve seen the movie twice and the songs are still playing in my head.

1. Promising Young Woman

I only had so much before this post went up. Enough for one more movie. It was a tossup between The Father, Judas and the Black Messiah, and Promising Young Woman. As you can imagine, I’m pretty satisfied with the choice I made. Writer/director Emerald Fennell takes the rape-revenge genre and reshapes it into something that feels completely new. Like many of the other films on this list, it also feels relevant to what’s going on today. There are many reasons why I could’ve given it this slot. The writing, the performances, the way it puts your stomach in knots as you wonder what’s going to happen next, the pitch-perfect ending… but I’m going to pick a more personal reason. I try to look at films as snapshots of when they were made. There’s a part of me that winces when I look at Gone with the Wind but I’m also able to take a step back and say “but other than that…” and then just enjoy the movie. In Promising Young Woman, the past is confronted in a way that made me pause and think about two movies on my shelf: Wedding Crashers and American Pie. The Vince Vaughn/Owen Wilson comedy, in particular, has a lot of questionable bits of comedy, bits made even more eyebrow-raising by the fact that it isn't an "old" movie whose entire cast is now dead. Let’s just say that when a movie makes me go “This movie is replacing X”, makes me think this hard about things, and does everything else you want in a thriller… it’ll stick in your head for a long time. That's why I'm calling it the best/my favorite movie of the year.

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retrosimp · 3 years

Text

Wuthering Heights

A/N:Not really happy with this chapter, but it has to stand do we can finally proceed to the good part.

I also did not have time to edit yet so you have been warned for typos etc

Enjoy!

Wordcount:2,625

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“ You had a temper like my jealousy

Too hot, too greedy

How could you leave me

When I needed to possess you?

I hated you, I loved you, too

Bad dreams in the night

They told me I was going to lose the fight

Leave behind my wuthering, wuthering

Wuthering Heights”

- Kate Bush, 1978, Wuthering Heights

In which Johnny id sick and in need of some help. Mina and him are doing a group project together (forced by Dr. Clark) so she has to drive off to his house to bring him his stuff....

Mina stared at her desk in anger, drumming her fingers and waiting for the lesson to end.

It was her last period on Friday's and she hated every minute of it - Literature.

There were several good reasons for her to despise the course. First of all since the teacher hadn't been delighted that she had transferred into his class in the middle of her final year, she'd been cast aside as the troublemaker since day one. To make matters worse, it was the course in which she had to sit next Johnny Lawrence, leader of the Cobra Kai's and the real troublemaker in her opinion. It didn't really help that her literature professor Dr. Clark was a big fan of his.

Ever since handing in a paper Johnny had corrected a couple of weeks ago, Dr. Clark had been delighted by them working together.

‘I'm sorry if that may challenge you Mr. Lawrence, but her grades might depend on your help. As a teacher I appreciate you helping your schoolmates. I will take this into account concerning the advisement paper for you college.’

That had led her to being stuck with Johnny as a partner for presenting ‘Wuthering Heights’ to the class in a short synopsis. They were currently revisiting books they had been reading until March, to prepare for the finals.

It didn't help that Mina's first paper she had handed in had been on the exact classic and had scored her a D.

She wasn't bad at school, but as life wanted to have it, the one thing she couldn't do was the thing the biggest jerk of the school was brilliant in. Lately Mina had referred from the jackass image though, he had been nicer, calmer in their interactions ever since the lock in. Who knew why.

Too bad he wasn't in class today, which proved to be even worse for her than when he was present. Johnny had been sick for a couple of days now and so Mina had endured Dr. Clarks comments alone. Luckily she started getting along with a member of the Cobra Kai's: Bobby and her interacted more often ever since he had driven her home one night.

As for today, he had offered to take her to Johnny's house so that she could drop off his stuff and plan out their working schedule, as she still did not have a car of her own.

The bell rang, finally hearing Mina's prayers, causing the students to scramble from their desks and out through the hallways into the awaited weekend.

Bobby was already at the parking lot as Mina and Tommy, who shared her literature course, made their way down the stairs. “How is he doing anyways ? ” Mina turned to Tommy, who only shrugged his shoulders. “I don't know, he refuses to see anyone when he's ill. I only know Sensei is pretty mad about it. ” Mina shoved her bangs from her face. “Well your Sensei is mad.”

Tommy didn't respond but gave her a curt nod before heading towards Dutch and Jimmy, who were on their bikes already.

“Hey! Thanks for the pickup.” Mina greeted Bobby as he handed her a spare helmet. “You even come prepared I see.” He grinned shrugging his shoulders. “I figured even your stubborn head needs some protection. You on?” She smoothly wrapped her arms around him. The first time she hadn't done so and regretted it instantly. “All set, you have my permission!”

The part of California they drove through was entirely new to Mina. The streets were clean and decorated with large palm trees, the cars expensive and the houses could be mistaken for mansions. Their lawns were clean-cut and lush green, hinting that their owners possessed enough money to water them even in times of drought. Bobby finally halted after driving up curves of a hillside that made her dizzy and Mina slowly caught off, her breath catching in her throat.

She still had her back towards the house so Bobby had to follow her her stare to get why she was so impressed already. On the opposite of the house was a neatly fenced cliff with a small boule place and some benches. From here one could oversee the entire city. Mina imagined what it must look like durning nightime. “This is absolutely stunning.” Bobby gently turned her towards the house, grinning. “Then take a look at this.” At the sight of the manor Mina feared her eyes would pop from their sockets. “Oh.my.god. He lives in here?” Bobby nodded, pushing his hands into his pockets. “Yup he does.”

Before them stood an enormous, white painted 18th century mansion, with a golden fountain and flowerbushes in its middle, a small stream dividing house and frontyard, an elegant wooden bridge leading across. On the right side of the house stood a group of sports - and luxury cars. A red convertible caught Mina's eye. Noticing her stare Bobby pointed at it. “That's Johnny's car. ” “Careful, if you let your mouth stand open like that any longer you might drool.”

Mina snapped her mouth shut blushing. “This is all quite overwhelming. Uh, where do I get in ?” she questioned gesturing at the many doors. “You head up the marble staircase to the porch and then directly ring on the big oak door with the silver doorknob. Don't worry you won't miss it.” Bobby patted her shoulder turning towards his bike “Ok, I'll be off then, Sensei doesn't like it when we run late, my knuckles are still sore from the pushups.” he laughed. Mina waved as he roared off on his bike.

Now this was going to get interesting.

The confidence she had tried to talk herself into instantly lessened as she transpassed the front yard and proceeded to climb the great staircase. The marble was so polished that she swore it glittered. Everything about this house was intimidating.

When finally reaching the front door Mina paused in search of what she was going to say. She realized that nothing came to mind and used the moment of her brain functions pausing to ring on the button next to a silver decorated name plate spelling ‘Weinberg & Lawrence’ next to the door.

Mere seconds later the door was opened by a formal dressed housekeeper. She eyed Mina critically for a second before smiling “Yes please? ” “Uh, I'm Mina and I attend school with Mr. Lawrence — I mean Johnny— and we have to finish a group project together until Monday so since he's sick I brought him his stuff and —”

A male voice caught her off “Mathilda, the tea!” Mathilda, the housekeeper frowned before quickly straightening and simultaneously opening the door for Mina. “It will be there in an instant sir.” She turned to Mina calling out a name “Cathy!” A younger woman emerged from somewhere down the hall “Cathy's going to accompany you to young Mr. Lawrence's chambers” she gave the younger woman a stern look, who meanwhile had taken the bag from Mina's hands and gestured her to follow “Up this way Miss.” Everything went by in a couple of seconds and Mina was lead across black and white marble checkered flooring and hallways covered with panelings of detailed woodcarvings. It seemed to her that even one rug tassel was more expensive than everything she possessed. Mina nearly crashed into the maid as she suddenly halted in front of a small corridor with a longe Chaiselongue. “These are young Master Lawrence's quarters, to reach his bedchambers it's the last door on the left.” with that she bowed her head and hushed away.

‘He has has his own flat inside a house, I can't believe it’ Mina shook her head in disbelief.

Before knocking on the door she opted to check her reflection in her pocket mirror. Nonsense, what was she even thinking, all the luxury seemed to be wearing on her nerves. She outstretched her fist, giving the door a firm knock.

“Come in.” Upon entering Johnny's room Mina remarked three things: the window wall, which mostly was covered by dark curtains, the many records and posters and the amount of medals and trophies placed on the walls. “You done checking out my room?” came an annoyed groan from the bed. Mina squinted as she tried to make out Johnny lying in his sheets, chest bare and wash cloth placed over his forehead. He had his eyes closed and she saw how pale he was.

“Uh yeah, sorry. So look, I brought all the stuff we did and I already did most of the work, so how about I just narrate it and you check if there's anything wrong.” Johnny snorted but lifted himself up on his elbows. “Let's get this over with then. Can you push back the curtains a little?” Mina did as she was asked to. This was going to be a real pleasure seeing as Johnny was moody. On the other hand how did she expect him to feel when being ill?

As she turned towards him her heart dropped just a little. His hair was tousled and his cheekbones stood out more prominent against his paled face. “Uh do you need anything before we start? ” He regarded her through lidded eyes “No. Now quit looking at me like that and sit. ”

Mina sat herself onto the bed next to him like he had asked her. Unpacking her things and spreading them out a little she begun talking.

They needed a little over an hour and a half before they were finished discussing the project as Johnny was still in a weakened state, coughing and occasionally sneezing. Mina chuckled a little when he did so. Somehow it looked quite cute. Johnny glared at her coughing again, before letting himself drop back into the mattress. “I said quit looking at me right now. Are we done yet?” Mina nodded, “We're nearly done, you sure you don't want a little water ?” she pointed at his empty glass by the bed. “Fine I'll take one.” Mina nodded taking the glass and getting up before turning around “Uh, where's your bath again? ” Johnny pointed to the backside of his room “Around the left corner”

She filled th glass with tap water and paused catching a glimpse of a photograph on the wall. It was Johnny as a child, hold by a blond, very pretty woman. They looked happy.

‘So this his mother, what about his dad?’

Seating herself again she handed him the glass and he gulped it's contents greedily. Why wouldn't he simply ask for help? Mina watched his Adam's apple bobb as he drank. “You mother's really pretty. ” He sat the glass back on the small table next to his bed. “Yeah she is.” he obviously didn't want to say anything else anymore so Mina pushed a little further “What about your dad ? Do you like him? ” She watched him stiffen as he regarded her, suddenly alert.

“What about your parents?” he questioned back sharply causing her to wince. “Uh yeah I get it, bad topic.” He blew a platine strand of hair from his eye. “Exactly. Now can we get on?” He snatched a paper from her hand, hiding his face behind it. Mina noticed that his skin was slightly sweaty. ‘This must be wearing him out’ she thought deciding it was best if they finished fast.

She began reading through the last parts of her presentation, fully immensed in their studies, so she stiffened in surprise as she felt soft skin brushing her knuckles. Mina looked up from her papers noting that Johnny's hand had sunken, still holding her paper and was now brushing hers. Her eyes moved to his face, seeing his eyes closed and noting his even breathing she realized he had fallen asleep.

Careful not to wake him, she packed her belongings, before carefully running her hand over his arm. It was only meant as a friendly soft pat but her hand lingered and for a moment she only saw his beautiful face before her eyes traveled downwards to his abs. She swallowed dryly. His muscled, lean body looked stunning.

A creak by the door caused her to shrink back in surprise. It was the woman of the picture - Johnny's mother.

She seemed to be just as surprised before smiling hushing her over with a gesture of her hand. Once outside Mina began “I was just about to leave so —” His mother caught her off with a wave of her hand, peering through the small crack of the door. “How is he doing? He gets sick pretty rarely normally.” “Uh good, I mean I think he needs some rest after our work.” Mrs. Lawrence' eyebrows shot up. “Oh I see”

“Schoolwork, I meant schoolwork, we're doing a presentation together, I'm —” Mrs. Lawrence clasped her hands delighted. “Oh you must be his girlfriend then! ” “It's Mina actually, and —” Mrs. Lawrence gave her a warm smile “Oh of course I'm sorry I haven't asked before. Please call me Laura. With everything going on in this house I sometimes get quite caught up....”

She trailed off, smiling at Mina warmly through her honey coloured eyes.

Mina decided she liked her. “Would you like some tea? Or something to eat perhaps ?” Shaking her head Mina smiled at the older woman. “That is really nice of you to offer Mrs. Lawrence - uh Laura- but I really should get going, I still have some things to do at home.”

Laura looked at her in slight disappointment. “I see, do you need a ride home? ” she eyed her and Mina wished she would've worn her spiked leather gloves, or anything that made her look like she had a bike or something. “I would be delighted to give you a ride since I'm headed into the city anyways.” Mina bit her lip, somehow Johnny's mother wasn't snobby or arrogant at all unlike Ali' s parents Daniel always complained about.

“Well I doubt it's your part of town where I live.”

Laura placed an arm around her shoulder loosely ushering her towards the stairs. “If you feel uncomfortable with me dropping you off back home you can also name another place. ”

With that Mina could work. “Uh yeah could you drop me of at the Cobra Kai Karate Dojo? I work in a bar next to it and my shift's on soon.”

“Where Johnny takes his Karate lessons? Sure honey, that's gonna be no problem. Now tell me is this where Johnny and you first met? ”

Mina forced herself to smile as they stepped outside. “Well not quite, we actually met - ” as she continued, they got into a red Prosche and Laura drove off into the late afternoon and Mina decided at this point that she wouldn't shatter the image of her being Johnny's girlfriend for now.

#william zabka #karate kid #fanfiction #cobra kai #johnny lawrence #ralph macchio #80s movies #1984 #tkk1 #johnny lawrence x reader

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holyhellpod · 3 years

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Holy Hell: 3. Metanarrativity: Who’s the Deleuze and who’s the Guattari in your relationship? aka the analysis no one asked for.

In this ep, we delve into authorship, narrative, fandom and narrative meaning. And somehow, as always, bring it back to Cas and Misha Collins.

(Note: the reason I didn’t talk about Billie’s authorship and library is because I completely forgot it existed until I watched season 13 “Advanced Thanatology” again, while waiting for this episode to upload. I’ll find a way to work her into later episodes tho!)

I had to upload it as a new podcast to Spotify so if you could just re-subscribe that would be great! Or listen to it at these other links.

Please listen to the bit at the beginning about monetisation and if you have any questions don’t hesitate to message me here.

Apple | Spotify | Google

Transcript under the cut!

Warnings: discussions of incest, date rape, rpf, war, 9/11, the bush administration, abuse, mental health, addiction, homelessness. Most of these are just one off comments, they’re not full discussions.

Meta-Textuality: Who’s the Deleuze and who’s the Guattari in your relationship?

In the third episode of Season 6, “The Third Man,” Balthazar says to Cas, “you tore up the whole script and burned the pages.” That is the fundamental idea the writers of the first five seasons were trying to sell us: whatever grand plan the biblical God had cooking up is worth nothing in face of the love these men have—for each other and the world. Sam, Bobby, Cas and Dean will go to any lengths to protect one another and keep people safe. What’s real? What’s worth saving? People are real. Families are worth saving.

This show plugs free will as the most important thing a person, angel, demon or otherwise can have. The fact of the matter is that Dean was always going to fight against the status quo, Sam was always going to go his own way, and Bobby was always going to do his best for his boys. The only uncertainty in the entire narrative is Cas. He was never meant to rebel. He was never meant to fall from Heaven. He was supposed to fall in line, be a good soldier, and help bring on the apocalypse, but Cas was the first agent of free will in the show’s timeline. Sam followed Lucifer, Dean followed Michael, and John gave himself up for the sins of his children, at once both a God and Jesus figure. But Cas wasn’t modelled off anyone else. He is original. There are definitely some parallels to Ruby, but I would argue those are largely unintentional. Cas broke the mold.

That’s to say nothing of the impact he’s had on the fanbase, and the show itself, which would not have reached 15 seasons and be able to end the way they wanted it to without Cas and Misha Collins. His back must be breaking from carrying the entire show.

But what the holy hell are we doing here today? Not just talking about Cas. We’re talking about metanarrativity: as I define it, and for purposes of this episode, the story within a story, and the act of storytelling. We’re going to go through a select few episodes which I think exemplify the best of what this show has to offer in terms of framing the narrative. We’ll talk about characters like Chuck and Becky and the baby dykes in season 10. And most importantly we’ll talk about the audience’s role, our role, in the reciprocal relationship of storytelling. After all, a tv show is nothing without the viewer.

I was in fact introduced to the concept of metanarrativity by Supernatural, so the fact that I’m revisiting it six years after I finished my degree to talk about the show is one of life’s little jokes.

I’m brushing off my degree and bringing out the big guns (aka literary theorists) to examine this concept. This will be yet another piece of analysis that would’ve gone well in my English Lit degree, but I’ll try not to make it dry as dog shit.

First off, I’m going to argue that the relationship between the creators of Supernatural and the fans has always been a dialogue, albeit with a power imbalance. Throughout the series, even before explicitly metanarrative episodes like season 10 “Fan Fiction” and season 4 “the monster at the end of this book,” the creators have always engaged in conversations with the fans through the show. This includes but is not limited to fan conventions, where the creators have actual, live conversations with the fans. Misha Collins admitted at a con that he’d read fanfiction of Cas while he was filming season 4, but it’s pretty clear even from the first season that the creators, at the very least Eric Kripke, were engaging with fans. The show aired around the same time as Twitter and Tumblr were created, both of which opened up new passageways for fans to interact with each other, and for Twitter and Facebook especially, new passageways for fans to interact with creators and celebrities.

But being the creators, they have ultimate control over what is written, filmed and aired, while we can only speculate and make our own transformative interpretations. But at least since s4, they have engaged in meta narrative construction that at once speaks to fans as well as expands the universe in fun and creative ways. My favourite episodes are the ones where we see the Winchesters through the lens of other characters, such as the season 3 episode “Jus In Bello,” in which Sam and Dean are arrested by Victor Henriksen, and the season 7 episode “Slash Fiction” in which Dean and Sam’s dopplegangers rob banks and kill a bunch of people, loathe as I am to admit that season 7 had an effect on any part of me except my upchuck reflex. My second favourite episodes are the meta episodes, and for this episode of Holy Hell, we’ll be discussing a few: The French Mistake, he Monster at the end of this book, the real ghostbusters, Fan Fiction, Metafiction, and Don’t Call Me Shurley. I’ll also discuss Becky more broadly, because, like, of course I’ll be discussing Becky, she died for our sins.

Let’s take it back. The Monster At The End Of This Book — written by Julie Siege and Nancy Weiner and directed by Mike Rohl. Inarguably one of the better episodes in the first five seasons. Not only is Cas in it, looking so beautiful, but Sam gets something to do, thank god, and it introduces the character of Chuck, who becomes a source of comic relief over the next two seasons. The episode starts with Chuck Shurley, pen named Carver Edlund after my besties, having a vision while passed out drunk. He dreams of Sam and Dean larping as Feds and finding a series of books based on their lives that Chuck has written. They eventually track Chuck down, interrogate him, and realise that he’s a prophet of the lord, tasked with writing the Winchester Gospels. The B plot is Sam plotting to kill Lilith while Dean fails to get them out of the town to escape her. The C plot is Dean and Cas having a moment that strengthens their friendship and leads further into Cas’s eventual disobedience for Dean. Like the movie Disobedience. Exactly like the movie Disobedience. Cas definitely spits in Dean’s mouth, it’s kinda gross to be honest. Maybe I’m just not allo enough to appreciate art.

When Eric Kripke was showrunner of the first five seasons of Supernatural, he conceptualised the character of Chuck. Kripke as the author-god introduced the character of the author-prophet who would later become in Jeremy Carver’s showrun seasons the biblical God. Judith May Fathallah writes in “I’m A God: The Author and the Writing Fan in Supernatural” that Kripke writes himself both into and out of the text, ending his era with Chuck winking at the camera, saying, “nothing really ends,” and disappearing. Kripke stayed on as producer, continuing to write episodes through Sera Gamble’s era, and was even inserted in text in the season 6 episode “The French Mistake”. So nothing really does end, not Kripke’s grip on the show he created, not even the show itself, which fans have jokingly referred to as continuing into its 16th season. Except we’re not joking. It will die when all of us are dead, when there is no one left to remember it. According to W R Fisher, humans are homo narrans, natural storytellers. The Supernatural fandom is telling a fidelitous narrative, one which matches our own beliefs, values and experiences instead of that of canon. Instead of, at Fathallah says, “the Greek tradition, that we should struggle to do the right thing simply because it is right, though we will suffer and be punished anyway,” the fans have created an ending for the characters that satisfies each and every one of our desires, because we each create our own endings. It’s better because we get to share them with each other, in the tradition of campfire stories, each telling our own version and building upon the others. If that’s not the epitome of mythmaking then I don’t know. It’s just great. Dean and Cas are married, Eileen and Sam are married, Jack is sometimes a baby who Claire and Kaia are forced to babysit, Jody and Donna are gonna get hitched soon. It’s season 17, time for many weddings, and Kevin Tran is alive. Kripke, you have no control over this anymore, you crusty hag.

Chuck is introduced as someone with power, but not influence over the story, only how the story is told through the medium of the novels. It’s basically a very badly written, non authorised biography, and Charlie reading literally every book and referencing things she should have no knowledge of is so damn creepy and funny. At first Chuck is surprised by his characters coming to life, despite having written it already, and when shown the intimidating array of weapons in Baby’s trunk he gets real scared. Which is the appropriate response for a skinny 5-foot-8 white guy in a bathrobe who writes terrible fantasy novels for a living.

As far as I can remember, this is the first explicitly metanarrative episode in the series, or at least the first one with in world consequences. It builds upon the lore of Christianity, angels, and God, while teasing what’s to come. Chuck and Sam have a conversation about how the rest of the season is going to play out, and Sam comes away with the impression that he’ll go down with the ship. They touch on Sam’s addiction to demon blood, which Chuck admits he didn’t write into the books, because in the world of supernatural, addiction should be demonised ha ha at every opportunity, except for Dean’s alcoholism which is cool and manly and should never be analysed as an unhealthy trauma coping mechanism.

Chuck is mostly impotent in the story of Sam and Dean, but his very presence presents an element of good luck that turns quickly into a force of antagonism in the series four finale, “Lucifer Rising”, when the archangel Raphael who defeats Lilith in this episode also kills Cas in the finale. It’s Cas’s quick thinking and Dean’s quick doing that resolve the episode and save them from Lilith, once again proving that free will is the greatest force in the universe. Cas is already tearing up pages and burning scripts. The fandom does the same, acting as gods of their own making in taking canon and transforming it into fan art. The fans aren’t impotent like Chuck, but neither do we have sway over the story in the way that Cas and Dean do. Sam isn’t interested in changing the story in the same way—he wants to kill Lilith and save the world, but in doing so continues the story in the way it was always supposed to go, the way the angels and the demons and even God wanted him to.

Neither of them are author-gods in the way that God is. We find out later that Chuck is in fact the real biblical god, and he engineers everything. The one thing he doesn’t engineer, however, is Castiel, and I’ll get to that in a minute.

The Real Ghostbusters

Season 5’s “The real ghostbusters,” written by Nancy Weiner and Erik Kripke, and directed by James L Conway, situates the Winchesters at a fan convention for the Supernatural books. While there, they are confronted by a slew of fans cosplaying as Sam, Dean, Bobby, the scarecrow, Azazel, and more. They happen to stumble upon a case, in the midst of the game where the fans pretend to be on a case, and with the help of two fans cosplaying as Sam and Dean, they put to rest a group of homicidal ghost children and save the day. Chuck as the special guest of the con has a hero moment that spurs Becky on to return his affections. And at the end, we learn that the Colt, which they’ve been hunting down to kill the devil, was given to a demon named Crowley. It’s a fun episode, but ultimately skippable. This episode isn’t so much metanarrative as it is metatextual—metatextual meaning more than one layer of text but not necessarily about the storytelling in those texts—but let’s take a look at it anyway.

The metanarrative element of a show about a series of books about the brothers the show is based on is dope and expands upon what we saw in “the monster at the end of this book”. But the episode tells a tale about about the show itself, and the fandom that surrounds it.

Where “The Monster At The End Of This Book” and the season 5 premiere “Sympathy For The Devil” poked at the coiled snake of fans and the concept of fandom, “the real ghostbusters” drags them into the harsh light of an enclosure and antagonises them in front of an audience. The metanarrative element revolves around not only the books themselves, but the stories concocted within the episode: namely Barnes and Demian the cosplayers and the story of the ghosts. The Winchester brothers’s history that we’ve seen throughout the first five seasons of the show is bared in a tongue in cheek way: while we cried with them when Sam and Dean fought with John, now the story is thrown out in such a way as to mock both the story and the fans’ relationship to it. Let me tell you, there is a lot to be made fun of on this show, but the fans’ relationship to the story of Sam, Dean and everyone they encounter along the way isn’t part of it. I don’t mean to be like, wow you can’t make fun of us ever because we’re special little snowflakes and we take everything so seriously, because you are welcome to make fun of us, but when the creators do it, I can’t help but notice a hint of malice. And I think that’s understandable in a way. Like The relationship between creator and fan is both layered and symbiotic. While Kripke and co no doubt owe the show’s popularity to the fans, especially as the fandom has grown and evolved over time, we’re not exactly free of sin. And don’t get me wrong, no fandom is. But the bad apples always seem to outweigh the good ones, and bad experiences can stick with us long past their due.

However, portraying us as losers with no lives who get too obsessed with this show — well, you know, actually, maybe they’re right. I am a loser with no life and I am too obsessed with this show. So maybe they have a point. But they’re so harsh about it. From wincestie Becky who they paint as a desperate shrew to these cosplayers who threaten Dean’s very perception of himself, we’re not painted in a very good light.

Dean says to Demian and Barnes, “It must be nice to get out of your mom’s basement.” He’s judging them for deriving pleasure from dressing up and pretending to be someone else for a night. He doesn’t seem to get the irony that he does that for a living. As the seasons wore on, the creators made sure to include episodes where Dean’s inner geek could run rampant, often in the form of dressing up like a cowboy, such as season six “Frontierland” and season 13 “Tombstone”. I had to take a break from writing this to laugh for five minutes because Dean is so funny. He’s a car gay but he only likes one car. He doesn’t follow sports. His echolalia causes him to blurt out lines from his favourite movies. He’s a posse magnet. And he loves cosplay. But he will continually degrade and insult anyone who expresses interest in role play, fandom, or interests in general. Maybe that’s why Sam is such a boring person, because Dean as his mother didn’t allow him to have any interests outside of hunting. And when Sam does express interests, Dean insults him too. What a dick. He’s my soulmate, but I am not going to stop listening to hair metal for him. That’s where I draw the line.

Where “the monster at the end of this book” is concerned with narrative and authorship, “the real ghostbusters” is concerned with fandom and fan reactions to the show. It’s not really the best example to talk about in an episode about metanarrativity, but I wanted to include it anyway. It veers from talk of narrative by focusing on the people in the periphery of the narrative—the fans and the author. In season 9 “Metafiction,” Metatron asks the question, who gives the story meaning? The text would have you believe it’s the characters. The angels think it’s God. The fandom think it’s us. The creators think it’s them. Perhaps we will never come to a consensus or even a satisfactory answer to this question. Perhaps that’s the point.

The ultimate takeaway from this episode is that ordinary people, the people Sam and Dean save, the people they save the world for, the people they die for again and again, are what give their story meaning. Chuck defeats a ghost and saves the people in the conference room from being murdered. Demian and Barnes, don’t ask me which is which, burn the bodies of the ghost children and lay their spirits to rest. The text says that ordinary, every day people can rise to the challenge of becoming extraordinary. It’s not a bad note to end on, by any means. And then we find out that Demian and Barnes are a couple, which of course Dean is surprised at, because he lacks object permanence.

This is no doubt influenced by how a good portion of the transformative fandom are queer, and also a nod to the wincesties and RPF writers like Becky who continue to bottom feed off the wrong message of this show. But then, the creators encourage that sort of thing, so who are the real clowns here? Everyone. Everyone involved with this show in any way is a clown, except for the crew, who were able to feed their families for more than a decade.

Okay side note… over the past year or so I’ve been in process of realising that even in fandom queers are in the minority. I know the statistic is that 10% of the world population is queer, but that doesn’t seem right to me? Maybe because 4/5 closest friends are queer and I hang around queers online, but I also think I lack object permanence when it comes to straight people. Like I just do not interact with straight people on a regular basis outside of my best friend and parents and school. So when I hear that someone in fandom is straight I’m like, what the fuck… can you keep that to yourself please? Like if I saw Misha Collins coming out as straight I would be like, I didn’t ask and you didn’t have to tell. Okay I’m mostly joking, but I do forget straight people exist. Mostly I don’t think about whether people are gay or trans or cis or straight unless they’ve explicitly said it and then yes it does colour my perception of them, because of course it would. If they’re part of the queer community, they’re my people. And if they’re straight and cis, then they could very well pose a threat to me and my wellbeing. But I never ask people because it’s not my business to ask. If they feel comfortable enough to tell me, that’s awesome. I think Dean feels the same way. Towards the later seasons at least, he has a good reaction when it’s revealed that someone is queer, even if it is mostly played off as a joke. It’s just that he doesn’t have a frame of reference in his own life to having a gay relationship, either his or someone he’s close to. He says to Cesar and Jesse in season 11 “The Critters” that they fight like brothers, because that’s the only way he knows how to conceptualise it. He doesn’t have a way to categorise his and Cas’s relationship, which is in many ways, long before season 15 “Despair,” harking back even to the parallels between Ruby and Cas in season 3 and 4, a romantic one, aside from that Cas is like a brother to him. Because he’s never had anyone in his life care for him the way Cas does that wasn’t Sam and Bobby, and he doesn’t recognise the romantic element of their relationship until literally Cas says it to him in the third last episode, he just—doesn’t know what his and Cas’s relationship is. He just really doesn’t know. And he grew up with a father who despised him for taking the mom and wife role in their family, the role that John placed him in, for being subservient to John’s wishes where Sam was more rebellious, so of course he wouldn’t understand either his own desires or those of anyone around him who isn’t explicitly shoving their tits in his face. He moulded his entire personality around what he thought John wanted of him, and John says to him explicitly in season 14 “Lebanon”, “I thought you’d have a family,” meaning, like him, wife and two rugrats. And then, dear god, Dean says, thinking of Sam, Cas, Jack, Claire, and Mary, “I have a family.” God that hurts so much. But since for most of his life he hasn’t been himself, he’s been the man he thought his father wanted him to be, he’s never been able to examine his own desires, wants and goals. So even though he’s really good at reading people, he is not good at reading other people’s desires unless they have nefarious intentions. Because he doesn’t recognise what he feels is attraction to men, he doesn’t recognise that in anyone else.

Okay that’s completely off topic, wow. Getting back to metanarrativity in “The Real Ghostbusters,” I’ll just cap it off by saying that the books in this episode are more a frame for the events than the events themselves. However, there are some good outtakes where Chuck answers some questions, and I’m not sure how much of that is scripted and how much is Rob Benedict just going for it, but it lends another element to the idea of Kripke as author-god. The idea of a fan convention is really cool, because at this point Supernatural conventions had been running for about 4 years, since 2006. It’s definitely a tribute to the fans, but also to their own self importance. So it’s a mixed bag, considering there were plenty of elements in there that show the good side of fandom and fans, but ultimately the Winchesters want nothing to do with it, consider it weird, and threaten Chuck when he says he’ll start releasing books again, which as far as they know is his only source of income. But it’s a fun episode and Dean is a grouchy bitch, so who the holy hell cares?

Season 10 episode “fanfiction” written by my close personal friend Robbie Thompson and directed by Phil Sgriccia is one of the funniest episodes this show has ever done. Not only is it full of metatextual and metanarrative jokes, the entire premise revolves around fanservice, but in like a fun and interesting way, not fanservice like killing the band Kansas so that Dean can listen to “Carry On My Wayward Son” in heaven twice. Twice. One version after another. Like I would watch this musical seven times in theatre, I would buy the soundtrack, I would listen to it on repeat and make all my friends listen to it when they attend my online Jitsi birthday party. This musical is my Hamilton. Top ten episodes of this show for sure. The only way it could be better is if Cas was there. And he deserved to be there. He deserved to watch little dyke Castiel make out with her girlfriend with her cute little wings, after which he and Dean share uncomfortable eye contact. Dean himself is forever coming to terms with the fact that gay people exist, but Cas should get every opportunity he can to hear that it’s super cool and great and awesome to be queer. But really he should be in every episode, all of them, all 300 plus episodes including the ones before angels were introduced. I’m going to commission the guy who edits Paddington into every movie to superimpose Cas standing on the highway into every episode at least once.

“Fan Fiction” starts with a tv script and the words “Supernatural pilot created by Eric Kripke”. This Immediately sets up the idea that it’s toying with narrative. Blah blah blah, some people go missing, they stumble into a scene from their worst nightmares: the school is putting on a musical production of a show inspired by the Supernatural books. It’s a comedy of errors. When people continue to go missing, Sam and Dean have to convince the girls that something supernatural is happening, while retaining their dignity and respect. They reveal that they are the real Sam and Dean, and Dean gives the director Marie a summary of their lives over the last five seasons, but they aren’t taken seriously. Because, like, of course they aren’t. Even when the girls realise that something supernatural is happening, they don’t actually believe that the musical they’ve made and the series of books they’re basing it on are real. Despite how Sam and Dean Winchester were literal fugitives for many years at many different times, and this was on the news, and they were wanted by the FBI, despite how they pretend to be FBI, and no one mentions it??? Did any of the staffwriters do the required reading or just do what I used to do for my 40 plus page readings of Baudrillard and just skim the first sentence of every paragraph? Neat hack for you: paragraphs are set up in a logical order of Topic, Example, Elaboration, Linking sentence. Do you have to read 60 pages of some crusty French dude waxing poetic about how his best friend Pierre wants to shag his wife and making that your problem? Read the first and last sentence of every paragraph. Boom, done. Just cut your work in half.

The musical highlights a lot of the important moments of the show so far. The brothers have, as Charlie Bradbury says, their “broment,” and as Marie says, their “boy melodrama scene,” while she insinuates that there is a sexual element to their relationship. This show never passed up an opportunity to mention incest. It’s like: mentioning incest 5000 km, not being disgusting 1 km, what a hard decision. Actually, they do have to walk on their knees for 100 miles through the desert repenting. But there are other moments—such as Mary burning on the ceiling, a classic, Castiel waiting for Dean at the side of the highway, and Azazel poisoning Sam. With the help of the high schoolers, Sam and Dean overcome Calliope, the muse and bad guy of the episode, and save the day. What began as their lives reinterpreted and told back to them turns into a story they have some agency over.

In this episode, as opposed to “The Monster At The End Of This Book,” The storytelling has transferred from an alcoholic in a bathrobe into the hands of an overbearing and overachieving teenage girl, and honestly why not. Transformative fiction is by and large run by women, and queer women, so Marie and her stage manager slash Jody Mills’s understudy Maeve are just following in the footsteps of legends. This kind of really succinctly summarises the difference between curative fandom and transformative fandom, the former of which is populated mostly by men, and the latter mostly by women. As defined by LordByronic in 2015, Curative fandom is more like enjoying the text, collecting the merchandise, organising the knowledge — basically Reddit in terms of fandom curation. Transformative fandom is transforming the source text in some way — making fanart, fanfic, mvs, or a musical — basically Tumblr in general, and Archive of our own specifically. Like what do non fandom people even do on Tumblr? It is a complete mystery to me. Whereas Chuck literally writes himself into the narrative he receives through visions, Marie and co have agency and control over the narrative by writing it themselves.

Chuck does appear in the episode towards the end, his first appearance after five seasons. The theory that he killed those lesbian theatre girls makes me wanna curl up and die, so I don’t subscribe to it. Chuck watched the musical and he liked it and he gave unwarranted notes and then he left, the end.

The Supernatural creative team is explicitly acknowledging the fandom’s efforts by making this episode. They’re writing us in again, with more obsessive fans, but with lethbians this time, which makes it infinitely better. And instead of showing us as potential date rapists, we’re just cool chicks who like to make art. And that’s fucken awesome.

I just have to note that the characters literally say the word Destiel after Dean sees the actors playing Dean and Cas making out. He storms off and tells Sam to shut the fuck up when Sam makes fun of him, because Dean’s sexuality is NOT threatened he just needs to assert his dominance as a straight hetero man who has NEVER looked at another man’s lips and licked his own. He just… forgets that gay people exist until someone reminds him. BUT THEN, after a rousing speech that is stolen from Rent or Wicked or something, he echoes Marie’s words back, saying “put as much sub into that text as you possibly can.” What does Dean know about subbing, I wonder. Okay I’m suddenly reminded that he did literally go to a kink bar and get hit on by a leather daddy. Oh Dean, the experiences you have as a broad-shouldered, pixie-faced man with cowboy legs. You were born for this role.

Metatron is my favourite villain. As one tumblr user pointed out, he is an evil English literature major, which is just a normal English literature major. The season nine episode “Meta Fiction” written by my main man robbie thompson and directed by thomas j wright, happens within a curious season. Castiel, once again, becomes the leader of a portion of the heavenly host to take down Metatron, and Dean is affected by the Mark Of Cain. Sam was recently possessed by Gadreel, who killed Kevin in Sam’s body and then decided to run off with Metatron. Metatron himself is recruiting angels to join him, in the hopes that he can become the new God. It’s the first introduction of Hannah, who encourages Cas to recruit angels himself to take on Metatron. Also, we get to see Gabriel again, who is always a delight.

This episode is a lot of fun. Metatron poses questions like, who tells a story and who is the most important person in the telling? Is it the writer? The audience? He starts off staring over his typewriter to address the camera, like a pompous dickhead. No longer content with consuming stories, he’s started to write his own. And they are hubristic ones about becoming God, a better god than Chuck ever was, but to do it he needs to kill a bunch of people and blame it on Cas. So really, he’s actually exactly like Chuck who blamed everything on Lucifer.

But I think the most apt analogy we can use for this in terms of who is the creator is to think of Metatron as a fanfiction writer. He consumes the media—the Winchester Gospels—and starts to write his own version of events—leading an army to become God and kill Cas. Nevermind that no one has been able to kill Cas in a way that matters or a way that sticks. Which is canon, and what Metatron is trying to do is—well not fanon because it actually does impact the Winchesters’ storyline. It would be like if one of the writers of Supernatural began writing Supernatural fanfiction before they got a job on the show. Which as my generation and the generations coming after me get more comfortable with fanfiction and fandom, is going to be the case for a lot of shows. I think it’s already the case for Riverdale. Correct me if I’m wrong, but didn’t the woman who wrote the bi Dean essay go to work on Riverdale? Or something? I dunno, I have the post saved in my tumblr likes but that is quagmire of epic proportions that I will easily get lost in if I try to find it.

Okay let me flex my literary degree. As Englund and Leach say in “Ethnography and the metanarratives of modernity,” “The influential “literary turn,” in which the problems of ethnography were seen as largely textual and their solutions as lying in experimental writing seems to have lost its impetus.” This can be taken to mean, in the context of Supernatural, that while Metatron’s writings seek to forge a new path in history, forgoing fate for a new kind of divine intervention, the problem with Metatron is that he’s too caught up in the textual, too caught up in the writing, to be effectual. And this as we see throughout seasons 9, 10 and 11, has no lasting effect. Cas gets his grace back, Dean survives, and Metatron becomes a powerless human. In this case, the impetus is his grace, which he loses when Cas cuts it out of him, a mirror to Metatron cutting out Cas’s grace.

However, I realise that the concept of ethnography in Supernatural is a flawed one, ethnography being the observation of another culture: a lot of the angels observe humanity and seem to fit in. However, Cas has to slowly acclimatise to the Winchesters as they tame him, but he never quite fit in—missing cues, not understanding jokes or Dean’s personal space, the scene where he says, “We have a guinea pig? Where?” Show him the guinea pig Sam!!! He wants to see it!!! At most he passes as a human with autism. Cas doesn’t really observe humanity—he observes nature, as seen in season 7 “reading is fundamental” and “survival of the fittest”. Even the human acts he talks about in season 6 “the man who would be king” are from hundreds or thousands of years ago. He certainly doesn’t observe popular culture, which puts him at odds with Dean, who is made up of 90 per cent pop culture references and 10 per cent flannel. Metatron doesn’t seek to blend in with humanity so much as control it, which actually is the most apt example of ethnography for white people in the last—you know, forever. But of course the writers didn’t seek to make this analogy. It is purely by chance, and maybe I’m the only person insane enough to realise it. But probably not. There are a lot of cookies much smarter than me in the Supernatural fandom and they’ve like me have grown up and gone to university and gotten real jobs in the real world and real haircuts. I’m probably the only person to apply Englund and Leach to it though.

And yes, as I read this paper I did need to have one tab open on Google, with the word “define” in the search bar.

Metatron has a few lines in this that I really like. He says:

“The universe is made up of stories, not atoms.”

“You’re going to have to follow my script.”

“I’m an entity of my word.”

It’s really obvious, but they’re pushing the idea that Metatron has become an agent of authorship instead of just a consumer of media. He even throws a Supernatural book into his fire — a symbolic act of burning the script and flipping the writer off, much like Cas did to God and the angels in season 5. He’s not a Kripke figure so much as maybe a Gamble, Carver or Dabb figure, in that he usurps Chuck and becomes the author-god. This would be extremely postmodern of him if he didn’t just do exactly what Chuck was doing, except worse somehow. In fact, it’s postmodern of Cas to reject heaven’s narrative and fall for Dean. As one tumblr user points out, Cas really said “What’s fate compared to Dean Winchester?”

Okay this transcript is almost 8000 words already, and I still have two more episodes to review, and more things to say, so I’ll leave you with this. Metatron says to Cas, “Out of all of God’s wind up toys, you’re the only one with any spunk.” Why Cas has captured his attention comes down more than anything to a process of elimination. Most angels fucking suck. They follow the rules of whoever puts themselves in charge, and they either love Cas or hate him, or just plainly wanna fuck him, and there have been few angels who stood out. Balthazar was awesome, even though I hated him the first time I watched season 6. He UNSUNK the Titanic. Legend status. And Gabriel was of course the OG who loves to fuck shit up. But they’re gone at this stage in the narrative, and Cas survives. Cas always survives. He does have spunk. And everyone wants to fuck him.

Season 11 episode 20 “Don’t Call Me Shurley,” the last episode written by the Christ like figure of Robbie Thompson — are we sensing a theme here? — and directed by my divine enemy Robert Singer, starts with Metatron dumpster diving for food. I’m not even going to bother commenting on this because like… it’s supernatural and it treats complex issues like homelessness and poverty with zero nuance. Like the Winchesters live in poverty but it’s fun and cool because they always scrape by but Metatron lives in poverty and it’s funny. Cas was homeless and it was hard but he needed to do it to atone for his sins, and Metatron is homeless and it’s funny because he brought it on himself by being a murderous dick. Fucking hell. Robbie, come on. The plot focuses on God, also known as Chuck Shurley, making himself known to Metatron and asking for Metatron’s opinion on his memoir. Meanwhile, the Winchesters battle another bout of infectious serial killer fog sent by Amara. At the end of the episode, Chuck heals everyone affected by the fog and reveals himself to Sam and Dean.

Chuck says that he didn’t foresee Metatron trying to become god, but the idea of Season 15 is that Chuck has been writing the Winchesters’ story all their lives. When Metatron tries, he fails miserably, is locked up in prison, tortured by Dean, then rendered useless as a human and thrown into the world without a safety net. His authorship is reduced to nothing, and he is reduced to dumpster diving for food. He does actually attempt to live his life as someone who records tragedies as they happen and sells the footage to news stations, which is honestly hilarious and amazing and completely unsurprising because Metatron is, at the heart of it, an English Literature major. In true bastard style, he insults Chuck’s work and complains about the bar, but slips into his old role of editor when Chuck asks him to.

The theory I’m consulting for this uses the term metanarrative in a different way than I am. They consider it an overarching narrative, a grand narrative like religion. Chuck’s biography is in a sense most loyal to Middleton and Walsh’s view of metanarrative: “the universal story of the world from arche to telos, a grand narrative encompassing world history from beginning to end.” Except instead of world history, it’s God’s history, and since God is construed in Supernatural as just some guy with some powers who is as fallible as the next some guy with some powers, his story has biases and agendas. Okay so in the analysis I’m getting Middleton and Walsh’s quotes from, James K A Smith’s “A little story about metanarratives,” Smith dunks on them pretty bad, but for Supernatural purposes their words ring true. Think of them as the BuckLeming of Lyotard’s postmodern metanarrative analysis: a stopped clock right twice a day. Is anyone except me understanding the sequence of words I’m saying right now. Do I just have the most specific case of brain worms ever found in human history. I’m currently wearing my oversized Keith Haring shirt and dipping pretzels into peanut butter because it’s 3.18 in the morning and the homosexuals got to me. The total claims a comprehensive metanarrative of world history make do indeed, as Middleton and Walsh claim, lead to violence, stay with me here, because Chuck’s legacy is violence, and so is Metatron’s, and in trying to reject the metanarrative, Sam and Dean enact violence. Mostly Dean, because in season 15 he sacrifices his own son twice to defeat Chuck. But that means literally fighting violence with violence. Violence is, after all, all they know. Violence is the lens through which they interact with the world. If the writers wanted to do literally anything else, they could have continued Dean’s natural character progression into someone who eschews the violence that stems from intergeneration trauma — yes I will continue to use the phrase intergenerational trauma whenever I refer to Dean — and becomes a loving father and husband. Sam could eschew violence and start a monster rehabilitation centre with Eileen.

This episode of Holy Hell is me frantically grabbing at straws to make sense of a narrative that actively hates me and wants to kick me to death. But the violence Sam and Dean enact is not at a metanarrative level, because they are not author-gods of their own narrative. In season 15 “Atomic Monsters,” Becky points out that the ending of the Supernatural book series is bad because the brothers die, and then, in a shocking twist of fate, Dean does die, and the narrative is bad. The writers set themselves a goal post to kick through and instead just slammed their heat into the bars. They set up the dartboard and were like, let’s aim the darts at ourselves. Wouldn’t that be fun. Season 15’s writing is so grossly incompetent that I believe every single conspiracy theory that’s come out of the finale since November, because it’s so much more compelling than whatever the fuck happened on the road so far. Carry on? Why yes, I think I will carry on, carry on like a pork chop, screaming at the bars of my enclosure until I crack my voice open like an egg and spill out all my rage and frustration. The world will never know peace again. It’s now 3.29 and I’ve written over 9000 words of this transcript. And I’m not done.

Middleton and Walsh claim that metanarratives are merely social constructions masquerading as universal truths. Which is, exactly, Supernatural. The creators have constructed this elaborate web of narrative that they want to sell us as the be all and end all. They won’t let the actors discuss how they really feel about the finale. They won’t let Misha Collins talk about Destiel. They want us to believe it was good, actually, that Dean, a recovering alcoholic with a 30 year old infant son and a husband who loves him, deserved to die by getting NAILED, while Sam, who spent the last four seasons, the entirety of Andrew Dabb’s run as showrunner, excelling at creating a hunter network and romancing both the queen of hell and his deaf hunter girlfriend, should have lived a normie life with a normie faceless wife. Am I done? Not even close. I started this episode and I’m going to finish it.

When we find out that Chuck is God in the episode of season 11, it turns everything we knew about Chuck on its head. We find out in Season 15 that Chuck has been writing the Winchesters’ story all along, that everything that happened to them is his doing. The one thing he couldn’t control was Cas’s choice to rebel. If we take him at his word, Cas is the only true force of free will in the entire universe, and more specifically, the love that Cas had for Dean which caused him to rebel and fall from heaven. — This theory has holes of course. Why would Lucifer torture Lilith into becoming the first demon if he didn’t have free will? Did Chuck make him do that? And why? So that Chuck could be the hero and Lucifer the bad guy, like Lucifer claimed all along? That’s to say nothing of Adam and Eve, both characters the show introduced in different ways, one as an antagonist and the other as the narrative foil to Dean and Cas’s romance. Thinking about it makes my head hurt, so I’m just not gunna.

So Chuck was doing the writing all along. And as Becky claims in “Atomic Monsters,” it’s bad writing. The writers explicitly said, the ending Chuck wrote is bad because there’s no Cas and everyone dies, and then they wrote an ending where there is no Cas and everyone dies. So talk about self-fulfilling prophecies. Talk about giant craters in the earth you could see from 800 kilometres away but you still fell into. Meanwhile fan writers have the opportunity to write a million different endings, all of which satisfy at least one person. The fandom is a hydra, prolific and unstoppable, and we’ll keep rewriting the ending a million more times.

And all this is not even talking about the fact that Chuck is a man, Metatron is a man, Sam and Dean and Cas are men, and the writers and directors of the show are, by an overwhelming majority, men. Most of them are white, straight, cis men. Feminist scholarship has done a lot to unpack the damage done by paternalistic approaches to theory, sociology, ethnography, all the -ys, but I propose we go a step further with these men. Kill them. Metanarratively, of course. Amara, the Darkness, God’s sister, had a chance to write her own story without Chuck, after killing everything in the universe, and I think she had the right idea. Knock it all down to build it from the ground up. Billie also had the opportunity to write a narrative, but her folly was, of course, putting any kind of faith in the Winchesters who are also grossly incompetent and often fail up. She is, as all author-gods on this show are, undone by Castiel. The only one with any spunk, the only one who exists outside of his own narrative confines, the only one the author-gods don’t have any control over. The one who died for love, and in dying, gave life.

The French Mistake

Let’s change the channel. Let’s calm ourselves and cleanse our libras. Let’s commune with nature and chug some sage bongs.

“The French Mistake” is a song from the Mel Brooks film Blazing Saddles. In the iconic second last scene of the film, as the cowboys fight amongst themselves, the camera pans back to reveal a studio lot and a door through which a chorus of gay dancersingers perform “the French Mistake”. The lyrics go, “Throw out your hands, stick out your tush, hands on your hips, give ‘em a push. You’ll be surprised you’re doing the French Mistake.”

I’m not sure what went through the heads of the Supernatural creators when they came up with the season 6 episode, “The French Mistake,” written by the love of my life Ben Edlund and directed by some guy Charles Beeson. Just reading the Wikipedia summary is so batshit incomprehensible. In short: Balthazar sends Sam and Dean to an alternate universe where they are the actors Jared Padalecki and Jensen Ackles, who play Sam and Dean on the tv show Supernatural. I don’t think this had ever been done in television history before. The first seven seasons of this show are certifiable. Like this was ten years ago. Think about the things that have happened in the last 10 slutty, slutty years. We have lived through atrocities and upheaval and the entire world stopping to mourn, but also we had twitter throughout that entire time, which makes it infinitely worse.

In this universe, Sam and Dean wear makeup, Cas is played by attractive crying man Misha Collins, and Genevieve Padalecki nee Cortese makes an appearance. Magic doesn’t exist, Serge has good ideas, and the two leads have to act in order to get through the day. Sorry man I do not know how to pronounce your name.

Sidenote: I don’t know if me being attracted aesthetically to Misha Collins is because he’s attractive, because this show has gaslighted me into thinking he’s attractive, or because Castiel’s iconic entrance in 2008 hit my developing mind like a torpedo full of spaghetti and blew my fucking brains all over the place. It’s one of life’s little mysteries and God’s little gifts.

Let’s talk about therapy. More specifically, “Agency and purpose in narrative therapy: questioning the postmodern rejection of metanarrative” by Cameron Lee. In this paper, Lee outlines four key ideas as proposed by Freedman and Combs:

Realities are socially constructed

Realities are constituted through language

Realities are organised and maintained through narrative

And there are no essential truths.

Let’s break this down in the case of this episode. Realities are socially constructed: the reality of Sam and Dean arose from the Bush era. Do I even need to elaborate? From what I understand with my limited Australian perception, and being a child at the time, 9/11 really was a prominent shifting point in the last twenty years. As Americans describe it, sometimes jokingly, it was the last time they were really truly innocent. That means to me that until they saw the repercussions of their government’s actions in funding turf wars throughout the middle east for a good chunk of the 20th Century, they allowed themselves to be hindered by their own ignorance. The threat of terrorism ran rampant throughout the States, spurred on by right wing nationalists and gun-toting NRA supporters, so it’s really no surprise that the show Supernatural started with the premise of killing everything in sight and driving around with only your closest kin and a trunk full of guns. Kripke constructed that reality from the social-political climate of the time, and it has wrought untold horrors on the minds of lesbians who lived through the noughties, in that we are now attracted to Misha Collins.

Number two: Realities are constituted through language. Before a show can become a show, it needs to be a script. It’s written down, typed up, and given to actors who say the lines out loud. In this respect, they are using the language of speech and words to convey meaning. But tv shows are not all about words, and they’re barely about scripts. From what I understand of being raised by television, they are about action, visuals, imagery, and behaviours. All of the work that goes into them—the scripts, the lighting, the audio, the sound mixing, the cameras, the extras, the ADs, the gaffing, the props, the stunts, everything—is about conveying a story through the medium of images. In that way, images are the language. The reality of the show Supernatural, inside the show Supernatural, is constituted through words: the script, the journalists talking to Sam, the makeup artist taking off Dean’s makeup, the conversations between the creators, the tweets Misha sends. But also through imagery: the fish tank in Jensen’s trailer, the model poses on the front cover of the magazine, the opulence of Jared’s house, Misha’s iconic sweater. Words and images are the language that constitutes both of these realities. Okay for real, I feel like I’ve only seen this episode max three times, including when I watched it for research for this episode, but I remember so much about it.

Number three: realities are organised and maintained through narrative. In this universe of the French Mistake, their lives are structured around two narratives: the internal narrative of the show within the show, in which they are two actors on a tv set; and the episode narrative in which they need to keep the key safe and return to their own universe. This is made difficult by the revelation that magic doesn’t work in this universe, however, they find a way. Before they can get back, though, an avenging angel by the name of Virgil guns down author-god Eric Kripke and tries to kill the Winchesters. However, they are saved by Balthazar and the freeze frame and brought back into their own world, the world of Supernatural the show, not Supernatural the show within the show within the nesting doll. And then that reality is done with, never to be revisited or even mentioned, but with an impact that has lasted longer than the second Bush administration.

And number four: there are no essential truths. This one is a bit tricky because I can’t find what Lee means by essential truths, so I’m just going to interpret that. To me, essential truths means what lies beneath the narratives we tell ourselves. Supernatural was a show that ran for 15 years. Supernatural had actors. Supernatural was showrun by four different writers. In the show within a show, there is nothing, because that ceases to exist for longer than the forty two minute episode “The French Mistake”. And since Supernatural no longer exists except in our computers, it is nothing too. It is only the narratives we tell ourselves to sleep better at night, to wake up in the morning with a smile, to get through the day, to connect with other people, to understand ourselves better. It’s not even the narrative that the showrunners told, because they have no agency over it as soon as it shows up on our screens. The essential truth of the show is lost in the translation from creating to consuming. Who gives the story meaning? The people watching it and the people creating it. We all do.

Lee says that humans are predisposed to construct narratives in order to make sense of the world. We see this in cultures from all over the world: from cave paintings to vases, from The Dreaming to Beowulf, humans have always constructed stories. The way you think about yourself is a story that you’ve constructed. The way you interact with your loved ones and the furries you rightfully cyberbully on Twitter is influenced by the narratives you tell yourself about them. And these narratives are intricate, expansive, personalised, and can colour our perceptions completely, so that we turn into a different person when we interact with one person as opposed to another.

Whatever happened in season 6, most of which I want to forget, doesn’t interest me in the way I’m telling myself the writers intended. For me, the entirety of season 6 was based around the premise of Cas being in love with Dean, and the complete impotence of this love. He turns up when Dean calls, he agonises as he watches Dean rake leaves and live his apple pie life with Lisa, and Dean is the person he feels most horribly about betraying. He says, verbatim, to Sam, “Dean and I do share a more profound bond.” And Balthazar says, “You’re confusing me with the other angel, the one in the dirty trenchcoat who’s in love with you.” He says this in season 6, and we couldn’t do a fucken thing about it.

The song “The French Mistake” shines a light on the hidden scene of gay men performing a gay narrative, in the midst of a scene about the manliest profession you can have: professional horse wrangler, poncho wearer, and rodeo meister, the cowboy. If this isn’t a perfect encapsulation of the lovestory between Dean and Cas, which Ben Edlund has been championing from day fucking one of Misha Collins walking onto that set with his sex hair and chapped lips, then I don’t know what the fuck we’re even doing here. What in the hell else could it possibly mean. The layers to this. The intricacy. The agendas. The subtextual AND blatant queerness. The micro aggressions Crowley aimed at Car in “The Man Who Would Be King,” another Bedlund special. Bed Edlund is a fucking genius. Bed Edlund is cool girl. Ben Edlund is the missing link. Bed Edlund IS wikileaks. Ben Edlund is a cool breeze on a humid summer day. Ben Edlund is the stop loading button on a browser tab. Ben Edlund is the perfect cross between Spotify and Apple Music, in which you can search for good playlists, but without having to be on Spotify. He can take my keys and fuck my wife. You best believe I’m doing an entire episode of Holy Hell on Bedlund’s top five. He is the reason I want to get into staffwriting on a tv show. I saw season 4 episode “On the head of a pin” when my brain was still torpedoed spaghetti mush from the premiere, and it nestled its way deep into my exposed bones, so that when I finally recovered from that, I was a changed person. My god, this transcript is 11,000 words, and I haven’t even finished the Becky section. Which is a good transition.

Oh, Becky. She is an incarnation of how the writers, or at least Kripke, view the fans. Watching season 5 “Sympathy for the Devil” live in 2009 was a whole fucking trip that I as a baby gay was not prepared for. Figuring out my sexuality was a journey that started with the Supernatural fandom and is in some aspects still raging against the dying of the light today. Add to that, this conception of the audience was this, like, personification of the librarian cellist from Juno, but also completely without boundaries, common sense, or shame. It made me wonder about my position in the narrative as a consumer consuming. Is that how Kripke saw me, specifically? Was I like Becky? Did my forays into DeanCasNatural on El Jay dot com make me a fucking loser whose only claim to fame is writing some nasty fanfiction that I’ve since deleted all traces of? Don’t get me wrong, me and my unhinged Casgirl friends loved Becky. I can’t remember if I ever wrote any fanfiction with her in it because I was mostly writing smut, which is extremely Becky coded of me, but I read some and my friends and I would always chat about her when she came up. She was great entertainment value before season 7. But in the eyes of the powers that be, Becky, like the fans themselves, are expendable. First they turned her into a desperate bride wannabe who drugs Sam so that he’ll be with her, then Chuck waves his hand and she disappears. We’re seeing now with regards to Destiel, Cas, and Misha Collins this erasure of them from the narrative. Becky says in season 15 “Atomic Monsters” that the ending Chuck writes is bad because, for one, there’s no Cas, and that’s exactly what’s happening to the text post-finale. It literally makes me insane akin to the throes of mania to think about the layers of this. They literally said, “No Cas = bad” and now Misha isn’t even allowed to talk in his Cassona voice—at least at the time I wrote that—to the detriment of the fans who care about him. It’s the same shit over and over. They introduce something we like, they realise they have no control over how much we like it, and then they pretend they never introduced it in the first place. Season 7, my god. The only reason Gamble brought back Cas was because the ratings were tanking the show. I didn’t even bother watching most of it live, and would just hear from my friends whether Cas was in the episodes or not. And then Sera, dear Sera, had the gall to say it was a Homer’s Odyssey narrative. I’m rusty on Homer aka I’ve never read it but apparently Odysseus goes away, ends up with a wife on an island somewhere, and then comes back to Terabithia like it never happened. How convenient. But since Sera Gamble loves to bury her gays, we can all guess why Cas was written out of the show: Cas being gay is a threat to the toxic heteronormativity spouted by both the show and the characters themselves. In season 15, after Becky gets her life together, has kids, gets married, and starts a business, she is outgrowing the narrative and Chuck kills her. The fans got Destiel Wedding trending on Twitter, and now the creators are acting like he doesn’t exist. New liver, same eagles.

I have to add an adendum: as of this morning, Sunday 11th, don’t ask me what time that is in Americaland, Misha Collins did an online con/Q&A thing and answered a bunch of questions about Cas and Dean, which goes to show that he cannot be silenced. So the narrative wants to be told. It’s continuing well into it’s 16th or 17th season. It’s going to keep happening and they have no recourse to stop it. So fuck you, Supernatural.

I did write the start of a speech about representation but, who the holy hell cares. I also read some disappointing Masters theses that I hope didn’t take them longer to research and write than this episode of a podcast I’m making for funsies took me, considering it’s the same number of pages. Then again I have the last four months and another 8 years of fandom fuelling my obsession, and when I don’t sleep I write, hence the 4,000 words I knocked out in the last 12 hours.

Some final words. Lyotard defines postmodernism, the age we live in, as an incredulity towards metanarratives. Modernism was obsessed with order and meaning, but postmodernism seeks to disrupt that. Modernists lived within the frame of the narrative of their society, but postmodernists seek to destroy the frame and live within our own self-written contexts. Okay I love postmodernist theory so this has been a real treat for me. Yoghurt, Sam? Postmodernist theory? Could I BE more gay?

Middleton and Walsh in their analysis of postmodernism claim that biblical faith is grounded in metanarrative, and explore how this intersects with an era that rejects metanarrative. This is one of the fundamental ideas Supernatural is getting at throughout definitely the last season, but other seasons as well. The narratives of Good vs Evil, Michael vs Lucifer, Dean vs Sam, were encoded into the overarching story of the show from season 1, and since then Sam and Dean have sought to break free of them. Sam broke free of John’s narrative, which was the hunting life, and revenge, and this moralistic machismo that they wrapped themselves up in. If they’re killing the evil, then they’re not the evil. That’s the story they told, and the impetus of the show that Sam was sucked back into. But this thread unravelled in later seasons when Dean became friends with Benny and the idea that all supernatural creatures are inherently evil unravelled as well. While they never completely broke free of John’s hold over them, welcoming Jack into their lives meant confronting a bias that had been ingrained in them since Dean was 4 years old and Sam 6 months. In the face of the question, “are all monsters monstrous?” the narrative loosens its control. Even by questioning it, it throws into doubt the overarching narrative of John’s plan, which is usurped at the end of season 2 when they kill Azazel by Dean’s demon deal and a new narrative unfolds. John as author-god is usurped by the actual God in season 4, who has his own narrative that controls the lives of Sam, Dean and Cas.

Okay like for real, I do actually think the metanarrativity in Supernatural is something that should be studied by someone other than me, unless you wanna pay me for it and then shit yeah. It is extremely cool to introduce a biographical narrative about the fictional narrative it’s in. It’s cool that the characters are constantly calling this narrative into focus by fighting against it, struggling to break free from their textual confines to live a life outside of the external forces that control them. And the thing is? The really real, honest thing? They have. Sam, Dean and Cas have broken free of the narrative that Kripke, Carver, Gamble and Dabb wrote for them. The very fact that the textual confession of love that Cas has for Dean ushered in a resurgence of fans, fandom and activity that has kept the show trending for five months after it ended, is just phenomenal. People have pointed out that fans stopped caring about Game of Thrones as soon as it ended. Despite the hold they had over tv watchers everywhere, their cultural currency has been spent. The opposite is true for Supernatural. Despite how the finale of the show angered and confused people, it gains more momentum every day. More fanworks, more videos, more fics, more art, more ire, more merch is being generated by the fans still. The Supernatural subreddit, which was averaging a few posts a week by season 15, has been incensed by the finale. And yours truly happily traipsed back into the fandom snake pit after 8 years with a smile on my face and a skip in my step ready to pump that dopamine straight into my veins babeeeeeeyyyyy. It’s been WILD. I recently reconnected with one of my mutuals from 2010 and it’s like nothing’s changed. We’re both still unhinged and we both still simp for Supernatural. Even before season 15, I was obsessed with the podcast Ride Or Die, which I started listening to in late 2019, and Supernatural was always in the back of my mind. You just don’t get over your first fandom. Actually, Danny Phantom was my first fandom, and I remember being 12 talking on Danny Phantom forums to people much too old to be the target audience of the show. So I guess that hasn’t left me either. And the fondest memories I have of Supernatural is how the characters have usurped their creators to become mythic, long past the point they were supposed to die a quiet death. The myth weaving that the Supernatural fandom is doing right now is the legacy that will endure.

References

I got all of these for free from Google Scholar!

Judith May Fathallah, “I’m A God: The Author and the Writing Fan in Supernatural.”

James K A Smith, “A Little Story About Metanarratives: Lyotard, Religion and Postmodernism Revisited.” 2001.

Cameron Lee, “Agency and Purpose in Narrative Therapy: Questioning the Postmodern Rejection of Metanarrative.” 2004.

Harri Englund and James Leach, “Ethnography and the Meta Narratives of Modernity.” 2000.

https://uproxx.com/filmdrunk/mel-brooks-explains-french-mistake-blazing-saddles-blu-ray/

#transcripts #supernatural #supernatural podcast #<60mins #this is first and foremost a podcast about cas and misha collins

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