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innuendostudios · 3 years ago

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Thoughts on: Criterion's Neo-Noir Collection

I have written up all 26 films* in the Criterion Channel's Neo-Noir Collection.

Legend: rw - rewatch; a movie I had seen before going through the collection dnrw - did not rewatch; if a movie met two criteria (a. I had seen it within the last 18 months, b. I actively dislike it) I wrote it up from memory.

* in September, Brick leaves the Criterion Channel and is replaced in the collection with Michael Mann's Thief. May add it to the list when that happens.

Note: These are very "what was on my mind after watching." No effort has been made to avoid spoilers, nor to make the plot clear for anyone who hasn't seen the movies in question. Decide for yourself if that's interesting to you.

Cotton Comes to Harlem I feel utterly unequipped to asses this movie. This and Sweet Sweetback's Baadasssss Song the following year are regularly cited as the progenitors of the blaxploitation genre. (This is arguably unfair, since both were made by Black men and dealt much more substantively with race than the white-directed films that followed them.) Its heroes are a couple of Black cops who are treated with suspicion both by their white colleagues and by the Black community they're meant to police. I'm not 100% clear on whether they're the good guys? I mean, I think they are. But the community's suspicion of them seems, I dunno... well-founded? They are working for The Man. And there's interesting discussion to the had there - is the the problem that the law is carried out by racists, or is the law itself racist? Can Black cops make anything better? But it feels like the film stacks the deck in Gravedigger and Coffin Ed's favor; the local Black church is run by a conman, the Back-to-Africa movement is, itself, a con, and the local Black Power movement is treated as an obstacle. Black cops really are the only force for justice here. Movie portrays Harlem itself as a warm, thriving, cultured community, but the people that make up that community are disloyal and easily fooled. Felt, to me, like the message was "just because they're cops doesn't mean they don't have Black soul," which, nowadays, we would call copaganda. But, then, do I know what I'm talking about? Do I know how much this played into or off of or against stereotypes from 1970? Was this a radical departure I don't have the context to appreciate? Is there substance I'm too white and too many decades removed to pick up on? Am I wildly overthinking this? I dunno. Seems like everyone involved was having a lot of fun, at least. That bit is contagious.

Across 110th Street And here's the other side of the "race film" equation. Another movie set in Harlem with a Black cop pulled between the police, the criminals, and the public, but this time the film is made by white people. I like it both more and less. Pro: this time the difficult position of Black cop who's treated with suspicion by both white cops and Black Harlemites is interrogated. Con: the Black cop has basically no personality other than "honest cop." Pro: the racism of the police force is explicit and systemic, as opposed to comically ineffectual. Con: the movie is shaped around a racist white cop who beats the shit out of Black people but slowly forms a bond with his Black partner. Pro: the Black criminal at the heart of the movie talks openly about how the white world has stacked the deck against him, and he's soulful and relateable. Con: so of course he dies in the end, because the only way privileged people know to sympathetize with minorities is to make them tragic (see also: The Boys in the Band, Philadelphia, and Brokeback Mountain for gay men). Additional con: this time Harlem is portrayed as a hellhole. Barely any of the community is even seen. At least the shot at the end, where the criminal realizes he's going to die and throws the bag of money off a roof and into a playground so the Black kids can pick it up before the cops reclaim it was powerful. But overall... yech. Cotton Comes to Harlem felt like it wasn't for me; this feels like it was 100% for me and I respect it less for that.

The Long Goodbye (rw) The shaggiest dog. Like much Altman, more compelling than good, but very compelling. Raymond Chandler's story is now set in the 1970's, but Philip Marlowe is the same Philip Marlowe of the 1930's. I get the sense there was always something inherently sad about Marlowe. Classic noir always portrayed its detectives as strong-willed men living on the border between the straightlaced world and its seedy underbelly, crossing back and forth freely but belonging to neither. But Chandler stresses the loneliness of it - or, at least, the people who've adapted Chandler do. Marlowe is a decent man in an indecent world, sorting things out, refusing to profit from misery, but unable to set anything truly right. Being a man out of step is here literalized by putting him forty years from the era where he belongs. His hardboiled internal monologue is now the incessant mutterings of the weird guy across the street who never stops smoking. Like I said: compelling! Kael's observation was spot on: everyone in the movie knows more about the mystery than he does, but he's the only one who cares. The mystery is pretty threadbare - Marlowe doesn't detect so much as end up in places and have people explain things to him. But I've seen it two or three times now, and it does linger.

Chinatown (rw) I confess I've always been impressed by Chinatown more than I've liked it. Its story structure is impeccable, its atmosphere is gorgeous, its noirish fatalism is raw and real, its deconstruction of the noir hero is well-observed, and it's full of clever detective tricks (the pocket watches, the tail light, the ruler). I've just never connected with it. Maybe it's a little too perfectly crafted. (I feel similar about Miller's Crossing.) And I've always been ambivalent about the ending. In Towne's original ending, Evelyn shoots Noah Cross dead and get arrested, and neither she nor Jake can tell the truth of why she did it, so she goes to jail for murder and her daughter is in the wind. Polansky proposed the ending that exists now, where Evelyn just dies, Cross wins, and Jake walks away devastated. It communicates the same thing: Jake's attempt to get smart and play all the sides off each other instead of just helping Evelyn escape blows up in his face at the expense of the woman he cares about and any sense of real justice. And it does this more dramatically and efficiently than Towne's original ending. But it also treats Evelyn as narratively disposable, and hands the daughter over to the man who raped Evelyn and murdered her husband. It makes the women suffer more to punch up the ending. But can I honestly say that Towne's ending is the better one? It is thematically equal, dramatically inferior, but would distract me less. Not sure what the calculus comes out to there. Maybe there should be a third option. Anyway! A perfect little contraption. Belongs under a glass dome.

Night Moves (rw) Ah yeah, the good shit. This is my quintessential 70's noir. This is three movies in a row about detectives. Thing is, the classic era wasn't as chockablock with hardboiled detectives as we think; most of those movies starred criminals, cops, and boring dudes seduced to the darkness by a pair of legs. Gumshoes just left the strongest impressions. (The genre is said to begin with Maltese Falcon and end with Touch of Evil, after all.) So when the post-Code 70's decided to pick the genre back up while picking it apart, it makes sense that they went for the 'tecs first. The Long Goodbye dragged the 30's detective into the 70's, and Chinatown went back to the 30's with a 70's sensibility. But Night Moves was about detecting in the Watergate era, and how that changed the archetype. Harry Moseby is the detective so obsessed with finding the truth that he might just ruin his life looking for it, like the straight story will somehow fix everything that's broken, like it'll bring back a murdered teenager and repair his marriage and give him a reason to forgive the woman who fucked him just to distract him from some smuggling. When he's got time to kill, he takes out a little, magnetic chess set and recreates a famous old game, where three knight moves (get it?) would have led to a beautiful checkmate had the player just seen it. He keeps going, self-destructing, because he can't stand the idea that the perfect move is there if he can just find it. And, no matter how much we see it destroy him, we, the audience, want him to keep going; we expect a satisfying resolution to the mystery. That's what we need from a detective picture; one character flat-out compares Harry to Sam Spade. But what if the truth is just... Watergate? Just some prick ruining things for selfish reasons? Nothing grand, nothing satisfying. Nothing could be more noir, or more neo-, than that.

Farewell, My Lovely Sometimes the only thing that makes a noir neo- is that it's in color and all the blood, tits, and racism from the books they're based on get put back in. This second stab at Chandler is competant but not much more than that. Mitchum works as Philip Marlowe, but Chandler's dialogue feels off here, like lines that worked on the page don't work aloud, even though they did when Bogie said them. I'll chalk it up to workmanlike but uninspired direction. (Dang this looks bland so soon after Chinatown.) Moose Malloy is a great character, and perfectly cast. (Wasn't sure at first, but it's true.) Some other interesting cats show up and vanish - the tough brothel madam based on Brenda Allen comes to mind, though she's treated with oddly more disdain than most of the other hoods and is dispatched quicker. In general, the more overt racism and misogyny doesn't seem to do anything except make the movie "edgier" than earlier attempts at the same material, and it reads kinda try-hard. But it mostly holds together. *shrug*

The Killing of a Chinese Bookie (dnrw) Didn't care for this at all. Can't tell if the script was treated as a jumping-off point or if the dialogue is 100% improvised, but it just drags on forever and is never that interesting. Keeps treating us to scenes from the strip club like they're the opera scenes in Amadeus, and, whatever, I don't expect burlesque to be Mozart, but Cosmo keeps saying they're an artful, classy joint, and I keep waiting for the show to be more than cheap, lazy camp. How do you make gratuitious nudity boring? Mind you, none of this is bad as a rule - I love digressions and can enjoy good sleaze, and it's clear the filmmakers care about what they're making. They just did not sell it in a way I wanted to buy. Can't remember what edit I watched; I hope it was the 135 minute one, because I cannot imagine there being a longer edit out there.

The American Friend (dnrw) It's weird that this is Patricia Highsmith, right? That Dennis Hopper is playing Tom Ripley? In a cowboy hat? I gather that Minghella's version wasn't true to the source, but I do love that movie, and this is a long, long way from that. This Mr. Ripley isn't even particularly talented! Anyway, this has one really great sequence, where a regular guy has been coerced by crooks into murdering someone on a train platform, and, when the moment comes to shoot, he doesn't. And what follows is a prolonged sequence of an amateur trying to surreptitiously tail a guy across a train station and onto another train, and all the while you're not sure... is he going to do it? is he going to chicken out? is he going to do it so badly he gets caught? It's hard not to put yourself in the protagonist's shoes, wondering how you would handle the situation, whether you could do it, whether you could act on impulse before your conscience could catch up with you. It drags on a long while and this time it's a good thing. Didn't much like the rest of the movie, it's shapeless and often kind of corny, and the central plot hook is contrived. (It's also very weird that this is the only Wim Wenders I've seen.) But, hey, I got one excellent sequence, not gonna complain.

The Big Sleep Unlike the 1946 film, I can follow the plot of this Big Sleep. But, also unlike the 1946 version, this one isn't any damn fun. Mitchum is back as Marlowe (this is three Marlowes in five years, btw), and this time it's set in the 70's and in England, for some reason. I don't find this offensive, but neither do I see what it accomplishes? Most of the cast is still American. (Hi Jimmy!) Still holds together, but even less well than Farewell, My Lovely. But I do find it interesting that the neo-noir era keeps returning to Chandler while it's pretty much left Hammet behind (inasmuch as someone whose genes are spread wide through the whole genre can be left behind). Spade and the Continental Op, straightshooting tough guys who come out on top in the end, seem antiquated in the (post-)modern era. But Marlowe's goodness being out of sync with the world around him only seems more poignant the further you take him from his own time. Nowadays you can really only do Hammett as pastiche, but I sense that you could still play Chandler straight.

Eyes of Laura Mars The most De Palma movie I've seen not made by De Palma, complete with POV shots, paranormal hoodoo, and fixation with sex, death, and whether images of such are art or exploitation (or both). Laura Mars takes photographs of naked women in violent tableux, and has gotten quite famous doing so, but is it damaging to women? The movie has more than a superficial engagement with this topic, but only slightly more than superficial. Kept imagining a movie that is about 30% less serial killer story and 30% more art conversations. (But, then, I have an art degree and have never murdered anyone, so.) Like, museums are full of Biblical paintings full of nude women and slaughter, sometimes both at once, and they're called masterpieces. Most all of them were painted by men on commission from other men. Now Laura Mars makes similar images in modern trappings, and has models made of flesh and blood rather than paint, and it's scandalous? Why is it only controversial once women are getting paid for it? On the other hand, is this just the master's tools? Is she subverting or challenging the male gaze, or just profiting off of it? Or is a woman profiting off of it, itself, a subversion? Is it subversive enough to account for how it commodifies female bodies? These questions are pretty clearly relevant to the movie itself, and the movies in general, especially after the fall of the Hays Code when people were really unrestrained with the blood and boobies. And, heck, the lead is played by the star of Bonnie and Clyde! All this is to say: I wish the movie were as interested in these questions as I am. What's there is a mildly diverting B-picture. There's one great bit where Laura's seeing through the killer's eyes (that's the hook, she gets visions from the murderer's POV; no, this is never explained) and he's RIGHT BEHIND HER, so there's a chase where she charges across an empty room only able to see her own fleeing self from ten feet behind. That was pretty great! And her first kiss with the detective (because you could see a mile away that the detective and the woman he's supposed to protect are gonna fall in love) is immediately followed by the two freaking out about how nonsensical it is for them to fall in love with each other, because she's literally mourning multiple deaths and he's being wildly unprofessional, and then they go back to making out. That bit was great, too. The rest... enh.

The Onion Field What starts off as a seemingly not-that-noirish cops-vs-crooks procedural turns into an agonizingly protracted look at the legal system, with the ultimate argument that the very idea of the law ever resulting in justice is a lie. Hoo! I have to say, I'm impressed. There's a scene where a lawyer - whom I'm not sure is even named, he's like the seventh of thirteen we've met - literally quits the law over how long this court case about two guys shooting a cop has taken. He says the cop who was murdered has been forgotten, his partner has never gotten to move on because the case has lasted eight years, nothing has been accomplished, and they should let the two criminals walk and jail all the judges and lawyers instead. It's awesome! The script is loaded with digressions and unnecessary details, just the way I like it. Can't say I'm impressed with the execution. Nothing is wrong, exactly, but the performances all seem a tad melodramatic or a tad uninspired. Camerawork is, again, purely functional. It's no masterpiece. But that second half worked for me. (And it's Ted Danson's first movie! He did great.)

Body Heat (rw) Let's say up front that this is a handsomely-made movie. Probably the best looking thing on the list since Night Moves. Nothing I've seen better captures the swelter of an East Coast heatwave, or the lusty feeling of being too hot to bang and going at it regardless. Kathleen Turner sells the hell out of a femme fatale. There are a lot of good lines and good performances (Ted Danson is back and having the time of his life). I want to get all that out of the way, because this is a movie heavily modeled after Double Indemnity, and I wanted to discuss its merits before I get into why inviting that comparison doesn't help the movie out. In a lot of ways, it's the same rules as the Robert Mitchum Marlowe movies - do Double Indemnity but amp up the sex and violence. And, to a degree it works. (At least, the sex does, dunno that Double Indemnity was crying out for explosions.) But the plot is amped as well, and gets downright silly. Yeah, Mrs. Dietrichson seduces Walter Neff so he'll off her husband, but Neff clocks that pretty early and goes along with it anyway. Everything beyond that is two people keeping too big a secret and slowly turning on each other. But here? For the twists to work Matty has to be, from frame one, playing four-dimensional chess on the order of Senator Palpatine, and its about as plausible. (Exactly how did she know, after she rebuffed Ned, he would figure out her local bar and go looking for her at the exact hour she was there?) It's already kind of weird to be using the spider woman trope in 1981, but to make her MORE sexually conniving and mercenary than she was in the 40's is... not great. As lurid trash, it's pretty fun for a while, but some noir stuff can't just be updated, it needs to be subverted or it doesn't justify its existence.

Blow Out Brian De Palma has two categories of movie: he's got his mainstream, director-for-hire fare, where his voice is either reigned in or indulged in isolated sequences that don't always jive with the rest fo the film, and then there's his Brian De Palma movies. My mistake, it seems, is having seen several for-hires from throughout his career - The Untouchables (fine enough), Carlito's Way (ditto, but less), Mission: Impossible (enh) - but had only seen De Palma-ass movies from his late period (Femme Fatale and The Black Dahlia, both of which I think are garbage). All this to say: Blow Out was my first classic-era De Palma, and holy fucking shit dudes. This was (with caveats) my absolute and entire jam. I said I could enjoy good sleaze, and this is good friggin' sleaze. (Though far short of De Palma at his sleaziest, mercifully.) The splitscreens, the diopter shots, the canted angles, how does he make so many shlocky things work?! John Travolta's sound tech goes out to get fresh wind fx for the movie he's working on, and we get this wonderful sequence of visuals following sounds as he turns his attention and his microphone to various noises - a couple on a walk, a frog, an owl, a buzzing street lamp. Later, as he listens back to the footage, the same sequence plays again, but this time from his POV; we're seeing his memory as guided by the same sequence of sounds, now recreated with different shots, as he moves his pencil in the air mimicking the microphone. When he mixes and edits sounds, we hear the literal soundtrack of the movie we are watching get mixed and edited by the person on screen. And as he tries to unravel a murder mystery, he uses what's at hand: magnetic tape, flatbed editors, an animation camera to turn still photos from the crime scene into a film and sync it with the audio he recorded; it's forensics using only the tools of the editing room. As someone who's spent some time in college editing rooms, this is a hoot and a half. Loses a bit of steam as it goes on and the film nerd stuff gives way to a more traditional thriller, but rallies for a sound-tech-centered final setpiece, which steadily builds to such madcap heights you can feel the air thinning, before oddly cutting its own tension and then trying to build it back up again. It doesn't work as well the second time. But then, that shot right after the climax? Damn. Conflicted on how the movie treats the female lead. I get why feminist film theorists are so divided on De Palma. His stuff is full of things feminists (rightly) criticize, full of women getting naked when they're not getting stabbed, but he also clearly finds women fascinating and has them do empowered and unexpected things, and there are many feminist reads of his movies. Call it a mixed bag. But even when he's doing tropey shit, he explores the tropes in unexpected ways. Definitely the best movie so far that I hadn't already seen.

Cutter's Way (rw) Alex Cutter is pitched to us as an obnoxious-but-sympathetic son of a bitch, and, you know, two out of three ain't bad. Watched this during my 2020 neo-noir kick and considered skipping it this time because I really didn't enjoy it. Found it a little more compelling this go around, while being reminded of why my feelings were room temp before. Thematically, I'm onboard: it's about a guy, Cutter, getting it in his head that he's found a murderer and needs to bring him to justice, and his friend, Bone, who intermittently helps him because he feels bad that Cutter lost his arm, leg, and eye in Nam and he also feels guilty for being in love with Cutter's wife. The question of whether the guy they're trying to bring down actually did it is intentionally undefined, and arguably unimportant; they've got personal reasons to see this through. Postmodern and noirish, fixated with the inability to ever fully know the truth of anything, but starring people so broken by society that they're desperate for certainty. (Pretty obvious parallels to Vietnam.) Cutter's a drunk and kind of an asshole, but understandably so. Bone's shiftlessness is the other response to a lack of meaning in the world, to the point where making a decision, any decision, feels like character growth, even if it's maybe killing a guy whose guilt is entirely theoretical. So, yeah, I'm down with all of this! A- in outline form. It's just that Cutter is so uninterestingly unpleasant and no one else on screen is compelling enough to make up for it. His drunken windups are tedious and his sanctimonious speeches about what the war was like are, well, true and accurate but also obviously manipulative. It's two hours with two miserable people, and I think Cutter's constant chatter is supposed to be the comic relief but it's a little too accurate to drunken rambling, which isn't funny if you're not also drunk. He's just tedious, irritating, and periodically racist. Pass.

Blood Simple (rw) I'm pretty cool on the Coens - there are things I've liked, even loved, in every Coen film I've seen, but I always come away dissatisfied. For a while, I kept going to their movies because I was sure eventually I'd love one without qualification. No Country for Old Men came close, the first two acts being master classes in sustained tension. But then the third act is all about denying closure: the protagonist is murdered offscreen, the villain's motives are never explained, and it ends with an existentialist speech about the unfathomable cruelty of the world. And it just doesn't land for me. The archness of the Coen's dialogue, the fussiness of their set design, the kinda-intimate, kinda-awkward, kinda-funny closeness of the camera's singles, it cannot sell me on a devastating meditation about meaninglessness. It's only ever sold me on the Coens' own cleverness. And that archness, that distancing, has typified every one of their movies I've come close to loving. Which is a long-ass preamble to saying, holy heck, I was not prepared for their very first movie to be the one I'd been looking for! I watched it last year and it remains true on rewatch: Blood Simple works like gangbusters. It's kind of Double Indemnity (again) but played as a comedy of errors, minus the comedy: two people romantically involved feeling their trust unravel after a murder. And I think the first thing that works for me is that utter lack of comedy. It's loaded with the Coens' trademark ironies - mostly dramatic in this case - but it's all played straight. Unlike the usual lead/femme fatale relationship, where distrust brews as the movie goes on, the audience knows the two main characters can trust each other. There are no secret duplicitous motives waiting to be revealed. The audience also know why they don't trust each other. (And it's all communicated wordlessly, btw: a character enters a scene and we know, based on the information that character has, how it looks to them and what suspicions it would arouse, even as we know the truth of it). The second thing that works is, weirdly, that the characters aren't very interesting?! Ray and Abby have almost no characterization. Outside of a general likability, they are blank slates. This is a weakness in most films, but, given the agonizingly long, wordless sequences where they dispose of bodies or hide from gunfire, you're left thinking not "what will Ray/Abby do in this scenario," because Ray and Abby are relatively elemental and undefined, but "what would I do in this scenario?" Which creates an exquisite tension but also, weirdly, creates more empathy than I feel for the Coens' usual cast of personalities. It's supposed to work the other way around! Truly enjoyable throughout but absolutely wonderful in the suspenseful-as-hell climax. Good shit right here.

Body Double The thing about erotic thrillers is everything that matters is in the name. Is it thrilling? Is it erotic? Good; all else is secondary. De Palma set out to make the most lurid, voyeuristic, horny, violent, shocking, steamy movie he could come up with, and its success was not strictly dependent on the lead's acting ability or the verisimilitude of the plot. But what are we, the modern audience, to make of it once 37 years have passed and, by today's standards, the eroticism is quite tame and the twists are no longer shocking? Then we're left with a nonsensical riff on Vertigo, a specularization of women that is very hard to justify, and lead actor made of pulped wood. De Palma's obsessions don't cohere into anything more this time; the bits stolen from Hitchcock aren't repurposed to new ends, it really is just Hitch with more tits and less brains. (I mean, I still haven't seen Vertigo, but I feel 100% confident in that statement.) The diopter shots and rear-projections this time look cheap (literally so, apparently; this had 1/3 the budget of Blow Out). There are some mildly interesting setpieces, but nothing compared to Travolta's auditory reconstructions or car chase where he tries to tail a subway train from street level even if it means driving through a frickin parade like an inverted French Connection, goddamn Blow Out was a good movie! Anyway. Melanie Griffith seems to be having fun, at least. I guess I had a little as well, but it was, at best, diverting, and a real letdown.

The Hit Surprised by how much I enjoyed this one. Terrance Stamp flips on the mob and spends ten years living a life of ease in Spain, waiting for the day they find and kill him. Movie kicks off when they do find him, and what follows is a ramshackle road movie as John Hurt and a young Tim Roth attempt to drive him to Paris so they can shoot him in front of his old boss. Stamp is magnetic. He's spent a decade reading philosophy and seems utterly prepared for death, so he spends the trip humming, philosophizing, and being friendly with his captors when he's not winding them up. It remains unclear to the end whether the discord he sews between Roth and Hurt is part of some larger plan of escape or just for shits and giggles. There's also a decent amount of plot for a movie that's not terribly plot-driven - just about every part of the kidnapping has tiny hitches the kidnappers aren't prepared for, and each has film-long repercussions, drawing the cops closer and somehow sticking Laura del Sol in their backseat. The ongoing questions are when Stamp will die, whether del Sol will die, and whether Roth will be able to pull the trigger. In the end, it's actually a meditation on ethics and mortality, but in a quiet and often funny way. It's not going to go down as one of my new favs, but it was a nice way to spend a couple hours.

Trouble in Mind (dnrw) I fucking hated this movie. It's been many months since I watched it, do I remember what I hated most? Was it the bit where a couple of country bumpkins who've come to the city walk into a diner and Mr. Bumpkin clocks that the one Black guy in the back as obviously a criminal despite never having seen him before? Was it the part where Kris Kristofferson won't stop hounding Mrs. Bumpkin no matter how many times she demands to be left alone, and it's played as romantic because obviously he knows what she needs better than she does? Or is it the part where Mr. Bumpkin reluctantly takes a job from the Obvious Criminal (who is, in fact, a criminal, and the only named Black character in the movie if I remember correctly, draw your own conclusions) and, within a week, has become a full-blown hood, which is exemplified by a lot, like, a lot of queer-coding? The answer to all three questions is yes. It's also fucking boring. Even out-of-drag Divine's performance as the villain can't save it.

Manhunter 'sfine? I've still never seen Silence of the Lambs, nor any of the Hopkins Lecter movies, nor, indeed, any full episode of the show. So the unheimlich others get seeing Brian Cox play Hannibal didn't come into play. Cox does a good job with him, but he's barely there. Shame, cuz he's the most interesting part of the movie. Honestly, there's a lot of interesting stuff that's barely there. Will Graham being a guy who gets into the heads of serial killers is explored well enough, and Mann knows how to direct a police procedural such that it's both contemplative and propulsive. But all the other themes it points at? Will's fear that he understands murderers a little too well? Hannibal trying to nudge him towards becoming one? Whatever dance Hannibal and Tooth Fairy are doing? What Tooth Fairy's deal is, anyway? (Why does he wear fake teeth and bite things? Why is he fixated on the red dragon? Does the bit where he says "Francis is gone forever" mean he has DID?) None of it goes anywhere or amounts to anything. I mean, it's certainly more interesting with this stuff than without, but it has that feel of a book that's been pared of its interesting bits to fit the runtime (or, alternately, pulp that's been sloppily elevated). I still haven't made my mind up on Mann's cold, precise camera work, but at least it gives me something to look at. It's fine! This is fine.

Mona Lisa (rw) Gave this one another shot. Bob Hoskins is wonderful as a hood out of his depth in classy places, quick to anger but just as quick to let anger go (the opening sequence where he's screaming on his ex-wife's doorstep, hurling trash cans at her house, and one minute later thrilled to see his old car, is pretty nice). And Cathy Tyson's working girl is a subtler kind of fascinating, exuding a mixture of coldness and kindness. It's just... this is ultimately a story about how heartbreaking it is when the girl you like is gay, right? It's Weezer's Pink Triangle: The Movie. It's not homophobic, exactly - Simone isn't demonized for being a lesbian - but it's still, like, "man, this straight white guy's pain is so much more interesting than the Black queer sex worker's." And when he's yelling "you woulda done it!" at the end, I can't tell if we're supposed to agree with him. Seems pretty clear that she wouldn'ta done it, at least not without there being some reveal about her character that doesn't happen, but I don't think the ending works if we don't agree with him, so... I'm like 70% sure the movie does Simone dirty there. For the first half, their growing relationship feels genuine and natural, and, honestly, the story being about a real bond that unfortunately means different things to each party could work if it didn't end with a gun and a sock in the jaw. Shape feels jagged as well; what feels like the end of the second act or so turns out to be the climax. And some of the symbolism is... well, ok, Simone gives George money to buy more appropriate clothes for hanging out in high end hotels, and he gets a tan leather jacket and a Hawaiian shirt, and their first proper bonding moment is when she takes him out for actual clothes. For the rest of the movie he is rocking double-breasted suits (not sure I agree with the striped tie, but it was the eighties, whaddya gonna do?). Then, in the second half, she sends him off looking for her old streetwalker friend, and now he looks completely out of place in the strip clubs and bordellos. So far so good. But then they have this run-in where her old pimp pulls a knife and cuts George's arm, so, with his nice shirt torn and it not safe going home (I guess?) he starts wearing the Hawaiian shirt again. So around the time he's starting to realize he doesn't really belong in Simone's world or the lowlife world he came from anymore, he's running around with the classy double-breasted suit jacket over the garish Hawaiian shirt, and, yeah, bit on the nose guys. Anyway, it has good bits, I just feel like a movie that asks me to feel for the guy punching a gay, Black woman in the face needs to work harder to earn it. Bit of wasted talent.

The Bedroom Window Starts well. Man starts an affair with his boss' wife, their first night together she witnesses an attempted murder from his window, she worries going to the police will reveal the affair to her husband, so the man reports her testimony to the cops claiming he's the one who saw it. Young Isabelle Huppert is the perfect woman for a guy to risk his career on a crush over, and Young Steve Guttenberg is the perfect balance of affability and amorality. And it flows great - picks just the right media to res. So then he's talking to the cops, telling them what she told him, and they ask questions he forgot to ask her - was the perp's jacket a blazer or a windbreaker? - and he has to guess. Then he gets called into the police lineup, and one guy matches her description really well, but is it just because he's wearing his red hair the way she described it? He can't be sure, doesn't finger any of them. He finds out the cops were pretty certain about one of the guys, so he follows the one he thinks it was around, looking for more evidence, and another girl is attacked right outside a bar he knows the redhead was at. Now he's certain! But he shows the boss' wife the guy and she's not certain, and she reminds him they don't even know if the guy he followed is the same guy the police suspected! And as he feeds more evidence to the cops, he has to lie more, because he can't exactly say he was tailing the guy around the city. So, I'm all in now. Maybe it's because I'd so recently rewatched Night Moves and Cutter's Way, but this seems like another story about uncertainty. He's really certain about the guy because it fits narratively, and we, the audience, feel the same. But he's not actually a witness, he doesn't have actual evidence, he's fitting bits and pieces together like a conspiracy theorist. He's fixating on what he wants to be true. Sign me up! But then it turns out he's 100% correct about who the killer is but his lies are found out and now the cops think he's the killer and I realize, oh, no, this movie isn't nearly as smart as I thought it was. Egg on my face! What transpires for the remaining half of the runtime is goofy as hell, and someone with shlockier sensibilities could have made a meal of it, but Hanson, despite being a Corman protege, takes this silliness seriously in the all wrong ways. Next!

Homicide (rw? I think I saw most of this on TV one time) Homicide centers around the conflicted loyalties of a Jewish cop. It opens with the Jewish cop and his white gentile partner taking over a case with a Black perp from some Black FBI agents. The media is making a big thing about the racial implications of the mostly white cops chasing down a Black man in a Black neighborhood. And inside of 15 minutes the FBI agent is calling the lead a k*ke and the gentile cop is calling the FBI agent a f****t and there's all kinds of invective for Black people. The film is announcing its intentions out the gate: this movie is about race. But the issue here is David Mamet doesn't care about race as anything other than a dramatic device. He's the Ubisoft of filmmakers, having no coherent perspective on social issues but expecting accolades for even bringing them up. Mamet is Jewish (though lead actor Joe Mantegna definitely is not) but what is his position on the Jewish diaspora? The whole deal is Mantegna gets stuck with a petty homicide case instead of the big one they just pinched from the Feds, where a Jewish candy shop owner gets shot in what looks like a stickup. Her family tries to appeal to his Jewishness to get him to take the case seriously, and, after giving them the brush-off for a long time, finally starts following through out of guilt, finding bits and pieces of what may or may not be a conspiracy, with Zionist gun runners and underground neo-Nazis. But, again: all of these are just dramatic devices. Mantegna's Jewishness (those words will never not sound ridiculous together) has always been a liability for him as a cop (we are told, not shown), and taking the case seriously is a reclamation of identity. The Jews he finds community with sold tommyguns to revolutionaries during the founding of Israel. These Jews end up blackmailing him to get a document from the evidence room. So: what is the film's position on placing stock in one's Jewish identity? What is its position on Israel? What is its opinion on Palestine? Because all three come up! And the answer is: Mamet doesn't care. You can read it a lot of different ways. Someone with more context and more patience than me could probably deduce what the de facto message is, the way Chris Franklin deduced the de facto message of Far Cry V despite the game's efforts not to have one, but I'm not going to. Mantegna's attempt to reconnect with his Jewishness gets his partner killed, gets the guy he was supposed to bring in alive shot dead, gets him possibly permanent injuries, gets him on camera blowing up a store that's a front for white nationalists, and all for nothing because the "clues" he found (pretty much exclusively by coincidence) were unconnected nothings. The problem is either his Jewishness, or his lifelong failure to connect with his Jewishness until late in life. Mamet doesn't give a shit. (Like, Mamet canonically doesn't give a shit: he is on record saying social context is meaningless, characters only exist to serve the plot, and there are no deeper meanings in fiction.) Mamet's ping-pong dialogue is fun, as always, and there are some neat ideas and characters, but it's all in service of a big nothing that needed to be a something to work.

Swoon So much I could talk about, let's keep it to the most interesting bits. Hommes Fatales: a thing about classic noir that it was fascinated by the marginal but had to keep it in the margins. Liberated women, queer-coded killers, Black jazz players, broke thieves; they were the main event, they were what audiences wanted to see, they were what made the movies fun. But the ending always had to reassert straightlaced straight, white, middle-class male society as unshakeable. White supremacist capitalist patriarchy demanded, both ideologically and via the Hays Code, that anyone outside these norms be punished, reformed, or dead by the movie's end. The only way to make them the heroes was to play their deaths for tragedy. It is unsurprising that neo-noir would take the queer-coded villains and make them the protagonists. Implicature: This is the story of Leopold and Loeb, murderers famous for being queer, and what's interesting is how the queerness in the first half exists entirely outside of language. Like, it's kind of amazing for a movie from 1992 to be this gay - we watch Nathan and Dickie kiss, undress, masturbate, fuck; hell, they wear wedding rings when they're alone together. But it's never verbalized. Sex is referred to as "your reward" or "what you wanted" or "best time." Dickie says he's going to have "the girls over," and it turns out "the girls" are a bunch of drag queens, but this is never acknowledged. Nathan at one point lists off a bunch of famous men - Oscar Wild, E.M. Forster, Frederick the Great - but, though the commonality between them is obvious (they were all gay), it's left the the audience to recognize it. When their queerness is finally verbalized in the second half, it's first in the language of pathology - a psychiatrist describing their "perversions" and "misuse" of their "organs" before the court, which has to be cleared of women because it's so inappropriate - and then with slurs from the man who murders Dickie in jail (a murder which is written off with no investigation because the victim is a gay prisoner instead of a L&L's victim, a child of a wealthy family). I don't know if I'd have noticed this if I hadn't read Chip Delany describing his experience as a gay man in the 50's existing almost entirely outside of language, the only language at the time being that of heteronormativity. Murder as Love Story: L&L exchange sex as payment for the other commiting crimes; it's foreplay. Their statements to the police where they disagree over who's to blame is a lover's quarrel. Their sentencing is a marriage. Nathan performs his own funeral rites over Dickie's body after he dies on the operating table. They are, in their way, together til death did they part. This is the relationship they can have. That it does all this without romanticizing the murder itself or valorizing L&L as humans is frankly incredible.

Suture (rw) The pitch: at the funeral for his father, wealthy Vincent Towers meets his long lost half brother Clay Arlington. It is implied Clay is a child from out of wedlock, possibly an affair; no one knows Vincent has a half-brother but him and Clay. Vincent invites Clay out to his fancy-ass home in Arizona. Thing is, Vincent is suspected (correctly) by the police of having murdered his father, and, due to a striking family resemblence, he's brought Clay to his home to fake his own death. He finagles Clay into wearing his clothes and driving his car, and then blows the car up and flees the state, leaving the cops to think him dead. Thing is, Clay survives, but with amnesia. The doctors tell him he's Vincent, and he has no reason to disagree. Any discrepancy in the way he looks is dismissed as the result of reconstructive surgery after the explosion. So Clay Arlington resumes Vincent Towers' life, without knowing Clay Arlington even exists. The twist: Clay and Vincent are both white, but Vincent is played by Michael Harris, a white actor, and Clay is played by Dennis Haysbert, a Black actor. "Ian, if there's just the two of them, how do you know it's not Harris playing a Black character?" Glad you asked! It is most explicitly obvious during a scene where Vincent/Clay's surgeon-cum-girlfriend essentially bringing up phrenology to explain how Vincent/Clay couldn't possibly have murdered his father, describing straight hair, thin lips, and a Greco-Roman nose Haysbert very clearly doesn't have. But, let's be honest: we knew well beforehand that the rich-as-fuck asshole living in a huge, modern house and living it up in Arizona high society was white. Though Clay is, canonically, white, he lives an poor and underprivileged life common to Black men in America. Though the film's title officially refers to the many stitches holding Vincent/Clay's face together after the accident, "suture" is a film theory term, referring to the way a film audience gets wrapped up - sutured - in the world of the movie, choosing to forget the outside world and pretend the story is real. The usage is ironic, because the audience cannot be sutured in; we cannot, and are not expected to, suspend our disbelief that Clay is white. We are deliberately distanced. Consequently this is a movie to be thought about, not to to be felt. It has the shape of a Hitchcockian thriller but it can't evoke the emotions of one. You can see the scaffolding - "ah, yes, this is the part of a thriller where one man hides while another stalks him with a gun, clever." I feel ill-suited to comment on what the filmmakers are saying about race. I could venture a guess about the ending, where the psychiatrist, the only one who knows the truth about Clay, says he can never truly be happy living the lie of being Vincent Towers, while we see photographs of Clay/Vincent seemingly living an extremely happy life: society says white men simply belong at the top more than Black men do, but, if the roles could be reversed, the latter would slot in seamlessly. Maybe??? Of all the movies in this collection, this is the one I'd most want to read an essay on (followed by Swoon).

The Last Seduction (dnrw) No, no, no, I am not rewataching this piece of shit movie.

Brick (rw) Here's my weird contention: Brick is in color and in widescreen, but, besides that? There's nothing neo- about this noir. There's no swearing except "hell." (I always thought Tug said "goddamn" at one point but, no, he's calling The Pin "gothed-up.") There's a lot of discussion of sex, but always through implication, and the only deleted scene is the one that removed ambiguity about what Brendan and Laura get up to after kissing. There's nothing postmodern or subversive - yes, the hook is it's set in high school, but the big twist is that it takes this very seriously. It mines it for jokes, yes, but the drama is authentic. In fact, making the gumshoe a high school student, his jadedness an obvious front, still too young to be as hard as he tries to be, just makes the drama hit harder. Sam Spade if Sam Spade were allowed to cry. I've always found it an interesting counterpoint to The Good German, a movie that fastidiously mimics the aesthetics of classic noir - down to even using period-appropriate sound recording - but is wholly neo- in construction. Brick could get approved by the Hays Code. Its vibe, its plot about a detective playing a bunch of criminals against each other, even its slang ("bulls," "yegg," "flopped") are all taken directly from Hammett. It's not even stealing from noir, it's stealing from what noir stole from! It's a perfect curtain call for the collection: the final film is both the most contemporary and the most classic. It's also - but for the strong case you could make for Night Moves - the best movie on the list. It's even more appropriate for me, personally: this was where it all started for me and noir. I saw this in theaters when it came out and loved it. It was probably my favorite movie for some time. It gave me a taste for pulpy crime movies which I only, years later, realized were neo-noir. This is why I looked into Kiss Kiss, Bang Bang and In Bruges. I've seen it more times than any film on this list, by a factor of at least 3. It's why I will always adore Rian Johnson and Joseph Gordon-Levitt. It's the best-looking half-million-dollar movie I've ever seen. (Indie filmmakers, take fucking notes.) I even did a script analysis of this, and, yes, it follows the formula, but so tightly and with so much style. Did you notice that he says several of the sequence tensions out loud? ("I just want to find her." "Show of hands.") I notice new things each time I see it - this time it was how "brushing Brendan's hair out of his face" is Em's move, making him look more like he does in the flashback, and how Laura does the same to him as she's seducing him, in the moment when he misses Em the hardest. It isn't perfect. It's recreated noir so faithfully that the Innocent Girl dies, the Femme Fatale uses intimacy as a weapon, and none of the women ever appear in a scene together. 1940's gender politics maybe don't need to be revisited. They say be critical of the media you love, and it applies here most of all: it is a real criticism of something I love immensely.

#film noir #neo-noir #criterion channel

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mandoclan · 4 years ago

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SWEET HOME KENTUCKY // Jack Daniels (Agent Whiskey) x F!Reader

A/N: 14.8k. Yes, this is a spinoff of Sweet Home Alabama. I love that movie and I love Whiskey, so here you go! This is Jack Daniels x Female!Reader, but there’s no Y/N mention (unless I missed one).

Warnings: Character Death (mentioned in passing), Fluff, Angst, Divorce, Physical Abuse (a punch and a tight grip), Drinking, Drunkenness, (basically, if you’ve seen the movie, I’ve deviated but no more than normal).

She still dreamed about that night. The one where Jack took her out to the meadow behind his mama’s house and told her he wanted to marry her one day. To which she asked, “Why would you want to marry me for anyhow?” and he replied, “So I can kiss you anytime I want.” Her first kiss. Her first love. And they were only twelve at the time.

It didn’t come as a shock to her when Jack had asked her to marry him right out of high school. She was his first love, after all, and Jack swore he’d loved her since before he ever kissed her in that meadow. But then he never showed up to their reception because he was still drunk from his “bachelor party” the night before, he was always gone on missions and attempted to stop her from doing the same even when they worked for the same intelligence agency, and she eventually got shot in the head in a mission gone wrong, resulting in medical having to use Alpha-gel on her to bring her back.

That fatal injury had broken her and it had broken Jack too. He hadn’t been able to protect his own wife when she was his partner, and that killed him inside. After that, he became almost overbearing in his protectiveness and you’d eventually asked Champagne for a transfer after a whole year of turmoil in your home, explosive fights, and missions spent arguing. Champ loved you and Jack like his own kids and wanted you and your husband to fix this, but he did as you asked and you’d transferred to New York without telling Jack with the instructions that if he were to ask that Champ would tell him that you were safe and in another Statesman office.

That’s where you found yourself now, leading the New York office after the last agent had retired. You’d built up your reputation from scratch, leading missions and directing agents in the Northeast region of the United States. You kept in touch with Champ barely, but it had been seven years since you left Kentucky. You refused to even think about Jack unless you were sending another copy of the divorce papers or unless you had that damn dream about the meadow again.

You woke to the sound of your office door opening, and you lifted your head from the desk you occupied on the top floor.

“How come you let me sleep?” You grumbled to your assistant when he stepped into the room with a mug of coffee and a mission report from one of your top operatives.

“You needed it, boss, but it was only for a few minutes. Long enough for me to grab your coffee and fetch the report from downstairs.” He shrugged. “Y’know, that accent of yours gets a whole lot thicker when you’re dreaming.”

That boy had the audacity to smirk before you narrowed your eyes at him.

“And what exactly did I say?” You demanded.

“That I’m gonna get a raise when you realize how awesome I am.”

“We’ll see how good your coffee skills are, then.” You laughed, finally smiling at him through your exhaustion. In all reality, you liked this kid. He’d just been assigned to you and hadn’t earned his agent name yet, but you had a feeling he would do just fine and you already had plans to promote him come next quarter.

“Enjoy.”

“Mhmm,” you hummed, “I’ll see you tomorrow for that meeting in the conference room, alright?”

The kid agreed and you nodded at him before making your way to the elevators.

Your apartment on the lower levels of the Statesman New York building was modest, but well-lived in. You’d wanted to make it seem as much like home as possible. This time, however, your apartment wasn’t as empty as usual. The entire entryway and living room were filled with rose petals and rose bouquets in glasses of water.

“Goddamn that man,” you swore, stepping around the petals and heading to the panel you had on the wall where an orange light was blinking, signifying you had a waiting message. A button was pressed and suddenly your boyfriend’s voice filled the room.

“There’s a rose for every moment I thought of you last night. God, you must be exhausted. Sweetie, listen, I’ll see you tomorrow at our meeting. You’ll do great. I love you. Bye.” The message ended and you rolled your eyes before heading over to the largest of the bouquets.

You loved your boyfriend, Agent Rum, but this was too much. You hated huge, sappy gestures like this and he knew it, but you supposed it was a bit sweet. Very few other ladies you knew had such attentive men at their sides and Jack had never done anything remotely like this. A sharp breath was inhaled in an attempt to nix that thought from your mind before you headed to your front door and made your way to the ladies’ dorms. You left an embarrassingly big bouquet in front of each door and sighed in satisfaction once you’d swept up and removed most of the flowers in your apartment.

_________________________________________________________________

The meeting you’d scheduled came sooner than you’d liked, this being a collaboration between the Texas office and your own New York one. Rum walked in and kissed your forehead before the meeting could even start and you smiled at him. He could always brighten your day in an instant.

“Thanks for the flowers, babe.” You smiled at him, squeezing his hand in yours. He grinned, asking if you really liked them, and kissed you before sitting in his spot along with a few of your other agents. You both slipped on your glasses and started the meeting, knowing that you could talk properly once the collaboration was agreed upon.

It felt like hours went by before all positions were assigned and the intel was decided upon. You groaned once you were able to remove the glasses needed to see everyone in their remote locations, rubbing your temples. Hands were felt on your shoulders, and you knew it was Rum. Your glasses blinked a light on the side and you sighed, placing them back on your face.

The blinking was due to a message from Agent AppleJack, one of your own agents whom you’d taken a shine to and often spent weekends going about the city with. She was a nice girl from Maine who had an affinity for seafood you couldn’t quite get behind, but you’d consider her one of the closest friends you had in this city.

“Please tell me he has a flaw somehow.” She had typed out. You rolled your eyes before moving your eyes on the on-screen keyboard to type a reply.

“He asked me to go to California for Christmas.”

“He’s gonna ask you a lot more than that,” was her reply.

“You think so?” You were suddenly nervous. You’d only been dating Rum for six months and your divorce still wasn’t finalized.

“Sweetie, let’s go for a walk.” Rum took you from your conversation, and you nodded, slipping the glasses back off your face. “You’re so stressed, but you did so well today.”

You both made your way to the elevator, hand in hand, and eventually you meandered around Central Park just talking about your jobs and how your last missions went. You rarely went on them anymore, but you made sure that Rum had as many as he liked to keep him happy.

“So have you made a decision?” He finally asked, bright eyes boring into yours.

“About what?” Your eyebrows furrowed in confusion.

“California.”

“Babe, California? That’s four months from now. We don’t even have to decide right now because we can literally jump on any jet we have and go within 6 hours if we want.”

“I was thinking maybe 200 guests, tops.” Rum continued in his words, but you stopped him with a pull to his hand.

“For Christmas?” You asked, still very confused. “Rum, are you on some kind of medication I don’t know about? Should I take you off of field duty for a bit? Did you get shot or something?”

All of a sudden, Rum was kneeling in front of you in the middle of a pathway in Central Park, and everything finally made sense. He held a diamond ring in his hand, the light hitting it just right and you gasped.

“Brandy, and I should probably know your real name by now, will you marry me?”

“Are you sure? Because if you’re not sure we can just go back to work and forget all about this. It’s only been six months.” You floundered, not even sure what to say, but he looked so hopeful and you really did love him.

“Brandy, I love you. I didn’t come by this decision lightly, and I really hope you’ll say yes. I want to build a life with you.” Rum stood, looking you right in your eyes. “So, I’ll ask again. Brandy, will you make me the happiest man alive and marry me?”

You nodded, not trusting your voice and felt the ring slip on your finger. It felt strange, another ring being there, but you were suddenly overcome with joy that your life was finally falling into place and you had a man who loved you and wanted to build a life with you. That’s all you could ask for. So you kissed him.

He grinned once you’d let yourselves out of his arms and released him from your kiss, hand reaching for his agency-issue watch.

“I’ve got to tell my family.” He gushed, “Wait until you see the look on the guy’s faces!”

“Babe, do you mind if we keep this to ourselves for a while? With this collaboration mission with Texas happening and everything else, I’d rather just keep this quiet for a bit.”

“You don’t want to tell your family?” Rum asked, a bit confused. You cursed yourself in your mind because he didn’t know. The only person close to being a family to you was Champ, and you hadn’t really talked to him in ages. Close to seven years, actually, which was downright awful. The guilt gnawed at you.

“Sunshine, I don’t really, um, have a family.” You stated calmly, fingers soothing the back of his hand as he pulled a face.

“But—” he started.

“I have a mentor who I looked up to as a father, but I haven’t seen him in about seven years. I think I should tell him in person.”

“Okay, whatever you want, sweetie. I’m happy as long as you’re happy.” Rum smiled, and you sighed in relief.

“He’ll love you, eventually.” You reassured him.

_________________________________________________________________

First thing the next morning, you caught a plane down to Kentucky and found yourself driving along the battered country roads to the little farmhouse where you and Jack used to live. Your watch buzzed with an incoming call, but you didn’t answer, knowing it was AppleJack. You’d fill her in later.

You parked the car next to the oak tree that still held your swing. A dog came rushing down the steps, howling at you, but you didn’t mind. It was your dog, after all. A tall man in heavy work boots busted out the door, hollering at the dog and telling you that “he don’t really bite.”

The man looked at you without really seeing you, seeing only a woman in worn out cowboy boots and aviators covering much of her face. Her hair was different, so she didn’t really expect him to recognize her.

“What can I do for you?” The man drawled in his southern accent. You shuddered, not forgetting the way that voice sounded when you were in bed together at all times of day or night.

“Well, for starters, you can get your stubborn ass down here and give me a divorce.” You snapped, pulling the sunglasses off your face. Jack’s eyes widened once your words registered. “C’mon, Jack, I mean it. The joke’s over. We need to finish this so I can get back to my office and take care of my job.”

“You’re shittin’ me, right?” Jack spluttered.

You finally got a good look at him. He had shaving cream on the side of his face as if he hadn’t got a chance to finish before your hound was howling, but he’d kept his mustache. You hated to say that he looked good, but it was the truth. The years had been kind to him.

“You know, I’ve never actually understood that expression, but no, I’m not “shitting” you.” You groaned, pulling a packet of papers out of the glovebox of your rented truck and spreading them out in the bed. “Look, it’s even got these idiot proof tabs so you can’t mess this up. I’ve got one copy for you and I both and one for my lawyer. So c’mon.”

When you looked up at him again, he didn’t say anything but he certainly looked like he had quite a few things to say.

“Well?” You demanded, irritated that he wasn’t coming down off the porch to sign the papers like you’d asked him to.

“You show up here after seven years without so much as a ‘Hey there, Jack, remember me? Your wife?’ Or a “Hi, honey, lookin’ good! How’s the family?’” He had the audacity to laugh, finally stepping closer to the edge of the porch.

“You expect me to tell you that you look good? Bless your heart. Sweetheart, we’ve been separated for seven years. I’ve had it with your bullshit.”

“They like that attitude wherever it is you’ve been?”

“Cut the crap, Jack. You knew where I was. Champ told me you accessed my records.” You spat, moving closer to the porch. “And don’t you dare tell me you’ve spent all this time missing me.”

“Oh I missed you alright, but I’ve been going to the range more and practicing so my aim’s gotten a lot better.” He drawled, leaning against the railing.

“Is that a threat, Jack? I’ve got a lawyer who charges me an arm and a leg. He charged me every time you sent these damn papers back without your signature on the dotted lines.” You lifted the papers as you spoke, but he scoffed at you.

“Well, I’m glad to see you got the message.” He smirked, going to say something else but you were both cut off by the dog howling again due to your hostile tones.

“Shut up, Coal!” You shouted, but Jack shouted a different name. “What happened to my dog, Jack?”

“He died. You weren’t here.” He grumbled, turning to go back into the ranch house. You stood there in shock for a second before realizing what he was doing.

“Where the hell do you think you’re going?”

“I’m leaving!” He shouted, back turned to you, “You done it, so you should recognize the process. I need to finish shaving my damn beard.”

“Jack, can we please just keep this civilized? For God’s sake, we’re both adults and agents. Please just sign the papers so I can go back home.” You sighed, pinching the bridge of your nose. This was a mistake, you thought. He wasn’t going to sign the papers.

“What do you know from home?” Jack spit, finally turning around to face you, fire in his eyes. “Hell, I bet Champ doesn’t even know you’re here, does he? That old man took you under his wing and trained you himself and you have the audacity to avoid him like he’s some annoyance?”

“That’s my business, Jack, so you stay out of it.”

“Honey, he’s the only family you got.”

“Don’t you ‘honey’ me, honey!” If looks could kill, he’d have died about ten times by now with the murderous look you were giving him.

“Get your ass back in that truck, drive over and see him, and maybe we’ll talk after.” Jack demanded, pointing his finger at your vehicle. He was headed back inside before you could even think, and you started shouting at him as you followed him up the porch.

“Jack, you idiotic, stubborn, no good agent! The only reason you won’t sign these papers is because I want you to!” You yelled, hands on the doorknob of the windowed door he’d just slammed in your face and locked.

“Wrong!” He shouted, trying to pull the blinds on the door that he could never get figured out. “The only reason I ain’t signin’ is because you’ve turned into some hoity-toity, wine-drinking, Yankee bitch and I’d like nothing better right now than to piss you off!”

He finally maneuvered the blinds mostly over the door as you dashed to the back of the house, but he locked that too before you had a chance to get there in time. He could hear your frustrated shout from outside and he chuckled in disbelief before heading to his bathroom to get rid of the rest of his beard.

“Divorce, my ass.” He grumbled. Jack came out two minutes later, wiping his face with a towel to find you lounging on his bed. He froze.

“Hey genius,” you smirked, anger still evident in your eyes. “Next time you wanna lock somebody out, make sure they don’t know where the spare key is.” You waved the offending object in the air, and Whiskey made a mad dash for it but you closed your fist before he could snatch it.

“Knew I should’ve changed those damn locks. It’d be nice if my wife had told me where the spare key was!” He growled.

“I’m not your wife anymore, Jack.” You said softly, “I’m just the first girl that climbed in the back of your truck. But you’re right, I have changed. I don’t even know the girl you married anymore.”

“Then let me remind you.” Jack sneered before grabbing his cell phone and heading back into his bathroom, locking the door behind him.

Ten minutes later, Jack popped his head out of the bathroom.

“You bring any clothes with stripes on ‘em?” He asked, and you looked at him in confusion.

Red and blue lights flashed through the windows suddenly and your eyes widened.

“You called the sheriff?!” You gasped, jumping off the bed you used to share with the man looking at you with a satisfied grin on his face. “You know that old bastard hates me!”

“For good reason!” Jack shouted, still in the bathroom.

You made to run for the back door, but it opened to reveal a man you knew.

“Well, hell’s bells!” The man grinned, “If it isn’t our favorite Agent Brandy!”

“Tequila?”

“Hot damn girl, did we miss you! The agency wasn’t the same without you!” Tequila laughed, picking you up and giving you the biggest hug you’d gotten in a long time.

“I can’t believe you’re the sheriff!” You pulled on his badge for a second and knocked his cowboy hat off kilter to mess with him.

“Yep, I get to frisk pretty things like you all day and get paid for it.” Tequila put his hands around your waist and you slapped his chest.

“Aaron, can you try and be at least a little more professional? We got us a crime suspect here.” Jack emerged from the bathroom and you were struck with the fact that you hadn’t known Tequila’s real name until that moment. You quickly snapped back into it, though.

“Now, Brandy, you can’t just go breaking into your ex’s house whenever you feel like it, no matter how much they might deserve it.” Tequila—Aaron, you had to remember that—said.

“I didn’t break in. I used a key. My key, if you must know.” You snorted. Clearly, “Aaron” didn’t know that y’all were still married.

“Well, it still ain’t your house, Brandy. I’m gonna have to escort you out.” Aaron made to take your wrist in his hand, but you pulled away and grabbed the divorce papers you still had with you. You waved them as you heard Jack tell Aaron to use the cuffs on you.

“If you can get that asshole to sign these papers, I’ll let you run me out of town.” You smirked and Aaron laughed at your antics.

“Now that’s none of your concern, Aaron, you hear me?” Jack started, but Aaron was already taking the papers from you to look over.

“Well, what do you know. A bill of divorcement?” He asked. You nodded, and Aaron turned to Jack. “Hell, Jack, I thought you took care of this.”

“I thought I did!” Jack protested.

“Obviously not! Well, if y’all are still married, it’s her house too. This here ain’t nothin’ but a domestic dispute.” Aaron handed the papers back to you, and you smiled at him.

“He didn’t hit you, did he? If he took a swing at you, I’ll take him in right now.” Aaron told you quietly, out of earshot of your husband. You shook your head, because no, that man had never harmed you in ways that were physical. He’d only wounded your heart.

“No, he never hit me.” You replied quietly. Aaron nodded.

“Well, seems y’all got some catching up to do, so I’m gonna leave y’all to it. There’s nobody for miles, so Jack here can make ya scream all he likes.” Aaron winked at Jack, and you shouted in indignation. “G’night, lovebirds!”

“Aaron, I saved your life at least four times back in your Statesman years! You owe me!” Jack shouted, rushing to follow the sheriff’s retreating figure. He wanted you gone from his house in handcuffs if that’s what it took to get you to leave him alone about those divorce papers that he didn’t want to sign.

“Why can’t you just sign the damn papers, Jack?” You yelled after him, and he fixed you with the nastiest stare you’d seen in a long time.

“Listen, Jack. There’s nothing I can do. Your wife’s done nothing wrong, so I can’t just haul her in for nothing. Y’hear me?” Aaron blocked the doorway with his large frame as he lifted his hands in mock surrender.

“I suppose shoplifting steaks at the grocery store’s okay.” Jack spat.

“I took ‘em back and you know it!” You screeched back.

“You remember that vandalism out at the stockyard? Totally her!”

“Like I could tip a cow by myself at sixteen.” You growled, and Jack groaned. He couldn’t hit you with anything from your Statesman years either because that was all “classified information” you didn’t have to answer to. But Jack got an idea.

“Hey Aaron, isn’t there some outstanding warrant for whoever dumped your old man’s tractor in the fish pond?” Jack smirked triumphantly, making eye contact with your horrified expression. And then the cuffs were on your wrists and you were making your merry way to the county jail in the back of his cruiser.

“Now you know I didn’t have a choice, sweetheart.” Aaron smiled ruefully once y’all reached the station. He’d ended up hauling you off in cuffs just like Jack wanted and you were seething.

“This all could have been avoided if he’d just signed those damn papers.” You grumbled. “Can I make a call?”

“Sure thing, sweetheart. You’ll get a couple minutes once I book ya.”

You rolled your eyes, taking the photos Aaron needed to do for “legal purposes.”

“You know that’s gonna get wiped once I make my call, right?” Aaron had the audacity to laugh, knowing exactly who you were going to call.

“I know. Tell big daddy I miss him.” Aaron pointed towards the phone.

It rang for a few seconds before a secretary's voice filtered on, saying the usual crap the Statesman company was supposed to yodel on about.

“Hi, I’ve got a word for you, lady.” You spit out, “Lemon drops suck.” You heard the operator say something about holding on for a moment and then a familiar voice was asking who you were.

“Champ! It’s Brandy,” you shouted, “Listen, I need a favor.”

“Name it, darling. You know I’d do anything for you and that wonderful husband of yours.” He drawled on for a moment and you smacked the phone receiver into the box.

“I need you to pick me up.”

“Well, where are ya? I’ll send a car or whatever it is you need.”

“That’s the thing. I’m in town. But, I need you to come get me from the jail.” You said after a moment. A groan came through the receiver and you winced.

“Alright, darling, I’ll be right there. I’m assuming it’s the usual one, then?”

“Yeah.”

Fifteen minutes later, the man himself was strolling through the door.

“I’m here for my girl, Tequila.” Champ rolled his eyes at you once he saw you waving. He had you out and your record erased within five minutes, and then you were back in his familiar old truck that smelled like whiskey and gunpowder. He accepted a muttered thank you while you drove off towards the Statesman offices.

“So what put you in jail this time?” Champ finally asked.

“Jack and his big, fat mouth.” You grumbled. “It was just a misunderstanding, that’s all.”

“Kinda like that wedding I officiated, huh, darling?” You refused to make eye contact.

“I would hardly call that a wedding.”

“The boy was nervous.” Champ chuckled.

“He was still drunk from the night before!”

“Can you blame him?”

“Yes, I can! We’re supposed to be professional agents and he goes and gets piss drunk the night before we’re supposed to get married. I went to the reception by myself with his puke on the side of my dress while he slept it off at the hotel. And you’re still siding with him!”

“I ain’t siding with nobody, so get rid of that idea. Y’all two are my best agents and I need you both.” Champ stated firmly. “The boy’s changed is all.”

“Can we just not talk about Jack? I know he’s like the son you never had, but you also called me your daughter and all that, so can you just ask me what’s new with me or something instead?”

“Sure. Shoot.” Champ looked disinterested, and you had the feeling that he’d kept up with you better than you’d kept up with him. Curse the archives for always spilling your secrets before you ever could.

“I met somebody. And he’s quite a catch.” You started, and Champ raised an eyebrow beneath his larger than life cowboy hat. “And I’m happy. Really.”

The rest of the drive was held in silence, neither of you feeling like talking much. He pulled into the Statesman gates and led you inside, scanning his ID card on an empty apartment in the back of the warehouses where agents could sleep during the longer missions.

“Sleep well, sweetheart. We can talk about all this in the morning.” He kissed your forehead and you hauled your bag inside. “I’ll take you to get your truck in the morning, don’t you worry ‘bout a thing.”

_________________________________________________________________

In the morning, you were on the phone with your lawyer, walking around the Statesman compound and attempting to avoid the various tour groups that were unaware of the real reason this distillery existed.

“How long does a contested divorce take?” You asked, exasperated that you had to do this now of all times because your no-good husband wouldn’t sign the divorce papers. “18 months? Mr. Collier, I don’t even have 18 days, really!”

The man told you that was how it had to be, you informed him that this arrangement wouldn’t work, and he was informing you of a different option when you heard someone wolf whistle at you, throwing out some jab.

“Ain’t seen the likes of you around this place much!” The man shouted from his horse.

“Mr. Collier, that’s just not going to work for me.” You groaned, trying to block out the man catcalling you from his horse. Clearly this was some junior agent. “Mr. Collier, I’m gonna have to call you back.”

“Listen here, bubba, why don’t you kiss my ass!” You shouted up at the guy, but screamed in happiness once you realized who it was. “Oh my god, Moonshine?!”

“Let’s go inside then, missy, because I don’t do that kind of thing out here in front of the guests.” Moonshine smirked at you, jumping down from his horse.

“I guess your mama raised you right, then.” You laughed, hugging him. You’d missed Moonshine, who’d been one of your first friends in the agency aside from Jack, of course. “I better back off of you before your little lady tries to come beat me up.”

Moonshine looked sheepish.

“There is a little lady, isn’t there?”

“I can hardly afford me and my unhealthy addiction to firearms and whiskey, let alone some high-maintenance babe.” Moonshine laughed.

“What about Cara what’s-her-name? From the class outside of ours? Y’all had real chemistry on some of the missions I supervised.”

“She transferred out to the Alaska branch, and uh, I wasn’t her type.” Moonshine scratched the back of his neck and you hummed, understanding the situation.

“That answers a few of my questions. Guess we all have our secrets, don’t we, Moonshine.” You grinned, your suspicions about him batting for the opposite team nearly confirmed.

“Yeah, we sure do.” Moonshine climbed back up on his horse, tipping his hat on the way. “I gotta get back to work now, missy, but are you gonna be in town for awhile? Me and a few of the guys are going down to our normal watering hole later tonight if you’re up for it.”

“I hope I won’t be here long. I have to go see Champ, but I think I’ll see you boys tonight.”

“Well, I better scram if you’re seeing the boss man.”

“Very funny. I’ll see you later, Moonshine.” You waved the man off and made your way inside, scanning your own ID card on the entry doors and taking the elevator up to Champ’s office.

“Well, look what the cat dragged in. If it isn’t my favorite agent.” Champ drawled from his seat at the head of the conference table.

“Hey boss man, care to give me a ride to town so I can get my truck?” You asked, leaning up against the door jam and waving your keys. He laughed, standing up and grabbing his own keys from his desk.

“C’mon then, little lady. I did make you a promise. You can tell me all about why you’re here on the way over.”

_________________________________________________________________

Once you’d picked up your truck from the jail’s parking lot, you made your way to the bank. You hadn’t accounted for Jack taking as long as he was to sign the divorce papers, so you needed some cash for necessities.

Of course, the bank didn’t have an ATM. You cursed yourself for forgetting as you stepped inside. The bank guard’s eyes widened once he laid eyes on you, telling whoever it was in the teller’s booth that he was going to take a break outside. You winced once you remembered that this was the same man whose farm you and Jack and a few of your old friends had gone rolling pumpkins in year after year. He probably hated you.

You approached the teller, but didn’t recognize her. She clearly recognized you, though.

“Well, if it ain’t the queen of the New York Statesman office.” She grinned. You narrowed your eyes, attempting to figure out who she was when the lightbulb clicked.

“Jenny? Oh my god. I haven’t seen you since you and Tequila got hitched! You look amazing!”

“Thanks, sweetie! So do you. What can I do you for?”

“I need to make a withdrawal from my—“

“Joint account?” Jenny smiled like she knew something you didn’t, which knowing her, she probably did.

“My what?”

“Your joint account. With Jack? From what I hear, y’all are still married.”

“Why yes, yes we are.” You grinned, a plan already formulating in your mind.

_________________________________________________________________

It was after five when Jack got home, but you’d already got to work. You had on one of his favorite dresses that you’d found in a trunk somewhere, one of your homemade aprons, and a wide smile once he walked in the door.

“Hi, honey! Lookin’ good. How’s the family?” You grinned up at him, serving food onto two plates in the dining room.

“Cut the shit. Where’s my stuff?” Jack growled, chucking his hat on the couch along with his whip and lasso.

You smiled where he couldn’t see it, glad to see he’d noticed what you’d done to the place. There were new appliances in the kitchen, a new couch and loveseat, a flatscreen tv, a new rug, and Jack assumed you’d also done something to the bedroom. None of the things he’d had laying around since you left were where he could see it, and the sight agitated him.

“Now what kind of wife would I be if I didn’t pick up after my husband? Dinner’s ready in five.”

“The kind that don’t live here.” Jack groaned, hands raking over his face. “Now, I’m gonna ask you one more time—where is the house key?”

“I had the sweetest talk today with Tequila’s daddy.” You started as you ignored him.

“Nice to see you got your accent back.”

“Oh, I stumbled on a few things today.” You said, noticing Jack had gone to the kitchen, likely in search of a beer.

“Holy shit!” He shouted, and you stifled your laughter. “What happened to the stove?! And where are them little magnets I got from my travels, huh?” He opened the fridge and groaned.

“What the hell is this? Chick food?” He gestured to the fridge that you’d restocked with fresh fruits and vegetables, and new groceries that weren’t stale takeout containers.

“Light beer. Less calories, honey.” You smiled brightly, missing Jack’s murderous expression. He grabbed a can anyway and popped the top off.

“I tried to pick out a new bed today, but the mattress store only had old models. I’ll have to order something from New York.”

“Whatever floats your boat, honey.” Jack muttered, taking a deep swig of the beer you’d bought. He’d have to find his stash of whiskey and hope you hadn’t gotten rid of it.

“Oh, but darlin’, I thought you said we should think of it as our money.” You saw him freeze where he stood, and continued your crusade. “Just a guess, but I’m thinking the words ‘joint checking’ are flashing through your mind right now.”

“How much did you take?” He whirled around, effectively forcing you into the kitchen.

“All of it.” You replied simply, enjoying his facial expression.

“Son of a bitch!” He cursed, chucking the now empty beer can into the trash can and rubbing his face with his hands.

“You wanted a wife, you got a wife, honey,” you spat, “and what were you doing with all that cash? Why don’t you invest it? We work for a perfectly good company with shares for sale, don’t you know anything?”

“I know if you don’t get out of my house right now—”

“Sign the papers and I’ll give it all back.”

“Fine—fine!” He shouted, “gimme the pen.”

You rummaged in your packet for the pen and laid out the papers on the dinner table. You made to give him the pen, but thought better of it.

“Hold on. What are you doing with all that cash saved up? And since when did you tell Champ not to put you on anymore active missions? You aren’t doing anything illegal, are you Jack?”

“So what if I am? I don’t ask you about your boyfriend, you keep your nose out of my life.” He spat out, not making eye contact with you. You deflated.

“Who told you?” You asked quietly.

“Honey, just ‘cause I talk slow don’t mean I’m stupid.” He said in a much quieter tone. He almost sounded hurt.

“Look, Jack—” you trailed off.

“For god’s sake, nobody finds their soulmate at twelve years old.” He mumbled.

“Yeah, I guess,” you murmured.

“Where’s the fun in that?” Jack almost smiled. Your eye caught something on the mantle and you looked up to see a horseshoe and a photo of your parent’s old farm.

“I can’t believe you kept that all these years,” you murmured, eyes trailing over the familiar old farm. It had burned down four years after that photo was taken, taking your parents’ lives with it. Jack looked at you before looking at the clock on the wall.

“Oh, hey sweetie, you know what? I just remembered I got myself a hot date.” Jack grinned maliciously, unbuttoning his collared shirt as he spoke. Your eyes moved from the picture to the skin being revealed and suddenly were at a loss for words. “You don’t mind if I have my lawyer take a look at these, do you?” He tossed the papers back on the table and left the room.

“What?!” You gasped.

“Hell, I’m just a dumb intelligence agent with no regards for the law. There’s words in there I don’t even know. You might be takin’ me to the cleaners for all I know.”

“The cleaners? You? You ain’t been there since our wedding, if you even washed your suit for that,” you scoffed. “Can’t you just sign the damn papers?”

“Nah,” he grinned from the doorway to his bedroom, “but thanks for stoppin’ bye. It’s been a real treat.” And then the door was slammed and you screamed into a newly-purchased throw pillow.

You’d realized after about ten minutes that Jack wasn’t coming back into the living room. In fact, his dramatic ass had jumped out the window and you heard his truck starting up outside.

Tequila had made an offer, though, and you planned to take up the social obligation. Besides, if Jack was as predictable as he’d always been, his “hot date” was probably at his mama’s bar where everyone in that little town went to unwind.

Your phone rang once you were outside the noisy bar near Jack’s truck, and you answered at once knowing it was your fiancé.

“I love you, I love you, I love you.” You smiled into the phone and Rum’s happy voice spilled out.

“Are you sitting down?” Rum asked.

“Why? Bad news? Did the mission blow up or something?” You panicked. You knew putting this in Rum’s hands would only backfire if something happened.

“No, no! Nothing like that. I was just going to tell you that I read the mission reports and everything went exactly to plan just like you said it would. You might be up for another promotion, babe.” Rum reassured you.

“Oh my god, really? Oh, I needed that almost as much as I need to see you.”

“What is that noise?” Rum finally asked, and you assumed he could hear the loud music and shouts coming from inside the bar.

“The sound of my past.” You grimaced.

“Have fun. I love you.” Your fiancé finished, and you returned the sentiments before hanging up the phone and waltzing into the bar. You were immediately greeted by a screech and an older woman who was still spry was pulling you into a tight hug and yelling over the music.

“Batten down the hatches, boys! Trouble done just walked back into my life disguised as my favorite daughter-in-law!” Helen grinned at you. “Honey, gimme a hug, it’s been too long.”

You laughed while you hugged her and stepped back to show her your ring.

“Soon to be ex-daughter-in-law.” You stated proudly.

“Ooh, who’s the lucky guy?” She asked, inspecting the diamond on your finger.

“His name’s Blake and he works with me.” You winked, and she nodded in understanding. She knew about a little of the work you and her son did, but she mostly stayed out of it, claiming that the stress would bring her to an early grave.

“Well, he’s got my vote if he picked out a ring as pretty as that. It’s good to see you, baby girl.” Helen gave you a pat on the shoulder and told her bartender to give you whatever you wanted. You asked for a whiskey on the rocks and nearly laughed at the irony of the situation.

Once your drink was in hand, you scanned the room, looking for your husband. You spotted him in the corner with some young blonde thing and rolled your eyes. A quick march found you standing right behind Jack and you flipped the edge of his cowboy hat.

“Mind if I join you?” You asked sweetly, leaning up against the pool table beside him.

“Actually we do.” Jack said, raising an eyebrow. He was challenging you, but you ignored him in order to set your sights on his date.

“You must be Jack’s hot date.” You grinned at the girl and she put a hand out to shake yours.

“I’m Carly.”

“Hi, I’m Y/N, Jack’s snotty, Yankee-bitch wife whom he refuses to divorce even though I’m engaged to another man.” You shook her hand, and the girl gasped once she saw your ring.

“Hot dog, Jack, look at the size of that thing!” She gushed. You nearly rolled your eyes at how dumb she was acting just in an attempt to impress your husband.

“Honey? Why don’t you get us a couple of drinks, yeah?” Jack turned to Carly and handed her a few bills. The girl smiled, popped her gum, and proceeded to ask you what you were having. You rolled your eyes then. “Not ‘me and her’ us, ‘you and I’ us.”

The girl agreed and scurried off, and then you turned to Jack.

“Why do you make me be mean to you? Is that what you want? To be humiliated in front of all your friends?” You snapped, frustrated that he was taking this so lightly. He shook his head and downed the rest of his own glass of whiskey.

“C’mon, Brandy, they were your friends too.” You heard Jack mutter, nodding towards a few agents who’d just walked over with their drinks. You recognized a few guys who’d been in the class behind you along with Moonshine. He nodded at you and ordered a beer before heading over to say hello.

“Alright, Brandy, you sit down while I teach your husband here how to lose at pool.” Moonshine grinned, pulling a bar stool over to you.

“Now Moonshine, I’m not really a watch and see kinda girl, am I Jack?” His expression was priceless as he took up the challenge.

At least six drinks later, you were definitely feeling the effects of the alcohol and you landed somewhere near Moonshine as he lined up his shot.

“Come on, now, Moony, you got it. Don’t blow this one, okay baby?” You drunkenly giggled and Moonshine laughed at your inebriated state.

“You can take the girl out of the honky-tonk, but you can’t take the honky-tonk out of the girl.” He missed the shot, but you didn’t care anymore, more focused on the conversation Jack was not-so-quietly having with Cognac? Coors? You couldn’t remember his codename, but it didn’t matter. Jack was talking about you.

“So, Whiskey, are you gonna divorce this girl or what?” The agent asked. Jack shook his head.

“She’s waited seven years. A couple more days won’t kill her. Unfortunately.”

“Like it’s gonna make a difference.” You snorted, nearly falling into his arms but stabilizing yourself at the last second.

“You never know,” the agent started, “you might be interested to know that Whiskey here has been—”

“Hey, hey, Cognac, let her think what she wants. She made her mind up about me a long time ago.” Jack cut him off, making you wonder just what it was that he didn’t want you knowing about.

You quickly forgot that thought, though, when Moonshine started yelling and telling Cognac he owed him fifty dollars. Cognac groaned, forking over the cash.

You didn’t really know what happened next, but you got into a shouting match with one of the other agents and eventually asked Helen for another round of drinks, but she quickly cut you off. Then you were shouting again as Jack dragged you out of the bar by your arm, yelling at you, saying that you couldn’t just insult everyone in the bar because you’d made it out of Kentucky but they were happy where they were.

“What makes you think you can treat them like somethin’ you stepped in, huh?!” Jack demanded as he put you right up next to his truck.

“You asked for it!” You yelled in his face, trying to get your keys out of your pocket. Jack quickly grabbed them.

“You show up here, you steal my money, you rearrange my house, and then you insult our friends, actin’ like you’re better than them.” Jack spat. He was angry and you knew it, but you couldn’t seem to stop.

“I am better than them! And you stole my keys!” You whined, wanting to be anywhere but here with your husband who was telling you that you were wrong. He was right, but you wouldn’t admit it.

“That’s all that matters to you, huh?” He asked in disbelief.

You tried to say his name, but he cut you off.

“God, ever since you left, this has been a nightmare. The money, the fancy office, the city, you’re pathetic!” He raked a hand through his mustache and you got lost in the action right before spitting out a comeback.

“Oh, like you’re goin’ places!” You groaned, a splitting headache appearing out of nowhere. “I certainly am once I get my keys back.”

“No, you don’t. No. You want to kill yourself driving, you do it somewhere else. But not here, not on my watch.” Jack said, putting your keys into his own pocket.

“At least I’m doing something with my life. So what if you and I aren’t partners anymore, you can still go on missions. You don’t have to worry about me anymore!”

“Get in the truck, Y/N.” Jack opened the door and guided you inside, defeated. His date was waiting by the door and you noticed them having a quiet conversation before he handed her your keys and made his way back to the truck.

You fell asleep before Jack even got on the two lane highway that led to the Statesman offices where he knew you’d been staying. Champ didn’t say anything when Whiskey carried you inside your temporary apartment, snoring away, but he wished things would work out between the two of you. His hopes were dashed as soon as Whiskey asked for a pen to sign the papers you’d brought with you.

When you woke up, still hungover from the night before, the divorce papers were stuck on top of the pillow beside you. You wished you could say you were happy about it, but you couldn’t deny that a pit was in the bottom of your stomach.

Once you rolled out of bed and had some coffee, the papers were sealed into an envelope and you drove to the post office to mail it out. You’d talk to Jack afterwards and apologize for your behavior.

When you got to the familiar farmhouse, you found Jack’s dog Midnight lounging at the base of the porch. You scratched his ears, and he whined happily at the attention he was receiving. The dog got up and raced up to Jack when he came out of the house with a crate.

“What’s she doing here, huh, boy?” He asked the dog before turning to face you, “Thought you’d have high-tailed it out of here by now.”

“I put the money back in your account.” You said quietly, searching his face for any emotion whatsoever.

“Thanks. Saves me from bouncing a lot of checks.” He smiled at you, a genuine smile, and it caught you off guard. “I like what you did, though, to the house. Should help it sell quicker.”

“You’re moving?” You were surprised. This was the house you and Jack had gotten and fixed up together in the early stages of your marriage and it held a lot of good memories along with quite a few bad ones.

“Well, I’ve been spending a lot of my time a bit south of the distillery, so . . .” he shrugged.

“Oh.”

“Look, hon, I signed your papers.” Jack sighed, finally hauling the crate into the back of his truck.

“Jack, I never meant to hurt you, or anybody else for that matter. And I just came out here to say thank you.” You finally said.

“You might want to move your toes.” Jack nodded towards where your feet were in reference to his truck tires. “Wouldn’t wanna run ‘em over since you need them for field work.”

“You can’t just leave!”

“Sure I can.” He chuckled, hopping into the cab. “You want to come?”

“Where you goin’?”

“I want to show you something.” Jack said solemnly, and you wished you could go. Something made you stop, though.

“I can’t.” You finally answered, defeated.

“Can’t or won’t?” Jack asked you, already knowing the answer but asking anyway.

“Both.”

“The girl I knew used to be fearless.” Jack leaned against the steering wheel to get a good look at you. You looked so much like the woman he’d once known so intimately, and yet so different. A lot had scarred you both and he recognized that.

“The girl you knew didn’t have a life.” You smiled weakly, fighting back tears.

“Well, I guess you better get back to living it then. C’mon, Midnight.” Jack got his dog in the cab with him and drove off, leaving you alone with your thoughts.

_________________________________________________________________

You didn’t know what possessed you to stay in town now that the papers had been signed and mailed out, but you found yourself in the town square that evening for the weekly square dance night.

“Hello.” You murmured sheepishly once you’d spotted Tequila and his wife, Jenny, and Moonshine, and a few of the agents from last night at the bar. “I just wanted to apologize to y’all. Last night was so uncalled for, and I’m sorry. Really sorry.”

“Brandy, forget it.” Tequila told you, a smile gracing his face. “You know we don’t stay mad for long.” The group nodded, and you smiled in relief.

Jenny pulled you to the side and handed you a glass of sweet tea.

“You know, he went up there.” She said, sort of secretively.

“Who?” You were confused about what she was talking about. But then she looked at you oddly and you suddenly knew. “Jack? When?”

“About a year after you left. He doesn’t know I know, but Aaron “big mouth” Tequila over there can’t keep a secret to save his life nowadays.”

“Jack was in New York?” You asked, completely surprised. You’d never seen him. He’d certainly never come to see you and say hello. Jenny nodded.

“He told Tequila he’d never seen anything like it. He realized straight off that he’d need more than an apology to win you back. He needed to conquer the world first. He’s been tryin’ ever since.” Jenny told you, downing her own tea.

“That’s why he kept sending the papers back.” You murmured, and Jenny nodded at you again.

“It’s funny how things don’t work out.” She sighed.

“It’s funny how they do.” You smiled warmly at her, knowing she was happy with her life and how it was turning out.

“Hey, look who I found wandering around the edge of the party.” Moonshine cheered, shoving Jack in the center of the group you were with. He had the nerve to look a bit sheepish, knowing you were there, but you were the one who blushed. After that, it was a whirlwind of everyone catching up on the times and you found yourself smiling at Jack.

The band finally started playing a slow song, and Tequila got up to ask you to dance, leaving his wife to drag Jack into the square. The both of you danced for awhile before Tequila stole his wife back, which left you and Jack standing face to face. Jack held out a hand to you to offer a dance, but you hesitated.

“Maybe we could just talk?” You asked him quietly. He shook his head and walked off, a sigh escaping your lips once you realized you were alone.

The night wore on with you on the sidelines, drinking sweet tea, and finally you made your way down the street towards your truck. Something stopped you, though, and you made your way into the coon dog cemetery on the edge of town. Maybe Coal was in there. You didn’t realize Jack had been watching you and finally ended up following you, and maybe you wouldn’t have been so honest in your talk with your old dog if you’d known.

You knelt beside the dog’s grave, his collar and your old license plate stuck to the stone placed above him.

“Hey there, buddy. Sorry it took me so long. I would’ve come sooner if I’d known you were sick.” You sniffed, fingers running along the etching of his name in the stone. “Actually, that’s probably not true. I’ve been pretty selfish lately. Dogs don’t know anything about that, do they, though?”

“You were always a big old pillow after missions. Like when everything went pear-shaped after I got shot, you never left my side. And then I just left you. Oh gosh. I bet you sat there on that big old porch, wondering what you done wrong.” You sobbed, wiping the tears away.

“I told him it was my fault.” Jack’s voice broke you out of your concentration and you whipped around to see him kneeling behind you.

“Quit bein’ so nice.” You sniffed, a small smile breaking through your tears. Jack offered you a hand to help you up and you accepted it. He led you to a bench right near Coal’s grave and kept holding your hand.

“It’s the truth.” Jack stated.

“How come everything has to be so complicated,” you asked tearfully. Jack smiled softly at you.

“What?” He asked finally.

“Truth, life, this,” you gestured between the two of you and towards the hand he was still holding in his grip. Jack didn’t answer that, not that you expected him to.

“He was one hell of a good dog, wasn’t he? You looked like you were having fun out there tonight before I got there and ruined it.” Jack mumbled. You brushed a thumb over your intertwined hands softly.

“I’m happy in New York, Jack.” You laughed wetly, “But then I come down here and this fits too.”

“Since when does it have to be one or the other, darlin’? You can have roots and wings, you know.” Jack told you. You nodded.

“Maybe I could just fly south for the winter.” You joked miserably.

Jack finally pointed out towards the woods and nudged your shoulder, “Look.”

“What?” You asked.

“There, see ‘em?” You followed his pointing finger until you realized that he was pointing at fireflies illuminating sections of the woods with their blinking behinds.

“Only you,” you laughed fondly, looking up at him. You couldn’t deny it, Jack was still just as handsome as the day you married him even if the years had gone by.

“You know, I still go out there sometimes. To the meadow, I mean. I hear the crickets and I go and sit in the field and stare up at the stars like we used to. It’s like a religion.” Jack revealed, turning to look down at you to gauge your response.

“I had a dream about it the other night, our first kiss when we were twelve. Remember that?”

“You ever wonder what would have happened if you hadn’t gotten shot and died on that mission?” Jack asked bluntly. You were surprised and whispered his name.

“Just, let me get this out before I can’t.” Jack started, “I thought us working together on missions would be an adventure. I loved seeing you be this beautiful badass and I loved being the one who got to love you. And it took me awhile to realize that being tied down to me would be your only adventure.”

“I guess that thug knew what he was doing then, aiming at me. I was so ashamed, Jack, ‘cause I felt so relieved once I woke up and remembered everything. And all of a sudden, I just . . . Needed a different life. Y’know? I had to get away.” You were almost frantic in your story, the painful memories resurfacing of how you just ran away from your husband with no explanation. Gosh, the number you did on him.

“You done real well for yourself. I’m proud of you, sugar.” Jack told you sincerely, fingers brushing your hair away from your wet cheeks. “I’m just sorry I never danced with you at our weddin’. I’m sure this next one’s gonna go better for ya.”

You looked up and suddenly your lips were on his and it felt like you were breathing real air for the first time since you left his home and abandoned him. It felt good, his lips brushing yours in just the right ways, but you couldn’t do this.

“Jack, I can’t do this.” You whimpered through your tears. He nodded.

“I know. Go home, Brandy.”

And just like he’d appeared, Jack disappeared in the dark, leaving you alone with your conflicted emotions.

_________________________________________________________________

The next morning found Jack entering the Statesman offices as a man on a mission. But he found an unfamiliar man with flowers in hand, pacing in the lobby.

“Y’alright there?” He asked. The man whipped his head up and sighed.

“I’m here to surprise my fiancée. The secretary won’t let me in because I don’t have a Kentucky Statesman badge, only a New York one.”

Jack quickly realized the situation, knowing immediately that the man was there to see you without needing to be introduced. He also knew that you were probably in Champ’s office, talking smack about missions like you used to do.

“Well, I’m headed upstairs to see a friend of mine, but you’re welcome to join.” Jack motioned to the elevator, and your fiancé quickly nodded and followed him inside the cab. Jack rolled his eyes at the guy’s eagerness.

“So, fiancée huh? Which one of our lucky agents is it?” Jack drawled, knowing full well who this man meant.

“Agent Brandy.” The man answered, “and you are?”

“I’m Agent Whiskey. Who might you be?” Jack smirked.

“Oh, I’m sorry, I’m Agent Rum.” Rum laughed sheepishly. He was quite a bit smaller than Jack and had to look upwards to make eye contact.

“Ah, so you’re the man Brandy was talking about.” Jack couldn’t help but meddle a little in his ex-wife’s affairs.

“You know Brandy?” Rum asked, surprised.

“Course I know her. I know all about her.” Jack grinned down at the man, “I know her name, her whole life story, everything. She was my partner.”

“She never mentioned you.” Rum stammered. “Are you sure we’re talking about the same girl?”

Jack described you, and Rum nodded, but that description would match a few agents and Rum wasn’t sure Jack really knew who you were. Joke’s on him.

Moonshine got in the elevator and froze once he saw Jack with your fiancé. He’d looked Rum up as soon as you’d mentioned him, and the look Jack had on his face was downright scary to someone who knew him. It was like a lion playing with its prey.

“Uh, uh, hey Whiskey.” Moonshine stuttered.

“Morning,” Jack smiled. “Brandy here?”

Moonshine nodded.

“Yeah, yeah she’s here. She’s with big daddy.”

“Wonderful. I’m just escorting her fiancé here up to meet him.” Jack nodded towards Rum who waved a hand. Jack couldn’t figure out how this man got to be an agent, all timid and shy next to Southern guys. He seemed like a schmuck.

“Oh, that’s great.” Moonshine nodded emphatically.

“I’m sorry, you are?” Rum asked, in reference to Moonshine.

“Name’s Moonshine. I’m Brandy’s, uh—” her turned to look at Jack to figure out what to say.

“Her other partner.” Jack finished. Rum smiled at the two.

“Wow! Two partners while she was here. That’s something.”

Jack rolled his eyes behind the man’s back.

“So what do you like about our Brandy?” Jack finally asked him, directing the both of them to exit the elevator. Champ’s office was just down the way, but Jack wasn’t ready to leave this man with you yet.

Rum spouted off a lot of things that Jack knew you weren’t like whenever y’all were married and he quickly realized that the woman you were with this new guy wasn’t anything like the woman he married. The woman he’d seen in the last few days. This was a woman who had completely changed herself to fit New York, and that just made Jack’s stomach churn.

Finally, he pulled Rum over to Champ’s door and he threw open the doors. You were sat inside, alone, staring at a few photos on the wall before you looked up and made eye contact with your ex-husband. You stood quickly, walking over to the two men standing before you.

“What are you doing here?” You asked, looking at Jack.

“Well, I came to deliver your fiancé.” Jack stared at you real hard.

“I, uh, think she was talking to me.” Rum cut in, handing you the bouquet of flowers he’d been holding.

“Jack . . .” You trailed off.

“Must be exhaustin’.” Jack started.

“What?” you asked softly. Rum echoed the question beside you, finally realizing that you and Jack were talking to each other in a way that wasn’t normal to him.

“Livin’ a lie.” Jack finished, hand shoving his hat further on his head. You shook.

“What’s he talking about?” Rum asked you, and you looked back at Jack, pleading for him to be kind.

“You and I are in love with two different people.” Jack said with a shake of his head as he left the room.

“Who is he really? He said he was your partner.” Rum asked you, staring after Jack’s retreating figure.

“He’s my husband.” You answered.

“Your what?” Rum was dumbfounded.

“I mean my ex-husband.” You gasped, correcting yourself.

“You married your partner?!” Rum was running his hands through his hair, trying to wrap his mind around the situation and realizing just how little he knew about you. Had you up and married another man while you were down here? Were you married before? You interrupted his thoughts with a quiet answer.

“No, I came down here to finalize my divorce.” You sighed.

“Hey darlin’,” Champ burst into the room, “just saw your precious hubby and took his resignation.” He froze once he saw who was with you. “Oh! You must be my baby girl’s new someone!”

You groaned internally.

Rum threw up his hands and made some new noise you’d never heard before then promptly left the room. You scurried after him, trying to get his attention.

“Blake! Wait!”

“I just—” Andrew started as he pressed the button on the outside of the elevator.

“Let me try and explain, you don’t understand!” You tried to wedge your way between him and the door, but he easily slid past you. You slammed your arm against the side of the sliding doors to keep them from closing. “This isn’t who I am anymore!”

“Look, I don’t know who you are or what else you’ve lied about, but I do know one thing. There’s a helicopter parked outside in the field, and I am on it.” Rum’s face was stony as the doors closed.

You stood there for a moment, dumbfounded, trying to grasp the situation. A sigh escaped your lips before you made your way back to Champ’s office to slump down in a chair.

Champ was sitting at his desk, Statesman glasses perched on his nose and a tumbler of whiskey in his hand. He looked up right as you made eye contact and gave you his signature “I told you so” look. You groaned.

“I know you’re thinkin’ I spoiled things real good this time.” You grumbled, chucking your hat on the table.

“Now, sweetheart, don’t go accusin’ me of thinking. I ain’t done anything of the sort.” Champ snorted. “Anyway, I don’t think you spoiled what you think you did. You got a good head on your shoulders kid, and I love you.”

You talked for awhile, catching up on life and missions and things you hadn’t spoken of in years when a knock sounded on the open door of Champ’s office. Champ nodded whoever it was inside, but you didn’t even look up until Champ looked at you with a knowing smile.

“Hey, you two. Look who I found wandering around by the weapons labs.” Moonshine nudged someone forward and you finally looked up. Agent Rum, your fiancé, was in front of you with the sorriest look you’d ever seen on his face.

“I thought you’d be halfway to New York by now.” You said slowly, not sure why he was still here. Your little interlude an hour before sounded like a breakup if you’d ever heard one. You stood up and moved to stand beside Champ, knowing he’d back you up if needed.

“So did I.” Rum smiled sheepishly, nodding toward Champ.

“Oh, this is Agent Champagne, but we call him Champ. He’s basically been my daddy since I started here.” Champ reached up squeezed your hand in reassurance and you moved closer to Rum. “And this is Moonshine. He’s been my best friend for a long time, well, as long as I’ve been good to him. He’s always been a better man. This is where I started, where I grew up, and my home.”

“Well,” Rum started, “it’s nice to meet you both. I’m Agent Rum, Brandy’s fiancé. That is, if she’ll still have me.” You looked at him in surprise. “ Look, I don’t really care what just happened back there. So you have a past. I mean, who doesn’t? We’re all trying to escape something in this life. What I need to know is if there is a place for me in your future.”

“Good Lord, he’s saying all sorts of sweet things.” Moonshine muttered and you laughed at him.

“Well?” Rum asked. You nodded with a small smile.

“Crap, guess I need to plan my vacation days to go to New York then.” Champ grumbled at his desk.

“What vacation days, old man?” You sassed Champ. You turned back to Rum, “Babe, what if we had the wedding here? I have so much history here, I’d like to end it all here and start fresh with you.”

Rum smiled and agreed and Champ started hollering about how he couldn’t believe you were going to do this to him again, how he’d have to officiate yet another wedding, and how many times does his only daughter get married? Apparently the answer was twice.

_________________________________________________________________

A month went by before you knew it, full of missions and planning and setting up temporary groups while you’d be on your honeymoon. In between all you had to do in the Statesman offices, you were also wedding planning. Luckily, you had Champ and his wife to help with all that along with AppleJack and your assistant.

Mr. Collier, your lawyer, had been calling nearly every day, but you’d assured him that you had everything handled and that he could clear the divorce without you. You’d been calling Jack a lot too. You wanted to talk to him about what Champ meant when he said Jack had retired, and why no one seemed to want to talk about what he was doing. But he never answered his cell and your old home phone seemed to be disconnected.

It still didn’t feel real that you’d be getting married on Saturday afternoon as you stepped off your Statesman jet at the airfield in Kentucky on Thursday with Agent AppleJack and your assistant—now newly minted Agent Smirnoff.

“You guys remember that mark from a year ago on that mission I was on for about three months, right? The Spanish one?” AppleJack was telling you. You nodded, remembering who she was talking about. He’d been rugged and good looking, and you’d told her as much when you handed her the mission. “Well, he proposed to me, and I think I loved him despite his obvious attraction to black market trading.”

“Then why didn’t you say yes?” Smirnoff asked.

“Because I hesitated long enough to realize my head and my heart were saying two different things. And he was on the other side of the legal fence.” AppleJack scoffed.

You guided the two of them towards your waiting truck and chucked your bags in the bed of it. Theirs followed as they argued.

“Well, it’s a big decision.” You added in.

“It’s supposed to be the easiest one you ever make.” Smirnoff said. You’d always thought he was a romantic, and now you were sure of it.

“Hey, y’all, I want to stop somewhere before we head to the office. Okay?” You turned to look at the two of them, and they shrugged before agreeing. It wasn’t like y’all had much to do today anyway. Champ had already assured you that the cellar was decorated and pretty for you and Rum to tie the knot, and that he’d already arranged everything for your honeymoon too.

You drove the forty-five minutes it took to get to your parents’ old farmhouse where you used to live before it had burned down, taking both your parents with it when you were nineteen. You hadn’t been there since a few days after the fire when you’d set up headstones for your parents on the property, but you wanted to tell them what was going on.

The driveway was long, but you were surprised to see how well kept it was. Then the house came into view along with Jack’s pickup truck and a familiar black dog lounging on the steps. You slammed on the brakes and parked right off the driveway, jumping out of the vehicle.

“Oh my god.” You gasped, looking at the place. It looked nearly identical to the house that burnt down, but there was a new barn in the back of the house and fence posts as far as you could see down the drive that kept going. Your dad had never cleared that far into the woods, but it looked good. It looked like a really successful ranch had been started right where so much devastation had taken place.

“Brandy, do we know the people who live here?” AppleJack asked, finally catching up to your quick walk towards the house. “What is this place?”

A man walked out of the house and froze once he saw you, and you hardly heard both AppleJack and Smirnoff arguing about if he was single.

“Jack,” you breathed. He stepped down off the porch and came over to you, greeting you with a sad smile. “I tried to call you a couple of times.”

“Listen,” he started, completely ignoring your previous statement, “since you’re here, you and your friends should look around. Say hello to the horses in the barn or something. It’s nice out today.” He tipped his hat towards your two companions and called his dog, making his way back into the house before you could say anything else.

You shook your head, trying to clear your eyes of the tears that had somehow started filling them. As you looked around the ranch, you saw all the little things that Jack had done, as well as the big, that made this place feel so much like home. It was almost exactly the way it had been when you lived there so long ago, and you were reminded of the photo Jack had on your old mantel. You’d asked him why he kept it, but he hadn’t answered then. And the times when the guys you used to work with were trying to tell you that Jack was successful now, but Jack had cut them off. Now you knew why. He’d built this place for you.

_________________________________________________________________

When you got to the Kentucky office, Champ was waiting for you downstairs.

“Hey, little darling, there was a man here for you. He straight up asked about your whole name and everything. Did you have a guest coming for the wedding we didn’t know about who’d know your civilian name?” He asked. Your brow furrowed as you shook your head. “Alright, well we sent him on his way, anyhow. I’m sure it’s fine.”

You introduced him to your two companions and Champ grinned, happy to meet two people you trusted with your life. You asked him if Rum was here yet, to which Champ nodded and guided you all inside. “Got here about two hours before you, sweetheart.”

Once you were inside, it seemed like a whirlwind of things happened as you readied yourself to get married for a second time. The next 36 hours were hell, waiting for everything to be finalized so you could get hitched.

It was Saturday morning and Champ had stationed two low ranking agents to man the guests as they filtered into the cellar where you’d be holding the wedding. So far, only agents were to be in attendance and a few plus ones, but you’d wanted to keep it small. So when a balding man appeared and introduced himself as Mr. Collier, telling the two agents that he wasn’t on the list, they promptly told him that he couldn’t come inside as he wasn’t invited. The man insisted he had urgent business with a Ms. Daniels, but the agents weren’t having it and escorted him out of the cellar.

Meanwhile, at your old house, the one you had shared with Jack, your ex-husband was adding the last few crates and boxes of his and your things to his truck. He groaned once he saw his mama leaning up against her car in the driveway since he hadn’t seen her pull up.

“Hey, sweetheart, there’s a wedding goin’ on.” She said softly, helping him throw a gym bag into the backseat of his truck.

“Yeah, I heard mention of it a time or two.” Jack shrugged, “I sure hope this weather cooperates. It’s supposed to be a big storm.” He didn’t want to give into his mama and tell her how he really felt about all this.

The truth was, Jack was devastated. He’d spent so much time trying to get his wife back, and now she was marrying a man he knew she didn’t love as much as she loved him, and it hurt. It felt like something had died inside his chest, and he supposed something did. His heart.

“You know, Jack, you’re my only son and I love you, but sometimes you are too much like your daddy.” Helen sighed.

“She made her decision, Mama.” Jack set the last box in the bed of the truck and covered them up with tarps to keep ‘em dry.

“For somebody who’s been holdin’ onto somethin’ so hard, you’re pretty quick to let it go.” Helen eyed him.

“You know I can’t control her anymore than I can control the weather. I gotta go. I wanna get these inside before the rain ruins whatever I’ve got left.” Jack tipped his hat at his mama and climbed inside the cab. Helen shook her head in disappointment.

Champ stood in the corner of the apartment you’d been occupying in the Statesman office that weekend, watching you adjust your dress and cowboy boots. He smirked once he realized you’d be getting married, Southern style with the boots and a dress that he swore he’d seen in one of those fancy Southern Living magazines his wife was always reading. Or was it Southern Weddings? He didn’t know, but you looked beautiful. Even more so than the first time he’d officiated your wedding to Jack.

You kept fidgeting, causing Champ to speak up.

“It’s just nerves. You’re doing the right thing.” He attempted to reassure you.

“Am I?” You asked, unsure.

“When I married my wife, Lord, I was a goner for that woman. I couldn’t put one foot down in front of the other, despite being an agent with perfect balance, mind you. I remember standin’ there thinking, ‘Oh preacher, better hurry up before this woman changes her mind.’ And look where it got me. Sometimes she drives me so crazy that I could shoot her, but—”

“But you still love her.” You cut him off.

“God knows I do, and only she knows why.” Champ laughed, his eyes teary as he looked you over.

“Champ, I think I—”

“He can give you a life in this company, honey. You’ve always wanted this. And he adores you.” Champ said firmly, not letting you get back on the confusion train.

“He does, doesn’t he?” You sighed, “Well, even if he is a Yankee, at least he’s sober. Let’s go, Champ. I’m ready to get this over with.”

Champ led you down to the cellars, and then down the aisle. He didn’t get you two very far, though, when a man’s shouts were heard yelling “Ms. Daniels! Ms. Daniels!”

You whipped around, confused about why someone would be calling you by your married name. “Mr. Collier?” You asked in surprise. The two agents supposed to be manning the door had grabbed him by now, but you were quick to dismiss them.

Rum called your name, but you held up a hand to stop him from speaking. You didn’t know why Mr. Collier was here, but it had to be important if he was trying this hard to get in contact with you. The man took a moment to catch his breath.

“You are one hard woman to get in contact with.” Mr. Collier wheezed as he bent over to breathe.

“Mr. Collier, he signed the papers.” You said quietly. “What are you doing here?”

“He did. You didn’t.” You finally noticed the papers he was holding and sucked in a breath.

“What? You mean I’m still married?” You asked, unsure how you felt about this new information. You thought for sure you’d signed the papers when you’d sent them off the day after Jack had signed them. Apparently, you hadn’t. Mr. Collier pointed at the line above Jack’s name, and sure enough, it was blank.

“Well, not if you don’t want to be.” Mr. Collier replied gently as he handed over the papers.

“For goodness sake, Brandy, I thought you took care of this?” Rum groaned as he made his way to stand in the aisle beside you.

“It’s an honest mistake, Blake.” You shook your head in disbelief.

“Well, then, can we fix it? We’ve got agents who need to be on missions soon and we have a honeymoon to get to.” Rum snorted. Your brows furrowed as you watched this normally kind man getting frustrated over a mistake you hadn’t even realized you made.

“Does anybody have a non-deadly pen?” You asked, knowing no one would have one on them unless it had ten functions to kill someone and not one of them being the purpose of a real pen with ink that would actually stay on the paper. You’d made the mistake before of signing something with ink that removed itself within two hours and you didn’t want to make that mistake again.

No one around you had one, not even Champ, until a woman behind you cleared her throat. You turned around to face your mother in law, Jack’s mom.

“These things don’t just happen, y’know.” Helen said with a knowing smile as she held out a fountain pen. You took it and uncapped it, placing it on the paper but not moving to sign it.

“You can’t ride two horse with one ass, sweetheart.” Champ said from beside you. You looked up at him and with a watery smile, you told him you couldn’t sign the papers.

“Blake,” you started, taking his hands in yours, “You don’t want to marry me.”

“I don’t?” He asked, eyes almost looking dangerous.

“No, you don’t. Not really. You see, the truth is—” You hesitated before continuing. “I gave my heart away a long time ago, my whole heart, and I never really got it back. And I don’t even know what else to say besides ‘I’m sorry.’ I can’t marry you, and you shouldn’t want to marry me.”

“So this is what it feels like.” Blake muttered, eyes definitely glittering with anger now. “You can’t just do this to me. That’s it? You’re just going to leave me for the man you haven’t even wanted to be married to for seven years? God, Brandy, what the hell!” He shouted.

You took a step back, attempting to make space and remove your hands from his, but he held your hands tightly. You gulped, knowing Blake wasn’t done.

“In my entire career, and I have a good one, I have never met someone so deceitful and manipulative! I should’ve known, considering our occupations, but this is so disgusting what you’ve done.” Blake spat.

“I’m just trying to be honest.” You whispered.

“You are such a little bitch.” Blake roughly dropped your hands and Champ immediately stepped in, crowding the shorter agent.

“Now, look here, Agent Rum. She said her piece and there’s no need for name-callin’, you hear me?” Champ growled.

“Oh go back to your office and get shit-faced.” Blake spat at Champ’s feet. You saw red.

“Nobody talks to my daddy like that.” You growled, throwing one of your best punches. Agent Rum was soon on the ground and you chucked your engagement ring at his head. It hit his cheek and bounced off somewhere, but you couldn’t bring yourself to care.

“Praise the Lord, my baby’s back.” Champ cheered, pulling you away from your ex-fiancé.

“Hey y’all!” You shouted as you stood up on an empty chair in the venue, “If you’re friends of the bride, stick around! I’m gonna go find me a groom!”

And then you were off, grabbing your keys from Moonshine and hopping in your truck, wedding dress getting stuck in the door. You didn’t care, though. You knew exactly where Jack would be and you planned to go get your man back.

You roared into the meadow, truck chassis bumping around on the uneven ground. The door was flung open and you were racing across the field, dress bunched in your hands. Rain had started falling, and Jack was sitting in the bed of his truck getting sopping wet. He had a bottle of whiskey in his hands, but he hadn’t quite noticed you yet.

“Hey, cowboy!” You shouted above the rain and he whipped around to face you, eyes wide beneath the brim of his hat. Rain dripped off the edges and you almost laughed at how bedraggled he looked, but refrained. “You owe me a dance.”

“Nice dress. Where’s your husband?” Jack finally said as he capped the whiskey bottle and set it down beside him in the truck bed.

“I’m lookin’ at him.” You said, and Jack froze. “Apparently, you and I are still hitched.”

“Is that right?” He asked slowly as he got off the tailgate. He made his way over to stand in front of you, rain still pouring over the both of you to the point where you could only really see him anymore.

“Why didn’t you tell me you came to New York?” You asked desperately, needing to know if he still wanted you, if he still loved you.

“I needed to make somethin’ of myself.”

“About done?” You asked in disbelief. This man was already enough for you, how could he not see it?

“What is it about you Southern girls? You can’t make the right decisions ‘til you tried all the wrong ones?” Jack scoffed. He was sure this was some elaborate joke, that your fiancé would hop out of your pickup truck and laugh at him any minute now.

“At least I fight for what I want!”

“Oh, what do you want, honey? Hell, I don’t even think you know.” Jack shook his head.

“You’re the first boy I ever kissed, Jack, and I want you to be the last.” You said as you stepped closer to him, dress dragging in the grass and dirt. You didn’t even care, not if it meant you could get your husband back.

“Maybe you and I had our chance.” Jack muttered, hoping you couldn’t hear him, but you did.

“Fine! Have it your way, stubborn ass!” You yelled.

“Whatcha wanna be married to me for anyhow?” Jack asked, repeating what you’d asked him all those years ago when you were twelve. You grinned, catching up to his game.

“So I can kiss you anytime I want.”

And then you were in his arms and he was kissing you, his hat dumping water on the both of you but you couldn’t bring yourself to care. You were already soaked. You’d gotten your man back, and you sighed into his mouth. You didn’t want to move again, the feeling of his kiss bringing life back into your lungs and giving you space to breathe for the first time in a long time. He just felt right. Hands wandered up his back and you knocked off his hat in an effort to get even closer to him. He groaned when fingers locked into his now soaked hair, tongue slipping into your mouth when you whined.

You only broke away when you heard someone yelling at the both of you, lights shining right onto your interlocking figures.

“What the hell are you two trying to do? Get yourselves killed?” Tequila yelled. You laughed, breaking away from Jack just long enough to shout back.

“What seems to be the trouble, officer?”

“I’m here to bring you in again, little lady!” Tequila called back, hands on his hips and looking downright hilarious.

“What did she do this time?” Jack shouted. He walked you both closer to Tequila and the man had the audacity to grin at the two of you.

“Well, the way I hear it, seems she run out on a perfectly good cake!”

You laughed and smooched Jack on the cheek before reaching down to grab his hat from the ground.

“Get in my truck, cowboy!” You grinned, “Seems we finally get our reception!”

You raced your husband to your truck, hopping in and laughing at the way you both shivered from the cool air you’d had blasting. Jack swore and turned on the heat as you got yourselves out of the meadow and started following the red and blue flashing lights of Tequila’s patrol car.

You reached a hand over to hold Jack’s and he lifted your fingers to his lips to press a kiss to the knuckles.

“I love you.” He murmured and you returned the sentiments, happy for the first time in a long time.

Tequila led you to the bar Helen owned, and you laughed once you realized where the guys had decided to hold your reception. It was only fitting that the place where you’d originally hosted your first reception was now the place of your second, and with the same man no less.

Tequila made his way indoors first and introduced you, yelling out a “Ladies and gentleman, Mr. and Mrs. Jack Daniels!”

You rushed inside, nearly tripping over your boots and dress, but Jack steadied you, dipping you for a deep kiss just inside the door.

Catcalls filled the air as Jack lifted you back up, a boyish grin gracing his lips.

“I do believe I owe this lady a dance,” Jack nodded at his Mama by the jukebox and she smiled at the two of you.

“You sure do!” Moonshine shouted.

“Hey Helen,” you turned to Jack’s mama, “make it a slow one.”

She saluted you, and then hit a button, playing Tennessee Whiskey. Jack snorted at the song choice as he held your waist in the middle of the space they’d cleared for a dance floor, but you didn’t mind. You’d always joked that the song was about him with his Statesman name, and he hated it. You loved him, though.

You had your husband back and you weren’t ever going to give him up again. You swayed to the song for a moment before leaning up to kiss him. Finally, you were home.

#jack daniels x reader #agent whiskey x reader #jack daniels x female reader #agent whiskey x female reader #jack daniels #agent whiskey #statesman #sweet home alabama #kingsman the golden circle #kingsman #jack ‘whiskey’ daniels #mandoclan #mandoclan writes

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bopinion · 2 years ago

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2022 / 40

Aperçu of the Week:

“Logic is the beginning of wisdom, not the end.”

(Mr. Spock from Gene Roddenberrys "Star Trek")

Bad News of the Week:

No one knows Yemen. Sanaa? Myrrh? Gulf of Aden? Saltah? Agame? Wayla? Cholera? Sorghum? Kath? Honestly, the only thing I personally associate with Yemen - which I barely know where it is - is civil war and starvation. And it's been going on for years. To be exact, it was in June 2004 , that the Shiite minority Huthi started an uprising against the Yemeni government. Since then, the country has basically been the site of a proxy war between two Arab ideologies of Islam: Sunni Saudi Arabia versus Shiite Iran.

Since then, Yemen, which is having a hard time anyway due to its geographic and climatic location, has been lost. Health, education, human rights, security and practically all other things a society can take for granted have fallen by the wayside - there isn't even enough food. At least the few charitable organizations that dare to enter the country have been able to rely on a fragile ceasefire. Until now. It expired a few days ago and the warring parties could not agree on an extension.

The UN considers the war and its consequences for the population to be the worst humanitarian crisis of our time. Nearly 400,000 people have already lost their lives in the conflict, and several million are displaced within the country. Infrastructure and culture have practically ceased to exist, state institutions operate only on paper, and Yemen qualifies as a "failed state" in every respect. But somehow no one is interested. Because it is only a regional crisis in which (in contrast to the Middle East, for example) no major geopolitical power sees its interests threatened. After all, it's only a matter of life and death.

Good News of the Week:

Everyone knows Brazil. Samba, Amazon, Capoeira, Rio de Janeiro, soccer, hummingbirds, caipirinha, bossa nova, feijoada, carnival, churrasco. We think we know the biggest Latin American nation. Always in a good mood, open-hearted and communicative, deeply relaxed and positive. So it came as a shock to many when Brazilians, of all people, elected Jair Bolsonaro as their president in 2018. A far-right ex-military man who has always openly stood by his misogynistic, homophobic, neoliberal, anti-environmental, racist and anti-scientific positions - not for nothing was he called "Tropical Trump."

And he delivered reliably, so to speak: from a threatened judiciary to unprecedented environmental destruction to Corona denial, Bolsonaro stayed true to himself. And the rest of the world could only shake its head. But fortunately, that could now be the end of it. Because large parts of the population are not doing well economically - "It's the economy, stupid!". That's why the political revenant Luiz Inácio Lula da Silva scored points in last weekend's elections. For during his presidency from 2003 to 2010, the country was doing better - even if one can doubt the authorship of this. And the rather left-wing co-founder of the Workers' Party was able to pick up where he left off, even though he could not avoid corruption allegations and court cases.

Even if Bolsonaro made it to the runoff with 43% (Lula came in at 48%), there seems to be a sufficient will to change. And there is some hope - also parallel to Trump in the U.S. in this respect - that at least some of his fatally flawed decisions can be corrected by the incoming government. The world simply can no longer afford such erratic despots with the motto "After me, the deluge." It's good that this seems to be over in South America for the time being.

Personal happy moment of the week:

For months we have been forbidding my son overnight guests. Always with the same argument: you can't let anyone into this mess, you have to clean it up first. Didn't work for a long time. Until we - well, let's put it diplomatically - agreed on a compromise. The worst construction sites are eliminated (toilet bowl and sink, used clothes or dishes, garbage ...) and we then turn a blind eye or two. And it actually worked. Also because the short one sacrificed a Boba Fett evening with his father to achieve just those minimal goals. Work in progress...

I couldn't care less...

...about the current discussion about a "gas price brake", which an expert commission is working on this weekend. In fact, energy costs significantly more than consumers and industry are and were used to. Whether the population pays this directly via the billing of heating costs or higher product prices, or indirectly via taxes or subsidies, is actually beside the point. In the long term, it would have made more sense to invest the money in a special fund to promote sustainable, independent and climate-neutral energy sources. But politicians would rather win elections in the short and medium term than in the long term. And everyone is so stupid to play along with this game.

As I write this...

...I try to imagine the "physics of the unimaginable". Because this is what the Austrian Anton Zeilinger - together with the Frenchman Alain Aspect and the US-American - won the Nobel Prize for in the week that is coming to an end. Albert Einstein already spoke of a "spooky action at a distance" in quantum physics: so-called entangled particles that behave as one - even when they are several thousand kilometers apart. And as early as 1977, Zeilinger succeeded in doing just that, namely transferring the state of one light particle to another. In effect, the birth of - hold on! - teleportation. Which is why he has been called "Mr. Beam" ever since. The treckies among us will assign this right away. Unimaginable. At least for me.

Post Scriptum:

Yes, there were pandemics before Corona. And there will be some after. And at the same time, of course. And what SARS-CoV2 is to humans, bird flu is to: Birds, you guessed it. And if birds read the newspaper, they would feel just as queasy as we humans do. Because bird flu is on the rise: this year alone in Europe (by which I mean in this case the European Union and Great Britain. Norway , Switzerland and most of the Balkans remain so even outside) had to be 51 million farm birds, ie chickens, turkeys, ducks, etc, because of a bird flu infection "culled". So killed and burned. No good for anything anymore. Because of the pandemic, there are already warnings in the UK of an impending shortage of turkeys over the Christmas period. Which should leave us mainland Europeans rather cold. Because I personally, for example, have always doubted that chicken nuggets really contain chicken meat - and not just sawdust with an artificial flavor.

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pikemoreno · 4 years ago

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and then i’d kiss you

pairing: marcus pike x f!reader

summary: when going undercover requires you be fake married to your longtime work crush... because of course that’s how life is going right now.

word count: 3.6k

warnings: mentions of guns, excessive pining

a/n: an idea sparked by discussions with @hdlynn and @ithinkhesgaybutwesavedmufasa about undercover!fake married!marcus. shoutout to them for the inspiration and being my think tank.

(also i hate trying to name things)

***

You slid into the conference room right at the end of the briefing, coffee in hand. Marcus stood at the front of the room, presenting the case you’d been building with the rest of the team. You’d been doing so much planning and research for the sting that you had almost forgotten about the meeting for it, so you inconspicuously took a seat at the back, pretending that you’d been there the whole time, and listened as Marcus closed.

“The gala is tomorrow evening at The National Gallery. Very fancy, very exclusive. Our targets are, as I’m sure you guessed, Mitch Pimpkin and Harriet Smith.” Their images appeared on the monitor in the conference room and every member of the team groaned. These two had been a thorn in your team’s side for months. They were particularly good at what they did. They were dangerous, not afraid of casualties, and they always covered their tracks. Agent Pike continued, “They are confirmed to be attending the gala. They are supposed to be meeting with three clients at the event. The clients are already in custody, but Mitch and Harriet don’t know that. So that’s our in.” Suddenly he called you up to explain the rest of the plan and you just about had a spit take with your coffee, looking at him wide-eyed. The look on his face told you he caught you coming in late and putting you on the spot was now the revenge. You glared at him, but the shit-eating grin remained on his face.

“Yeah, so, “ you stumbled, trying to find your bearings as you joined him at the front of the room, “According to the information we got out of the clients, Mitch and Harriet have never actually seen them, so we’ll be sending in three agents undercover. They will pretend to be the clients and catch them red-handed,” you nodded to Marcus and he put the pictures of the three apprehended clients along with their basic information up on the monitors. “First is a single buyer meeting with Harriet, name is Natalie Reyes. A real femme fatale type. Should be fun. Anyone feeling particularly strongly about acting as Ms. Reyes? Maria, interested?” You looked to the agent sitting directly in front of you.

“Yeah, I’m down,” she grinned. She was going to enjoy this way too much.

“Now the other two that are meeting with Mitch are a married couple. Allison and Shane Morgan. They’re attached at the hip, extremely into each other.” You rolled your eyes, experiences with them in the interrogation room painting your memories. “Gotta be a pretty convincing couple or Mitch will catch on. As we all know, he is extremely intuitive. He’ll run at the first sight of a lie. Anyone with any secret relationships wanting to make-out on the job?” Everyone laughed, but no one volunteered.

You missed the way one of your fellow agents, Logan, looked at Marcus. And you certainly missed the way Marcus looked back at him.

Don’t you dare.

Logan spoke up. “Well, if no one wants to volunteer, maybe it should be you two.” You gaped; Marcus pinched the bridge of his nose. “After all, it’s your plan and you are the only ones to have met the couple.”

“Plus, you two go on assignments like this all the time. You’re closer than anyone else in this room. You would probably be the most convincing,” Maria chimed in.

The look you gave her was murderous. She wouldn’t dare. She knew all about the little crush you had. You’d trusted her with that information-- actually she’d figured it out, but that was beside the point-- and now she was about to ruin everything. The most frustrating part, though, was that you couldn’t argue with any of that logic. She was completely right.

And that is how you ended up at Pike’s front door in a form-fitting black cocktail dress that flared out just enough to hide the thigh-holster and concealed gun. That was paired with strappy heels that were probably going to leave your feet numb within the hour. The duality of the job. You played nervously with the golden necklace that weighed heavy on your neck while you stood there, preparing yourself to knock. It was all starting once you made your presence known. Tonight, you were going to have everything you wanted in all the wrong ways. It was going to be so easy to pretend, because it wouldn’t be pretend. You would be feeling every word you uttered. But it wouldn’t matter after you took these heels off tonight. Lord, did it hurt thinking of how it was going to be on his end. It was all pretend to him: every touch of his hand to your back, every interlacing of fingers, every whispered compliment to make you blush, every-- God forbid-- kiss that was to come tonight was untruthful. It was all part of the gig and you resented it.

You didn’t know Marcus was sitting on the other side of the door, waiting for the minute you knocked, thinking shockingly similar things. You had no way of knowing that. You had no way of ever guessing that he was both anticipating and dreading the way your hand would brush his, how you would look at him like he’d hung the stars, how you would maybe even dare to kiss him. It was all for show and it made his stomach turn to think about it.

He blamed himself. If he had come clean months ago, he would’ve never been put in this situation, no matter what your response was. You would either be really kissing him tonight or else no one would’ve dared suggest that you be a fake couple due to “your history.” Either of those scenarios would be preferable to pretending that he wasn’t shaking right now, waiting for the best and worst night he’d had in DC so far.

You finally knocked.

He jumped up to answer the door.

Time stopped with two people looking at each other like it was the first time all over again.

He looked more handsome than you’d ever seen him before. He wore suits almost every day, but this was different. He looked nothing short of elegant in a black suit and bowtie, accents of a dark burgundy through the ensemble. His actual appearance was much the same, but elevated somehow. The facial hair was a newer addition to his look in general, but it looked its best tonight, accentuating his jaw line, making it sharper and more defined. His deep brown eyes took on a new color tonight with the way they sparkled and brightened in the early twilight’s light.

Damn, your fake husband was fine. And it killed you.

Of course you were no better with your perfectly fitting dress and the beautiful jewelry that made you look like one of the art pieces you were protecting tonight and the heels that looked like they couldn’t be comfortable to him, but oh did they draw attention to your legs in the best way. You were beautiful every day in his eyes, but the way you’d so elegantly done your hair and make-up served to accentuate that. The smile that slowly spread across your face was what really did him in, though. It was the smile he saw every day, but tonight it seemed extra special.

He’d have to be swatting others away left and right to keep them away from his fake wife tonight. But there was nothing actually tying you to him. Someone else could sweep you off your feet tonight and you’d have nothing to keep you around. And it hurt.

There was a beat of silence as all of these thoughts arose and swirled around each other.

“Uh- ready to go?” he initiated finally.

“Yep- yep let’s go. Can’t keep our convicts waiting, can we?”

“Oh, before I forget,” he patted his pockets, searching, before pulling out a ring.

Of course. You hadn’t even considered wearing a fake ring. That would’ve been a dead giveaway. He was so good at all of this.

“May I?” he asked, just above a whisper. You nodded and he slid the piece on your ring finger, gently holding your left hand in his. Your stomach flipped, swallowing hard at the lump that formed in your throat. There was nervous laughter from both sides as you looked at it now settled on your finger. He slid his own on and shook his head.

“Feels weird to be wearing this again,” he curled and flexed his fingers around the piece.

“Were these--” you started, but found yourself unable to finish.

“They were,” he smiled sadly, “Not sure why I kept them. But at least we’ve found a use for them, hmm?”

“Yeah, great thinking, by the way. I would’ve never clocked that, but Mitch definitely would’ve. And might I say,” you studied the simple, stunning ring in the fading light, “You have excellent taste, fake husband.” The warmth went straight to his cheeks.

You can have it someday, if you want.

Is what he almost said, but this was just two kids playing dress up (and anyway, he would’ve bought you a new ring if it came to that).

“Shall we, fake wife?” he put out his arm for you to take. You did with a plastered on smile. You tried to miss the warmth of his other hand as it came to rest on yours.

***

The National Gallery was already beautiful in its own right, but the coordinators of the gala really went all out with ornate chandeliers and furniture being brought in just for the event. Even the food tables were gold and sparkly, filled with all kinds of food you didn’t recognize and were frankly scared to eat. You inconspicuously rendezvoused with Maria, giving her a quick hug and pretending to introduce her to Marcus.

“Spot them yet?” you mumbled to her, thankfully covered by the echoing sounds of the other attendees and the music that was accompanying the dancing in the center of the ballroom.

“Just arrived. 6 o’clock and 10 o’clock. She’s upstairs at the railing, he’s downstairs.” You clocked them both.

“You start with Harriet first. We’ll stall for a few minutes so we’re available for back-up. I’ll be expecting a ‘cuffed’ text in 15 minutes. If I don’t get one, we’ll come check on you unless you tell us otherwise. Copy?”

“Copy.” You exchanged more plastic smiles and parted ways, though you didn’t miss the wink she directed at you, eyeing you and Marcus standing there together. His arm came around your shoulder as you walked off. You played with his fingers there in true rich-fake-wife fashion.

“Now how will we stall for time, sweetheart?” You fought with the tightness in your chest. The dichotomy between words meant only for you to hear and the term of endearment that came with the act confused you. There was no use for such words with all the noise, so why use them?

“Shall we join them, my love?” you nodded towards the people dancing.

You wouldn't have known but his stomach flipped so violently at the name that he thought he might be sick.

He nodded and grinned, leading you by the hand. His hands found your waist as you joined the others in their swaying and dancing to the classical music. Your hands looped around to the back of his neck and you absentmindedly played with the short hairs there. It was as soft and thick as you had thought it would be.

Not that you’d made a habit of imagining it, of course.

“Maria is on the move with Harriet. They look like they’re having a nice talk,” Marcus laughed, looking over your shoulder.

“That’s a good sign,” you sighed, pretending to scan the room, but purposefully finding Mitch chatting with another guest. You looked back to Marcus, focusing your full senses on the music and how you were moving with it, the pressure you felt on your waist, and how his eyes were somehow even deeper this close.

You almost missed Mitch leaving your vision, heading up stairs.

“Mitch is on the move,” you hissed, a little disappointed over the loss of Marcus’s hands on your waist as you left the dancers to trail the target. Though you took the steps maybe little too quickly to be just a normal couple, your hands swung, connected between you, hoping to still pass as a couple just looking for a quiet place to get away from the bustling party.

You stopped in a small, sparse exhibition room, hearing Mitch’s voice on the phone around the corner. The broken words you heard sounded like he was talking about a different deal entirely. You breathed a little easier. He wasn’t suspicious of you and wasn’t calling back-up.

But he would be if you didn’t think quickly.

You heard him say his goodbyes to the associate and you knew what came next. There was only one way out of the room and it was behind you. You were too close to him to try to get back out unnoticed. So you did the only thing you could think of. You could only hope that Marcus wouldn’t be totally appalled.

“Marcus, kiss me,” you whispered, noticing you were still holding his hand, you gripped it tighter.

“What?” he whispered back, not… Appalled exactly, but surprised. You couldn’t blame that, you guessed.

“He’s coming back this way. Kiss me.” You saw it in his eyes as the plan suddenly clicked for him.

Mitch’s footsteps began clicking against tile and your back was all at once pressed against the wall closest to you, hands meeting either side of your face.

“Sorry about this.”

He was hardly sorry.

You weren’t either.

And, damn, did he kiss you. It started hesitant, barely there, but it didn’t stay that way. Once you heard Mitch round the corner, you deepened the kiss- that’s the only reason you did right? Because he was coming?-- letting your lips part, fingers weaving through Marcus’s hair.

He caught on, responding, taking the space your lips allowed. One hand came down to your ass, your leg hitched up around his waist. Just to really sell it-- that’s the only reason he did it right? To sell it?

You can just barely hear Mitch let out an annoyed huff at the sight over your heartbeat in your ears.

But then came the hitch: Mitch gets another call, presumably an urgent one, because he doesn’t keep moving.

Which meant you had to keep kissing Marcus.

You couldn’t say you hated that part, but you were really wishing it wasn’t a matter of life of death.

“A fake? Where are you? ... Stay there. I’m on my way,” he clicked off, running out of the room. You and Marcus broke apart finally, gasping for breath. But still the separation came too quickly, the lack of him everywhere such a stark contrast to the cool air spreading against your now too-warm skin.

“Maria,” you whispered to him, eyes wide. “He’s going after Maria.” He pulled his gun and you followed, at some point ditching your heels in favor of speed as you took off after the thief. You made a call to the rest of the team outside as you ran. “Plan aborted. Maria caught. Come inside to make the arrest.”

You caught up just as Mitch pulled a gun on Maria who had hers already pointed at an unarmed Harriet, her hands in the air, phone smashed on the ground. You moved out to flank him while Marcus moved directly behind him.

“FBI. Drop your weapon,” Marcus announced. You watched Mitch wince, looking behind him and then over to where you stood. Then he smirked. You didn’t like that one bit.

“I see you two were having some fun on the job. Might have to bring that up in my interrogation. Doesn’t sound like FBI policy to me to--”

“Watch it, jackass,” you sneered. He chuckled and you hated that you let him get a rise out of you.

Back-up slammed in through the emergency exit to your left and it was game over. They cuffed Mitch and Harriet, taking them back outside with them while Maria went to get her injuries checked by medical. That left you and Marcus in the room alone, catching your breath on a garish, velvet covered bench. The silence was awkward until Marcus finally broke it.

“That was… Good thinking… Back there.” You laughed.

“That’s what you’re going with? ‘Good thinking’?”

“Well, what do you want me to say?” he asked, a little frustrated

“I don’t know just--” you groaned, “Forget it. Nevermind.” You stood to face away from him, crossing your arms, and willing yourself not to get upset.

Of course you already guessed it hadn’t meant anything, but now hearing it out loud made it too real.

“Are you wanting me to say that I liked it?” Your stomach turned in the worst way. You would’ve never expected this kind of cruelty from him, but his voice wasn’t accusatory. It was… hopeful? “Because I did.” You spun around to face him.

“You-- Marcus, don’t be funny about this.” He stood now, stepping in front of you.

“I’m not. I’ve wanted to do that for… Longer than I’d like to admit,” he confessed, a hand coming up to scratch the back of his neck, “Something about the way you’re acting right now tells me you might be thinking the same thing.” You smiled bashfully, thankful he was braver than you were.

“Yeah,” you brought a hand to rest on his cheek, “I loved this night with you-- other than all the life or death stuff.” He grinned, leaning into your hand. HIs bright eyes seemed to bore right through you, hanging on every word. “I was just wishing it was… Real. I guess it kind of was after all.”

“Oh, not even close.” You tilted your head in confusion, dropping your hand from where it was gently laid against his cheek. “I would’ve done it all very differently,” his voice dropped to a whisper, too close to need anything more.

“How so?”

“Well,” his eyes darted to your lips and then back to meet your gaze, “May I?” You nodded vigorously.

“Please.”

This kiss held nothing back. It wasn’t quite so vigorous as before, but was a slow and steady presence. No longer afraid to be truthful, it was free to be deep and passionate and real. So real.

“Soooo, is this what Mitch was talking about earlier?” Maria’s voice interjected. You and Marcus scrambled away from each other to find her, arm bandaged, leaning against the doorframe of the emergency exit. “Don’t stop on my account, just be back to the bureau in an hour to debrief.” You both nodded sheepishly.

“We’ll be there,” you told her, finally finding your voice. She shook her head, smiling.

“Oh, everyone is going to love this.”

“Please don’t say anything, Maria.”

“I have to,” she grinned. “We all had bets placed. I said you’d get together tonight, but Logan said it wouldn’t be until tomorrow. Looks like I won. Bye, you two.”

“We’re never gonna hear the end of this,” Marcus murmured, kissing your forehead as you watched Maria leave again.

“Never,” you agreed as you started walking hand-in-hand back to the car. “Hey, what else would you have done differently tonight? Just for… Curiosity's sake.”

“Sure, that’s all it is,” he mused. “Well, I would’ve taken you on a proper date first, somewhere you didn’t have to wear those shoes that look like they’re--”

“Shit.” No shoes. You both looked down to find your bare feet and started laughing far too loud for the middle of this pristine gala. Everyone stared. You couldn’t care less now. There was no act. You shrugged, “Good riddance. Keep going, keep going. What else?”

“On that proper date I would’ve told you that I’ve been wanting to ask you out since the first assignment we had together. I thought you were beautiful, of course, but it was really the way you worked. You were so on top of everything-- saved my ass more than once. You had such an incredible work ethic, but you made it all so fun. Like now, we’re laughing about you walking through The National Gallery with no shoes after facing multiple instances of life and death. Who else could I do that with? I would tell you that I want that every day. And then would I have kissed you.” You stepped outside into the cool, quiet autumn air.

“But first,” you interjected, “I would have to tell you that I’ve been infatuated by you since that first assignment. You were the new guy and I was a little skeptical at first, but you proved me wrong so quickly. You were so cool under pressure and it calmed me down too. I would’ve told you that you’re still a calming presence in my life; that everything’s easier around you. I would’ve told you I couldn’t understand how anyone could let you go, and it made me angry, honestly. How could they get a chance with you and waste it when I couldn’t even get one?” His thumb rubbed across the back of your hand comfortingly. “I’d tell you that you’re the most beautiful soul I’ve ever met-- and that this look tonight almost killed me.”

“And then I’d kiss you.”

“And then you’d kiss me.”

And he did.

#marcus pike x reader #agent pike x reader #bri writes

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redeemed-wren · 4 years ago

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What up lads new Philza Lore dropped

Been thinking about this since it's been revealed that c!Phil is immortal, or at least centuries old. I like analysing things, and my brain has been chugging away analysing c!Phil since this new revelation and I finally found time to sit down and get my thoughts out.

Unless specified, I'll be talking about the character Philza from now on! Let's get into it. Putting a cut in because it gets long. Also most of this is gonna be from memory because it's getting late and I'm not digging through 4+ months of vods!

remind me to never use the new Beta posting layout it gave me a word limit and then yeeted like 800 words i hate it here lets see if i can remember what I wrote

I’ve moved a lot in my life. I think on average about one new city every four years. This has meant a lot of goodbyes, a lot of meeting new people and breaking into new circles. When this new information was revealed, I instantly felt things click - I could relate to Phil suddenly.

Being centuries-old would create similar emotions, I think. Constantly being around people you know you will outlive, constantly finding yourself in new circles and groups. It takes a toll.

Being centuries old effects how Phil views relationships, people and countries.

Because I’ve moved a lot, I’ve noticed that I’m starting to get the attitude of ‘I can’t be bothered.’ I can’t be bothered going out of my way to meet new people, to make new friends I’m likely to move away from in a few years.

I’d imagine Phil would feel much the same way. Making close connections to people is impossible for him, really. He knows he’s going to outlive those around him and so the effort to put into growing relationships seems pointless.

I think this is most seen in his and Wilbur’s relationship. Wilbur clearly wants his attention - his pride - and clearly hasn’t gotten it to the extent he wants. (“I wonder if Phil would be proud of me” comes to mind. Plus I’m sure there’s something there with his relationship with Fundy and that cycle of bad parenting. And yes, it likely contributed to his spiral into madness, but this post is about Phil, not Wilbur.) But from Phil’s perspective, he knows Wilbur isn’t going to live as long as he is.

It explains why he’s so quick to kill Wilbur as well. Wilbur is too far gone, and Phil makes the decision to kill him before he does more harm. He’s long ago accepted the fact that his son will die before him, and so he is able to kill him.

Likewise, his relationship with Tommy reflects this. He doesn’t reach out to Tommy because there’s no point in making a new bond with someone who he will outlive. (especially with Wilbur’s death so fresh). However, he does make it clear that if Tommy reached out to him, he would have answered - more on that later.

His age also means he’s always looking at the big picture. He’s likely seen countless countries and empires and kingdoms rise and fall and he knows that they’re all temporary. He doesn’t see the importance in them like those who live and die within the lifespan of a nation.

He doesn’t see the small details. He doesn’t understand why Ghostbur is so upset about a simple sheep’s death - one with unlimited lives as well. In his mind, it’s just an animal. In Ghostbur’s mind, Friend is a friend, an important small thing. Phil is so used to moving on from things, he doesn’t understand the importance of pets and nations and a home.

This is all temporary in his mind, and lives are more important to him than a country. L’manberg was corrupting people (Tubbo, quite possible Wilbur in his mind) and thus it didn’t serve its purpose and needed to go before it hurt more people. (plus I wonder if there were some underlying anger and frustration towards L’manberg for the loss of his wings. It’s basically canon now (everyone say thank you Sadist!) that Phil’s wings were damaged during the explosion, and I would imagine for someone so old, losing limbs like wings and being grounded would be a shock and some of that may have been projected onto L’manberg)

(I also want to talk briefly about his and Techno’s relationship. While we haven’t had any canon confirmation, I don’t think Techno is fully mortal and it makes sense for Phil to gravitate towards other ancient beings. Plus my friend pointed out another theory in that Phil could be a patron of some kind for Techno, something Blood God related, I don’t know we need more information Techno please give us character lore I beg of you)

OKAY! I rewrote what I already had sometimes I hate Tumblr anyway onward let’s write this out before I pass out I’m tired.

Phil is willing to create relationships - but on his terms.

I said Phil is distant and hesitate to create bonds with people but this isn’t necessarily true. I want to point out Fundy and Ranboo and talk about his interactions with them and then talk about Tommy.

At the start of season two, Fundy, Ghostbur and Phil were really driving the lore. Phil seemed to be trying to bond with Fundy, and I think a lot of that likely had to do with guilt from what happened to Wilbur but there’s something deeper to it. He makes an effort to be there for Fundy and to help him.

Likewise, he went out of his way to save Ranboo from lava (though the overlap for in character and ooc is large there, I think it still applies), and brought him home after Doomsday, saving him from his own mind.

Phil seems himself as a benevolent being. He sees himself as right, and part of that is being there for his grandson, or helping out a hybrid in trouble.

However, it’s important to note - this is on his terms. He’s lived so long, he doesn’t want to put energy into relationships that won’t give him back something. For Fundy, I think a lot of it was making up for what happened with Wilbur and family responsibility, but he enjoyed spending time with Fundy (it’s been a while I need to rewatch some of those vods I think).

With Ranboo, again I feel like there’s a small part in fulfilling some need of Phil’s to feel like he’s being ‘good’ and plucking this kid out of a warzone makes him feel good. But at the same time, Ranboo is polite, quiet, generous - the perfect kind of person to put energy into building a relationship with. Plus, I would not be surprised if Ranboo reminds him of Techno.

If a relationship takes too much, or isn’t worth it - Phil drops it and doesn’t bother trying to fix what is broken. Why would he? He’s just going to outlive whatever the problem is. He lived in L’manberg, but he was never a part of it. He dismissed Tubbo so quickly when he saw Tubbo was being corrupted by his power and position. He didn’t follow up on Fundy or check that he was okay or make any effort to reach out to him when things started to go down.

And that brings us to Tommy. We’re all upset at how Phil reacted to Tommy’s exile and the following, but I think it makes so much sense. Like I said before, he doesn’t put the effort into reaching out to Tommy, but he would have gone to the Beach Party if Tommy had reached out to him. He was happy to see Tommy at Techno’s place, he was willing to create that relationship and bond.

But from Phil’s pov, Tommy was thrown aside by his home, found shelter with Techno, and then betrayed Techno by siding with the people who threw him aside. (and Techno is loyal to the few he trusts, so a betrayal like that will hit hard and Phil can see that). It makes sense that Phil decides that isn’t a relationship he wants to put energy into fixing.

(Also to clarify, I’m not saying Tommy was wrong to side with L’manberg and Tubbo, or that Techno was right in lashing out like he did. I’m just saying it’s a complex issue, and seeing all sides of it is important - they were both betrayed that day).

Living so long means Phil only cares to put effort and energy into relationships that benefit him, in whatever way. If someone is too difficult or needs too much effort, then in Phil’s mind there’s no reason to pursue that relationship.

Being so old makes Phil overly confident in himself.

Philza is always in the right. Full stop. End of story.

He’s lived so long and has so much more experience than anyone else that he thinks he is in the right all the time. His fatal flaw is his pride and - much like Techno - he refuses to see anything from anyone else’s point of view.

He saw L’manberg’s corruption, saw that it as a nation was hurting people and made the decision that it was doing more hurt than good so of course he joined Techno and Dream in destroying it.

He sees the big picture and so of course Friend’s death doesn’t matter, Friend was just an animal. Ghostbur is too naive and foolish to understand that now.

Unless he learns to listen and see someone else’s point of view - which will be very hard, because he’s so old and connecting with people is hard for him - he’s going to continue to think he’s always in the right.

Conclusion

There’s a few things I want to see/think might happen with Phil’s character, one more likely than the other.

First off - Karl.

If anyone knows how to look at the big picture, if anyone knows how insignificant the simple things are and how pointless it can be sometimes it’s the server’s resident time traveller. But where Karl differs from Phil is that he cares.

Karl goes out of his way to help, risks his memory and sanity to make things better for his friends. Pours time and effort and energy into relationships that may be onesided or temporary - heck, have you seen how much effort he goes to to be liked by everyone? Sometimes too much.

I’d love to see some Karl and Phil interaction. Maybe in a Tales episode (young Phil? Backstory? Maybe?) or even in regular canon. It’s unlikely probably, but I think it could be an interesting discussion. Someone write a fic.

Secondly - death.

CC!Phil has made it no secret that his character is probably going to die at some point (if only for ghost WINGSSSS). Honestly? I think it could be a great direction to take the character.

If Phil could find something worth dying for, could find the joys in the small things, could focus on the little details enough to realize - ‘oh. This does matter’ I honestly think that would be cool. A sacrificial death, maybe even for something as ‘insignificant’ as a pet (although pets can be important on this server). I’m not sure, but I think making peace with death would be a great way to take an immortal character’s arc.

There’s more I could talk about - for instance, I haven’t even mentioned the ‘not as painful as what I inflicted on their enemies’ comment and Phil’s whole ‘angel of death’ vibe, or the fact that he’s always only had one life. But it’s getting late and I’ve been writing this for like an hour and a half and I’m really tired. Feel free to add on!

#dream smp #dsmp #mcyt #philza #philza minecraft #this was fun #please reblog i put a lot of effort into this and i'd love people to see it!#let me know what you think ^-^#i'm going to have to find some songs and write something at some point probably #anyway sleep time #this is nearly 2000 words guys #im putting my highschool english essay skills to very good use

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unexpectedreylo · 5 years ago

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How Ben Solo Became A Martyr

If anyone were to pull me into a Hollywood studio office or lunch at some see-and-be-seen L.A.-area restaurant (personally, I like The Ivy) and ask me, a lifelong t.v. and movie viewer, what should show runners, directors, writers, and anyone who has a creative say in a production avoid doing, one thing I would say is, “Don’t unintentionally make a character a martyr.”

I don’t mean the sense of being a martyr in-universe but being a martyr to the audience.

First I should define what I mean by “martyr.” In a Christian sense, it’s a particular kind of saint who suffers and dies a horrible death for his or her faith. In a secular sense it can describe anyone who suffers and/or dies horribly for a cause or that suffering/death calls attention to a matter of injustice. This can also be applied in a more colloquial sense, such as when anyone suffers in some way or tries to use the impression of suffering to elicit sympathy.

If anyone at Lucasfilm is wondering why there’s a tribe of people on social media doing Ben Solo hashtags, making pins, and putting blue butterfly emojis on their handles, I’m here to tell Lucasfilm it’s because you guys made Ben Solo into a martyr to the audience.

First, they made Kylo Ren/Ben Solo Han and Leia’s son/Anakin and Padmé’s grandson. This makes him an easy investment for fans who have loved those characters for decades. The killing Han Solo part might have made a certain segment of longtime fans so angry at Kylo they not only couldn’t forgive him but they didn’t even want him redeemed but others could see how the death clearly affected him which elicits sympathy and compassion.

Second, they got an extremely talented, charismatic actor to play Kylo/Ben. Adam Driver refused to play Kylo as a one-dimensional mustache-twirling killing-machine villain. He added subtlety, nuance, and humanity to the role, all the while captivating the audience. That he’s also sexy didn’t hurt. As bad as Kylo could be, we also see the soft underbelly, the hints of the real Ben Solo hiding behind the persona. He managed to create the kind of hero we’d been hoping to see in the ST within a short amount of time and practically no dialogue. That’s extraordinary. Driver took Kylo as seriously as he takes any other role. He could’ve been making a bunch of other Oscar-nominated movies instead and we all know it. Getting him was a gift and some fans out there think it was ultimately kind of wasted.

Third, if TFA hinted at Kylo’s humanity, Rian Johnson made it entirely the point of Kylo’s arc in TLJ. When Kylo destroyed his helmet, Johnson was able to let Driver go nuts with a script that treated its characters like human beings instead of caricatures. While Kylo was still capable of evil and all-around bad guy-ness, we also saw someone who could be gentle and caring, a tortured young man struggling with deep remorse, a lonely soul who can only find connection with someone who’s supposed to be his enemy, and sometimes, a hero. Those pleading puppy dog eyes and trembling lips did a lot to elicit sympathy from filmgoers. That he’s also sexy didn’t hurt.

Fourth, both the films and ancillary material showed Ben was subjected to abuse and suffered greatly for the mistakes of his elders. Ben was targeted at conception and suffered with voices in his head most of his life. A kitchen droid tried to take him out. His parents were too busy doing whatever to really give him the attention he needed, even though Leia was aware some outside force was after her son. His parents ultimately feared him and his emotional freak outs. Han and Leia shipped him off to Luke’s poor man’s version of Hogwarts, leading to some deep abandonment issues. Luke almost killed him in his sleep. The very popular The Rise of Kylo Ren comics series basically acquitted Ben of everything he supposedly did leading up to his fall. Then Kylo is verbally and physically abused by Snoke. This has created a tremendous amount of sympathy for Ben, especially by those who have struggled with any number of real-world problems. They identified with him. Hollywood as of late has coded a lot of villainous or antihero characters as having mental illness or being neurodiverse or having addiction problems as well as enduring physical and verbal abuse. I get that writers want to enrich these characters and make them relevant to a modern audience and that actors like the challenge in playing them but I also think Hollywood is being a little irresponsible about it. Not only is it potentially stigmatizing it also seldom has a solution to those characters’ arcs other than death. How is someone living with bipolar disorder or autism finding a kindred spirit of sorts in Kylo/Ben going to feel about the constant message that such a life isn’t worth living? Ben just suffers and suffers and suffers and gets nothing for it.

Fifth, we’re presented with material depicting Ben’s youth. Ben, when he’s not getting the stuffing kicked out of him by life, is quite lovable and as a child, adorable. At least with Anakin Skywalker, we’re supposed to appreciate the tragedy of a good person who was loved falling to the Dark Side. With Ben it makes us love him 10x more and at the same time make us even more upset they unceremoniously killed off that darling little moppet who played with butterflies, ran around the house naked, and begged his daddy to come home.

Sixth, it didn’t seem like Ben was sufficiently loved either in the films or by Lucasfilm. Or, to put it this way, whatever gestures Han, Leia, or Luke tried to throw Ben’s way were cases of too little too late. I always wondered why, if Leia knew Snoke was manipulating Ben, she didn’t go out to find the mo-fo and kill him? I would! Leia tries to reach out to Ben in TROS but in the movie it comes off as her distracting him so Rey could inflict a fatal wound. In fact, the weird thing about TROS is it feels like Leia was trying to take out Ben all along: the distraction, ensuring Rey takes up her “Jedi path” which Leia knew full well this would somehow lead to Ben’s death, and finally her disappearing the same time he does. It’s weird! Han tries to save Ben but he’s a muggle who’s no match against his unstable son gifted with magic powers and lightsaber abilities. Luke apologizes in TLJ but never had anything to say to his nephew again. Adding insult to injury, the Blue Ghostie Exposition Scene From Hell establishes Luke and Leia as resigned to Ben’s fate all along, kicking their flesh and blood to the curb for a surrogate more to their liking. It’s horrible! The worst is of course his soulmate barely reacting to his death. In the end nobody cared. He’s like the kid who cleans up his act, gets good grades, gets into a decent college, and his family couldn’t care less. The movie abruptly kills him off and it’s on to cheering and celebrations. Nobody remembers or speaks of Ben and he’s not seen again in any form. Four-five months after the film has come out, there’s no official Ben merchandise or collectibles. It’s like “Ben Solo? Don’t know him.” You just know that every time the Star Wars social media team has to mention him or post something with him in it, they’re muttering under their breath, “Oh God, here it comes again.”

So they got a number of fans to empathize with Kylo/Ben and hope for his redemption as well as a chance at happiness after a lifetime of abuse and suffering, only to kill him off in a sudden and graceless manner. There’s no payoff for Ben or the audience. He’s just...gone. To us it doesn’t seem right. It seems cruel and unjust. But fans are also a tenacious lot so they’re hoping Lucasfilm will realize it made a mistake and correct it. In the meantime, Ben lives on in our fan fics, edits, fan art, and fan merchandise.

#ben solo #ben deserves better #reylo #kylo ren #adam driver

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diochain · 3 years ago

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Oh hey, I just want to say I think your oc Shotaro Seita is really cool, you blended Akira and JJK’s styles in a really solid way that gets the strengths of both across. I think the idea of characters in media being strongly influenced by art they themselves have experienced is a really under-utilised concept, and the idea of gaining so much power related to an anime is fitting in JJK when techniques can be based of games and animation. Great work

Oh and if you don’t mind me asking, what would Shotaro’s technique be? Presumably he’d have similar abilities to Tetsuo since he’s the strongest psychic that isn’t practically omnipotent, blowing peoples heads up, teleporting, shields and telepathy. Maybe his domain expansion could let him mutate his limbs for the sure hit attack?

AHHH!!! I'm glad you think so, honestly his entire concept started as "Hey it would be pog funny if I made an oc whose entire personality is just 'Boy I sure do love Akira.'" And then it kept evolving until we got Seita as he is now.

this ended up being more of a ramble on his powers i hope that's okay sdkfjsdkfd also!! if stuff is too broken, doesn’t make sense, stupid, or should be considered for editing, let me know. seita’s cursed technique is still in its very early stages of development and is probably extremely unbalanced. he’s meant to be unbalanced, he’s a special-grade, but not like. to an unreasonable extent.

Just note that Seita’s powers are severely underdeveloped and are mostly just conceptual at the moment!

Cursed Technique Overview—Air

His powers indeed seem very similar to Tetsuo's to onlookers, but they are indeed rather different in principle. An image I put on Seita's first profile on Instagram gives a vague and rough explanation of his cursed technique:

Contrary to popular belief in the jujutsu community, Seita doesn't understand or know the power of his own cursed technique (which I very creatively named Psychic). Seita would be too dangerous for any jujutsu sorcerer to take on if he reached his full potential. Thankfully, his arrogance, complexes and mental barriers will prevent him from ever reaching that point as he is. (I can get into his backstory and history another time.)

At its core, his cursed technique basically grants him the ability to manipulate the direction and velocity of motion in a given field. It could also be seen as the ability to pull or push, I guess. It can be seen as similar to and yet vastly different from how The Limitless is more or less the ability to stop. Psychic cannot not stop motion entirely— instead, it slows motion to the point of being nearly still.

Seita’s cursed technique can only be used on things at most 4 meters away from his person, meaning his goal during combat is always to get close to his opponent. Strangely enough, his range was larger when he first met Gojo, at 6 meters. Depending on the volume, distance away and mass of the thing being manipulated, how much energy it takes varies greatly.

His favorite move is Tatsumaki (竜巻), which manipulates the space around a target and twists it. It’s his most frequently used combat technique and is almost always fatal, and is the closest move he has that uses the true nature of his cursed technique.

He cannot mutate his own body voluntarily. This is because, one, I didn't want his powers to too closely resemble an already-existing character aside from Satoru Gojo (Mahito in this case), and two, it felt too far departed from his technique.

At the moment Seita only knows he can pull or push the flow of air, something incredibly versatile and powerful, and yet nothing compared to what his cursed technique actually allows him to do. This misconception limits him considerably and he rarely tries new things because controlling the flow of air is already incredibly exhausting (there are so many molecules and pieces to individually control and is much harder than just a brick or something).

The reason this is a major detriment is because he ends up only manipulating the flow of an “external element,” so to speak. Rather than directly manipulating the movement of the target, Seita has to use the air to push against it, which makes his life more difficult than he realizes it could be.

Seita sees himself as someone akin to Tetsuo, but Seita does not want to be Tetsuo (he wears a jacket closely resembling Kaneda’s and nothing resembling Tetsuo’s design almost to prove a point), he wants to be Akira. He has personal reasons for this only his best friend, Yuta, knows.

Domain Expansion Overview—Upper Gods’ Realm

Upper Gods’ Realm (上神会館 Kamishin Kaikan) is Seita’s Domain Expansion. It creates an enclosed cube, the area within the cube containing a floating platform high above a cloudy sky (the sky is more of an image projected onto this cube). In this Domain Seita reaches the closest he will ever be to his full power, because within this space is when he truly believes he has full control over the movement of everything. His range is increased from 4 meters to indefinite, as long as what he is trying to manipulate is within his Domain.

The cube is roughly 10 meters in height, width, and depth.

The Domain costs a colossal amount of cursed energy to maintain for periods of time, naturally, and takes a toll on his body. The longer he uses it, the less control he has over his power and own sanity. Upper Gods’ Realm can be used for at most 5.4 seconds before he starts losing control of it and himself.

If used beyond this point, his body will mutate as it tries and fails to contain his rapidly expanding cursed energy and he begins to enter a berserk state. These mutations are irreversible. He cannot stop them from happening unless he deactivates his Domain Expansion and seriously represses his cursed energy. Usually at this point, Seita passes out, and won’t fully recover for anywhere from a week to two months. His ability to use his cursed energy and cursed techniques is heavily impaired for another extended period of time after this.

The worst example of his drawbacks on record are when he used his Domain for 6.2 seconds, the resulting mutation now “doctored” and hidden beneath his clothing. He tried to destroy Osaka in his frenzied state, only stopped because Satoru Gojo was on the scene, and was unconscious for 98 days. Seita was in a largely unresponsive state for another 19 days.

In an absolute best case scenario, Seita can use his Domain Expansion once every 1-2 weeks.

#seita is so underdeveloped in every way but background/backstory sdkfjsdf #ask #jjk #jjk oc #jujutsu kaisen #jujutsukaisen oc #seita #cursed technique

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ghostiewriter · 4 years ago

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meet james maybank | character inspection

This is an insight into James Maybank, a character commonly used within my outer bank fanfictions. He’s portrayed as JJ and Kiara’s firstborn and eldest son. This is just to give you an idea on what he’s like rather than having to explain in each one-shot he shows up in!

James Maybank is the eldest child and first son to JJ and Kiara, in the little second generation I’ve created. The couple had him when they were twenty-three years old, he was admittedly unplanned. Most of their early 20s were spent travelling and the pregnancy with James did change their plans a little, but they loved him relentless. In fact, it gave JJ an excuse to finally convince Kie to go to a bunch of different theme parks since they had a kid and it was “basically a law” for them to do so. Yet, despite the fact he was an accident, it didn’t make him any less loved. It was nerve-wracking, he was the first venture into parenthood that the couple had ever had but James was also just the perfect little mix of his parents (whether that made the situation better or worse is debatable).

The name James was chosen by JJ, a little nod of respect to his mother (something that will be explained further in a certain one shot). He was the perfect little summer baby, born on 31st July, smack middle of summer. Despite being born at peak summer time, James isn’t the surfer boy you’d expect him to be. He loved the beach, don’t get me wrong. He enjoyed all the memories he had growing up, learning how to surf and building sandcastles with his little siblings but much to JJ’s disappointment, James wasn’t much of a surfing fan.

But where JJ’s love for the ocean lacked in his eldest son, his skill and interest in mechanics did not. Ever since he was a young child, James had the oddest fascinations with cars. Maybe it started from JJ taking him to work on the few days Kie would be on the mainland for her own work or maybe it was because he grew up watching old episodes of Top Gear, but James Maybank became a motorhead. The second he was old enough, he would be at his father’s side, oil and grease on his hands as he learnt everything he could. It started as a hyper-fixation and ended up being a passion. And just like his mother, James has a bit of a ‘do it yourself’ attitude. He is stubborn as hell, so when he was young and his grandparents (mostly Anna Carrera) was openly against his fascination and passion to be a mechanic, well you can guess how much it fuelled him to pursue this career further.

Like mentioned above, he is a healthy mix of his parents but maybe the combination is more dangerous. Whilst he has the wit and quick-thinking of his mother, the boy has the schemer ways and knack for trouble just like his father has. Again, a dangerous combination. James is a charmer, he has a way with words that just traps people in and make them want to be around him. He is a natural extrovert, a social butterfly if you will. You can throw him in a room with anybody and he would come out of it with new friends, it’s just the way James is. Even as a child, he just seemed to hold a charm over people that could not be explained.

Though, sometimes it can be mistake for arrogance and this is where the trouble slips in. James is a very self-aware person. He knows that he is a good-looking guy, he is quite intelligent and a bit of a natural flirt. But by god does it make his ego unbearable at times. Kiara claims this is something he gets from his father, but James seems to have an issue in letting his mouth run sometimes and it gets him into trouble with others. He is a friendly, flirty guy—you can imagine how many times he might have accidentally spoken to the wrong person and how many times he has realised his charming words won’t get him out of a fight with a very pissed off significant other (James seems to have a habit of flirting with people that are already taken, again not on purpose but more just because he can’t help it). His ego is definitely one of his fatal flaws that will come to bite him in the ass later on.

Despite this, James is one of the most loyal people you can ever have in your life. As a brother, as a friend, as a son. This boy is just the epitome of blind loyalty. Once you are in his life, you are under the protection of James Maybank, I don’t make the rules. The people he cares about mean the world to him, and though he may have a lot of friends, his inner circle is smaller than you would think. These are the people he can let loose around, not worry about reputation or appearance. He can be his usual loveable but goofy self. James thrives on making people smile and laugh, especially those in his inner circle. So although he may be an egotistical bastard at times, he can be quite the sweetheart too.

There are a lot of relationships to go through so I’ll focus on the main ones in James’s life. The main one being his relationship with his parents. Much to Kiara’s dismay, James is a daddy’s boy. Since he could crawl, he would always be at his father’s side. It was nerve-wracking for JJ considering his fears of fatherhood and walking into the unknown, but he was the best dad you could ever think of. James has a very healthy relationship with his parents, a very open one too. He has grown up in an environment that he knows is a safe place and wouldn’t be judged so there was very little he had to hide from his parents. Plus the fact they were a part of an illegal heist when they were his age does help him get away with quite a lot of stuff. James was a bit of a tester though, considering he was the first child and his parents were only 23 when they had him, but it did mean that everyone was learning together. With his short temper (courtesy of his father), James can get quite heated in argument very quickly which was a pain during his early teen years, but after reaching that eventual maturity, his relationship with his parents was a breeze.

His relationship with each of his siblings is quite different. He probably gets on the easiest with Gabriel, purely because his younger brother is a fairly chilled guy and avoids conflict as much as he can. Gabriel tends to be the first person James would go to whenever he needs to rant or get advise (his younger brother is oddly wise) and he tries to be the same.

Whereas, James’s relationship with the other twin is much more complicated. James and Zack are similar in many ways and that tends to be the problem. Both hot-headed and stubborn, they tend to clash and bicker the most. Deep down, James knows he would do anything for his brother but that doesn’t take away from the fact his youngest brother can be a right pain in his ass at some points.

Now James is an overprotective bastard, this can be seen by anyone. But his overbearing ass is definitely the strongest when it comes to his little sister Elliot. He promptly chooses to ignore the fact she could kick everyone’s ass and plays the part of ‘protective big brother’ as a badge of honour. She learnt quite quickly to just let him play his part, and though it can be irritating at some points, it means he cares so Elliot doesn’t mind too much. James just sees all his younger siblings as his responsibility to keep as happy and protected as he can. He loves his siblings, he would do anything for them just as they would for him.

The second generation of pogues are a big bunch and whilst James is friendly with most of them (maybe going as far as considering them to be his siblings too) his best friend is most definitely Charlotte Routledge. Being the first kids in the group, it was hard for James to not be around Charlie most of his life. She was born a couple of months after he was and a lot of their childhood photos are proof that the two of them were rarely seen without each other. Charlie is like a sister to him, someone he would trust with his life. She probably knows him better than she knows herself, and vice versa. One would very rarely be seen without the other growing up, and they became quite the troublesome duo. However, Charlie is also one of the few people that isn’t afraid to put James in his place. He can be cocky and arrogant and she is happy to knock him down a few notches. She is the slap of reality in his life (something James quite often needs) and after so many years of friendship, she soon learnt to help him avoid trouble by scheming with him rather than trying to stop him. Charlie Routledge is one of the most important people in his life, just like her father was to his own.

Now, the last important relationship I should tell you about is with Clover Martelle. Depending on who you ask, the view of their relationship can be very different. For Clover, James is nothing but an arrogant asshole who always gets what he wants. To James, Clover is the best thing to ever walk this earth. It’s a long story for these two, a long history that goes back all the way to their first day of school together. You could jokingly say that James is his father’s son, falling for a stubborn girl who happily put him in his place and resisted the charming smile he gave everyone else. But that is just what James loves about her. She is beautiful, but James fell for so much more than that. She was strong and kind and stood up for what she believed in. Little James Maybank has been whipped since he was 5 years old. Their story and Clover’s eventual realisation that his feelings are requited is one that will eventually be explored.

Physically, James is healthy and fit. Except for the fact he had to be kept in hospital for an extra few days after he was born. But in every other aspect, he is generally quite normal and well. The only thing that he does need aid for is his eyesight. Since he was around 4 years old, James has always worn glasses. He wears glasses because he has a “lazy eye” (medically known as amblyopia) which just means one eye is weaker than the other. In James’s case, it is his left eye. Glasses were a bit of a menace for him as a child, he hated it and usually did his best to avoid wearing them. But by the age of 8, he had grown up a bit and accepted his glasses and he has never really had an issue with them since. Growing up with his parents being Potterheads, James distinguishably has worn round glasses like the main protagonist since he had first watched the movies. It helped a lot with his confidence to wear them.

Mentally, James’s health is also quite good. Like mentioned earlier, growing up in an open environment where you were aware that you could talk to your parents and not be judged really did help. He has always been open with his feelings and thoughts, always been given healthy solutions to deal with his issues. The fact that his parents respect his privacy and space and give James the time he needs to open up is also a big help. Like his father, he can sometimes get lost in his own head and use other things to distract him but he will eventually talk to someone about what is bothering him—whether that be his parents, his siblings or his friends. He knows he will always have someone there for him.

JJ and Kiara had no plans to settle down anytime soon. They were young and adventurous and had the whole world at their feet. It was no surprise to anyone that the second they graduated, they hopped on a plane and visited all the places they only dreamed of going. They would go back and forth between a new place and returning home for a few weeks to visit the other pogues, and have a few dinners with the Carreras to keep Anna happy. It just so happened that during one of their trips back to the island, there was a massive rager at the Boneyard for Halloween. Seeing no harm in this, the couple went and had the time of their lives. Little did they know that one little night would change their lives.

James wasn’t planned or necessarily expected at least for a couple of years. Unlike John B and Sarah who had a wedding pretty soon after they graduated, JJ and Kiara saw no rush in doing so. They had all the time in the world. However, a wrench was thrown into their plans when that positive pregnancy test showed up in their lives. Despite the fear and uncertainty the couple shared on the path of parenthood, they decided to keep the baby and venture forward with this unexpected path. It became one of the best decisions in their lives.

James was the sweetest young boy, a healthy mix of his parents both in attitude and in appearance. He was energetic and bubbly and charming. He loved people and loved making new friends. He was also the catalyst to the large family the young couple would have.

James knows of his parents’ background, where the two of them came from and how they got to the place they are now. In classic JJ fashion, of course his son follows through in the teasing and mocking of the other kooks. To keep Anna happy, they would attend the odd party here or there at the country club and James would do everything in his power to seem like the most charming man and simultaneously the kook parents worst nightmare. James is protective of his family, and knowing how they treated his father, he doesn’t plan on giving them the time of day to get under his skin.

Being the eldest, he also feels as though he holds a responsibility over his siblings to be a role model. Unfortunately, his big mouth can get him into a lot of trouble and usually it’s one of his siblings that will be helping him out of trouble. He’s a prankster, he can’t help it. He always has something up his sleeve, and this just so happens to be the exact thing that gets him on Clover’s bad list the first time they meet.

His relationship—or lack thereof—with Clover Martelle began when young James Maybank decided it would be hilarious to put gum on one of the chairs in the classroom. That chair just so happened to belong to Clover who did not find it very funny and in retaliation humiliated him in front of the class by doing the same back to him. It was the day James Maybank became absolutely whipped for her.

She was the person all the kook bastards thought they were entitled to tell him to stay away from. Even Clover herself made it pretty clear she didn’t want to be near James but that didn’t stop him. And eventually, years of pining and being like a love-sick puppy would finally blossom into a beautiful relationship between the two—but not without its hardships and bumps in the road (but you’ll just have to stay tuned to see how their story plays out!).

Being the oldest means that James is also the first to go through everything, including school. He knew pretty early on that he wanted to be a mechanic, his love for cars and motorcycles and boats proved this passion this further. In fact, by the age of 16, he had managed to build his own motorbike along with the help of his father and it’s his most prized possession and greatest accomplishment to this day.

James is a fairly laid back guy, he doesn’t like to plan too much into the future or dwindle on what is going to happen. He is definitely more of a “go with the flow” type of guy and that perfectly describes his outlook on life. Though his arrogance may be his fatal flaw, it also fuels the confidence that makes James who is and it’s a part of him you will grow to love.

#character inspiration #james maybank #outer banks fanfiction #second generation pogues

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a-student-out-of-time · 4 years ago

Note

NEW ARC HYPE How’s the Kasugano Krew gonna deal with Toko? GJ was only ever pacified because of Byakuya, but I doubt you can get him to cooperate in this timeline. Having her befriend Komaru could work, but that’s risky because you guys don’t know how she’d react to meeting a serial killer outside the circumstances of post-tragedy Towa City (probably not well). I think a good first move is just to befriend her yourselves and “accidentally” trigger GJ’s transformation so you can blackmail her.

The most recent killing took place in the parking structure of an apartment building in the Chuo Ward of Saitama yesterday. Time of death is estimated around 7-10 PM.

Cause of death was indeed multiple stab wounds, and the phrase “Bloodbath Fever” was found written on the wall.

Damn...the kid was only 14. And Syo turned out to be one of the heroes during the Tragedy?

It’s complicated. Basically, during the Killing Game-

Actually, would it be alright if I explained? I have been thoroughly invested in this case!

Huh? O-Oh, yeah, sure. Go right ahead.

Alright, I shall start from the beginning. You see, the Hope’s Peak library possesses a reading room with many classified documents, including cold case files. I believe it was to help aspiring Ultimates whose talents were in crime investigation. I myself have examined many of them, including the one on Genocider Syo.

“Syo’s modus operandi is targeting young men, typically on weekdays at night or on holidays, primarily in the afternoon. The method of killing always involves fatal stab wounds with a custom-designed pair of scissors, followed by the infamous message being written in the victim’s own blood on the wall. There has never been a deviation from this pattern among any of Syo’s now 87 victims.”

It’s just like Yoshikage Kira and his obsession with hands...

But what is more, the method of killing also involves the victim being suspended by their wrists with these scissors. That information, however, has been kept entirely within police circles and the Academy. No one in the media, no one online, and no one outside of our group besides the killer themselves has this knowledge.

And among profiling results, such as lingering at the crime scene or the lack of eyewitnesses, it has been suggested that Genocider Syo may suffer from Dissociative Identity Disorder.

That sounds like a rather ableist claim.

Yeah, but the thing is...they’re right. Syo does have a split personality.

Her real name is Fukawa Toko.

Wait, you mean that famous author girl?

Yep, that’s the one. Whenever she falls unconscious, sneezes, or experiences an electrical shock, she switches personalities.

Ironically, she’s also terrified of blood.

Okay, but how’d the Hope’s Peak survivors get Syo to work with them?

They didn’t. She decided to work with them out of...I’d say love, but it’s more like obsession with Togami Byakuya.

She’s a...very perverse person, and made it no secret after they found out about her. According to Syo, they share general knowledge and emotions, but not memory.

Which isn’t that crazy. DID cases actually do involve the body treating different identities as separate: one can be right-handed and the other left, they can have variations in their eyesight that are detectable by ophthalmologists, and one can even be allergic to something another isn’t.

But cases like Syo’s are anomalies among an already rare condition. I hope I don’t need to tell you all that the vast majority of people with mental health issues don’t grow up to be violent or criminals.

Thank you.

Well, from what I know, Fukawa’s life was a unique kind of hell. She was abused all the time, by her family and by her classmates. She didn’t have any close friends, she didn’t even thank anyone until she met Naegi’s sister.

Wait, she met Naegi-chan?!

Yeah, one of the things the despairs did was imprison everyone’s closest friend or relative in Towa City and hold them hostage. A future motive would’ve been to commit murder before one of them was killed or before they were all forced to kill each other too. I don’t remember what the details were, since it never got that far. They were stuck in Towa city for 18 months before Future Foundation showed up to save them.

That’s...actually where the kids got involved too. They started their own game where they hunted down the captives while they were destroying the city. Only two of them died though.

Hold on, didn’t you say Fukawa-san had no friends? Who’d they pick for her hostage?

She, uh...has a pet stink bug. That’s her only friend.

...Oh.

But yeah, at that point, Syo was working with Future Foundation. She wasn’t a full member yet, just that she had to be kept on a short leash. No more killing people, just Monokumas. And it was thanks to Naegi Komaru that they managed to put a...not a stop, but more of a damper on the carnage in Towa City.

Syo was in love with Togami and Naegi became her first friend. But we can’t exactly bring those two here.

Yeah...probably best we keep Togami-sama away from our group, just in case.

We at least have a general idea of where she is, and we’ve got at least three months before we need to save Sasaki-san. The good news is that, if this goes off without a hitch, it might get the police to trust us a bit more.

#danganronpa #sdr2 #danganronpa 2 #dra #danganronpa another #sdra2 #super danganronpa another 2 #hajime hinata #chiaki nanami #kyoji nakamura #emma magorobi #nikei yomiuri #iroha nijiue #akane taira #sonia nevermind #a student out of time #DR #equinox arc #Anonymous

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ethelphantom · 5 years ago

Text

Heart Fragile

We’re back at angst with day 21, Broken. Oops? Some description of violence and stabbing but I don’t think it’s too graphic…? Also, no one dies so don’t worry about that. I’m not paralysing anyone either, not this time anyway. There’s also way too much italicised text used.

Dedicated to @eat0crow mostly bc she said, when I mentioned what I was writing, that the idea was painful, so yeah, here we are. Basically, Crow, this was written while I was very much planning on digging the heart out of your chest with a spoon, tearing it to pieces and burning the remains. You’re welcome. I hope you like it though lol.

The next one is all fluff and humour and happiness, I swear. Absolutely no angst in that one.

Ao3

This is Maribat – Don’t like; don’t read

______________________________

Even after all those years, she wasn’t able to stay on her feet too long, wasn’t able to use her lungs in their full capacity. The dagger that passed her chest and pierced even her lungs had made sure of it. Thankfully, the blade had missed her heart, even if only barely, because had that happened, she would have had much less chance of survival. Her chances would have gone from slim to none.

A complete collapsed lung, the stab wound itself, her barely missed heart and the every now and then reoccurring collapse of her left lung made sure she would never be able to fully recover to her original state from that day.

No one was sure how she survived either. By all likelihoods, she shouldn’t have, but she did. The help hadn’t arrived in time, her heart was only beating by some miracle when they got to her, and she’d lost too much blood, but somehow every single one of those things was still just early enough to make her survival a slim possibility.

There had not been a sight of the responsible one after that. Not a single one. No one else knew who it had been, no one but Marinette. She knew and knowing hurt because she had trusted that person with her life. Her protector had become her predator, nothing to explain why things had gone so left behind.

She still carried the bitter grudge from that day within her heart.

❋❋❋

A pained breath escaped Marinette’s lungs. “What… I— Jason? You— How could you?” Marinette gasped out, eyes wide as the one she loved pushed something sharp through her chest. It was slow, and the burning pain it caused was agonising. They were in the dark of the hallways of his father’s manor, but everyone else was gone for the night. They had made sure of it, together. No one would help her even if she screamed.

Was that why he’d wanted the manor empty…?

❋❋❋

It took her years to figure out how to go on. Tim and Dick were always there for her every step of the way, helping her adapt to life again. Tim especially, he was there as she had wanted to do something useful, and there wasn’t much she could after that injury and that day, so she was officially the main designer for a lot of things in the Wayne Enterprises. In reality, she helped the family her beloved had left behind, by looking at the cases they got and had, coming up with plans on how to solve them, helping them through the comms on the rare occasions they needed to go on site.

Tim and Bruce had taught her the art of detective work the most, and Dick had been there to teach her a little self-defence in case something happened. He had also been the one to teach her the most about police procedures.

What they didn’t know was that she used those skills they’d taught her to be able to find where Jason was, what had happened to him and what the hell he was doing now. The betrayal she now knew wasn’t for anything she would have approved of, nothing she could see as justification for his actions, and yet he’d done it anyway. The fire of her fury and bitterness and pain for what he had done to her burned brightly inside her, scorching everything in its way and burning it all to ashes, and Marinette knew she would need to find Jason and have him face the consequences before she could find peace again.

He needed to pay.

The family had their suspicions of what had happened as Jason and Marinette were supposed to be the only ones in the manor at the time, but as Marinette had not given them any confirmation, instead wanting to let them believe what they wanted, to let them hold onto the tiniest speck of hope it wasn’t what it looked like, they were not looking into it. At least, not as much as she did. They thought that maybe, just maybe there was still a reason as to why it had happened. Or maybe Jason hadn’t even done it in the first place.

Marinette would let them believe so until she had Jason to confess what he’d done to them and in front of the law.

❋❋❋

She would have collapsed on the ground right then and there, but there was a steady hand on the small of her back, supporting her as it lowered her on the ground gently, before the hand moved to press down on her upper chest and something hard was on her knees. The two weighs made sure she couldn’t get up or fight back. Instead, the whatever Jason had used stayed inside her, the sharp pain of it piercing all of her.

She could feel her warm blood start pooling around her, soaking her clothes and staining everything around her. The smell of blood was choking, the stench of iron invading all of the air.

❋❋❋

It took Marinette two years and eleven months after the incident before he found any trace of Jason. He was hiding rather well, going on around the world with two other people. Marinette told no one where she was going, just told Tim she needed a short vacation since the anniversary of the night she lost Jason and was stabbed.

Tim had, as one might have guessed, granted her her leave, and even helped her pack. He did question where she was going, but after Marinette just shrugged and said she didn’t know, that she needed to just be because of the day, he let it be.

They both knew it was a lousy explanation but it worked regardless.

Marinette had bid Tim goodbye, though without him knowing, it might’ve truly been goodbye forever as she didn’t know how the trip would go. She had no idea. Anything could happen. She couldn’t trust Jason not to try to kill her again. After all, he had done it when she had had nothing against her, back when they were engaged. Who could tell for sure what he would do now that she was chasing him and trying to bring him in front of sweet justice, trying to drag him into the courtroom to be judged for the sins he’d committed.

And so, she set out on a journey.

❋❋❋

A look down confirmed what she’d been scared of. Jason had pushed a knife into her, into her chest. Her breathing fastened slowly, and the way her heartbeats echoed in her ears louder than ever before, faster than ever before, told her that he had managed to puncture her lung, too. His hands were coated in her blood, and she couldn’t get the sight out of her mind even when what she could see started soon swimming in her eyes.

“I’m sorry, baby. I had no other choice,” he murmured into her ear, pressing a light, barely-there kiss on her jaw. “From the day we met, I knew I’d hurt you eventually.”

❋❋❋

She ended up, after a month of chasing Jason and his merry band of outlaws — and how fitting was it that the day was the anniversary of the stabbing? Wouldn’t it be ironic if she got stabbed again by her once-beloved one? —, in Ecuador, in an abandoned warehouse on the outskirts of Montañita. It was a known town, on some level anyway, but it was small, and considering the reputation of “let’s party ‘til the morning” that the town had, a lot of people would not come there. Most people who still knew Marinette would most definitely not come there if they were trying to find her.

Jason, on the other hand.

Jason would come to a place like this, especially if he was taking a break of sorts.

It wasn’t like he could really come to Gotham anymore anyway.

Not after that.

She had managed to get a ride there from someone in the town after explaining how she needed to see her acquaintance but couldn’t stay up too long since she’d been fatally stabbed a few years back, and she was definitely grateful for that little bit as she now stood in front of a huge, kind of intimidating warehouse.

Marinette took cautious steps, hesitating every step of the way. Her footfall sounded harsh, sounded heavy, but she wouldn’t stop. She couldn’t. Not when she had finally gotten here, gotten this far.

The heavy doors of the warehouse stood sturdy before her, intimidating, but Marinette took a deep breath and pulled the doors open.

❋❋❋

Marinette bit her lip, to the point where her teeth drew blood. It’s not like it mattered when she was already lying in a pool of her own blood anyway. “None of what we had was ever real, now was it?” she asked, a crack breaking her words. Her voice was desperate. Maybe he’d been forced to do it, maybe this was because otherwise, someone would kill someone from his family. Then she could understand, then she could forgive him. Even if it had been the goal from the beginning, she would forgive Jason if it was to save another human being, any other human being.

Jason just shook his head, smiling at her, even if the lines around his eyes told her that this was a smile full of sorrow. “No. None of it was ever real, but I wish it was. I truly do,” he whispered, twisting the blade even deeper. It drew a sharp, shallow gasp from Marinette’s lips before she coughed, staining the hand she’d brought to her mouth with blood.

❋❋❋

The darkness in the warehouse was scary. Marinette knew how to blend in with the shadows, but it wasn’t comfortable, so she stayed out of them as much as possible.

The problem was, she knew Jason knew how to do it as well. He could very well be hiding in them at the very moment.

The even bigger problem was, she had no idea whether his companions did.

That question got answered as she stepped inside a space that looked like people had been there only lately. She had only had a second of warning before someone much bigger than her jumped on her, the impact knocking her down and pushing the air out of her lungs. She was able to turn before hitting the floor completely, so they rolled around a few times, but the size of the other person ensured that she, in the end, ended up being the one with her back against the floor.

She felt how a hand moved to press down on her upper chest and something hard was on her knees. Her best guess, the other person’s knee and the rest of their leg. The two weighs made sure she couldn’t get up or fight back. The setting felt familiar as she struggled under the hold that was turning borderline painful.

The only differences were, the hand and the knee were pressing much harder than last time, and there was no blade in her chest. Thankfully.

A woman walked in from a room to their left, her brilliant, bright red, long hair touching the floor as she moved towards them.

“Who are you, and what are you doing here?” came the stern question — or well, it was an order but if Marinette thought of it as a question it was disguised as, she could ignore it more easily — from the redhead holding her, and wow, were all the people here redheads?

She shrugged as well as she could and kept scanning the space. The light in the space — wherever they were — had been turned on, probably by the woman as she’d walked in. It made figuring out what there was and where much easier. That gained her a punch (she dared to say it was light — surely this person could hit harder if he wanted to) and the hand on her chest pressed down even harder, which, in turn, made breathing difficult and had her coughing.

“Start talking. Hood wouldn’t want me to hurt a teenager if it can be avoided, but I’m not against doing it anyway if the need be.”

Marinette turned her eyes to the man before her eyes. A smirk grew on her face as she locked eyes with the man. He was familiar, she’d seen his face before. Tilting her head the slightest bit, she spoke directly to him. “Ooohh, you’re that guy,” she said, snorting. “I actually remember your face, though I’m not sure if he ever told me your name… Rob… Roni… Roly… No. That’s not it. Royce… A-ha! Roy! That was it!”

The shock colouring his face confirmed it, even if it was gone within moments.

“How did you—”

“And if you’re Roy, thanks for confirming it, by the way, that means you must be Kori. Not too nice to meet you, especially not in these conditions.”

“How do you know our names, kid?”

It seemed being thought of as a kid for a while longer would be a good idea if she wanted to get face to face with Jason, even for a moment. She knew they were his friends, they’d been friends back then too, but she had simply never met them so they didn’t recognise her. Yet, anyway.

“Heard them from an acquaintance. So, who’s the Hood you mentioned? Where is he?”

Roy simply scowled, without saying anything, and instead produced a knife somewhere. Marinette swallowed, trying to hide it as much as she could, but then she saw Kori moving just a little too randomly in front of a specific door.

There he was.

The time she would receive a payback for what he’d done was getting closer.

❋❋❋

“Why?”

A single word, desperate, sorrowful. Wishing for something, anything, that would justify what he did. What he was doing.

She never got an answer to that question.

❋❋❋

The knife in Roy’s hand crept closer to her, towards her throat.

Marinette could do nothing but laugh, even if it was slightly hysterical.

It shocked the two people present and startled them.

Marinette turned her head towards the door Kori was standing in front of and called out, “Hi Jay, such a lovely reunion this is! How have you been for the past three years? They all missed you. Would you believe if I said they still want to believe you innocent? They still want to believe you weren’t the one to hurt me!”

She wriggled under the hold a little more, tried to push Roy off of her, though with little success. “You going to have me properly finished off this time, Jay?” she asked, tears burning in her eyes as she had to remember the day she’d lost most of what she loved.

(“What… I— Jason? You— How could you?”)

“How cowardly do you have to be to not even show your face to me before making another person kill your ex-fiancée?”

(“None of it was ever real, but I wish it was.”)

The sharp gasp of Kori echoed in the space.

“It’s her.”

“Think you can’t take the life of someone who can’t even ever make a full recovery because of how long it took to get help, even with all those skills I know you have, or is it just that you can’t stomach killing the same person twice?”

“Jason’s going to flip once he—”

“Well, Jason? I know you’re there.”

(“I’m sorry, baby. I had no other choice.”)

The door behind Kori opened and she stepped aside.

❋❋❋

“It was inevitable, but if it makes it any better, I regretted having to do it every step of the way. Always since I—”

“Since you what?”

Another shake of the head. “I’m mainly sorry that somewhere along the line, I started to care about you. At some point, I fell in love with you.”

❋❋❋

The surprise Roy and Kori must have felt was enough for Marinette to be able to throw Roy off her. She stood up staggering, knowing that she needed support or a seat from somewhere if she wanted to be able to stay up for much longer.

Once the door was fully open and someone stepped out, Marinette swallowed as she was finally looking at Jason in the eye again, after so many years. For the first time since she had had to see him kill her.

“‘Nettie, I—”

“Don’t you dare ‘Nettie’ me! You left. You left me, you left Dick, you left Tim, Bruce, Damian, everyone, and not only that, but you tried to kill me. You don’t have the right anymore!”

The ‘you betrayed me and left me for dead but didn’t properly finish me off’ went unsaid. They both knew it was there anyway.

“What on Earth is worth betraying someone who loves you? Who loves you so much they would have done anything for you if you’d only asked? What on Earth, Jason?”

But Jason said nothing. He just shook his head. Just like back then.

“I’m sorry.”

“So you say.”

Jason walked closer to her, Marinette taking steps back automatically. She didn’t want to be so close, not when her last encounter with Jason had ended with a knife buried deep in her chest. The knife that had had no fingerprints when it had been checked, only her blood.

…Now that she thought about it, why had he left the knife there? He, like the rest of the family, knew well that if he’d taken it away, her chances of survival would have decreased significantly.

Jason just nodded, understanding. “It’s okay you don’t believe me. Didn’t expect you to.”

“Good.”

He didn’t stop moving towards her, and before long, she was back against the wall, unable to move further away. She resigned to her fate and lifted her chin, staring at Jason in the eye as he cornered her.

To her surprise, Jason dropped on his knees in front of her, making sure she was the one looking down at him and not the other way around. It seemed it was a surprise to Roy and Kori as well, judging by their faces and the jerking movement of their hands. Roy’s eyes had widened and Kori’s mouth had dropped open.

“I missed you, Marinette.”

She ignored the sting of pain that sentence sent through her.

“I did not miss you.”

A lie, if she’d ever heard one.

Jason just smiled at her sadly. “That’s fine, I don’t blame you. I wouldn’t want to forgive me either.”

“It’s not a question of ‘want’, Jay. Jason. It’s a question of ‘can’. I can’t forgive you for the pain you caused me,” she said, forlorn, a tear rolling down her cheek. “I can’t imagine what you were going to gain for doing that.”

Jason reached up to wipe the tear away but Marinette slapped his hand away. “Don’t.”

“Don’t what?” he asked, even as he made sure not to touch her anymore.

“Just don’t.”

Don’t touch me.

Don’t be so gentle.

Don’t look like you’re hurting.

Don’t seem so repentant.

Don’t make me regret this.

Don’t remind me of all the things that had me love you.

Don’t make me miss you.

Don’t say you missed me.

Don’t look like you want me to forgive you.

Don’t pretend you think it’s okay I won’t.

Don’t make me fall in love with you all over again.

There was a lot the simple ‘don’t’ could be and was.

Marinette would never say them out loud.

Suddenly, a sharp pain went through her knees and she had to take support from the wall. It wasn’t enough. Jason must have noticed, because as soon as she was falling, there was a hand on the small of her back and another in her hand, supporting her weight, just like he had so many times, just like… On that day.

And just like back then, Jason helped her down on the floor so she wouldn’t hurt herself, though this time she got to sit. The contact was so gentle, and Marinette almost wanted to cry, because this was something she couldn’t have anymore. Especially not if she succeeded in what she wanted to do because that would mean he would go to prison for over a decade.

“Are you okay?” Jason started, but Marinette interrupted him before he could get further.

“No! This is your fault. I told you, I can’t make a full recovery. This is only part of that,” she snapped at him, only realising she’d tried to stand up when she fell back down. Marinette cursed under her breath as her head hit the wall behind her and the hit had her wince. Sadness crossed Jason’s face as he saw her struggle.

“Do you think I liked hurting you? I did it because I had to, not because I ever wanted to, baby. I didn’t want to do it, and this?” Jason gestured at Marinette’s collapsed form. “I didn’t want this to happen either.”

“What did you expect to happen when you stabbed me? In the lungs? You only barely missed my heart, and I’m willing to bet it was on purpose. I know you have an aim better than that. At least I wouldn’t be alive anymore if you’d done that, if you only had pulled the knife out of my chest before you left, I wouldn’t need to suffer from all of this!” She released a breath she’d been holding and let out a broken sob. Her voice barely above a whisper, Marinette continued. “I would have done anything for you, but you… You ruined all that.”

“What do you want me to do, then?” The question was spoken more softly than Mari had remembered Jason was capable of, but she recognised it immediately nonetheless. The same fond, soft tone of voice he used when she was hurt or sad. The same tone that had always comforted her. The same tone he had used when he apologised as he twisted the blade in her chest.

It hurt to hear it again.

She loved it so much, and yet she hated it more than anything. Before anything else, she wanted to hear Jason use it while speaking to her again. Before anything else, she wanted to ensure she never had to hear it directed at her ever again.

“I want you to answer for what you’ve done. Confess what you did, in front of the family, in front of the law, confirm what I already know true to them as well,” she told him. It was the truth, even if it hurt. “I want to make sure I don’t get hurt again.”

“Then, let me do that.”

Marinette’s eyes snapped at Jason from the floor just as Kori and Roy shouted something, yelling at Jason, telling him to stop being stupid. Marinette could only stare at him in shock.

“What?”

“I said, let me do it. I’ll come with you. I’ll plead guilty in court if you want to take me there.”

Why, after imagining bringing Jason in front of the law for so long, did it feel so wrong and horrible now? Now that she was there? Now that Jason was offering to give himself up? Now that he was offering to turn himself in for her?

“You know just as well as I do that if that were to happen, you’d be imprisoned for at least a decade. How can you—”

“I know I don’t have much right to say it, but just like you don’t want to get hurt again, I don’t want you to hurt either,” Jason replied, standing up and looming over Marinette. On any other day, she would have flinched and been scared he would stab her again, but somehow all of this had her assured that he was not going to do anything she didn’t want, especially not to her. “I have hurt you enough as it is. I want you to believe I’m sorry. If that’s what it takes, then I will come with you.”

“I—”

“You don’t need to forgive me. All I want is for you to believe me when I say I regret what I did back then, I still do, and that I’m sorry.”

Roy and Kori tried to convince Jason that was a bad idea, what if they found out about everything else he’d done, what if they realised they could send him to the death row, but Jason just shushed them.

“It’s like you’ve already decided I’m going to die. Besides, this is ‘Nettie’s choice. No, sorry, Marinette’s. I hurt her. I meant to kill her. She’s the one that gets to choose. Bye you two, see you in like 15 years or so unless you wanna come to visit me.”

Then he offered a hand for her to grab on, which she, after hesitating for a second, took. Jason pulled her on her feet and let her use him as support if she needed it. “Do you need me to drive us to the airport?”

“I— you’d do that? Knowing where I want to take you? You’re not planning on stabbing me again, now are you?”

“No, I’m not, and yeah, yeah I would. Can you walk?”

Marinette huffed. “I’m not that helpless,” she spat, before adding, because she knew what Jason would ask next as he was already opening his mouth, “Yes, I can.”

As Jason was already walking to the doors, Marinette still stood there. “Are you not going to tell your friends proper goodbye?” she asked, frowning and tilting her head. “If this— if this goes like I’m planning for it to go, and if you’re not about to have them break you out, you won’t be seeing them for at least a decade, not much anyway. I don’t think it’s fair to leave them without as much as a bye, as you did with me, even if this goodbye involved much less blood and fewer near-death experiences.”

Jason turned around, surprised for a second, but then smiled at her. “Thank you,” he whispered as he went past her, so quiet even Marinette barely heard it. Marinette walked outside, waiting for Jason as she leant against the wall of the warehouse. The bright sunlight almost blinded her after the darkness that seemed to be the general setting of the warehouse.

Eventually, Jason emerged from inside, helped her to get on his motorbike, and then they were good to go. Considering the amount of money Marinette had, thanks to her job and relation to the Waynes, getting them plane tickets rather fast.

Somehow, Marinette ended up crying silent tears half the time Jason was asleep because she was no longer sure if she wanted this.

She would go through with it anyway.

She’d waited too long to stop now.

❋❋❋

Marinette could only stare into his eyes. She didn’t have the strength to do anything but that, and maybe close her eyes, but she needed to see Jason’s face, his eyes. She needed to.

“Did you truly? Then why? Or did you stop loving me? Was it all a lie when you told me you loved me only an hour ago?”

The tears that had threatened to spill from her eyes now flowed down her face. Jason wiped the tears from her eyes and pressed a kiss on her nose. “I— I did love you. I still do. Probably always will. I just… had no other choice. I’m sorry, baby. I hurt people, it’s all I’m good at.”

❋❋❋

The family was shocked, surprised, disappointed, sorrowful, when they heard what Jason had done, when they heard Jason himself confess what he’d done to Marinette, his then-fiancée. Or, well. It’s not like they ever actually broke off the engagement, not even between the two of them. Both still wore their engagement rings on the thin chains around their necks.

Bruce, Damian and Tim refused to shed tears at the trial and the hearing. Dick did not even hide it. Cass looked ready to cry but didn’t.

None of them tried to hide their sadness and disappointment about the events at the sentencing, but none of them would have ever tried to oppose or affect the punishment.

14 years in prison.

The entire sentencing, Marinette kept her chin up, ignored the burning tears in her eyes and the hollow emptiness in her chest as she watched Jason accept his sentence before glancing quickly at her and smiling.

Marinette sat as far from the rest of the family as she could the entirety of it, guilt eating at her.

She knew she shouldn’t. She was the one wronged, she was the one whose fiancé had betrayed her for god knows what and gotten nearly killed by the person she had trusted the most in the world.

Marinette stood up, and once everyone was silent, she spoke. “Excuse me, Your Honour, but may I talk with the defendant after this is over?”

Sighing, the judge looked at her like she’d gone crazy (Marinette wasn’t too convinced that wasn’t what had happened) before answering. “Alright, you may, you’re the plaintiff after all. There will be at least one officer watching over the exchange to ensure your safety, ma’am.”

“Thank you, Your Honour.”

❋❋❋

Marinette forced a sad smile on her face, even through her fury and the feelings of betrayal and sorrow, because she didn’t know how else she was supposed to react. “I guess—”, she coughed, more blood spilling from her mouth, “—this is a lesson in not trusting people, right?” she asked, smiling through her pain, crying, her sight blurring with tears and the blood loss. Her eyes closed, now unable to keep them open. She could feel Jason stroking her cheek a little, as though in a gesture of comfort before he stood up and just, walked away from her.

❋❋❋

“I’m sorry again, baby.”

“Please, don’t.”

“Alright. I love you. Go live your life. Never feel guilty for starting again, if you even do feel guilty in the first place. I hope you don’t. Find a new partner if that makes you happy, destroy all my stuff if you haven’t already, yes, even the bike,” he told her. “You don’t need to worry about the others, they would never harm you, especially since I told them you’re untouchable.”

Marinette let the tears roll down her cheeks as she pressed her head into his chest. “Why do you try to ensure my safety after what you did?” she asked through her tears and felt Jason’s chained hands wipe her tears away. “I can’t stop loving you, and I hate it. I wanted— I wanted to—”

“It’s okay, baby. I understand.”

“All I wished was to live with you until death do us part but then—”

“Yeah, I know. I fucked up. I love you. I don’t blame you for any of this, it was my fault in the first place.”

Once their time was up, the officers took Jason away. Or well. Were about to, anyway.

“If we had never met, it would have saved us both some grief,” Marinette whispered. She thought he hadn’t heard her, but then he smiled at her.

“I suppose, but I don’t regret meeting you, not aside from the fact it led me to nearly kill you. That’s all I regret. Smile with the sky. Let your smile bloom forth in a riot. For me, one last time. I don’t want to see you cry, not today. It’s supposed to be the day you’ll finally be in peace,” he told her. She forced a small smile on her face. “Here, at last, is her smile: burn it into your memory; you won’t see it often.”

She could recognise the words. Jason had read them to her once or twice before… everything. They were words he had told her when he proposed, and right now she wondered if he had already known he was going to soon do what he did already back then.

Perhaps.

That thought ate her alive, but so did Jason’s willingness to go through with this and the love she could still see in Jason’s eyes. She looked into Jason’s eyes and tried to keep the smile on her face even as she would have rather cried and collapsed on the spot, or maybe into Jason’s arms. And then again, she didn’t want to touch him ever again in her life.

As he walked past her, accompanied by the officers, he whispered one last thing to her.

“Thank you, for making sure I would pay for what I did to you, baby. Thank you for showing me you were still alive.”

It was only on that day that she was told Jason had called their family to save her. She finally understood why they so stubbornly had decided to believe Jason wasn’t to blame until now.

That night, Marinette cried herself to sleep.

❋❋❋

The burning, stinging pain in her chest faded and numbed as the surrounding world faded away as well. The only thing she could hear was the faraway voice of Jason, she heard it like she was underwater, but it was there.

“If you somehow by some miracle survive alive from this, make sure I will have to pay, have the law make me pay, ‘cause this happened for no reason you would ever consider noble. There’s nothing that could ever justify what I have done to you. I’m sorry.”

____________________________

@kris-pines04 @thethirdwheelfriend @maribat-is-lifeblood @abrx2002 @persephonebutkore @rebecarojas07 @corabeth11 @kadmeread @freshbark @maribat-march2020 @catsandfanfic @fertileleaf @cutechip

#Jasonette #jason x marinette #Maribat #maribatmarch2020 #ml x dc #dc #dc x mlb #jason todd #marinette dupain cheng #fanfic #fanfiction #ethel's writing

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