#-> because it is better than sitting there watching your country go downhill probably
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(Spirit Section 1941-01-12)
Brenda, honey..... It is 1941.
It is just so funny, because without knowing it, Brenda is currently living the Golden Age of superheroes. Also the time period Hollywood will to this day set their heroic-soldiers-doing-heroic-soldier-things movies in. Like, I'm not saying that people long to be back in 1941 (I'm European, we at least certainly do not), but I can absolutely imagine that there are some who do. Good old days with clear-cut heroes and villains and whatever.
#look I knew someone who said that they wish that they had been there in 1956 so they could fight in the revolution#which.... WHY WOULD YOU WANT THAT#-> because it is better than sitting there watching your country go downhill probably#AND we have simplified the past down in a way the present never can be#and YES I know that the joke here is that she just had an exciting adventure#but my point still stands#you never know when you are living in the good old days#old comics#Lady Luck#Brenda Banks#Golden Age of comic books
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I’m literally begging. I need more of your human aus. They’re so wholesome!!!!
I am always up for more BBM AU so! Here’s a mini-story I wrote when Zach asked if Raph has any underlying ptsd or fears about being alone!
Raph was fine till he was about 7. He doesn't remember his mom, and he barely remembers dad, and Mikey would sooner have a heart attack than leave Raph ALONE alone, so Raph didn't really grow up with the fear of being alone cause he's never really experienced it. He’s always had Mikey. He’s always had Leo and Donnie. It’s never occurred to him that that could ever change. That he could ever not have his big brothers there by his side. But it's during one, late-night when everything kinda just lets loose to the idea that Raph COULD be separated from the rest of them, and really it all goes downhill from there. It's the night Leo came home with a black eye and bruised jaw. Leo said he just got into an accident, to not ‘worry about it, bud. I’m gucci’, and since Donnie didn't say anything about it and Mikey got to stay home for the night to be with them, Raph didn’t worry about it. Cause if his brothers said it was all OK, then it was, because it always had been before, and Raph figured it always would be like that, cause big brothers just had that power to make everything better. They’d never lied to Raph before. This was no different. But then he wakes up that night because he has to go to the bathroom, and he slides himself out from under Mikey's arm. (they had fallen asleep on the couch to a Lou Jitsu marathon, which was rare, cause they never watched dad’s old movies cause it made Mikey sad sometimes to remember dad. But he was in a reminiscent mood, so they threw a couple on and wow, Raph was kinda star-eyed and soft gasps, cause dad was kinda AWESOME) And Mikeys snoring gently, so tired his body is like a dead weight on top of Raph, and Raph's arm is a little numb from where Mikey was drooling on it. And as he's walking through the dark hallway, knowing the layout by heart so he didn’t bother risking turning on the lights in case he woke up Mikey, he tiptoes on sock-clad feet, until he notices a light coming from Dee and Leo’s room. And there are soft voices coming from the barely cracked door, and Raph is super never one to snoop, but theirs a curiosity bubbling in him and he can't help but detour from the bathroom ever so slightly, because he DOES have to go to the bathroom, but a few seconds of listening in won't kill him, and his big brothers NEVER let him in on their secret conversations. So Raph leans in, his ear pressed as close to the crack as he dared- "It was stupid, that's what! Do you know how much trouble you could have been in? You could have been expelled, Leo! It could have gone on your permanent record!" And oh... that was Donnie's voice... and he sounded... well, he sounded mad... but more than that... he sounded... scared. "Well, it didn't. And you worry too much. Nothing was gonna happen. It wasn't like I got into a fight with the principal’s kid! They didn't do more than a slap on the wrist and a few weeks detention." And Leo.... Leo got into a fight? Raph didn't know that. Why didn't they tell Raph that? Why did they... lie to Raph?
Raph pressed himself closer to the door. The bathroom long-forgotten behind him.
"And that's the thing! YOU don't worry at all! God, you're so self-absorbed! Do you really not get how bad this could have been?" "Look, I said I was sorry about getting involved, but I'm not sorry for slugging Tatsu in the nose. They BROKE your glasses Dee, you can't expect me to NOT to get mad about that." "This isn't about that stupid fight with some bullies, Leo-" "Then what is it about Donnie?! Because you've been riding my backside about it all night, but haven't said a word why! Why are you still so mad at me about this?" "I'm not MAD at you, I'm-" "You’re what then? Is this about what they said? About Mikey and me? You’re mad because I stepped in and threw a punch before you could? You’re mad because I made you the victum here? Look, I know that you hate it when I meddle in your business and try to fight your fights for you but I’m-” "I’M SCARED YOU COULD HAVE BEEN TAKEN AWAY, YOU ASS HOLE!" And Leo seemed to be just as surprised as Raph felt. They had been talking in pretty quiet voices up until Donnie practically screamed that last part, and it sent an electric shock through Raph's whole system. And Raph couldn't see their facial expressions, he didn't dare move an inch closer to the door to peek inside, but he could tell from the hitch in Donnie's voice. Donnie was crying now. "You could have been.... You could STILL be.." Donnie sniffed, and Raph felt his own eyes sting in proxy. "Tatsu's dad didn't this time, but he could have very well made an issue out of this. He could have brought this to the attention of the school board. And then the school board would have had to call Draxum, or worse, Bishop, and you KNOW child services don't need a reason to separate us! Bishop will take one look at your black eye and blame everything on Mikey and then they'll take us AWAY Leo! Don't you get that?" And that... what did that mean? What was Donnie talking about? Take us away? Take us away where? Who was Bishop? What was child services? Raph's mind was spinning, like car wheels on ice with no traction to go anywhere. His feet felt planted to the floor, sunk right there into the carpet. "Wait.. wait what?... Bishop? He's still a thing? I thought he got switched out for that other agent?” "Just because he doesn’t do house visits anymore doesn’t mean he still isn’t our case holder. He can still ruin our lives just as easily from his cubicle," And Donnie didn't sound like he was crying anymore, but there was still a raw roughness to his voice that Raph was whole years not accustomed too. "Raph's a baby. Heck, WE'RE still considered babies in the eyes of the law. It won't take a whole lot for them to take even the slightest infraction to deem Mikey unqualified. And then what would happen? We could probably manage to stay together cause people are kinder on not separating twins, but what about Raph? They'll take Raph for sure and ship him off to the other side of the country and there'd be nothing we could do to stop it and-" And Raph stopped listening after that. because... Because... What? Raph could be sent away? There are people out there that could take Raph away from Leo and Donnie? Away from Mikey? And that easily? And why? Because Mikey wasn't good enough? That... That didn't make any sense? Mikey was the best! There was no one better than Mikey in the whole world! How could there be people who didn't see that? And didn't they know that Raph couldn't go anywhere without Mikey? It didn't make any sense. None of it. But there was a pounding boom in Raph's chest that made it hard to breathe. His head spun, like he was just gone 4 rounds on the merry-go-around on the pier, and Raph couldn't THINK straight. He ran back towards the living room, he didn't care if he made any noise. He didn't care about anything really, at that moment. All he cared about was... Mikey. Still asleep and drooling on the couch from where Raph left him, and Raph practically jumped on top of his chest and clung onto his big brother for dear life, pressing his tear stained face into the front of Mikey's shirt. "Ouuufff! Hey- Hey Raph. You ok?" Mikey says in a startled slur, eyes blinking rapidly to tear away from sleep. His arms wrapped around Raph instinctually, like his body new what to do before his mind could catch up, and it felt like the most natural security blanket in the world to Raph. He cried harder into Mikey's chest. "Hey shhhhhh-shhhhhhhhh, buddy, it's ok. Breathe." Mikey was sitting up now, sleep all but forgotten as he stared down at the 7-year-old attached to his front, rubbing slow and gentle circles into Raph's back. "Raphie it's ok. You're ok sweetheart. You're safe and sound right here. Was it a nightmare? Did you have a bad dream?" And it sure felt like it. The world was spinning rapidly in a downward spiral of breathtaking hurt, just like a lot of Raph's nightmares. Except the monsters were real. They were real and practically right outside Raph's door and they could take Raph away any SECOND and Raph couldn't respond to Mikey. He wouldn't respond days, even weeks, later, when Mikey askes about it. All he can do is cry. Cry like his heart is breaking in half, and cling onto the safest and only lifeline in the world that he knows.
Thus spiraling Raph into a "clingy" stage, where he's terrified to be left alone for too long. Terrified to be separated in the grocery store, INSISTING Mikey hold his hand the entire time. Terrified to go to school and be away from his brothers for too long. Terrified to even SLEEP alone in his bed. And it's so wild to Mikey, because at first, it was kinda cute how a little bad dream made his baby brother all clingy to his side, and Mikey kinda enjoyed the endless attention.
But then it started getting a bit too close to real, actual hysteria and paranoia that Raph was dealing with, and it took a mental breakdown on Raph's part, after Mikey had been a little late picking him up from school one day, because Leo and Donnie both had extracurriculars, and usually Raph just hangs out in the playground and waits for Mikey to come. But this time, he's crying his eyes out, pale and breathless and endlessly fussy with his teachers by the time Mikey arrives, and he clings unto Mikey, like he'd never see Mikey again, and Mikey HAS to have a talk with him, because what on earth could scare his brother as bad as THIS? And when Raph finally tells him, Mikey doesn't know what to do but hold him to his chest as tight as he can and whisper pretty half-truths to Raph to make him feel better. Because Mikey couldn't blindly let himself believe the "Of course! Nothing will ever take you away from me Raph, it's all ok! You have nothing to worry about! Your big brother will make sure all of you are all safe and ok! I promise kiddo. No one is taking anyone away. I won't let that happen." How could he? This was a very real fear. It was Mikey's Biggest fear on the daily. But he couldn't let Raph feel like this. To carry this fear and burden. That was too much for a 7-year-old. Mikey didn't even realize Leo and Donnie were aware of their situation to that degree.
And it puts seeded pits of fear in his chest, taking root in his heart and feeding into something dark and cold and fearful. But Mikey does his best to push it down. Push it away. Out of sight of Raph and Leo and Donnie. And he smiles and laughs and presses kisses to Raph's temple and carries his baby brother piggyback all the way home, because he'll carry whatever weight his brothers are dealing with. Take on any fears. as long as they don't have to face them alone. As long as Mikey can still protect them, for as long and as hard as he can, then when the day comes that Bishop DOES show up at their door, he'll be ready for him.
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Code 314
@harringroveweekoflove
Harringrove Week of Love Day 3: Car Sex
Rating: M
Words: 2688
Summary: The story of Billy’s least favorite arrest for indecent exposure ever. And it’s all Steve’s fault.
There’s only one interrogation room in the Hawkins police station. That means Billy is left handcuffed to Jim Hopper’s desk while Steve is in the interrogation room. It’s dark in the station, aside from the yellow light framing the shade over the interrogation room window, and the lamp on Hopper’s desk. Fucking small towns. This is, without a doubt, the most unprofessional arrest Billy has ever had.
Hopper emerges from the interrogation room and slams the door behind him. No Steve. Billy expects Hopper will sit down and pick up his phone and call Mommy and Daddy Harrington to come pick up their kid. Then it will be up to Billy to deal with whatever the fallout is. Hopefully Hopper didn’t make Harrington cry or anything, so Billy can still sort of respect him after.
Hopper does not reach for his phone.
No, he throws his hat on the desk and drops down into the chair hard enough that it scoots back several inches on the wooden floor. Folds an arm on the desk and leans in close to Billy, looking him square in the eye. He looks tired and sort of pissed.
“Steve Harrington is a goddamn pain in the ass.”
“I know the feeling.” Billy has worn that look many a time, and exclusively from dealing with Steve. He can actually kind of sympathize with the cops on this one. “But if what he told you sounds like bullshit, he’s being straight with you this time.”
“Here’s what’s gonna happen.” Hopper picks up his clipboard where there’s a mostly blank form for citations. Only the top is filled in. ‘Code 314- Indecent Exposure’ “I’m not gonna finish filling this out.”
“I’m sure Steve will appreciate that. He’d be the talk of the country club.” Billy suspects that’s not a gift to Steve, though. For a cop, Hopper is okay. He’s let Billy off with 14 warnings for speeding so far. Neil has gotten 2 speeding tickets and had his car towed for illegal parking.
“So you’re going to tell me what the hell happened and why it was a bad idea.” Hopper pulls the sheet free and crumbles it into a ball, tossing it into the trash can. “Then I can tick off the little box in my conscience that says you won’t do it again and we can all go home.”
Billy rolls his eyes. Jesus, he’s never going to be able to look Hopper in the eye again. “Come on, man. Didn’t Steve tell you?”
“I want to hear it from you.”
“Steve wasn’t lying. We really weren’t having sex in the middle of the woods. We were… look, I know it sounds like a lie, but we were... it was like therapy.”
Hopper’s eye twitches a little. “Police observation evidence would suggest otherwise.”
“I know what it looked like, but admit it. You can’t actually say you saw any dicks,” Billy pushes.
“Just… tell me what you two were doing out there,” Hopper sighs.
“What are any teenagers doing out there? You know what that spot is for.” Billy sighs and sits back in his chair. “But if you really want the gory details…”
***
“Would you stop wiggling?” Billy leans down and grabs the bottle of lube he shoved under the driver’s seat and flips the cap open.
“I’m not wiggling,” Steve huffs, wiggling to try and… do something? Billy isn’t sure because it’s the back seat of the Camaro. There’s pretty much no room, and Steve sure as hell isn’t gonna find more by squirming. He’s just gonna make things harder.
Billy pauses and pinches Steve’s thigh, hard enough to get a hiss out of him. “Fucking hold still. I’m gonna make a goddamn mess all over the backseat if I have to try and catch you after I put this stuff on my fingers.”
Steve rolls his eyes, but he makes a ‘go on’ motion with his hand and then tucks an arm under his head. Billy grabs Steve’s ankle and braces it on his own shoulder. Steve squirms and drops it, hooking it around his waist instead.
“Harrington. I’m not gonna guess where your asshole is, asshole. Not when it’s my seats under your ass. Work with me here.”
Steve groans unhappily but lets Billy hook an arm under his knee and haul his leg back up. “It’s too small back here.”
“Yeah, I know it’s fucking small, Princess. It’s the back of a fucking muscle car. Who’s fault is it that we can’t use your house?”
Steve’s face twinges a little. Fuck. Billy has his dick out, he’s hard, he’s got his boyfriend naked from the waist down, and now Harrington is gonna fondle his conscience. It works because yeah, that was probably a little below the belt.
“Sorry, babe. It’s the blue balls talking. When’s the last time we went a week without fucking?” He leans in to press an apology kiss to Steve’s lips, until Steve whines. He actually whines, long and pitiful, and grabs Billy’s shoulder.
“Too far. Bending it too far.”
Billy drops his eyes to the very naked leg braced against his shoulder. “What? I’ve practically had you bent in half before.”
***
“Okay, stop. Stop!” Hopper waves his hands, looking a little pallid in his desk lamp. “That’s way more information than I needed.”
“You asked what we were doing up there,” Billy points out. “We were trying to fuck in my car. Like every other couple that parks up there.”
“But you weren’t in your car.” Hopper taps his desk emphatically. “There’s a fine line, Hargrove. Stay in your car and you’re fine.”
“We would have if Steve had followed his stupid recovery regimen like he was supposed to!”
“Recovery for what?” Hopper takes a breath, holding up his hands. Billy really should let that Byers woman know that this guy tries to follow her advice. “Just… go back to where this all started.”
“You’re the boss.”
***
“Practicing late again, Harrington?” Billy asks, glancing over as Steve comes into the showers. It’s just the two of them at this hour, and it’s been a good few days since he really ragged on him properly. How convenient. Steve just glares at him and dips his head under the water. “Ever thought about maybe just being good at the game?”
“Ever thought about shutting up, Hargrove? I hear it works wonders for people with your condition.”
Billy grins, holding his tongue between his teeth. That pisses Steve off endlessly. “My condition? Go on, gimme the punchline.”
“Being an asshole.”
“Someone is feisty today. Did—”
***
“No. No, not where you two started,” Hopper interrupts him. “Skip ahead to where this incident started.”
“Oh.” Billy shrugs. “Okay. It was the end of basketball season and we celebrated by me fucking Steve until he couldn’t walk straight.” He ignores Hopper’s heavy sigh. “Literally, too. But then the coach made us do hurdles the day after. That’s where it all kind of went downhill.”
***
Billy knows before Tommy even starts jeering that Steve is hurt. He lays there a second too long in the red dust of the track, the fallen hurdle tangled between his legs. Billy can tell that asshole is trying to figure out how to get up without looking hurt, because that’s the shit Harrington worries about. Sighing, he ‘accidentally’ slams his elbow back into Tommy’s stomach as he chucks his water cup into the trash before jogging out onto the track.
“Regular gym class hero, aren’t you?” he mutters, hooking his hands under Steve’s armpits and hauling him to his feet.
“I’m fine,” Steve protests while trying not to put weight on his right leg. It’s a sort of pained hopping that’s not very convincing of being fine.
“Yeah, you look totally great.” Billy pulls Steve’s arm around his shoulders and waves to the coach. “Hey! I’m taking Harrington to the nurse!” he calls, and doesn’t pause to wait for a hall pass or whatever. He’s got Steve hopping around like the hurt asshole he is. That’s better than any hall pass out there as far as permission goes.
Billy is surprised that when he dumps Steve onto the bed in the nurse’s station, he makes another pained noise and shifts to lay down. Then shifts again onto his side.
“What hurts?” he asks, sitting on the low, plastic stool that’s always by the wall. He figured they had an ankle or knee issue here, but that didn’t seem right.
Steve rest a hand on his right leg. “Thigh. Something in the back of it.”
“Sounds like a hamstring injury,” Nurse Agnes says, bustling in and jamming a thermometer into Steve’s mouth. Nothing like a fever to pull a hamstring, Billy guesses. “Which leg, Mr. Harrington?”
“Right,” Steve mumbles around the thermometer.
“Don’t talk,” she huffs.
“But you asked me—”
“On your back, Mr. Harrington.”
Steve grunts and shifts onto his back, looking over at Billy for solidarity. Billy just grins and splays his legs further on his stool, kicking one leg up to brace on the side of the infirmary desk. Steve turns the same shade of red he gets after a good hour in practice. He makes a vague swatting motion that probably means ‘stop it’ but he sure doesn’t look away. Billy just runs his tongue over his teeth at him, getting the red to turn two shades darker.
Agnes’s diagnostic technique appears to be trying to shove Steve’s leg up towards his chest and seeing when he starts making pained sounds. Then she whips the thermometer out of his mouth and sweeps out of the room, tutting and shaking the thermometer and muttering about Steve running too warm.
“I was in PE,” Steve calls after her, grabbing the pillow out from under his head and chucking it at Billy. “Asshole,” he hisses.
“Can’t help it. Kinda hot watching you get fondled by a sixty-something old woman,” Billy teases, tucking the pillow between his own head and the wall. “Thought she was gonna mount you any second.”
“Me too,” Steve admits, dropping his head back down on the stripe of sanitary paper on the bed. “It was terrifying.”
***
“The official diagnosis was ‘hamstring injury and a mild fever, young man.’” Billy says, leaning on the heel of his hand as best he can while he’s handcuffed. “She put him on ice for 20 minutes, gave him some cheesy printout about stretches, and told him to give it a few weeks to heal.”
Hopper unlocks Billy from the cuffs, and then unlocks them from the chair as well, securing them back to his belt. Billy has the vague urge to get up and walk out just because he technically can and that’s his normal response to authority. He does have the good sense not to piss off one of the few okay adults in Hawkins, though, and not to ditch his boyfriend at the police station.
“Right. So Steve hurts himself and you just… forgot?” Hopper raises his eyebrows. “I’m sure you’re a more considerate boyfriend than that.”
Billy raises his eyebrows right back. “Based on… what?”
“Call it a hunch.”
Billy sighs and rubs his wrist. “Whatever you say, man. Anyway, that was over a month ago. I forgot about it once he was allowed back into the normal classes at gym. See, we don’t usually fuck in my car. Steve’s shitty parents are usually out of town. I thought the guy was secretly an orphan for a solid month after I met him because they were never around…”
***
“Why the fuck are your parents here for so long?” Billy groans, sitting low in the driver’s seat of the parked Camaro, letting his head loll out the window while he smokes a cigarette.
Steve lights his own cigarette and rolls the passenger side window down. “For my birthday.”
Billy frowns and raises his aviator sunglasses, glancing across the car. “It’s not your birthday.”
“I know. But next month there’s a conference in Tokyo or something.” Steve blows a mouthful of smoke out of the car.
“Okay, but… next month isn’t your birthday either.”
“I know.”
Billy thinks about also pointing out that since they’ve been home, they don’t appear to actually be doing anything with Steve. He and Billy spend all their time in Billy’s car, complaining about not having a parent-free place for sex anymore. But he figures Steve realizes that already too.
“Can’t believe we’re reduced to car sex at the local make-out point,” Billy sighs instead. “Surrounded by the other horny masses.”
Steve looks out the window. It’s turning dusky already, and making it hard to see the other cars parked among the trees. Pretty soon it’ll be too dark to see any of them, until they finish doing the deed and turn on the headlights to drive away, one by one. “We could always wait for my parents to leave. Might be another few weeks though.”
Billy stubs out his cigarette in the ashtray. “Get in the back seat and get your pants off, Princess.”
***
“Skip the sex part,” Hopper interrupts him. “I don’t need to hear that again. Just skip to the part I drove up to.”
“Okay, so remember that stupid little care sheet the nurse gave Steve?” Billy shoots a glare at the closed door of the interrogation room. “Guess who didn’t do any of his stupid fucking stretching exercises?”
***
Billy kind of hates his life right now. And his boyfriend. His boyfriend who has probably locked his fucking hamstring up because he thought sitting on ice for two goddamn days was as good as actually stretching.
“You’re the worst fucking athlete in the world,” he growls, grabbing Steve’s leg by the knee, kneeling in between his legs with their hips wedged together. It manages to be completely unsexy because Steve is an asshole, though. Billy is kind of mad at his own dick for staying hard through all of this.
“Oh fuck you. You don’t get to talk when you’re having the stupidest overreaction in the world,” Steve snaps, gesturing around vaguely from where he’s laying in the grass in his t-shirt and boxers. “Everyone is probably watching us.”
“Everyone is probably fucking because they didn’t fuck up their leg as soon as their sport season was over.” Billy sets a hand along the back of Steve’s thigh and leans his weight in gradually. “So now I get to fucking play physical therapist with your ass until it loosens back up.”
Steve hisses at the slow stretch when his thigh is barely past vertical. “My ass is fine, thank you.”
“Not if I can’t get my fingers into it, it’s not. It’s useless. Your ass is useless right now, Harrington.”
***
“Okay.” Hopper taps the desk like he’s surrendering a wrestling match. “Okay. That’s where I came by on my sweep. We’re done here. Just… stop talking. And do that in the gym from now on. Wearing more than just your underwear.”
Billy stands up and stretches. “Told you Steve was telling you the truth. Can I have him back now?”
Hopper gets up from his desk and grabs his hat. “Steve didn’t tell me anything.”
Billy blinks at Hopper’s back. Now there was a surprise.
Hopper opens the door to the interrogation room, spilling yellow light out onto the floor. Billy can hear Steve’s voice inside.
“Unless you’re here to give me that phone call, we have nothing to talk about.”
There’s a heavy sigh from Hopper and the sound of cuffs being unlocked. “Please get out and go home.”
Steve steps out of the interrogation room, blinking around at the dark interior and rubbing his wrists. “Billy!” He scrambles over and grabs Billy’s arm. “I didn’t say anything. If Hopper said I did, he was lying. I never sold you out.”
“You can’t sell me out when we actually didn’t do anything wrong,” Billy sighs, resting a hand on Steve’s head and turning him towards the door. “But thanks. Come on, Princess. I’ll take you home before the phone here rings and it’s your mom.”
Hopper shuts the station door firmly behind them.
#my writing#harringroveweekoflove#harringrove#billy/steve#poor Hopper#he did not sign up for this#he's here for the inter-dimensional monsters#and the evil scientists#and even the Russians getting involved#he does not need to investigate anything involving this much teenage sex
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Witch Peter x Werewolf Tony. Every witch has a familiar
This is sad. I made it sad. I’m sad :’)
CW: mentions of character death, mentions of past pepperony, angst with a hopeful ending
—————————————————————————————
Tony had promised himself again and again, night after night, that this would be his last drink. That he’d stop after that, leave the booze the hell alone, but every time he picked up the glass and put it to his lips he knew that he wasn’t going to.
It was the only constant in his life these days. Food was scarce and that had worn him down to the slim, almost sickly figure he currently was, and he didn’t see any reason to spend what little money he had on food instead of another couple of glasses of something that would help him forget.
He would give anything to forget.
Ever since Pepper passed away, things had been going downhill, and they’d been going downhill fast. He had never managed along very well, and being without his witch took the cake. He’d lost weight, gained a nasty drinking habit, and had never been more nihilistic. But how could he be anything else if he knew that he was going to die shortly if he didn’t find another witch anyway?
He was never going to survive for very long, but Pepper had swept in and taken him under her wings, she had been kind and nurturing and had helped him up when he’d been at his lowest.
Although maybe he had never been lower than he was at that moment.
When Tony’s hands shook and he could barely sit straight, he slid off the barstool and decided to spend what could very well have been his last night on earth taking in the streets he’d once loved so dearly. Maybe he could find his way back to where he’d first met his witch. That seemed like a good place to rest his head.
He started making his way down the street, hands deep in the pockets of his jeans, shoulders hunched against the cold. He thought he could feel someone’s eyes on him as he crossed to take a shortcut through some side streets, but he shook the feeling. People probably thought he was up to something. He didn’t blame them.
He continued down the street, ducked into an alley, crossed it, and ducked into another one. The fewer people saw him the better. That way he could get to his destination unnoticed and unbothered.
But it seemed that wasn’t in the stars for him.
Although his senses had weakened since he’d lost Pepper, he still picked up on footsteps behind himself. He knew that if someone jumped him now, he wouldn’t be able to defend himself – he didn’t stand a chance. He forced himself to go a little faster, until the voice of a young man reached him, uncertain and curious.
“Sir? Um, Mister?”
Could be a trap, Tony thought. He’d heard of people using kids to lure others in now, for human trafficking but also for the collection of familiars. Tony did not want to end up forcefully bonded to some witch he didn’t know, in a country he’d never been to, among people he’d never seen before. No thank you.
And yet Tony stopped in his tracks and turned slowly to face the young man standing a couple feet away. There was a safe distance between them, and there was a bright light overhead illuminating the narrow alley, yet Tony couldn’t help but feel cornered.
The person standing at the mouth of the alleyway was young, but he didn’t look as young as he sounded. Tony assumed those were nerves bringing the boy’s voice up an octave or two. Huh.
Tony looked at him cautiously and expectantly.
“Hi,” the boy said, and he fumbled a little with his hands, “Sorry to bother you. It’s just—I saw you cross the street back there, and I couldn’t help but notice your shadow.”
Tony looked at the shadow cast just behind himself. Although it looked like a normal, human silhouette to him, he knew that to witches it looked different.
“You’re a familiar, aren’t you?” The boy continued, “A… A wolf, if I’m not mistaken.”
“What’s it to you?” Tony snarled. He didn’t have time for this. Nor the patience. At least the kid had the audacity to look sheepish before he spoke again.
“I don’t mean to be rude, but you look like maybe you could use some…help?”
Tony narrowed his eyes at him for a moment, but before he could even think of a good way to reply to that, the witch opened his mouth again, and a flood of words came out, leaving Tony stunned for a second.
“I’m really not trying to be mean. I promise. It’s just that I was raised right, you know? And so when I see someone in need and there is something I can do about it, then I can’t just walk away without doing what I can. And when I saw your shadow, and I saw how weak it really was, I knew that like… You’ve probably lost your witch, pretty long ago by the looks of it, and I don’t have a familiar myself so I thought I could approach you to offer you a place to stay for the night—not that you have to accept. And not that you can’t fend for yourself, or that you need to accept me as your new witch or anything, I mean we barely know each other and I’m just kind of springing this onto you, but—”
The boy took a deep breath, and bit on his lower lip.
“So what I mean to say, is, um. If you’d like, you could…come with me. Just for the night. I know even just staying with a witch alone will help you feel better. You have a very vibrant aura, and I just… I just don’t want someone like you to waste away.”
Tony was perplexed.
He’d been wandering the streets by himself for close to a month now, trying to get by after he’d lost everything. He had the worst time trying to find a new witch and had eventually given up because no one wanted a familiar like him. No one wanted an old, greying wolf. And now there was this kid, approaching him in the middle of the night, offering to give him a place to stay alongside a witch so that he could regain some of his strength.
Something in the back of his mind told him that this could still be a trap. It very well could be, and he was walking right into it, because there was something about the boy that made Tony want to believe him and go with him.
He realized that silence had fallen between them when the other spoke up yet again. He really was trying, huh?
“My aunt is a nurse so I know of some pretty good potions. I know of one that can help avoid a hangover? I’d suggest one that sobers you up but something tells me that that’s not something you want.”
Tony opened his mouth to say something, but once again, he didn’t get the chance. Was he getting slower with every passing minute or was the kid just that fast?
“Oh, I’m Peter by the way. What’s your name?”
“Tony,” Tony finally managed, shaking his head slowly in disbelief, “Why should I trust you?”
Peter looked a little taken aback for a moment, then almost hurt, before he put a sheepish smile on his face. “I mean, you don’t really have any reason to, I know. I thought I might offer. You don’t have to say yes. I just saw you, and—you looked so lost.”
Tony huffed. Lost. Yeah, that was one word for it.
He had to make a decision. Either he went with this kid – Peter – now, or he walked toward certain death in the place he’d first met Pepper. And while he had already kind of resigned himself to that fate, he realized by just considering his options now, that he didn’t actually want to die just yet.
So he took a hesitant step forward, and watched how Peter’s face lit up. The young man gestured with his hand, and a portal into a cozy-looking living room opened up.
“It’s okay, Tony,” Peter said softly before Tony ducked through, “I’ll take care of you. I promise.”
.
The living room was warm and it smelled like someone had been burning scented candles. There was a comfortable couch that looked beyond inviting to Tony, a soft rug, small coffee table, and a television on an old, wooden television stand next to a bookcase filled to the very brim with books on all types of subjects. The room wasn’t big by any means, but it was comfortable. Tony wondered if Peter lived there alone.
Speaking of Peter, the kid appeared by his side again after he’d rummaged around the kitchen, and he was given a mug with something warm in it, steam rising up from the surface. It didn’t smell like anything he’d had before.
“Drink up,” Peter encouraged. He went to sit on the couch and patted the space next to him so that Tony could sit down, too, which he did.
He sipped at the mug and found the taste strange but not repulsive.
“It’s a homemade blend. I was really drunk like, once, and it helped really well. Oh—do you want something to eat? You must be starving.” Peter hopped up from his seat and disappeared into the kitchen again, only to return with a steaming bowl of chicken noodle soup and a few bread rolls, some of which had slices of ham in between them. He set it all down in front of Tony, who had just about finished off the potion.
“Do you always invite strange familiars into your house to give them chicken soup?” Tony asked when he looked up from the food. He was hungry though, starving, so it didn’t take long for him to tuck in at all.
“Um, well no. But there’s a first time for everything, right?”
Tony couldn’t help but huff a small chuckle at the way Peter said it. As if this was the most exciting thing that had happened to him in a while. Maybe it was.
He finished the soup and the bread rolls and was happy to say that he hadn’t felt this satisfied in a long time. With a full stomach, his other aches and pains were much easier to manage, as it didn’t all come crashing down on him so heavily all at once.
But it also made the truth hit hard.
He wasn’t aware of the tears in his eyes until Peter’s hand landed softly into his hair and his fingertips scratched ever so gently at his skull. Tony’s face felt hot with embarrassment, but he couldn’t stop the tears. Peter – bless his heart – saw what was happening, and recognized it for what it was, and pulled Tony closer until Tony gave up and wrapped his arms around the young man while his face buried into Peter’s shirt.
No one had held him since he’d lost his witch. He didn’t think anyone had bothered, or cared. But now there was this boy who didn’t know him but who held him like he understood exactly what was going on. Tony briefly wondered if maybe Peter had lost his familiar. Witches usually met their first familiar early on in their childhood, but Tony couldn’t smell one on Peter. Maybe he was alone, too.
Peter held Tony until the man calmed down, stroking his hair and petting a hand up and down his spine.
“Do you want to shift?” Peter asked when he calmed down a little.
Tony nodded, but then backtracked a little. “I don’t think I can,” he breathed out. Peter just held him a little bit tighter.
“Of course you can. Just relax. I’m right here.”
And so Tony shifted.
Not with ease by any means. It had been so long since he’d last done so, since he’d last felt comfortable enough to. With Pepper, it had always been so easy. But now that he no longer had her, it felt impossible.
But Peter held him through it all, as promised, soothed him with softly whispered words of encouragement and gentle touches to the places that ached most as his body changed to fit his alternate form.
Tony was exhausted by the time his head sank into Peter’s lap. All the energy he had left drained from him, and yet at the same time he felt strangely invigorated. He had shifted! It was scary being so vulnerable around someone he’d just met, but Peter had given him no reason to distrust him so far. Even now, he held Tony, and stroked both hands through his fur, and he was beaming when Tony looked up at him.
“You’re beautiful,” Peter said, and Tony could have sworn that his cheeks looked a little pink, “Sorry if that’s a weird thing to say. Um. Time for bed?”
And so it was.
Peter cleaned up and said his goodnight after he’d found some extra pillows and a nice blanket for Tony to curl up among on the couch, and then he disappeared into his bedroom.
The couch could have, and should have, been nice enough for Tony to sleep on, but he was restless. Exhaustion kicked in again after a short while, and it wasn’t the type that helped him fall asleep any better. He itched to go and find his way back to Peter again, which came naturally to Tony, but it was also surprising to feel that way so quickly.
He’d barely known Peter for more than two hours and now he was aching to be next to him again already.
Tony stayed on the couch for a little while longer to see if that feeling would go away naturally and allow him to sleep, but it kept him awake. Frustrated, he hopped off the couch, and followed the trail of Peter’s scent toward a closed door. Tony could have easily opened it, just reached a paw up to the door handle and push it down to let himself in – but that kind of felt…invasive.
So he scratched lightly at the door instead. If Peter was awake, he’d hear it and he would let him in. And if Peter was asleep already, then he’d just have to go back to his own nest and simply rest. Or wait until the exhaustion got the best of him.
Tony scratched for a few moments, but he didn’t pick up on any sounds on the other door, any movement. Peter must have already been asleep.
With a huff, he dropped to the floor, and rested his heavy head on crossed paws, nose tucked against the door. He felt like a defeated pup. Jesus, when was the last time he’d acted like that?
Tony had just closed his eyes, when the door opened a crack, and Peter’s head poked out. When the boy’s eyes landed on Tony, he blinked at him.
“Hey, Tony,” he said slowly, and opened the door further so he could crouch down in front of the wolf, “What’s the matter? Was that you scratching the door? Why aren’t you in bed?”
As an answer, Tony lifted his head and crowded into Peter’s space until Peter’s hands fell into his fur again, a soft whine in the back of his throat. God, that alone already felt miles better.
It was quiet for a long few moments while Peter gently pet him again, Tony’s head in his lap and his tail wagging slowly.
“If you want… You could sleep with me?” Peter suggested, almost loud in the quiet of the night. Tony didn’t need to be told twice. When Peter stood and stepped aside to allow him into the room, Tony took the invitation and sniffed around for a bit before eventually making his way toward what smelled like the epicenter of Peter’s scent – his bed.
Peter crawled back under the covers, and when he patted the space next to him, Tony lay his head there, sitting down next to the bed. Peter ruffled the fur between his ears.
“Not like that, silly. Come on. Hop up. I know my bed’s not big, but… I’m sure we can fit. If you don’t mind snuggling. I don’t know if that’s weird.”
Tony would have told Peter that he was the king of weird, if he’d been able to speak. Instead, he jumped up onto the space Peter had made for him, and tried to lay his large body down in a way that didn’t have Peter pressed up against the wall all the way. It was tricky, and didn’t exactly work until Peter curled himself around the wolf and snuggled up like he’d promised, but the result could have had Tony rumbling with satisfaction.
He hadn’t felt this content in weeks.
Granted, this didn’t solve everything, but the mere fact that a near-stranger could make him feel like maybe things were starting to look up a little bit, made him hopeful for the future.
With Peter’s arms around him and his face tucked into his neck and his hands in his fur, Tony fell asleep with surprising ease, and he slept all through the night and well into the morning. Thanks to the potion Peter had given him, he woke up without a hangover, to the smell of breakfast cooking in the kitchen.
God, when was the last time he’d woken up like that?
Tony stretched leisurely in the empty bed, and was slow to push himself up on all fours and hop off the bed. He was hungry, he noticed. Hungry at last. He finally had his appetite back.
And as he made his way into the hallway and toward the sound of friendly voices in the kitchen, Tony realized that things were changing.
Peter had never made the promise that he could stay more than just one night, and Tony had never insinuated that it was something he wanted or even just wanted to consider, but the fact of that matter was that he was feeling good, all things considered. He wanted to hold on to that feeling for a little while longer, and if Peter was the person who brought that out in him…
Maybe he could find a way to stay. Maybe he could put the effort in and make this work. Peter was likeable, and he’d been so very good to him up until now. Tony would be lucky if the young man decided that he wanted Tony to stick around.
So he would try. For the both of them.
After all, he was pretty sure it was what Pepper would have wanted.
#starker#peter parker/tony stark#starker fanfic#marvel#ironspider#tony stark#peter parker#past pepperony#pepper potts#my fanfic#my writing#aus#werewolf au#witch and familiar au#angst with a happy ending#angst with a hopeful ending#angst#silentsunplays#replies
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hey @otterinterests!!! i was your secret santa for @opsecretsanta2019. it was so much fun getting to chat with you over the past month. here is a small drabble about law and robin being vaguely weird goths and getting to know each other a bit better. when i saw that you were a law and robin friendship fan too, i couldn’t resist. i hope you enjoy!
Between the chaos of managing his own crew, coordinating with Kin’emon on the latest intelligence from Wano, safely hiding his ship after reaching the mainland, and making the trek to Oden’s palace while attempting to shepherd the Straw Hats—a full time job that he would wish dearly on every last one of his enemies—Law realizes he’s lost track of Nico Robin.
“She likes doing her own thing,” Franky says with a casual shrug, cracking open his fourth cola of the morning. “She’ll come back.”
In the week that they’ve been sailing together, Law’s left eye has begun to develop a slight twitch. “We’re supposed to be undercover. We can’t just have people wandering around. What if she’s spotted by one of Kaidou’s spies?”
“She’s not too far. She’s been helping me put up the tents,” Long Nose says. At the far end of the castle’s lawn, in the shade of the pine trees, a cluster of arms and hands has sprouted up out of the grass, busily tying knots and hammering in nails.
“Think she went that way,” Roronoa adds with a huge yawn, pointing eastward. Law grits his teeth, shouldering Kikoku. He leaves Bepo in charge of camp and the beleaguered Kin’emon in charge of the Straw Hats and heads west.
The day’s heavy with heat. Sweat crawls down the back of his neck and beads along his forehead as he trudges downhill. There’s not much left of Oden’s castle. The grounds on which it stood sprawl for miles but most of the building and its perimeter walls have collapsed, swallowed by the foliage that’s grown up around it. It’s early afternoon but the forest has already gone dim, the sun blotted out by the hazy smog that hangs over the whole country. He should be moving slower, should be paying more attention to the dark spaces between the trees, should be listening for the sound of sudden ambush. But Law’s mind feels a little hazy too, in this place. His feet hurt.
He finds Miss Nico at the bottom of the hill, sitting beside a patch of carved, upright stones. Her head is bowed over a book. Her skirt is spread out around her, a colorful burst of wildflowers collected in her lap.
For all the trouble the Straw Hats give him—Franky’s tendency to dismantle various parts of the Polar Tang, Long Nose’s terrible influence on Shachi, or Roronoa drinking their entire supply of alcohol onboard, including the bottles they keep in the medical closet—Miss Nico is hardly any trouble at all. It makes her the most trouble in Law’s eyes because it makes her impossible to read, to anticipate. He’d spent the first three days aboard the Thousand Sunny, bracing himself over dinner conversations and afternoon teas. He knew she was a historian because he’d done his research on each of the Straw Hats and he couldn’t imagine she wouldn’t do hers, that she wouldn’t eventually, casually, ask about Doflamingo, wouldn’t trace backwards from Dressrosa, across the Grand Line, to what remained of Flevance. Only she never did. She only fought alongside him, with everything she had, no questions asked.
She’s always catching him slightly off his guard.
Law realizes that she’s closed her book, one of the flowers placed between the pages to mark her spot. She watches him with a faint, warm smile. “What a lovely afternoon. Don’t you think, Mr. Trafalgar?”
“I guess,” he says flatly, stumbling to recover. “We’re unpacking base camp.”
“Yes, of course. I’ve been helping Usopp-kun.”
Law comes a bit closer, to get a better look at the clustered circle of stones. They’re long and narrow, gray like tree trunks stripped of bark. There’s script carved into them. He recognizes a few characters from the various books he collected on Wano in preparation for their arrival.
“Grave markers,” Miss Nico says. “I believe they’re for the shogun and his clan.”
“Must have been built after the fire.”
Miss Nico shoots him a questioning look, at once curious.
“Kin’emon was telling me. After they killed the shogun, they set fire to his palace. It lasted for days, razed the forest to the ground. The soil here is still full of ash. When you think about it,” he says, “where we stand now, we’re surrounded by the dead.”
“You’re such a delight, Mr. Trafalgar,” she says and though Law searches for it, he can’t find even a trace of sarcasm in her voice. “Won’t you join me?”
“We have work to do.”
“Just for a bit. You seem tired.”
With anyone else, he might bristle at that. He might interpret it as a calculated statement to let him know that she knows where he’s failing, where he’s faltering, and to hold that over his head. It’s the kind of thing Law himself would do.
But there’s no taunt in her voice. There’s no smirk. There’s only Miss Nico, still smiling at him, patient and a bit eager.
And he is tired. Even after the quiet respite at Zou, even after returning to the Polar Tang and his own bed again. Even after he slept and all the wounds healed, Dressrosa is stuck under his skin. He’s been dreaming again, old nightmares, ghosts in his head that scream until he wakes up reaching for his sword. Ghosts in the dark that he can sense even when he closes his eyes.
His crew needs him to be steady. Straw Hat needs him to be ready. He owes them that.
Law sits down next to Miss Nico. The grass is warm and dewy with summer humidity. The hot breeze stirs, ruffling her hair. The forest shifts and breathes around them. Ghosts amongst the trees, long gone.
He’s waiting for her to force conversation and she catches him off guard again with her silence, with how easy she makes that silence feel. They sit together, sharing space, a moment.
“Not quite dead,” Miss Nico says reflectively, apropos of nothing.
Law raises an eyebrow. “I suppose that’s one way to describe our current situation.”
She laughs. She has a shy laugh, like she’s used to stifling it. “I meant the forest. You’d said we were surrounded by the dead. But forests always find a way to regrow in the aftermath of fires. Sometimes it’s the same plants and trees that grow back. Sometimes there are new plants that grow up out of the ash instead. It’s all just a matter of chance, what survives and what doesn’t. In some places, the forest is the same as it was hundreds of years ago. In other places, it’s something brand new. These could be different blossoms than the ones that used to grow here. Or the very same. It’s hard for us to say for sure. But how remarkable that they still continue to grow, after everything that’s happened.”
Miss Nico gathers the flowers up in her lap, into small bouquets that she lays at the foot of each grave. “In Wano, at the end of the summer, there’s a festival to commemorate the dead. To clean graves and dance and to remember those who are gone. I’m early,” she admits, “but I don’t know if I’ll have the time once Luffy’s back. I thought they might like to see the flowers. To know what they look like now.”
“I’ve read that,” Law says quietly. “About the festival.” Miss Nico beams. Law has the sudden, strange compulsion to say more, to keep the conversation going. “Sounds like you’ve studied Wano’s culture.”
“A bit. I’m not yet fluent in the language and it isn’t easy to get access to materials, but I’ve been learning slowly.” Miss Nico gestures to her book.
Law squints at the cover. “Isn’t that one of mine?”
Miss Nico’s smile turns wry. It explains at least why he could have sworn he kept misplacing books. Law’s not sure whether he’s amused or annoyed. Both, probably.
“I found this one a little dull,” he says.
“It’s not the most engaging writing.”
“I have better ones in my personal library.”
“I’ve noticed,” Miss Nico admits.
Law realizes he’s smiling too and quickly makes himself stop. He takes his book in hand, tracing the fragile binding with a fingertip. A yellow orchid blooms from between the pages.
“You know,” Miss Nico says hopefully, “if we survive to the end of this and Kaidou doesn’t stomp us all into bloody smears, perhaps we could…sit down sometime, and talk about…other books?”
“I’d like that,” Law says.
#opsecretsanta2019#honestly? i'd love to incorporate this into a larger longer piece about them someday#sorry it isn't more christmasy#but i hope you had a lovely holiday!#and that you have a wonderful new year's too!#fic#writing
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it’s your extension (let me extend) 5/6
ace runs.
he runs as fast as he can. overhead, the comet soars, moving a million miles faster than he is.
he meets kidd at the factory. the powerplant. the entire village’s electrical grid. comes to a stop, slamming into the chainlink, still panting, when he rolls up on his motorbike.
“he says sorry about your bike,” ace calls. kidd cuts the engine.
“who says?”
“i do!” ace corrects.
kidd throws his duffel to the ground, takes out a pair of heavy-duty pliers. “you’re sure about this, ace?” he questions, one last time, a hard glint in his eyes. “that thing’s really coming down?” he points to the comet with the tool.
ace nods fervently. “saw it myself,” he swears.
kidd cackles. “you did, huh? alright, fine.” he steps forward, positions the pliers around the chain lock. “get ready!” he clips it and it falls to the ground, slack. “this means we’re criminals now!”
“you still have to convince your dad!” kidd calls back, loud over the bike’s engine. ace tightens his grip, nodding.
“yeah, i know!” he cocks his head back. “think that thing’s really gonna blow?”
“i sure hope so!” kidd yells. right as he finishes, an explosion echoes from behind them. ace screams, lunges forward, and kidd laughs, steadying his trembling hands on the handles of the motorbike. “whaddya know! dad taught me well, huh!”
“you’re crazy!” ace screams.
“says the guy who came up with this scheme!” kidd screams back.
he skids to a stop when they reach stairs, not risking going down them. ace jumps off, but kidd waits an extra second, caught with the bike’s momentum. ace stumbles on the stairs, glances back. “kidd!” he calls in panic, but kidd’s rolling to a stand too, the bike upturned behind him.
“good, good!” he gasps, grabbing ace’s arm to pull him forward. “c’mon! let’s go, let’s go!”
the power cuts out. all the bombs he and kidd had set at the plant had blown, shot the circuits to bits. ace takes a deep breath as they round the corner into the festival square, booths no longer lit. no comet. not yet. they wouldn’t go for it. he had to settle for something more realistic.
“forest fire!” kidd calls, just as the emergency sirens begin ringing out. “there’s a fire, we have to evacuate! hurry!”
“this is fuusha city council. due to the explosive at the power plant, there’s been a warning of forest fires and other explosions. if you live in the following districts, please evacuate immediately to fuusha high school.”
“fire!” ace calls, sprinting after kidd. “please evacuate! there’s a fire coming!”
he can see it’s not working. the people look confused, and the sirens have them on edge, but they’re not moving. lami’s voice rings out, perfect calm even though she must be terrified. she reminds him so much of-
ace stops dead in his tracks.
kidd whips around. “this isn’t working. we really do need city council to-” his face screws up. “ace, what’s wrong?”
ace doesn’t cry. he doesn’t cry unless things are very emotional, like when dragon left, or when he met sabo for the first time, tonight. he’s not the crier. he doesn’t cry.
he’s crying.
“his name!” he blabs, frantic. “i can’t remember his name!”
kidd’s expression darkens. “are you fucking kidding me!” he yells. his hands wrap around ace’s shoulders. “ace! forget about that! we have bigger problems here, right?!”
ace’s body shakes with effort as he works to keep his sobs contained. “but-! but-” he shakes his head. then he pushes kidd’s hands off, roughly. he slaps his own face hard, twice, thrice. “sorry!” he shouts. “i’ll go, i’m going!” he starts running. kidd takes off in the opposite direction. “i’ll make it!” he promises. “i promise!”
“you better!” kidd calls.
-
“hey! what do you think you’re doing in the broadcast room?”
lami cuts off with a scream, panicking. “i- uh- i-” three teachers storm in. one councilman grabs her wrist. another turns the broadcast off.
“seriously, trafalgar,” one of the teachers huffs, marching her down the hall. “what were you thinking? do you have any idea of the consequences-”
lami walks between them, tears streaming down her face, audibly crying. “s-sorry,” she says, but it’s not to them. “sorry, ace,” she chokes. “i’m sorry!”
-
kidd glances up and his heart stops. “it’s really splitting,” he mutters. and not just in half. there were dozens of little comets, meteorites, lighting up the sky now.
“kidd!”
he comes to a full stop, wincing. he cocks his head over, and his dad is coming to meet him down a set of stairs. a couple of his workers are behind him.
“sorry, ace,” he mutters. “this is it for me.”
-
the broadcast cuts out and ace curses. “no! shit! lami!” he cries. please be okay!
he tears down the street, taking the higher ground, knowing the path to the council building by heart, whether he wanted to or not. he passes by a railing, where the ground jutts, and glances up. the comet! how much ti-
no!
he looks up to a meteor shower. they were almost out of time.
he speeds up, but his foot catches on the uneven ground, and he trips, tumbles. he lands on the ground hard, air knocked from him, and then rolls downhill, until he hits another jutt, flips, crashes to the ground.
he lies there, trying to remember to breathe again. his head spins. his hands are in front of him.
he curls into himself. he was too late anyway, right? it wouldn’t work, right? he couldn’t outspeed a bunch of falling rocks. the plan didn’t work none of it worked-
“so we don’t forget our names when we wake up.”
ace breathes out, slow. he uncups his hand. that was right. his name was right-
he stares.
his name isn’t written on ace’s hand.
his lips tremble. “idiot!” he gasps.
i love you is written in marker.
ace fists his hand, sobs into the gravel. “how am i supposed to remember your name with this!” he cries out, impossibly loud. he lies there for another moment, another, another.
then he pushes himself to his knees, lips stretched into a smile. he wails, laughs, comes to a stand.
“okay!” he calls out, starting to run again.
“fine!”
“i’ll do it!”
“i’m going to LIVE!”
-
“dad!” ace calls, slamming dragon’s door open. luffy perks up from the couch, clambering to his feet. garp looks over as well.
from behind his desk, dragon stands. “ace!” he growls. “listen, i don’t have time for-”
ace sets his face, stalks closer, and dragon shuts up.
“no. you are going to listen to me,” ace shouts. “for once in your goddamn life! because i’m not dying again!”
-
the meteor still crashes.
the nucleus of the comet hits right behind ace’s house, near the torii gate that leads further into the side of the mountain.
the ground breaks. wood from whole tree trunks flies everywhere. the lake water evaporates into steam, and then crumbles under the weight of multiple little meteors that had broken off of the nucleus.
sabo wakes up.
sabo wakes up on top of a mountain.
he sits up. the sun is shining behind him. the water from the twin lakes down far, far below glitters.
he looks down at his palm, where a streak of ink was left. he squints.
“where am i?” he mumbles.
-
five years later
“what’s with the suit? party’s not til tonight.”
sabo pauses right inside the doorway, hand still holding it half closed. he deadpans, resists the reply he wants to say. “i’m not wearing this to the party,” he says instead, finally shutting the front door. shanks’ expression still doesn’t change, seeking an answer, and after shuffling off his shoes sabo sighs and supplies him with one. “i had a job interview today.”
“oh?” shanks steps aside to allow sabo access to the rest of the apartment, but then immediately follows at his heels. “how’d that go?”
sabo stops, resisting the urge to fidget, and shanks barely avoids crashing into him. they stand still in the middle of the hall for a couple moments.
“newspaper market is more competitive than i thought,” he finally mutters.
shanks hunkers down, shoulders shaking in an attempt to contain his laughter. “and-” he pauses as he catches sabo’s eye, the blond turning his head to gaze down at his former guardian. “koala has-”
“two offers,” sabo grunts. he rolls his eyes. “just say she’s better than me. i know you want to.” he pauses again at the entrance to the kitchen, gaze falling to the empty table. “makino’s not here?”
“ah, no. she’s meeting us there.” shanks passes him by, finally, patting him on the shoulder as he went. “i actually have a couple things to do before tonight, so i’m heading out. i’ll call you on my way back, grab lunch. be ready by six, okay? party’s at seven.”
“right.” sabo’s only half listening at this point, tugging his bedroom door open.
well. his former-
it’s been a while. since he graduated high school and moved out. since he’s been back here.
sabo lets the door slide shut behind him. the curtains are open; his bed is made -makino, probably.
he moves over to the bookshelf and his fingers run over the spines of twenty marked notebooks, holding all his daily logs from his time spent with makino and shanks.
they pause at number three, and he pulls it out before he can think much of it, flipping through to the back, where he finds the pages more crumpled, like he’d been looking for something and grew frustrated when he couldn’t find it.
sabo reads a page out of interest and pauses when he gets to a familiar name.
he’s never remembered why he woke up on the side of that mountain, the sight of fuusha, still in ruins, far below. it still puzzles him sometimes, when he takes a moment to recall. he’d been with koala and robin, but they had gone back to goa before him. he doesn’t know the reason. did they fight? did they have to be back earlier than he did?
he’d been on notebook nine at that point, but he hadn’t had it with him, so nothing of his little country travel got logged.
he does remember being obsessed with fuusha, at one point.
he puts the notebook back and slides open a desk drawer, frown forming on his face as he catches sight of all the articles still stashed there.
eight years ago. when the comet crashed. he can remember, faintly, watching it from the roof of the apartment building. seeing it split. watching in fascination as hundreds of little meteors grew closer and closer to the surface.
and then. crashed.
it was on the news for days. fuusha, left decimated. he remembers watching everything, saving every scrap of information, evident by all the papers in the desk drawer. something about it had him fascinated.
he couldn’t, for the life of him, recall what.
the comet crashed on the south side of the lake fuusha had formed around. the shockwaves carried the destruction all the way across, rumbling the ground even at the evacuation point.
thankfully, the town had been performing an emergency drill at the time. everyone had been moved out to the high school, out of reach of the comet’s impact.
they’d had to relocate, their home left in ruins, but at least they were all alive.
that had been it. miran comet had come, left as half its size, and formed a newer, smaller crater in the ruins of an old mountain village.
sabo, for the life of him, couldn’t figure why he was so interested.
he shuts the desk drawer.
-
shanks brings home yakisoba. sabo picks the mushrooms out, using the brief silence to address the topic from earlier.
“so, remind me. who’s the party for?”
“ah, an old friend of makino’s,” shanks mumbles around his food. thankfully, he washes it down with water before speaking again. “don’t ask me his name.” he waves off sabo’s look. “some old guy. his grandson’s graduating today. that’s what this all’s for.”
“lots of people?”
shanks quirks a brow, stabbing more noodles. “matter much? not like you have anywhere to be, mister unemployed.”
sabo huffs, picking out the last of the mushrooms. “i said i’d come, didn’t i?”
several hours later, he might be regretting those words.
the house of makino’s friend was huge. certainly bigger than he was expecting. the family had some wealth, that was for sure.
the head of the house was an older man with a loud laugh. could hit hard, too, his friendly slap on the back still leaving sabo in shivers if he thought about it too long. he hadn’t seen the man of the hour, but he’d heard of him in passing several times, oh he’s gone to do this or got caught before that could happen or just saw him doing something he shouldn’t.
reckless, was his first impression.
as the night wore on, he’d grown too weary to care anymore. now he was camped out on a small balcony, shielded somewhat from the chatter and attention inside. makino had found him and shanks not long after they’d arrived, and gone around introducing them to more people than sabo could ever hope to remember.
he shivers, moving his shoulders more inward. he’d dressed more down for the night than he had that morning, but his sweater wasn’t quite thick enough to keep out the breeze that had picked up. he shifts, leaning more on the low railing, and gazes out at the cityscape. inside, voices raise as a small commotion picks up. he doesn’t pay it mind.
“twilight,” he mutters, gaze caught on the setting sun sliding just beneath the horizon line, bathing the sky in a dim glow.
“half-light,” a voice behind him corrects.
sabo blinks, turns his head back.
there’s someone standing in the doorway, hand on one of the banisters. the backglow from inside the house makes their features hard to place, but the last of the sun’s light puts it into focus. he seemed familiar, but sabo can’t put his finger on it. then it clicks -he looks like makino’s friend.
“you’re not luffy,” he states. if anything, he looked closer to sabo’s age.
the guy blinks back, a flicker of surprise coating his expression. “i sure hope not,” he answers back, rolling his eyes as an audible shout from back inside reached them.
sabo frowns. “hm.”
he steps forward just as sabo encounters another roaming thought, leaning against the railing a couple feet away, and sabo lets his gaze fall back to the city as he asks. “what’s half-light?”
the guy chuckles, a short, breathy thing that has sabo’s hairs raising. “local dialect,” he answers. “something i picked up back home. it means the same thing.”
sabo blinks, lips closing as his unasked question gets answered. not local to here, he meant to say, but he changes the words now. “what are you here for?”
the color of the sky fades from bright to a deeper blue, and the moon’s glow begins to set in. it catches on his companion’s face as he turns to sabo again, bathes his silver eyes in wan light, bright enough for sabo to catch the confusion before it slips away, like he’s missed something, like he’s asked the wrong question. in another moment it’s gone, and he casually leans against the railing, a smile playing on his lips.
“school, at first,” he hums. “that’s over with now. it’s strange, though. i’ve always dreamed of coming to goa, of getting away from that life.” he shrugs. “i didn’t think i’d be bringing my entire family along, though.”
it’s an offhand gesture, next, that catches sabo’s attention. a wave of a hand, back to the house, and his mind feels open. it could mean different. he could be referring to more of the guests. somehow sabo doubts this, and he latches on to the suspicion. his eyes narrow. “are you sure you’re not luffy?” he asks again, because shanks had only ever mentioned one grandson, and he didn’t appreciate being strung along-
laughing snaps him out of that thought before he can finish it. it’s certainly a different reaction than before, and sabo prepares himself, ready to have the rug ripped from under him, yeah, i was messing with you, i am.
instead, his expectations are ripped to shreds. again.
“no,” the guy insists, laugh petering off. “i’m his older brother.”
before sabo can think much on that, he tips his head, eyes glinting. “and you? never seen you around before. who’d you come with?” he pauses for a moment, eyes going wide, and stifles another laugh with a hand over his mouth. “more like, who drug you here?”
sabo huffs before he can help it. “i came willingly,” he insists. when the guy doesn’t budge, he deigns him an answer. “makino. and shanks.”
the guy’s expression brightens. “oh, makino!” he says, and his tone is entirely different now. brighter. happier. “right, i saw her awhile ago. i didn’t know shanks was here, though, haven’t seen him yet-” he cuts himself off, blinking, as if he had just realized something. “wait. they brought you? no offense, but that seems kinda odd, if you didn’t even know . .” he trails off. “how do you know them?”
sabo hesitates. he hadn’t realized shanks was formally familiar with the family as well, leaving him the outsider in the mix. he’d assumed it was just makino, and that they were both there with her. guess he was wrong. guess- “i lived with them for a bit,” sabo admits.
he purses his lips, relenting as he sees the statement was getting nowhere, his companion still trying to piece it together. “for . . a long time, actually. since i was a kid.” he raises his hands at the alarmed expression across from him. “it wasn’t anything like what you’re thinking,” he says. “it was . . well, they looked after me, and i appreciate them, but they weren’t like my parents or anything.” he shrugs. “they kinda have their own kid now, right? it was similar, but it wasn’t the same.”
“oh. okay.” the guy blinks again, then turns around. he stares at the city for a while, at all the flashing lights, like he had expected different. like he was surprised that the moon was out. he turns back to sabo again. “you don’t know much about us, do you?”
it’s sabo’s turn to look away. kinda obvious at this point, considering he didn’t know there was a second grandson. and yet, instead of defending himself, he felt like admitting. “i didn’t even know your family existed until earlier today. this party was kinda . . sprung on me.”
he blinks, and then turns back to the even gaze of silver eyes. “you said ‘back home’, earlier. where is that?”
“ah.” he rubs at his head. “well, don’ go around saying that,” he mumbles. “not something i like to admit, that i still consider it . .” his lips screw up; sabo squints as he catches it. they even out as his gaze lifts again, looking back into sabo’s eyes. “you’ve heard of fuusha, right?”
sabo’s lips part, but he stumbles on his reply. he shivers through his sweater. his gaze whites out for a moment, and he blinks it away, desperate to hold on yet feeling like he was missing something, like it was finally right there, on the edge of his consciousness. there’s a roaring in his head, blocking everything out, and when garp’s grandson steps forward, says something out of concern, sabo can’t hear a word over the noise.
he doesn’t hear, frozen stiff, until hands lay on his arms, near his shoulders, and he’s being shaken, just a little. “hey, you’re kinda scaring me here,” sabo hears, and then he blinks, and he’s snapped back to the present, silver eyes right in front of him, cast with concern. he lets his mouth finally fall shut. his gaze shifts away.
“sorry,” he mutters.
the hands fall. the warmth where they once were lingers, just for a moment. “you good? you sure?”
“fuusha,” sabo says instead of answering, still feeling weird, off, and wanting to draw the topic away from himself. “so you’ve been here five years.”
the guy blinks. “give or take. about.” he moves his hands from hovering in the air, as if sabo would have another fit and pitch forward, to down by his side. sabo’s gaze catches on his wrist, where a red band was looped around. he recalls one of the articles he glanced at earlier in the day, and then nods to it.
“that’s a braided cord, right?”
a hand wraps around the cord, shielding it from view, before slowly moving away. he lifts it up for sabo to see more clearly, the ends fading from red to yellow to blue, slightly frayed at the edges. “yeah. my mom made it for me.”
-
right as he says that, ace has a startling realization. one that casts him away from the conversation for a moment, that puts perspective into a different light.
the blond reminded him of his mother.
maybe that’s why the interest was there.
rouge had light hair. it was stringy, most of the time, like she barely bothered taking care of it, instead of meticulously doing so only for the wind that day to blow it out of proportion. though every picture they had left of her had her smiling, he remembered her sunny smiles as rare; she had an array of expressions, and she liked to cast things into doubt, questioning at every turn, much to his grandfather’s annoyance.
she smiled when ace did, though. just like the blond was now, lips quirking up almost in response to ace’s smile, born there from reminiscing about her.
the moonlight was heavy, now, and ace can see his face clear. his fair skin, something he hadn’t picked up from rouge, and was thankful for, whenever she would come home red and blotchy, a sunburn welling up easily from being out for too long. he remembers her crying to dragon until he offered to rub lotion onto her shoulders, and screaming as luffy came up after and climbed into her arms, rough handprints harming the sensitive skin.
she was stubborn as all hell, and was always willing to get into it with anyone that rubbed her the wrong way. the scourge of fuusha, they called her. and they weren’t wrong, no matter how well she had charmed gramps and dragon into believing otherwise. ace remembers, starkly, her coming in late one night, cupping a bruise on her face, and wincing when she saw ace had caught sight of it.
he blinks, and then she fades into the blond, looking disgruntled, and the bump above his eyebrow put into full view as his bangs are swiped out of the way, evidence of the scuffle he’d gotten into put on display.
ace tugs on the knot tying the cord to his wrist, loosening it. he unravels it and holds it out, between the two of them. “you can look at it, if you want,” he offers, eyes flicking from the cord to the blond.
slowly, he reaches out to take it from ace, fascination shown on his face. “it’s well-made,” he notes, loosely taking it up and holding it closer.
rouge was cunning and smart. she could talk her way out of any situation, from what ace had seen. when she couldn’t, well, she knew how to get away if she couldn’t win in a fight, sporting bruises but still holding a victory overall.
she taught ace how to scrap, but he never really used it. that was more luffy’s thing, when he grew older.
but she taught ace more than how to use his fists. ace hadn’t entered primary school until she’d passed, stubbornly insisting that he was too good for an institution, that she could school him just fine, at home. she’d been good at it, too, despite the deceptive intentions she had, her reasoning more on the lines of having ace all to herself, instead of believing whatever she had spouted about fuusha schools being corrupt.
she taught him how to weave and braid thread. she taught him how to write, how to spell. she taught him the laws of fuusha no one talked about aloud, the silent expectations everyone held. she taught him how to charm gramps into doing whatever he wanted. she taught him how to get away with messing up.
she taught him what love was.
and. he remembers.
as his hand slips back down to his side, wrist bare.
sabo, studious. always complaining at ace for leaving him without homework to turn in, or slacking on class notes and making him stumble on a test. to waking up with his arms covered in ink, angry rant sprawled onto his skin.
sabo, eyes rimmed red from staying up late to study, leaving ace to drag him from the bed far too early, refreshed mind doing nothing when the body he was controlling was bone tired.
he remembers angrily taking a marker to sabo’s skin on days like those, scribbling notes in almost illegible handwriting for him to take care of yourself and go to sleep at reasonable times and, his favorite, get your shit together!
he’d write that one over and over, big and bold, across his arms and down his legs, all over his face, so he’d be forced to see it and reevaluate how he treated his body.
sabo, who was quick-witted and scrappy, but too late to throw a punch. ace couldn’t count the number of times he’d woken up in the blond’s body with a split lip or nasty cut or yellowing bruise. then he’d drag himself to school and get yelled at by koala for being reckless again and making everyone worry again. he’d go home and cover it and ignore makino’s worried eyes the best he could.
that was right. makino and shanks. he lets sabo’s earlier words play back and can’t help but think differently, from what he’d experienced. so they had a baby, a real child, now. it didn’t change the fact that they cared about sabo.
sabo, meticulous. writing notes to ace with a careful script, detailing each event that had transpired while he was in ace’s body. excelling at classwork with knowledge three years ahead of ace’s own. pissing off old man crocus with smarty replies, the exact answer he didn’t expect to each of his tough questions to things ace shouldn’t have learned yet. managing to do all this, yet never getting ace’s hairstyle right, and tangling his cord, and messing his speech, and attempting to flirt with people he definitely shouldn’t be attempting to flirt with.
sabo, teasing kidd and lami, living ace’s life for him, all those months splitting a body with a guy he had never met. scribbling in thick, crisp font reminders for ace before he went to sleep and woke up in his own body. making sure ace took care of himself. fretting when he didn’t. writing off his own worries and trying to figure why ace was unhappy with life, even as the people around him, ace included, insist he care for himself for a change.
sabo, who wrote and wrote and wrote, detailing his life so that he’d never forget again, like he’d forgotten most of his life before makino and shanks.
sabo, who reminded him so much of his mother, not just in appearance, but in everything ace had learned and cherished and forgotten, all those years ago.
sabo, who taught him so many things. who taught him, just like his mother, how to love, how to hold dear, how to forgive, how to remember.
“it’s nice,” sabo mutters, then holds the cord back out for ace to take.
his breath catches. but. bu-
so he really didn’t remember?
ace shuts his eyes for a moment. works on breathing again. he opens them and reaches for the cord, trying not to let his frustration show. before he can grab hold, though, a voice startles the pair of them.
“sabo, there you are! we’re ready to leave now. coming?” shanks is smiling, eyes only for the blond, who flinches back at the noise, and ace’s hand catches onto air as the cord is moved away. he furrows his brow, but doesn’t reach out again.
that’s when shanks seems to notice him. “oh! hey, kid, haven’t seen you in a while!” shanks steps forward to wrap ace in a hug that quickly turns into a mock chokehold, and ace forgoes the cord entirely in favor of latching to shanks’ arm, trying to pry it off.
“yeah, it’s been real nice,” he rasps. “not having to see your ugly mug-”
“ah come on now!” shanks whines. “you don’t really mean that!”
a call of his name has him settling down, and he releases ace when he remembers he was on a time crunch. “right, well, good to see you again. gotta head out now, i’ll stick around longer next time.” he winks and ace does his best exasperated expression, the luffy you are being ridiculous to extreme lengths and i am on my last straw look, but it breaks when shanks turns away, and he has to smile with his back turned, a little glad he’d gotten to see the redhead again after all this time.
“ready, sabo?” shanks asks. sabo only has time to nod before shanks flashes him a thumbs-up. “great! meet you at the car.” he’s gone after that, skipping back inside, leaving sabo to furrow his brows in confusion.
“car?” he mutters.
“makino drove,” ace tells him, and his attention snaps back up.
“oh.” he nods. his hands tighten into fists. then he realizes. “oh! here’s -this, back.”
he reaches out again, but ace waves him off, turning slightly away. “keep it.”
sabo’s brows raise. “isn’t it important?”
this meeting is important, he thinks. “give it back the next time you see me,” he says instead, because he’s not willing to give up.
sabo blinks, unsure of how to respond, but another call of his name reaches them before he can decide. so, instead of a proper answer, he holds out the band again to ace, and his bare wrist with the other. “tie it for me, then,” he says, and ace feels a grin forming as he steps forward, because it’d been a long time since he’d heard words so daring coming from the blond.
#saboace#SABOACEWEEK2019P2#acesabo#writing#one piece#iye/lme#so i checked and i shouldve ended where i wanted to last time hah#i didnt realize there was so little left#im busy all day today so im throwing this up early
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Angst/fluff prompt #78 - “You’re worth it.” Corvo/Daud pretty please :D
Head’s up: there’s on-screen bone-breaking in this one, but it’s not graphic.
Daud has words for whoever gathered the intelligence on Dapper Rodney. It’s true that he and the Roaring Boys are “poorly organized and supplied, with no detectable power structure” but “a minimal threat” they are not.
He rattles the handcuffs.
Some half-wit (and he knows it wasn’t one of his Whalers, they would’ve given him an accurate report) is going to catch it if he can manage to get loose. He doesn’t like his chances, though.
With the Geezer finally dead and buried, Rodney had the idea to form a gang of his own and started operating out of a tumbledown warehouse on the edge of Draper’s Ward. Daud had suspected the power vacuum left from the Hatters’ collapse was the only thing that let them last long enough to become a problem, and now he knows he was right, along with a few other things that aren’t very important at the moment.
He’d just meant to get out and stretch his legs a bit, investigate a little. He hadn’t even left a note to say where he was going, thinking he’d be back before he was missed. And it has been easy, so easy to sneak in, look around, and take some notes, all while perched safely up in the rafters.
Well. He thought.
Dapper Rodney has a tallboy.
The ground had started shaking and he recognized what it was immediately (though all the tallboys were supposed to be decommissioned and hauled off for scrap, how had the Roaring Boys gotten their hands on one?) and dropped his pen as he fumbled to get it put back in his pocket because he had to leave. He watched with mounting horror as it fell, tumbling end over end, and hit the ground, springing apart into so many incriminating pieces. It was a fancy one too, with little bits of gold here and there. Not the kind of thing that might blend into all the dirt on the floor.
Someone walking past had noticed the pen scattered around, then he got the tallboy’s attention, and he’d been the one to actually see Daud. He imagines they wore about the same looks of surprise. And it had all been downhill from there—he’d abandoned stealth in favor of speed and tried to run, and then they all chased him, and then—
Well, it doesn’t matter how he got caught and he doesn’t want to think about it anyway, it’s pissing him off too much. Nothing like this has happened since Black Sally tried to put his eye out.
The Roaring Boys had a fun time roughing him up and crowing over his Mark, and now he’s handcuffed to a leaky pipe in a mostly-dark room, he might have a couple of cracked ribs, he certainly has more bruises than he wants to count, and the whole left side of his face hurts—Dapper Rodney has a vicious right hook. He doesn’t know what else they’re going to do to him—doesn’t think even they’ve figured it out yet—but he doubts it’ll be pleasant.
He just hopes they don’t try to ransom him to the Abbey.
He uses his Void gaze to get a better look at his surroundings. It’s some kind of storage room, there’s shelves on the opposite wall, maybe he could—no. He can’t pull his hand out from behind himself far enough to tether anything helpful. There’s a big tool chest a few feet away he could probably get, but that would knock it over and get everyone’s attention.
There’s nothing for it, he supposes, and tries to just pull his hands through the cuffs.
He stops at that when he notices he’s chafed himself raw and leans on the pipe, grimacing at everything that hurts. He’s been an idiot, a thrice-damned fool, and now he’s paying the price.
A few minutes later, there’s voices outside. They go on for a little while, then there’s a sound like someone being shoved into the door and Daud hears, “Just do it, you piss-ant, I don’t need a reason!”
A scrawny, greasy character with the worst half-assed beard Daud’s ever seen comes stumbling in, adjusting his crumpled top hat and grumbling under his breath, but he stops when he realizes he’s being looked at and his lip curls. Daud tries to hide the hitch in his breathing as he saunters closer, not wanting to give him an easy target.
“Not so tough are you now, eh?” the man says in a thick Morley brogue. “Knife of Dunwall.”
Daud doesn’t dignify that with a response.
“You’re stuck.” He pokes Daud’s chest with a very grimy finger. “And we did that. Us, the Roaring Boys.”
“Are you sure?” The man’s probably scared of him, Daud thinks. His eyes keep flickering around like he’s half-expecting Daud to break loose and come for his throat, and he wouldn’t be trying so hard to gloat if he wasn’t at least a little afraid. If he can push him just far enough, he’ll go away.
“Shut up,” he snaps, but he doesn’t look so brave now. “We can take anybody that would come for you.”
“I doubt—” before Daud can even finish his sentence, the man rears back and hits him right in the solar plexus, hard. He doubles over as much as he can, breath leaving him all in a rush as most of his vision goes dark with spots, and fucking Void, that hurts.
“Shut up!”
Daud’s feeling very spiteful, and wants him to piss off and leave him alone, so he turns his hand and tethers the tool chest. Everything in it spills out all over the place and the man just about jumps out of his skin before he flushes an ugly red and grabs a pipe wrench.
Daud feels the bones in his calf break before the pain registers. Then it’s all he can do to stand somewhat upright as the man waves the wrench around and shouts, “None of that shit! You do it again and the other one goes, you hear?!”
“Hey!” Someone else looks in. “Leave him alone, the boss wants him one piece!”
“Leon just told me to—”
“Shut it! I don’t want any lip from you!”
He makes a rude gesture at whoever told him off and stalks out of the room, slamming the door behind him and muttering, “Fuckin’ witch…”
Daud eases himself onto the ground, breathing shallowly through gritted teeth. That did not go the way he’d planned.
Nothing is going the way he planned.
He’s not sure how long he sits there in the dark. Eventually he starts getting hungry and it finally sinks in that he’s going to miss dinner. Void, what’s Corvo going to think? Wyman? Emily? They’ve just started building a fragile trust, and now he’s gone off and left without a word to any of them, with no idea of when he might be back.
Or if.
He can’t even walk.
Fuck, unless the Roaring Boys try to give him to the government to collect the price that’s still technically on his head because he technically isn’t spymaster yet (unlikely) he might die still handcuffed to the pipe.
Oh, Void.
He feels a couple of tugs on the other end of the arcane bond—someone’s looking for him but he’s not going to take the bait, not even enough to check who it is. He’d need four, maybe five of them, all fully armed, to get out of this scrape and he can’t summon that many, especially not with the shape he’s in.
And—oh no.
If he dies, all the Whalers will know instantly (he thinks) because the bond will break. Leonid and Montgomery would take it especially hard, and he doesn’t want to—
He’s just going to have to get out.
Somehow.
As soon as he has the thought, the temperature in the room plummets, feeling like winter seawater, and Daud can see his breath fog in the little light there is until most of it is blotted out by a shadow that slowly grows denser.
“Oh, fuck,” he groans. “Not you.”
“Oh, Daud,” the Outsider says. Interestingly, he gives off a faint blue-purple light of his own. “What trouble you’re in this time.”
“Don’t remind me.”
He drifts closer, a few inches above the ground as always, and lays a hand on Daud’s calf, right above the break. He comes close to snapping at him for it, but his hand weighs nothing at all and is so cold it dampens the pain. “And yet you’re still so determined to escape—”
“I know,” Daud interrupts. He’s very short of patience and knows the Outsider won’t do anything worse than give him the silent treatment as punishment. “Are you going to do anything useful or just float there and talk?”
“Dapper Rodney found his tallboy by the Wrenhaven. It’s operator abandoned it, hoping no one would ever find out what he’d done, and he drowned when he tried to swim across the river. I suppose his wish was granted, in a way.”
Daud blinks. That’s…surprisingly straightforward, and gets rid of the worries that someone—an officer looking to flee the country, maybe—had sold it to the Roaring Boys.
Of course the Outsider has to go and ruin it.
“Just how do you propose to escape? Your hands are bound, and unless you can fashion a splint and hobble off, I don’t see how—”
Daud grinds his teeth. He doesn’t want to hear it. “Can you do something helpful and go away?”
“Hmm,” he says, and then he’s gone.
*****
Corvo, Emily decides, is worried.
It’s always hard to see on him, but he’s looking at every noise just a little too fast, and he fidgets with the silverware, running his thumb along the engraving. She’s certain it has something to do with Daud’s conspicuously empty chair. There’s a full place setting waiting for him, so his absence is probably unplanned, which would fit with Corvo’s nervousness. She knows they’re…close, even if she still can’t bring herself to like it. Or him.
She gives his chair a hard look, hoping he’s not gone strange again. He’d done that—holed up in his room or his office depending on the time, just about refusing to come out of either because of some odd sense of guilt. Corvo had been horribly worried when he found out, and now Emily has to live with the knowledge that they’ve started sharing a room.
Wyman comes in and sits down beside her, but she doesn’t feel like talking and mostly ignores them even though it makes her feel a bit badly, folding her hands in her lap and picking at the cuticles. Callista would scold her for it if she were here, but she’s not and can’t do anything about it, so there. In the corner of her eye, she can see Wyman glance between her, Corvo, and Daud’s empty chair, and they hum softly. They’re clever, they’ll figure it out.
Emily sighs and hears a strange not-sound, everything going muted like the room is full of treacle instead of air. She shivers, glances up, and the table—no, everything is grey, with a strange distortion making it all look just slightly wrong. She raises her eyes and gasps because there’s a person in Daud’s chair, a young man, dressed very nicely and sitting very upright. There’s darkness spilling off him like smoke, and his eyes are pitch black from edge to edge.
“Room for one more?” he asks, smiling slightly.
Corvo does not have the reaction Emily was expecting.
“No,” he hisses, half-standing and pointing an accusing finger the intruder. “I told you, you’re not to talk to Emily, she’s had enough trouble without someone finding out you’ve spoken to her. She doesn’t need the Abbey breathing down her neck, they’d want Daud and I killed—”
“Relax, Corvo. I’ve halted time.”
Emily stares at him. What?
Corvo grits his teeth and sighs. “Why have you come?”
“Really, I thought you’d be more pleased to see me. I’ve just spoken to Daud—”
“Where is he?” The intruder levels him with a look like Corvo’s the rudest person he’s ever met, really, he cannot believe people these days, and he quiets. “I apologize.”
Now Emily stares at the intruder, because she’s realized she’s sitting across from the Outsider (she’s almost angry at herself for not figuring it out earlier, but she wasn’t exactly expecting the whale god to appear at her dinner table, of all places). The Outsider gives her a look like he’s read her thoughts, and she hurriedly looks away, unnerved.
Wyman just stares, transfixed. The Outsider barely looks any older than them.
“Where is he?” Corvo asks again, his voice low and quiet like he’d much prefer to be louder.
“Draper’s Ward.”
*****
“So,” Slackjaw drawls. “You want me to round up a few of mine and go down to Draper’s with you ’n them”—he nods at the Whalers—“so you can pick up someone you’re sweet on while we beat all of Dapper Rodney’s within an inch of their lives.”
Corvo crosses his arms, wishing Slackjaw wasn’t quite so observant. All he’d called Daud was a friend. “Yes.”
Slackjaw sighs, considering. Then he levers himself off the edge of his desk and says, “Of course we’ll go. Rodney’s been pissing me off lately, anyway, he needs the lesson. Let me find a few of the boys.”
*****
Daud grits his teeth and tries to breathe deeply and slowly. Montgomery had explained to him once how shallow breaths did more harm than good, and it all made perfect sense at the time and sounded wonderfully logical, but he aches all over and it’s hard.
His calf hurts, his boot feeling strangling tight around it, and he’s grateful for the dribble of water leaking out of the pipe. It’s cool and distracting. His one consolation is that his ribs might not actually be cracked, just bruised, except when he thinks that, he starts to laugh.
He’s probably going to die, but at least his ribs are alright.
Oh, Void.
At least no one else has come to bother him, that’s a small mercy. He closes his eyes and tries to get as comfortable as he can. He doubts he’s going anywhere.
A few minutes later, someone goes running past the door, boots pounding heavily. Then another person, and there’s a sound like a grenade’s gone off somewhere. He hears the tallboy stomp away, and things suddenly get much louder.
Daud just stares at the sliver of light shining under the door. It sounds like there’s a full-fledged gang fight happening just outside the warehouse.
He sighs.
He certainly doesn’t want to be involved in it, and resignedly tries to pull his hands out of the cuffs again. He has no idea what he’ll do if it actually works this time, but he’d rather not be a sitting duck for whoever else has shown up to find. He supposes he doesn’t even really have to get away, just find someplace out of sight and hunker down long enough for the gangs to sort themselves out. Then he can summon Thomas and Tynan and have them help him while the Roaring Boys are distracted.
Of course, that plan goes about as well as all the others he’s made, and he’s still well and truly stuck.
A soft voice outside the room says, “He’s in here,” and Daud goes very still, thinking shit.
The door opens, and the person responsible is very short, they don’t look like any of the heavy-built thugs Dapper Rodney seems to favor, but he can’t make out any other details because the person is backlit. Then they turn their head, revealing a Whaler’s mask and what in the Void is Leonid thinking—
She steps aside, and Corvo comes in, followed by a slightly bow-legged figure that can only be Slackjaw. Corvo hurries toward him and drops to his knees, touches his face with gentle fingers and draws back when Daud flinches.
“Are you alright?”
“‘M fine.” Fine enough, at least. He’ll live. “They handcuffed me—”
Corvo glances up at Slackjaw, but he flaps a hand dismissively. “Relax, I brought my picks.”
He crouches down, knees popping loudly, and sets to work, finishing surprisingly quickly. The cuffs fall with a clank, and before he can protest, Corvo and Slackjaw have each taken one of his hands and heave him up like he doesn’t have broken bones.
He can’t stop the strangled, pained noise and gasping breath that follow, but at least they’re quick to catch on and rearrange him so he’s between the two of them with an arm draped their shoulders.
“Seems to me you’re not fine,” Slackjaw says cheerfully.
Daud rolls his eyes.
When she catches sight of him, Leonid bites her lip and furrows her brow, clearly worried, but she keeps her head. “This way,” she says, and starts walking. Daud’s proud of her.
She leads them past the worst of the fighting, though they do have to duck to the side and wait for Tynan and one of Slackjaw’s men to finish dealing with a few of the Roaring Boys. Then they’re out of the warehouse and hurrying down the street—though they’re still not very fast.
There’s a rail car waiting and Thomas helps bundle him into it, then they’re off. Daud leans into Corvo’s side, tucking his face against his neck, and he lets him, even wraps his arm around him to pull him closer. Daud has questions he’d like answered, but he’s exhausted.
Questions can wait.
*****
“It’s good to see you’re feeling better.”
Daud pauses in demolishing his plate of peppercorn blood ox and potatoes long enough to glance up at him, then grunts and sets back into it like he’s not going to see food again for a month. Corvo pulls a chair up to the bed and lets him, they can talk when he’s done. Between the cast, the rings of bandages around his wrists, and the black eye, he looks terrible—but, Corvo tells himself, it could be much worse. This isn’t anything he can’t recover from, even if he will be sullen until Montgomery lets him get back to life as usual.
Eventually Daud lays his fork down and pushes the tray away, finished.
“What happened?” Corvo asks.
Daud sighs, frowns. “Thought I’d go see what the Roaring Boys were doing, the report I got said they weren’t good for much of anything, but I dropped my fucking pen and their tallboy saw me—and they modified it somehow, it doesn’t have the bow anymore—but they caught me and I think Dapper Rodney came from one of the illegal boxing rings, he acts like they do, and he did this.” He gestures at the black eye and Corvo nods, trying not to smile. He shouldn’t, he really shouldn’t, but Daud never rambles like this unless he’s had medication and it’s endearing.
“And then they stuck me in that damn room and one of them sent in some idiot to see if I was,” he waves one hand like he’s trying to grab words out of the air, “still alive, and I pissed him off so he broke my leg. And then the Outsider showed up so I told him to leave, I didn’t want to deal with him, and he did, and then you got there and now here I am.” He sits there silently for a moment, and then his eyes narrow. “Wait.”
Corvo lets him think, wondering where his mind’s gone now.
He points an accusing finger. “You brought Slackjaw, why didn’t you take the Watch? If anyone finds out you were there, you could—” Corvo tries to head him off, but Daud won’t have it. “No, you should’ve taken Curnow instead, if someone saw you were with Slackjaw you could get sent back to Coldridge, why did you—”
“Daud—”
“Why did you come at all?”
Corvo stills. Surely he can’t think—
“Daud, listen.” He catches his hands, giving him one less thing to distract himself with. “Listen to me. You’re worth it.” Daud tries to protest. “You are. And if something like this happens again, I will come for you again, alright?”
Daud looks stunned that he would say such a thing, like he doesn’t really believe it. “Alright.”
“Do you want me to sleep here or in my room?” Corvo doesn’t want to run the risk of hurting him by shifting around in the night, what with the broken bones, but he’ll stay if Daud wants him to.
He falters. “Here.”
“Okay. I’ll be right back.” He gives his hands a squeeze, rises from the chair, and leaves the room. Out in the hallway, he sighs and scrubs his hands over his face.
He and Daud will need to talk in the morning.
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NCIS - Season 16, and Why I Still Watch
Guys, this season has been a goddamn blessing. As someone who has watched NCIS for nearly ten years, I’ve seen almost every major cast change, excepting Kate and Jenny. The show stayed stable enough to keep me on after Ziva left, after Tony left, but I was having my doubts about NCIS without Abby, especially after season 14/15. Not that those seasons were bad, but they lacked the spark NCIS usually has. It was at the point where my buddy and I were preferring NCIS LA episodes over the original ones. But this season? My god, this season has been wonderful, in terms of dynamic, episodes, development...I just love it. Full disclosure - this is about to get weirdly personal and also all over the place, and LONG, because I have thoughts that are demanding they get out. If you want full in depth and clinical analysis of NCIS, look elsewhere.
These last few episodes, “Her” “Once Upon a Tim” and “Crossing the Line” hit particularly hard. I don’t cry easily, and I didn’t here either, but my heart absolutely did the whole “constrict with emotions” thing several times during those three episodes, particularly with “Her.” And let me say, those who stopped watching the show because Cote or Michael or Pauley left, because these new guys can’t be as good as the nostalgia colored dream team, because the writers/producers “aren’t as good, are riding the coattails of past success” etc...I think you’re making a mistake. Quite plainly, I think you’re wrong, or as Vance would say, I disagree with your opinion. Like I said, I’ve been a fan NCIS for years. I remember the very first episode I saw - it was where Vance had his face off with Kai, the assassin. My dad was a fan, and it was just a custom in my household that on Tuesday nights, he would watch it while my mom and sister watched Glee in a different room. I wandered in one night, and thought that, as a high school freshman, I could try out some of these “grown up” shows. I remember the line that made me fall in love with the show - “kai-jacked.” I remember thinking “I get that joke. It was funny. I understand this show’s dialogue and jokes.” And that was it. I was hooked. It became a thing, between my dad and I - sure, mom watched it more often than not with us, and my sister was aware of the characters, but it was our thing. Tuesday nights, NCIS. More then once was I quizzed on whatever test I had for Wednesday during commercial breaks, because we didn’t want to wait until Friday to see the episode. It was our little in joke that my dad, former Navy, was listed as “Gibbs” in my contacts back when having nicknames for everyone’s contact was a thing in high school. My dad wasn’t nearly half the taciturn, tunnel visioned, “the second b is for bastard” person Gibbs could be - practically the only thing they shared was a past in the Marines/Navy and a soft spot for family - but somehow it fit. Dad was the Gibbs of my teenaged years. More then once he referred to me not as Ziva, the badass Ninja I admired so, but as Tony, the one I had silently noted was probably the most like me - and that my Dad had noticed as well. I never got an actual head slap, but Dad got the Gibbs stare down pat. Scarily well. I’ve met a few other friends over the years that have watched the show, but most dropped out in the last few years. I don’t blame them - for most it was a time commitment, though some weren’t willing to give the new characters a chance. Others just let watching it slide somewhere around season 14, when the show had a rough patch. I noticed some of the lower moments myself, and its been years since I’ve watched it faithfully every week. But I could never quit it entirely. Even now, when in a different country, I end up sitting down and bingeing on it. Cause a decade down the line, that was dad and mine show. Our connection. Overall, season 16 has been a turn around from the last few years. The development of the characters is consistent, but not rushed. Seeing Jimmy continue to be established as a self confident, intelligent and well trusted confidante makes my heart swell in happiness. He has come such a long way, and the scene this season where he and McGee discuss Vietnam, paralleling Ducky and Gibbs, was wonderfully done. McGee is also doing an amazing job, his role as Lead Agent/Mentor as well as father now reaching a more static position. Remembering his early days back in season 1/2 is incredible. Casey is a great addition, and I love that while Nick is still learning a little to play with a team, his obvious feelings for Ellie are part of his development, not hers. But it was these last three episodes that really cinched the season for me. “Her” was just terrific overall - like I said, I admired Ziva and saw a lot of myself in Tony. Any mention of them gets a thumbs up for me. But it was more of the acknowledgment of how far this show has come in recent years - Tony and Ziva being replaced by Torres and Bishop, Abby by Casey, Ducky slowly by Jimmy. Its largely a new team, just with the same leader. This change eerily paralleled my life - Cote left just as I was starting college. Tony left when I graduated. Abby mere months before I moved continents. My own team, my sphere on influencers back when I started watching the show, is somewhat different now than it was 6 years ago. New people entered my life, and others took on a backround role, or disappeared entirely. As Gibbs’ team changed, so did my stages of life. It’s a somehow comforting parallel, and one that “Her” really drove home for me. “Once Upon a Tim” was just great for some classic Tim character development and storyline - Tim often got overshadowed by his teammates backstories and arcs, so its have a very Tim centric episode, especially one that includes Delilah and the twins as central to his life but isn’t focused on them.
But “Crossing the Line?” That was the episode that hit me where I wasn’t expecting it. All through the episode, you get the feeling that Max is clearly more than he appears. The twist that he’s the son of an agent killed in the bombing? That was the unseen bullet. See, I remember that season finale probably better than any other NCIS season finale I have seen or will ever see. The bombing. Chaos. Ducky’s collapse on the beach with the phone call. The uncertainty I had of if everyone was going to survive this. It’s burned into my memory, because not three weeks after I watched Ducky collapse from a heart attack, my Dad died unexpectedly from one. Its become a part of life I’ve had to accept, but needless to say NCIS always brings up memories of my father, and certain episodes are harder to watch because of it. I’ve never seen that season finale after it aired - I can’t bring myself to. But Tony leaving the show a few years later felt like reopening the wound, as if Tony and Gibbs no longer being on screen together was another nail in the coffin of my own “Gibbs and Tony” chapter. This episode had a similar impact. Watching Max, six years later, try and deal with his own pain, mirroring my own similar journey...it affected me in a way tv shows rarely do. Particularly about deaths - hollywood is terrible at writing teenagers with dead parents, and death in general, and NCIS is not always an exception. Listening to Torres open up to Max, hearing someone talk about how this pain of six years sucks, but also isn’t going away, meant something to me. This wasn’t writers phoning it in or riding coattails. This was actual, genuine writing, acting, and emotion. Even if the dead parent always having a “saying” is an age old cliche - of course the dead relative always said some wise adage that fits the situation. Because people talk like that, right? The line “I’m not my father” was another emotional hit, particularly following Tim’s episode. I had actually been hoping that the writers would take a different route with it though - following the dead parent’s footprints is another cliche, and NCIS loves it. That instead of Max agreeing with Torres that he could consider an agent, that not being his father was meant that he was lesser or couldn’t live up to him, it was Max saying he could remember and honor his father in different ways. Because I know those words, “I am not my father.” I’ve been running with those words as far away from his shadow for five years. After his death, everyone wanted to see my father in me, at the expense of my mother’s traits, and my own personality. From my looks, my voice, my sense of humor, my morals, random little things I did or that happened to me - all of it could be traced, somehow, back to one half of my genetic code. I tried to follow his footsteps - did the whole navy path for a year or so, struggled with the difference between what I wanted, what I thought I wanted, and what was expected - just as 16 year old Tim did in “Once Upon a Tim.” But I wanted different things out of life. I learned that I could love and remember my father’s memory without going down some pre-trodden path of mirrors. And I wish that NCIS had taken that risk with this episode, and acknowledged that kids don’t have to become their parents, especially their dead parents. So yeah, this post is long and rambling and has no set structure and is strangely detailed on my emotional state and family troubles circa 2012. But the moral is, NCIS is not past it’s prime. It’s not recycling characters or plots. It’s not going downhill because people left. It’s growing and changing, staying dynamic with time. And it is still capable of creating amazing episodes, characters, and seasons; Season 16 is certain proof of that.
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Films in 2019
It’s been a while again. Maybe I should make this review-thing a monthly thing LOL. My current count is at 33/150 for 2019, 18 out of 33 seen in theatre.
filmpage - filmlist - suggest a film
CAN CONTAIN SPOILERS. ( I review Endgame in this post, there are Endgame spoilers in this so don’t read, if you haven’t seen it yet.)
Hidden Figures (2016)
streamed on Amazon Prime Germany production country: USA OV: english seen version: OV Starring: Taraji B. Henson, Octavia Spencer, Janelle Monáe Director: Theodore Melfi Plot summary: The story of a team of female African-American mathematicians who served a vital role in NASA during the early years of the U.S. space program.
Review: 99ct Prime Deal movie. So glad it was on the list of the deals, because I’ve been dying to see this one ever since it came out. But as always I had no one to watch it with and I waited a little too long.
Finally saw it and what can I say - I loved it very much. What a great and important movie.
My favourite part is probably where Janelle Monáe’s character fights for her right in court aspiring to be the first african-american woman to attend a white school in order to get higher education to qualify for a better position. LOVED IT. She slayed. Rating: 4/5
The Big Short (2015)
streamed on Amazon Prime Germany production country: USA OV: english seen version: german Starring: Christian Bale, Ryan Gosling, Steve Carell Director: Adam McKay Plot summary: In 2006-7 a group of investors bet against the US mortgage market. In their research they discover how flawed and corrupt the market is.
Review: 99ct Prime Deal movie number 3. I was a huge fan of Vice so I really needed to see this one.
To be honest this one was a bit harder to understand, because you have to have a little knowledge about economics and how they work - esp. on Wall Street. I mean, I took an A-Level class in Social Sciences and Economics so it was okay for me, even though I didn’t fully understand everything, but I just put it into context. They try to explain it in an easy way, but just make sure to pay attention :)
Shocking reveal of the real estate market and how things went downhill in 2007 causing the global financial crisis that affected my family in a really bad way.
Though I have to say it didn’t involve me as much as Vice, I felt like it was a little bit like chewing gum in between the scenes. Maybe I had to watch it in theatre to love it as much as I love Vice. Rating: 3,5/5
Spotlight (2015)
streamed on Amazon Prime Germany production country: USA OV: english seen version: german Starring: Mark Ruffalo, Michael Keaton, Rachel McAdams Director: Tom McCarthy Plot summary: The true story of how the Boston Globe uncovered the massive scandal of child molestation and cover-up within the local Catholic Archdiocese, shaking the entire Catholic Church to its core.
Review: 99ct Prime Deal movie number 4. Hands down - THE BEST out of all of them.
What a movie. Very emotional, very dramatic, very captivating, very important.
I have nothing more to say except for: WATCH IT IF YOU HAVEN’T ALREADY. What a shame that it took me so long to actually see it. Outstanding cast, Mark Ruffalo and Rachel McAdams are killing it! Rating: 5/5
Serenity (2019)
seen in theatre production country: USA OV: english seen version: german Starring: Matthew McConaughey, Anne Hathaway, Jason Clarke Director: Steven Knight Plot summary: A fishing boat captain (McConaughey) juggles facing his mysterious past and finding himself ensnared in a reality where nothing is what it seems.
Review: #sneakmonday movie. I was hoping they’d sneak it and I was so happy when they did, even though this movie kinda was a let down considering the cast of the movie.
It was a decent movie with decent acting, liked McConaughey and Clarke in it, Hathaway (even though I love her very much) didn’t deliver her best performance here.
I liked the plot twist mid-through the movie that made you rethink the entire thing. It was a little too surreal for me though. I’ve seen worse but I’ve also seen a lot better than this. Rating: 2,5/5
Independence Day: Resurgence (2016)
streamed on Netflix Germany production country: USA OV: english seen version: OV Starring: Liam Hemsworth, Jeff Goldblum, Bill Pullman Director: Roland Emmerich Plot summary: Two decades after the first Independence Day invasion, Earth is faced with a new extra-Solar threat. But will mankind's new space defenses be enough?
Review: This never happened to me before. In one of my previous review post I reviewed ‘Independence Day’ and I didn’t like it that much. Now THIS ONE, the sequel, IS SOOOOOOOO MUCH BETTER! I freaking LOVED it.
I really don’t know if it’s the new CGI (which is obviously 10000 times better than in the 1996 version) or the storyline or whatever it is - it’s way better than the first one. It really caught my attention and I just love Jeff Goldblum - he’s such a class act. Rating: 4/5
Greta (2019)
seen in theatre production country: USA / Ireland OV: english seen version: german Starring: Isabelle Huppert, Chloë Grace Moretz, Maika Monroe Director: Neil Jordan Plot summary: A young woman (Moretz) befriends a lonely widow (Huppert) who's harboring a dark and deadly agenda toward her.
Review: #sneakmonday movie.
Can I just say I really love obsessive lover/stalker movies?! I know I’m weird and it’s nothing you should fancy, but the movies about this topic always get me. They keep me on the edge and sunken in my seat until the movie’s over.
I was pleasantly surprised by this movie, I thought it was really good most of the time - also something I haven’t seen before. The performances by Huppert and Moretz are really convincing.
It just really lacks in some of the decisions Moretz character makes. Sometimes it drifts off into a B-Lister movie, which this clearly shouldn’t be, but the lines and decisions of the character make it seem like a weird thriller horror thing. No one is really that stupid, but they wrote her character that naive. I didn’t like that.
But all in all it’s a good one, I enjoyed it very much. Rating: 3,5/5
The Collini Case / Der Fall Collini (2019)
seen in theatre production country: Germany OV: german / italian seen version: OV Starring: Elyas M’Barek, Alexandra Maria Lara, Franco Nero Director: Marco Kreuzpaintner Plot summary: A young lawyer (M’Barek) stumbles upon a vast conspiracy while investigating a brutal murder case.
Review: #sneakmonday movie. This is a german movie.
Elyas M’Barek is usually a comedy-actor. A little bit like Jennifer Aniston but as a male and in german. I never saw him as a guy who’d play a serious role. But here we go and I was pleasantly surprised by his performance. Never thought he’d do this good.
Interesting story, very captivating and not too revealing. It takes quite a while until the movie really lifts off and the storyline begins to paint a picture and you understand what’s going on, but the reveal is very tragic and very emotional. I loved the screenplay and also the cinematography in certain points.
But whoever directed the music in this movie, please reconsider your job. It was a disaster, really. The score itself was good, but the usage was so out of place most of the times, it bothered me SO MUCH.
German produced movies try to be so much like Hollywood Blockbusters, but they’re not and this is another example for it. But it’s one of the better ones. Rating: 4/5
The Perfect Date (2019)
streamed on Netflix Germany production country: USA OV: english seen version: OV Starring: Noah Centineo, Laura Marano Director: Chris Nelson Plot summary: To save up for college, Brooks Rattigan (Centineo) creates an app where anyone can pay him to play the perfect stand-in boyfriend for any occasion.
Review: I don’t know what I was expecting from a Netflix RomCom, but this kinda let me down yet again (just like ‘Isn’t it romantic?’).
It was okay and kinda cute in some places, but nothing fancy and a lack of entertainment for me. Overall it was okay and it’s a movie to watch before you go to sleep or when you’re sick. Rating: 3/5
Overdrive (2017)
streamed on Sky Cinema Germany production country: France / Belgium / USA OV: english / french seen version: OV Starring: Scott Eastwood, Freddie Thorp, Ana de Armas Director: Antonio Negret Plot summary: Two car thief brothers (Eastwood, Thorp), who journey to the south of France for new opportunities, wind up in the cross hairs of the local crime boss.
Review: I literally just watched this for Scott Eastwood LOL. It’s such a cringe movie, I just couldn’t.
I know Scott can do better than this. The character-writing was so damn flat and so was the entire screenplay. I’m not a huge Fast & Furious Fan, maybe this movie is for people who love those movies - at least you get to see some really nice cars.
But really, this is such a cringe movie. My rating is for Scott (because DAMN) and the beautiful (!!!!!!) landscape cinematography of South France! Rating: 2,5/5
Avengers: Endgame (2019)
seen in theatre (soon thrice) production country: USA OV: english seen version: german (soon OV) Starring: Robert Downey Jr., Chris Evans, Chris Hemsworth, Mark Ruffalo, Scarlett Johansson, Jeremy Renner, Josh Brolin AND SO MANY MORE. Director: Joe and Anthony Russo Plot summary: After the devastating events of Avengers: Infinity War (2018), the universe is in ruins. With the help of remaining allies, the Avengers assemble once more in order to undo Thanos' actions and restore order to the universe.
Review: ... here we go.
I went to see it on the first screening of the day when it came out over here in Germany. I know Europe was blessed with being two days ahead of the US. I literally cried for 3 hours. The entire 3 hours OKAY. Sitting through the credits because I couldn’t believe what I just saw.
It took me a few days to completely understand what I had watched.
There are so many things wrong with this movie, but also so many good things about this movie I JUST DON’T KNOW.
When I went to see it the second time I liked it a LOT better and with every day and every clip I see and listening to the score more and more I grow to love this movie more.
And against the mainly common opinion in disliking the ending of this movie, I loved it - even though it may makes no sense in a scientific way. Hate me all you want, but you can read HERE why I loved Steve’s ending, Becka wrote a beautiful piece.
Also Tony Stark. Let’s talk about Tony Stark. What is there left to say though? His actions speak louder than words. He basically did ALL OF IT for PETER FREAKING PARKER. How beautiful. He did it for him, because he missed him, because he couldn’t live with the thought of losing him. And sacrificing himself for Peter, for the rest of the Avengers, for the entire universe, WHAT A MOVE.
Now let’s move on to Natasha Romanoff, because she doesn’t get enough credit. First female Avenger, the glue, heart and soul of the Avengers, the mom that held everything together, that kept the world a safe place after the snap and Thanos being dead in 2023 like. She still cared, she cared about her family (the original 6 more than anyone else really) and she kept looking for Clint (DON’T GET ME STARTED ON CLINTASHA) and.. I just.. and then she sacrificed herself and her life, for her family. FOR THEM. FOR LOVE. FOR CLINT. SO THEY COULD SEE THE SUN AGAIN (to put it in Loki’s words). I JUST....
It started with Tony and Nat and it ended with Tony and Nat and I just... I just can’t. Literally I CAN’T. Still not over it.
P.S. America’s ass. Rating: 4/5
Fighting With My Family (2019)
seen in theatre production country: UK / USA OV: english seen version: german Starring: Dwayne Johnson, Florence Pugh, Vince Vaughn Director: Stephen Merchant Plot summary: A former wrestler and his family make a living performing at small venues around the country while his kids dream of joining World Wrestling Entertainment.
Review: #sneakmonday movie. Based on a true story. I had no expectations, really. I gotta say, I’m not into Wrestling AT ALL. And I don’t really want to be. So this was a bummer for me.
But nonetheless this is a cute family movie. The bond between the siblings and the entire family is really beautiful to see and so is the character development of Paige’s brother Zak.
Also the interaction with all these kids learning how to wrestle is really just beautiful. Kids from all ages, different backgrounds, different identities, sizes and also a blind kid - they all come together and become friends through Wrestling. That’s really beautiful.
It’s just not my cup of tea, because of the Wrestling topic. It’s a decent movie though. Rating: 2,5/5
Journal 64 (2019)
seen in theatre production country: Denmark / Germany OV: danish / arabic / spanish / german seen version: german Starring: Nikolaj Lie Kaas, Fares Fares, Johanne Louise Schmidt Director: Christoffer Boe Plot summary: A series of mysterious disappearances in 2006 are eerily connected to the same institution.
Review: #sneakmonday movie. Based on a crime thriller by Jussi Adler-Olson.
Scandinavian films are so good, really. They are SO DAMN GOOD. Especially crime thrillers - they’re just really good at not only writing them as books but also making them into movies and TV shows. I don’t know how they do it. Norwegian/Swedish/Danish crime thrillers are kinda dark most of the times, this one had a nice comedic effect, though, because the main character is a blatantly honest person and drops a lot of bricks, but is still a very charismatic character.
Really liked this one. Very dramatic story, there should be a trigger warning though (tw: rape / tw: abuse / tw: abortion). So keep that in mind, if you decide to watch it.
Rating: 4/5
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FMA Fic - Despondency
First finished fic in literal years and it's more sad/angst stuff? Ugh. Sorry. I guess that's My Thing now...
Features: Trans girl/feminine Ed pre-transition, or more accurately, pre-realization. Quiet dysphoria, Self-loathing, Anxiety, mentions of nudity, but only one vague reference to genitalia.
Pronouns change between he/she because she's barely realizing anything, really.
Kinda based on personal feelings.
Read on Google Docs
Read on AO3
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"Y'know kid, you never bathe with us. This is like, what, the fourth time now? What's your deal?"
Greed was frowning, leaning with his hands on his hips in the manner he usually took when he was fed up with something. Like right now. With Edward. As usual.
They're standing in front of a freshwater lake, part of a long, winding river they'd been following through the woods lately. They'd stopped here for the evening, and after setting up camp, Greed had the bright idea to have another of their group-bath-slash-swimming-party-things. And as usual, Ed refused to take part, because it was fucking stupid when they could just bathe by themselves, with fucking privacy, like they usually do.
Behind Greed, Darius and Heinkel exchange glances, then shrug and turn back to the business of taking off their shoes and shirts. They'd already grown numb to these arguments.
Ed groans, standing in front of them with his meager armful of towels and bar of soap. Bathing had been uncomfortable for him for as long as he can remember, but out here in the middle of bumfuck nowhere, it's nearly unbearable. Especially now that he's travelling with two shitty chimeras and an even shittier homonculus wearing his friend's body like a fucking skin-suit and asking him the one question he didn't want to fucking hear right now.
Ed grinds his teeth, scowling. "My deal is how much I gotta deal with you fuckers until the Promised Day arrives. Now fuck off," he growls.
Irritatingly, Greed only cocks his head at him, looking at him quizzically.
"What, you shy or somethin'? You got a-" He twirls a finger at him, glancing down toward his legs. "-like uh, an issue, or something?"
Ed blinks at him. The gestures mean nothing to him, until he follows Greed's gaze and pointing finger and realizes that he's actually- looking at his. Crotch.
Ed jerks back, almost flinching, dropping his bent arms to his waist to hide himself as if he were already naked. "You fuckin- NO! I DON'T! There's nothing fucking wrong with me, you stupid-ass homonculus!" he barks out.
Greed just sighs at him, lowering his hand. "Jeeze, you don't gotta be so defensive all the time..."
Then he shrugs, lifting his arms and smirking in his trademark shitty way. He gestures toward the lake and half-naked chimeras behind him. "Look, dude. It's fine, really. I mean, c'mon..."
"-We're all men here," he says, almost laughing.
Wow. As if that made him feel any better. 'We're all men here'? More like 'we're all assholes ready to laugh at you'. Fuck that.
...Laugh at him for what, Ed doesn't really know, but his brain is insistent that they will. And it was usually right, since apparently it was a running theme for these guys to take the piss out of him as much as possible, since this "trip" had only made his day-to-day attitude more and more unpleasant.
And the words just... rub him the wrong way. He doesn't know why, he doesn't want to know why, all he knows is that it makes his skin crawl and he hates it.
Ed huffs turns on his heels. "I just- I like my privacy, okay? Fuck off already."
And then he starts walking, not even bothering to glance behind him. He doesn't need to - he can hear Greed's exasperated "Okay..." and Darius and Heinkel's laughter well enough.
Told you they'd laugh at you, his brain says. They always do.
Ed just keeps walking.
-
After an annoyingly large amount of hiking, Ed finally finds a place where the river pools into a round, swollen body of water, still flowing but much calmer than usual. There's a large bank that's muddy but has some large rocks perfect for sitting and drying clothes on. There's a lot of tall grass and foliage too, but he'll deal with it.
He looks behind him. There's no sign of the others or the lake they're at, just the long stretch of river he's been following, surrounded by trees. He must be downhill, or in a dip in the forest ground. He can't hear any voices, or much of anything, above the babbling of the river and the occasional sounds of tree branches rustling from the wind.
It's not the most ideal spot, but it's the best he can ask for right now, so he decides to settle here. If he walks too far downriver, it'll be dark by the time he gets back to camp.
He sits down on one of the big, flat rocks that juts out from the mud, partly-submerged in the water. He sets down his pack, his handful of towels, and his small bar of soap. He doesn't have a clean change of clothes or underwear to change into - tends to happen when you're branded a criminal and have to run off into the wilderness with just what's on your back.
He scoots himself near the water, takes off his boots and socks, rolls up his pants and dips his flesh foot into the water - it's pretty cold, as he suspected, but he doesn't pull his foot out, acclimating himself to the temperature. Still, he keeps cringing and shivering as he uses his soap to scrub his boots and socks until they're at least somewhat cleaner. Then he lays them out to dry on a flat-ish slab of rock next to him.
Then he prepares to strip down.
...He has to psyche himself up for this a bit. It's not that he's a stranger to stripping naked in the wilderness - he'd done it already several times since going on the run. And before then, he did it a few times in the past, during trips to particularly remote parts of the country in his travels with Alphonse. But it still feels... awkward. It's not like anyone's watching him, except for whatever random forest animals were out here - and they wouldn't give a shit about him - but it's still, it's...
...Eh, whatever.
One by one, he takes off each article of clothing, trying not to think about anything in particular, and heaps them in a pile next to him. Once he's got nothing but his bare ass sitting on the cool rock, he takes a deep breath, and slides into the water.
"FUCK! Fuck it's cold! Shit!" He can't stop himself from crying out at the shock, and he's alone here, so he lets himself curse and scream and groan as much as he wants just to deal with this cold-ass water. It's not even that deep, just barely up to his hips, but still. Jeeze.
He bends down to wet his face and splash water over his shoulders, which just makes him even colder but forces his body to acclimate faster. Fuck, though. Still sucks. Hopefully that lake the others are at is just as cold. Fuck 'em.
He tries to slowly wade around in the water to try and warm up, but it's so cold. His teeth are chattering too much to even speak anymore, and he can't do much but stand here shivering, rubbing his own arms vigorously. When the water is still enough, he catches a glance at his own reflection.
Ed looks at it, at his naked body. He's built like a barrel, short but stout, muscular and strong. It's... nice.
But it also feels... not. Like it's... not nice.
He tilts his head at his own reflection, studying it.
Like he looks good, sure, especially for his age, but he's kinda... lumpy. Too thick. Too uneven.
And on top of that, he's covered in scars and bruises, his flesh discolored and grotesque where his automail is attached, throwing his metal limbs into even greater contrast to the rest of him. He's all bumps and scratches and hard lines and dark shadows. Nothing's soft. Nothing's... pretty.
Wait, pretty...? He doesn't- Bah. Just thinking about stupid shit again. Like he always does.
Besides, there's nothing wrong with him (besides the automail). He's fine as he is.
...But at the same time, there's nothing... great about it either. Like sure, it was his body and he appreciated it well enough, but at the same time... well...
To be totally, completely honest? He wouldn't be against giving up another limb, or an organ, or any other body part, to bring back Al's body. If it came right down to it.
He wouldn't, ideally, but it was an option. A last-resort sort of thing. He could probably live without another limb or two. He'd get used to it. Just like he is now.
Just... used to it.
He's started lowering himself into the water by now, still trembling and gritting his teeth with the cold, but pushing through it. He wades around until he reaches a part of the pond deep enough for him to sort of sit under the water, drifting in place. He dips down his head to wet his face and hair, getting rid of whatever dust or dirt was on them.
He can't really remember a time when he didn't think this way about himself. Looking at his own body and feeling like it was just... there. Like in some way, it wasn't really his. But it still is?
It's... hard to put into words.
It's like he's just... A skeleton. A framework, looking out from a shell-like body that he was just... stuck with. Kind of like Al, in that sense.
Wait-
No, not like Al. Stupid- Don't even start comparing your suffering to his. Nothing you've gone through, or ever will go through, will compare to what he's been through. And you caused it.
So shut up and get back to helping him first, his brain says.
He closes his eyes, a familiar, crushing weight re-emerging from the depths of his heart, weighing him down and threatening to pin him here, in the water.
He needs to distract himself before he ends up bursting into tears or something.
He wades back to the rocks to retrieve his bar of soap and clothes. Starting with his shirt, he cleans them one piece at a time, soaking them in the water and scrubbing them with the soap, then spreading them out on the rocks to dry in the fading sunlight.
Despite himself, his mind wanders again.
And thinking about it, hey, no one ever feels completely okay with their own body, right? Everyone sees mistakes in themselves, since they're so easy to notice. We're all petty, insecure beings who want to be bigger and grander than anything we can actually be in reality. So you may as well settle with what you've been dealt. Be happy with it.
Besides, he'd feel better once Al and him get their bodies back. He'll have his real arm and leg again. He'll feel whole.
...Hopefully.
With his clothes now cleaned and drying, Ed finally gets to the task of cleaning himself. He sits in a shallower side of the pond, lifting his legs to scrub at his feet and ankles first. He works his way up his body to his head, scrubbing his scalp and working the suds into his hair in place of any decent shampoo.
Ugh. His hair's gonna be gross for this whole trip, isn't it? It sucks because, if he had to decide, he'd say it's the only part of his body that's his 'favorite'. Oh well... He cleans it as best he can, with what little he has.
Then he rinses, submerging his head under the water for a moment to wet everything, coming up and shaking the water out of his face, pulling away his long, sticky bangs from his face.
And then he sees it again... his reflection. And something... strikes him about it.
He-
She looks at it again. Really looks at it. Her long hair, dark and honey-colored with its wetness. Glittering and shining brilliantly in the fading sunlight, a halo of gold flowing from the top of her head, draping along her face, neck and shoulders. Long, elegant lines of color flowing down along his features, softened by the warm light of the early sunset.
She looks beautiful.
And at the same time, she looks... normal. Comfortable. Like a real person. Somehow in this blurred, warped image, gently undulating with the flow of the water, she looks more real than anything she's ever seen.
She's just... here.
The real Ed.
Er- wait... Who even was "the real Ed"?
She's not really sure. She's not much different from Edward, she guesses, but at same time she's... totally different, somehow. Intelligent but strong, elegant but fiery, gentle but firm. Ready to take on the world, and win. And look damn good while doing it.
Yeah. A good looking.... Woman. Person. Thing?
...What the fuck is she even thinking at this point? A bunch of nonsense, That's what. Who cares what she is? Right now, she's Edward Elric. State alchemist. Child prodigy. Grade-A Ass Kicker.
...But also, an arrogant shithead. A naive child. A pitiful, angry little boy who couldn't bring his mother back, couldn't protect his brother, doomed them both to a life without a home, without redemption, without even whole human bodies.
He couldn't even save a little girl's life.
She rubs her eyes- rubs his eyes. Stupid. All of it.
None of that now. Back to the task at hand.
He wades back closer to shore until he can stand up and out of the water, dripping and shivering again at the exposure to the chill of the evening air, intensified by the water clinging to him. He powers through it as best he can as he retrieves the towel he left next to his wet clothes and wraps it around himself, padding off the water from his body. He squeezes water out of his hair before ruffling it with the towel, leaving it a mess.
His clothes are still damp but he puts them back on anyway, making him even colder. Beggars can't be choosers, and neither can naive state alchemists.
All the while, she keeps her back to the river's surface.
-
Soon enough, he's gathered his things and started trotting in slightly-squishy shoes along the river, back to the others as night began to fall.
Back to business. Back to being Edward Elric, currently a wanted criminal on the run with two chimeras and a homonculus possessing the body of a prince of Xing, all trying to survive in the wilderness until the Promised Day arrived.
She sighs. Yet another big. stupid mess she'd gotten herself into.
END
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Summer Dream - Chapter 16
Previous Chapters
At freetime that day, Michael went to the beach with the boys again. He was too confused about the situation to hang out with Audrey, and he didn’t fully trust Aspen yet. “Nice of you to remember who your friends are.” Calum rolled his eyes as Michael sat down.
“I’m sorry, okay? Things are just really confusing for me now.” Michael sighed. “I was talking to Aspen this morning,” Calum cut him off.
“Wow, what a big step. You’re talking to girl you ignored for no reason.”
“Will you listen to me, please?” Michael asked him. “I get that I’ve been a shit friend lately, but you guys haven’t exactly been great friends either.”
“Yeah, we listen to both sides of the story, though.” Luke sighed.
“I want to know Aspen’s side. I tried asking her this morning, but she wouldn’t tell me. She hates me now..”
“With good reason.” Ashton looked at him. “Your new girlfriend gave her a fractured ankle.”
“Audrey isn’t my girlfriend.” Michael sighed. “And, I didn’t know Audrey was like that. I had no idea she would do something like that. Aspen told me about things Audrey did when Aspen was touring with Keith Urban, too. It’s all just really confusing. I want to know Aspen’s side of the story. Will you guys tell me what happened between them?”
“How do we know you’ll actually listen?” Ashton asked, still looking at him.
“I promise, I will.” Michael sighed. “I need to learn the truth..”
“Alright, well, the real story is kind of a long one.” Calum sighed. “What has Audrey told you?”
“She said they wanted to form a band but no one wanted a group, so Aspen went behind her back and got signed, while stealing Audrey’s songs.” Michael said.
“Okay, well, that’s a lie.” Ashton said. “They did want to form a band, but Aspen didn’t go behind Audrey’s back or steal songs. The producer wanted a country artist and signed Aspen because she’s country, Audrey isn’t. Aspen licensed the songs she wrote. She didn’t steal anything from Audrey. Audrey has someone write all of her songs for her now, how do you explain that with Audrey’s lie?”
“I-I don’t know.” Michael sighed. “What else happened?”
“Aspen’s producer sent demos to other labels for Audrey, because he did think she was talented. One of them signed her, but she was dropped because she couldn’t write songs.” Luke said.
“Audrey was bitter about everything and decided to start the rivalry. Aspen did nothing wrong, and she’s paying for it. She lost you, because of Audrey’s lies. She’s currently on crutches, because of Audrey’s bitterness.” Calum said. “Aspen loved you, Mike. She really did. Now, she feels betrayed.”
“She loved me?” Michael looked at him. “How do you know?”
“Are you blind, mate? The way she looks at you, the way she acts with you.” Ashton sighed.
“But, she doesn’t believe in love.” Michael said, looking at the sand.
“She may not believe in it, but she loved you. She probably still does. You need to talk to her.” Luke sighed.
“She doesn’t want to talk to me.” Michael sighed. “She doesn’t love me, she hates me.”
“Do another one of your little picnic things.” Ashton said. “Make her listen.”
“I feel so stupid..” Michael rubbed his face. “I should have listened to you guys. I should’ve listened to her story. It makes so much more sense than Audrey’s.”
“It’s not your fault.” Ashton sighed.
“Audrey also told me that Aspen lied about her life. And that she lied about her family.” Michael looked at them. “How do I know who’s right about that?”
“Talk to Karmen. She knows everything about them.” Calum shrugged.
“Yeah, Karmen’s always watching.” Michael said, getting up. “I promise, I’ll listen to you guys next time.”
“There better not be a next time like this.” Ashton laughed. “We love you, Mike. You’ll always be our best friend.” Michael smiled.
“I love you guys, too.” He smiled and walked away to find Karmen. “Hey, Karmen, you got a second?”
“Yeah, what do you need?” She asked, taking a drag of her cigarette.
“I wanted to ask a few questions about the Hanson’s.” He said, leaning against the wall with her.
“What do you want to know?” She asked, looking at him.
“What were their parents like?” Michael asked.
“I only ever met their mother, their dad was long gone before Carter and I met.” She sighed. “Jerry was awful to them. He was abusive, specifically to Aspen. He hated the fact that he had a daughter. When he left, he tried to take the boys with him, but Betsy wouldn’t let him. So, he just left. Not even a goodbye. Betsy went downhill, always drinking. Their house was a really dangerous place to be. Betsy wasn’t as much abusive as she was scary. She would throw bottles at them, but never hit them with anything. Aspen was still pretty young then, and Carter didn’t want her to grow up thinking home was supposed to be scary and dangerous.”
“So, he moved out and took them with him?” Michael wondered.
“Pretty much. He was 18, so he took it to court and got custody of them. He brought them here to live with their grandparents.” Karmen explained.
“Did their grandpa really try to marry Barb?”
“Oh, absolutely. She still wears the ring.” Karmen nodded. “It was such a sad time. Things were finally turning out right for them. “
“What about Connor?”
“Shh.” Karmen said, covering his mouth. She looked around and made sure no one was around. “Who told you about him?”
“Aspen did.” Michael looked at her. “So, he’s real.”
“Of course, he’s real. Who told you he wasn’t?”
“Audrey.”
“Of course, that bitch did.” Karmen laughed dryly and finished her cigarette. “Look, Audrey is the definition of evil. She’s known Aspen since they were kids, and she uses everything she can as blackmail. Aspen used to wear a purity ring, but she also still fooled around. She wasn’t always what people call a ‘good girl.’ She put on an act, but when you grow up the way she did, you’re bound to act out. She knows about Aspen’s depression and she thinks it’s a joke. A few years ago, Aspen attempted suicide. Audrey made a big deal of it in the media and they had a hayday tearing Aspen apart.”
“Aspen has depression? She must be good at pretending now.” Michael sighed.
“When you live a life so out in the open, you can’t let people see certain parts of you. Mental illness isn’t exactly something that the media cares about hearing.”
“So, why don’t they talk about Connor?” Michael asked.
“Would you want to talk about your sibling that died in a war we shouldn’t have been fighting?” Karmen asked. “They don’t talk about it because they were young when he died. They hardly knew him, and it’s hard to honor someone’s memory when you don’t know anything about them.”
“I guess that’s a good point.” Michael sighed.
“I need to get back inside. I’ve got some things to add to my notes.” Karmen said.
“One last thing, how much publicity do people get from your articles?”
“I could end your career with what I write, that’s how much publicity my articles get.” Karmen said, walking inside.
That night, Michael knocked on Aspen’s window. “Aspen, open up.” Michael whispered, tapping on the window. Carly got up and opened the window.
“She doesn’t want to see you.” Carly sighed.
“Please? I really need to talk to her.” Michael sighed.
“About what?” Aspen asked, keeping her back to the window.
“Everything.” Michael said. “Please, come on an adventure with me.”
“Fine, I’ll go.” Aspen sighed, and got up. She grabbed her crutches and walked to the window. She carefully climbed out and Carly closed the window. “You better have a good reason for this.” Aspen huffed.
“I do.” Michael smiled a little. “Hop on.”
“Are you sure?” She asked, getting ready to get on his back.
“Of course, it’s partially my fault you got hurt.” He sighed. She jumped on his back and wrapped her arms around his neck.
“You’re right, it is.” Aspen rolled her eyes.
“We have a lot to talk about.” Michael said, carrying her down to the lake. He set her down and laid out the blanket.
“Like what?” She asked, sitting down.
“Literally everything.” Michael said, sitting down. “The boys told me your side of the story. It makes a lot more sense than Audrey’s.”
“Yeah, because it’s true.” Aspen rolled her eyes. “What’s in the basket?”
“Chocolate covered strawberries.” Michael said, opening the basket. “I’m sorry, I never asked for your side.”
“It’s okay, no one ever does.” Aspen sighed and reached into the basket, grabbing a strawberry.
“I should have. I was much closer to you than I am with Audrey, I don’t know why I blindly believed her.” Michael sighed.
“She’s good at manipulating people.” Aspen shrugged. “She’s always been good at it.”
“I wish I had asked you about the rivalry before her.”
“I’m actually impressed with her. She’s getting better at telling fake stories about me.” Aspen rolled her eyes and ate the strawberry.
“Can you ever forgive me for this?” Michael asked, looking at her.
“Of course, I forgive you, Mike.” Aspen smiled a little. “No one’s ever taken me on an adventure just to apologize.” Michael smiled and leaned over, pressing his lips to hers. She smiled against his lips and wrapped her arms around his neck. “I’ve missed this.” She whispered.
“I have too.” Michael smiled, kissing her again. She kissed back gently before pulling away. “Hey, I wasn’t finished.”
“Shh.” Aspen said, feeding him a strawberry. She giggled and ate one of her own.
“So, when do you get out of the crutches?” Michael asked, eating another strawberry.
“Wednesday. I get the cast taken off and a boot put on.” Aspen sighed.
“It looked really bad the night it happened.” Michael said. “Rian carried you in and I thought you were dead. I had no idea what was going on. You were all on the opposite side of the room. You were dead, Calum was soaking wet, Luke had cuts on his arms and twigs in his hair, Carly’s clothes were torn, Leigh Anne and Jade had awful poison oak. I was so confused, but everyone was glaring at Audrey.”
“Trust me, if Audrey could murder me and get away with it, she would.” Aspen sighed. “I’ve learned to sleep with one eye open.”
“You won’t have to worry anymore, I’m here to protect you now.” Michael said, kissing her head. Aspen smiled and leaned into him. “Ashton told me something interesting earlier today.”
“Did he now?” Aspen looked up at him.
“He told me that you love me.” Michael said, looking down at her.
“You know, I don’t believe in love.” Aspen reminded him.
“Yes, but you never know.” Michael shrugged. “Cuz, you know, I love you.”
“No, Michael.” Aspen said, moving away from him. “You can’t. Take it back.”
“Aspen, it’s okay. I’m not expecting you to say it back, or anything.” Michael said, reaching out to her.
“Michael, you can’t love me. It’s not safe, for either of us.” Aspen shook her head.
“What do you mean?” Michael asked.
“Audrey.” Aspen whispered.
“What about her?” Michael furrowed his eyebrows.
“She’s a master of manipulation. She can make you think things aren’t what they are.”
“Aspen, what are you talking about?” Michael shook his head.
“I’ve had two boyfriends in my lifetime.” Aspen said. “One summer here, I met this guy. We really hit it off and we started dating. Audrey swooped in and within a week, he thought I was the devil. She made him believe all these things about me that weren’t true, just because she didn’t want me to be happy. It wasn’t even that she wanted him, she just didn’t want me to have him. Then, there was my first relationship as a celebrity. He’s the one that said he loved me, and then cheated on me. He cheated on me with her. She convinced him that I was cheating, so he slept with her as retaliation. I guess he liked it, because he continued to do it for months before I found out.”
“You know I wouldn’t let her come between us again.” Michael said, grabbing her hand.
“I want to believe you.” Aspen said, tears filling her eyes. “But, it would never work. Audrey always wins in the end.”
“Hey, I love you, Aspen. I wouldn’t let her take that from you.” Michael said, cupping her cheek. A tear fell down her cheek as she looked at him.
“I can’t lose you again..” She whispered, looking up at him.
“You couldn’t lose me, even if you wanted to.” Michael said, kissing her forehead.
“I’m already going to lose you when the summer ends. We can’t be together, Mike.” Aspen sniffled. “Our jobs make it nearly impossible.”
“We just have to work at it. Baby, I know we could make it last.” Michael said, wiping her tears from her cheek. “You won’t lose me.” He whispered, kissing her gently. She kissed back slowly before pulling away.
“Promise?” She whispered.
“I promise.”
#5sos#5 seconds of summer#imagine#imagines#5sos imagines#5sos smut#5sos writing#5sos fic#5sos fanfic#michael clifford#calum hood#ashton irwin#luke hemmings#cashton appreciation nw
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The Kiss Ch 6, The Realization
A/N: This new format doesn't lend itself well to the episode, so I tinkered. I give you The Kiss, Ch 6, The Realization
Disclaimer: I don't own Chuck, but it's on Amazon Prime streaming!
It had been an absolute mess, the whole mission. It had all started when Big Mike begged Chuck to find Morgan. Chuck went to the Santa Monica Pier, Morgan's favorite hang out and that's when everything went downhill; he flashed on Laszlo Mahnovski. Laszlo fled, and Chuck did what any guy with a super-secret spy cover girlfriend would do, he contacted Sarah. She came over to reassure him, and brought him a picture of the two of them they had made at the mall the week before. The almost shy smile she gave him when saw him, made his heart melt.
Casey pounded on his door a little later and asked him if he wanted him to beef up security, which Chuck declined. They had a meeting a little while later, and Stanfield admits to Laszlo being a technology wizard. Sarah and Casey joined the manhunt, leaving Chuck to his own devices for lunch. As he got in the car, he was shocked that Laszlo was there, but Laszlo told Chuck a story that connected with his heart. Chuck felt empathy and a sort of kindship to him. He offered to take the rouge asset to lunch and hear him out. At lunch, Laszlo told him many things, but the one thing that worried Chuck the most, and caused him not to report this meeting, was that his home was bugged.
Chuck came home, checked the house everywhere for bugs, and couldn't find any. His eyes latched on the picture of him and Sarah. He picked it up and searched it thoroughly, finding nothing. He shut his eyes, and hated himself. He texted Sarah that they needed to talk. Fifteen minutes later, she entered the Morgan door, a concern look on her face. Chuck was sitting on the bed, holding the picture she had just given him, starting at it.
"Chuck, you okay?" she asked.
"No, Sarah," Chuck said looking at her. "If it wasn't for you, I could be Laszlo. I would be locked in that bunker, acting as crazy as he is. In an hour, he nearly had me convinced that you and Casey were doing things behind my back and watching me the way you said you wouldn't. I exposed us to this guy and now…I'm so sorry, Sarah. I messed up." Sarah pulled footstool forward, sat down, and took his hand.
"Chuck, if you hadn't gone to Stanfield, we would have done exactly what you are worried about," Sarah admitted. Chuck looked her in the eyes. "Hey, he knows what he's talking about, so I get it. Trust is hard for me, and I do trust you, but if I saw something shady, I'd verify it," she said with an amused smile. "Chuck, this is brand new for both of us, for me in so many different ways, but you need to talk to me about this stuff. The stuff that affects you as my analyst, and the stuff that affects you as my partner, and I'm not talking the job," she said with a grin. "But know this Chuck Bartwoski, no one, and I mean no one, is going to hurt my Chuck."
"Little possessive isn't it?" he asked grinning.
"Got a problem with that?" she asked, returning the grin.
"None," he admitted. "Sarah he keeps finding me."
"I think I should move in for a bit," Sarah said. Chuck got a smirk on his face, and Sarah gave him a shove, knocking him over onto the bed. "For your safety."
"If you moved in, I'm not sure how safe I'd be," Chuck replied. Sarah stuck her tongue out at him.
"I'm going to contact, Stanfield," she said, leaving through the Morgan door. "What are you doing?"
"Walking my girlfriend to her car," Chuck replied. Sarah spun around and looked at him. "Cover," he added quickly.
"Is it?" she asked with a smirk. "Get back inside, Chuck, I'll be back soon."
"I'm fine, it's not like anyone is going to sneak up behind me," he said.
"I'm sure there's bigger morons somewhere, I just don't know where," Casey said behind Chuck, making him jump into the air. "I'll watch your boyfriend, Walker."
"Take good care of him, Casey," Sarah said. Casey looked disgusted, and watched her drive away.
"I don't know why you had to ruin a perfectly good agent," Casey said to Chuck.
"You know, Casey, I think we should watch some James Bond movies to bond," Chuck said.
"Or, I could just deposit you back into your room," Casey said, nearly flinging him into his room through the Morgan door.
"That wasn't nice," Chuck yelled at Casey, as Casey slammed his apartment door. He turned and his eyes widened as he saw the gun Laszlo had pointed at him.
"Not a sound, we have somewhere to go," Laszlo said. "And, don't worry about Casey. I've got his surveillance on a loop."
}o{
Chuck sat in Castle. Sarah and Casey were giving a briefing and Chuck wasn't even pretending to pay attention. He kept going through what happened earlier that day. Another bomb had nearly exploded ending the two of them. His life had flashed before his eyes again…well, not flashed like the Intersect flash, but flashed, and it wasn't what he hoped for. The last few months were better, but those five long years…they bothered him. He looked over at Sarah, who was looking at him with concern.
"Major Casey," Stanfield said. "I need to talk to Agent Walker and Mr. Bartowski about their cover. You're welcome to stay, but-" Casey saluted, grunted something and flew out of the room. Sarah was waiting for a lady feelings joke from Chuck, but he was silent. "Mr. Bartowski, I can't believe I'm about to say this, but you aren't saying much, and I'm concerned."
"That could have been me, or I could have died, again, or I could still be at the Buy More," Chuck said softly. Stanfield and Sarah shared a look.
"General, I think this falls under my purview," Sarah said, with a slight grin. Stanfield looked relieved.
"Whatever you need, within reason, to fix this, you have it," Stanfield said.
"I think the relocation we talked about needs to happen," Sarah said. Chuck snapped his head up. "For me, to Echo Park, Chuck," Sarah said, shaking her head.
"Mr. Bartowski, I need you to understand, I appreciate the dynamic you have with this team," Stanfield said. "I would never remove someone from your team without talking to you, unless orders came above my paygrade, and the way our charter was written, there aren't many, arguably one." Chuck nodded. "This entire project centers around you. We need you to be as comfortable as possible."
"Chuck, we all need you to be as comfortable as possible," Sarah added. "Everything we are doing we are trying to take you into consideration, but if something is bothering you, you have to tell me." Chuck nodded. She turned to Stanfield. "I think I have this, General." Stanfield nodded and signed off. Chuck's phone went off and he looked down at it.
"Morgan," he said, with a grin. "He wants to know if I'm going to sandworm with him."
"You should," Sarah said. "So Stanfield and I have been talking and we both think it would be a good idea if I moved into Echo Park. There's an apartment on the other side of the complex that I think would work well. When we need to protect you, you can come stay a few days. When you need to talk about things, we can do it there," she paused, and looked down shyly. "Or, if you just, you know, wanna hang out with me."
"I could do that?" Chuck asked, with a grin.
"Yeah," Sarah replied, grinning.
"You'll be running me off," Chuck said, sighing.
"Hey, no I won't, and I promise you if I need some time, and you need to get away, it's a two bedroom apartment, I'm putting an exercise room in, I can get away and you can get away." She looked at him. "What's wrong, Chuck," she asked, growing concerned.
"I wasted five years on Jill," Chuck said softly. "I never realized until today, how much I wasted. It took Bryce nearly ruining my life, to realize he made me live again. Before the Intersect, I was going to waste away over there," he said, gesturing in the direction of the Buy More. "I'm so glad I'm in your life, but I feel like I'm forced into your life." Sarah studied, him, grinned, and sat down in his lap, making his eyebrows about shoot off of his head.
"I'm glad Bryce sent you the Intersect, Chuck, because I never would have met you," she said. She paused and took a deep breath. "You've made me realize I can be more than a spy, I hope you know that." She studied him, and the look he gave her said he understood. "I have a life after this. I have a future and I didn't think so before." She grinned, looked away, and then set her jaw, turned, and looked him right in the eye, her eyes dancing. "Hopefully with the greatest guy I know."
"Have I met him?" Chuck asked, with his own grin. She put her hands on his cheeks and pulled him in.
"Damn right you have," she said, kissing him.
}o{
Sarah watched Morgan and Chuck in the sandworm, and realized how different this mission was. She thought about what she had said to Chuck, and realized he probably didn't understand everything she was saying. That was okay, she would have time to show him. She felt her come up behind her and tensed. She'd rather be armed with a fork leading a revolution in a third world country than what she was about to do, but she had to, and she knew it.
"Sarah," Ellie said behind her. Sarah turned and gave Ellie a genuine smile. She adored this woman. The woman who had raised Chuck as practically her own. The woman she hoped one day she could be friends with. Sarah looked at her, Ellie smiled, and pulled her into a hug. Sarah didn't know why, but no Bartowski gave a bad hug, they were like a drug that she couldn't get enough of. "I hear we're gonna be neighbors." Sarah nodded not trusting herself to speak. "I don't know what's going on with you two, but I know this. He's crazy about you, but compared to what you feel for him, it's nothing," Ellie said grinning. Sarah looked away. She watched Chuck and Morgan and then turned back to Ellie.
"Your brother is special, you know that," Sarah said. "He's not just a good guy, he changes you, he gets into your soul and just changes things I didn't know that could be changed or fixed."
"He's been taken advantage by a lot of people," Ellie said. Sarah looked Ellie right in the eye.
"I will never do that, and I will never let anyone else," Sarah said softly, but dangerously. Ellie smiled.
"I know," Ellie said, squeezing her hand. "I know." She winked at her, and walked off, as Sarah stood and watched everyone in the courtyard.
A/N: Next time…Stanford….oh boy….Hoped you liked it, reviews are always welcomed…til next time.
DC
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One Last Ride (Winchester Sister!Reader)
A/N:
This is for @daughters-and-winsisters writing contest. All writing in italics is flashbacks.
_*_*_*_*_*_
When I went to bed that night I was very confused. I had scouted out a complete two mile perimeter around the hotel, above ground and below. Nothing. Nothing strange, no demons, no monsters, no one seeing anything weird, not one hair out of place. I let my eyes flutter close, exhausted. Being a hunter, I needed only a few hours sleep, but I didn't care. The cotton sheets were so soft and warm, especially after such a long day. I wondered if this is what it felt like. To be a normal person, free from worries. I let my mind drift off into dreamland, for the first time in a while.
I was in a park. The sky was unnaturally blue, the grass a vibrant green. I was the only one there, or so it seemed. I turned a slow circle, then froze when I saw a man on a bench, his back to me.
"Hello there, Y/N. So nice to finally meet you."
"Who are you." My eyes narrowed as the man stood, turning to face me.
The guy, who apparently thought he was all that and a bag of jelly beans, flashed me a blindingly white grin. "Why, being the smart girl you are, I thought you would have figured that out already." His eyes flickered from brown to swirling purple. "I'm Abraxas."
"Yes, well Abraxas I don't really go for guys who can flashbang a whole country with their teeth. Care to tell me why you've bought me a hotel room?"
He walked closer. "My employer is very interested in you, sweetheart. He has a deal proposition for you, but will only offer it if you pass his test..."
"Does one of his "tests" include listening to you trying to sweet talk me without blowing my own brains out?"
"Mmm." He bit his lip. "I like 'em feisty. But I would bite that tongue of yours if I were you...." He bent his neck, whispering in my ear, "For the sake of your dear brother Sammy..."
"What did you do to my brother." I growled. Sam was Lucifer’s vessel, and the upcoming apocalypse had all of wound a bit tightly.
"Oh, me?" Abraxas stepped back and placed a hand on his chest, looking shocked that I accused him of something. "I didn't do anything. In fact, it was all you. Well, you and Dean broke the first seal anyway. It all went downhill after that."
"You son of a bi-" I swung my arm at his face, but he grabbed my wrist before i could land a solid punch.
"No need for name calling." He pouted, straightening his green Hurley t-shirt. "I'm simply just delivering a message." He held up his hands in mock surrender.
"What. Is. The. Test."
"Ah, now we're getting somewhere. There's a rather nasty bunch of vampires that happen to be ticking off my boss. Take 'em down, sweetheart, and my employer will be more than happy to speak with you about a deal regarding your brother." He stuck his hands in his jeans pockets and turned to leave, whistling "Hotel California" as he went.
"Wait!" I call out.
"Yeah?" He's halfway across the park by now.
"Why the dress?" Upon my arrival in the hotel, I had found a dress with a note pinned to it that fit me perfectly in the closet of my room, which was half the reason I had been so rigorous about my perimeter sweep.
"Obviously my boss thinks you're going to be able to pass his test with flying colors. He'll need you well rested and in your best possible shape for the...never mind. Oh, and Y/N? When you complete the test, visit the address on the note."
With that, he was gone.
---
I parked my car in least overgrown spot of the parking lot. Taking down the vamps- that had been the test- had been uncomfortably easy, and now I was at the Pacific Medical Center on 12th Ave. barely within the limits of Seattle, Washington. I had done some research; it had been abandoned long ago due to mysterious deaths in the hospital staff. I was supposed to meet Abraxas in the east wing, the psychiatric ward. Popping the trunk open, I rummaged through the contents for everything I'd need. Salt? Check. Holy water? Check. Everything else? Check. My sanity? Check....ish. Good thing I was headed in the direction of the psychiatric ward. I made my way through the hospital, my surroundings eerily quiet. Not a single demon in sight or out of it. I turned a corner into a hall, the east wing, the nut case area. I kept my gun in my hands regardless of my peaceful surroundings, refusing to let my guard down. I turned a corner, and a familiar Cheshire Cat smile glowed in the darkness, accompanied by a half-lidded purple gaze.
"Abraxas." I hissed.
"Nice to see you too, sweetheart. So glad you could make it. My boss is very eager to see you in person."
"Well then where the hell is he?" I glared at him.
Abraxas grinned. "Where the Hell indeed." He motioned the the door he was leaning on the doorframe of, pushing it open with his hand. "Ladies first."
"Bullshit." I muttered, but stepped through anyway.
---
"Ah, the littlest Winchester."
"Lucifer. I should have known." I glare daggers in the direction of the man.
Satan grinned at me from his perch on a rusty operating table as he sipped a Mai Tai. "Nice to see you too, Y/N." When I didn't respond, he continued, "Well, we can do this one of two ways. One, you have a seat and listen to my proposition and the reasoning behind it like a good little girl. Or option two, you try and kill me, fail, and are punished and forcibly held down by Abraxas, who by the way has taken a liking to you and wouldn't mind it at all, while I tell you all about my little plan. Capisce?"
"Capisce."
"Lovely. Have a seat." Lucifer hopped off the operating table and motioned to a table with two chairs that had appeared in the blink of an eye.
I pull out the chair and sit down, crossing my legs beneath the table. I smirk rose to my face, "So then Luci, what was so important that you had me driving all the way out to Washington for you?"
"Your brother Sam is my vessel, as you know. But I'll get to that later. You. You are a rather unique individual, aren't you? The angels don't really like you, probably because you’re a Winchester. But the demons, they don't really like you either, also because you’re a Winchester. Kind of funny if you think about it. All the demons hate Dean, all the angels hate Sam, and everyone hates you!"
"Yeah." I blew a piece of hair out of my face. "Hilarious."
"But you see, you're useful to me. I need you. You are the wild card of the vessels, I could use a faithful servant down in Hell. Especially one as powerful as you have the potential to be. I will also quit bothering your brother about being my vessel. Sure, he was supposed to host me with the apocalypse coming on, fight Michael, blah blah blah, but now I have you! With a little training, you'll be perfect. I'll even give you two months here in this beautiful city if you accept my offer."
"So you want me to sell you my soul in return for my brothers freedom from his bond with you?"
"Correct!"
"Jeez, it's like Ghost Rider all over again. Do I get a cool motorcycle too?" I joked.
"You can have anything you want down in Hell."
"Just as long as my head isn't turned into a flaming skull."
"So you'll make the deal?"
I swear I saw an eager glint in his eye, but I ignored it. "I'm doing it for Sam. Not for you, not for me, not for anyone else."
Lucifer stood, and I mentally cringed, knowing what I had to do to seal the pact. I stood as well, watching him as he walked towards me. Lucifer placed a hand on my waist, and leaned in, pressing a rough and forceful kiss on my lips. When he licked my bottom lip with his forked tongue, I pushed him off of me. "That's enough, tiger." I glared, wiping my mouth.
"See you in two months." Lucifer disappeared, taking the table and chairs with him.
Abraxas strode into the room, and I resisted putting a bullet through his head. He grinned his dimpled, Cheshire Cat grin. "Nice to know I'll be seeing you around a lot more. Hell could use some hot mortals."
"Shut up, Fonzie."
***Timeskip Two Months***
I glanced out the window at the city lights of Seattle creating an artificial daytime in the dead of night. I rolled the diamond of my necklace in between my fingers, my last birthday present from my brothers. They usually weren't great with gifts, especially Dean, but for my birthday this year they gave me a diamond necklace that had belonged to my mother. It was a sweet gesture, and it was nice to have something that she had owned. Dean had mentioned that she wore it to her wedding and now it was time to pass it down to me. I looked down at the letter from Abraxas, reading and rereading the directions to make sure I was absolutely correct about every move I was making. On October tenth you shall meet me at the Lake View Cemetery at 11:30 pm, no earlier, no later. Find the Rhodes family mausoleum. You must wear the dress provided in the hotel room closet.
The dress was a violet evening gown, and as much as I absolutely hated dresses, I figured that it probably wasn’t the wisest idea to piss Satan off.
I carefully step over Dean, making damn sure I wouldn't wake him. We had all "agreed" that we were going to leave town first thing tomorrow. But I wasn't about to break my deal. I knew better than to tangle with Lucifer, and I would do anything to keep my family safe. Even if it meant giving more than my life.
As quietly as I can, I close the hotel room door behind me. I slip on a pair of silver heels and walk down the hallway, my heart pounding. The purple dress swirls around my ankles and I feel off, the formal clothing so different from what I'm used to wearing. Sure, I had dressed up for cases that involved me and my brothers crashing a dinner party or any other formal event, but this was different. It felt like I was going to prom. (Which I never went to by the way. Long story, but mainly because my date ended up being possessed.) My stomach felt like it was trying to audition for Cirque de Soleil.
When the elevator doors opened I heard a familiar voice call my name, and try as I might, I couldn't stop myself from rolling my eyes.
"Hello sweetheart." Abraxas smirked at me from his spot leaning against the wall, his perfect face highlighted by the light from the chandelier above. He was dressed in an expensive suit with a bow tie, his hair meticulously styled, and for a moment when he looked at me his eyes flashed their true shade of violet.
Deciding to act like a decent human being, I nodded. "Abraxas."
The demon stepped closer, and I resisted the urge to back away. "You know," He whispered. "We're supposed to look like a couple."
I bit back a grimace, and batted my lashes at him. "Fuck you.” I whispered through a faked love-drunk grin.
"I forgot to mention you look gorgeous tonight." Abraxas began to lead me towards the doors, speaking loudly enough for others to hear. In an undertone he added, "Lucifer let me choose the dress. It's exactly the same shade as my eyes."
I resisted the urge to puke all over his freshly shined Gucci shoes. Outside, there was a limousine waiting for us. "Really? A limo?" I sent him a look of amusement.
Abraxas looked hurt. "Sweetheart, Lucifer put me in charge of making sure you were happy. This limo wasn't cheap.”
---
"We're here, sweetheart."
I look up to see a gate with the words "Lake View Cemetery" scrolled across the top in wrought lettering. Abraxas helps me out of the limo, and with a snap of his fingers, it disappears. We walk through the gates and stroll across the grass, like a normal couple would out in a garden after a fancy dinner party to get some time alone. Except the garden is a cemetery and my date is a demon and I didn't get food. Abraxas leads me to a white marble mausoleum; the name "RHODES" is etched in the stone above the patina copper doorway. Two Doric columns stand on either side of the doorway, making the whole building look like an ancient Roman temple.
"After you." Abraxas ushers me through the doorway.
Inside, Lucifer is leaning against one of the family's graves. Not really wanting to look at him, I focus on the name. Alyssa Rhodes, 1982-1998. I nearly feel a pang of sadness when I realize that she was only sixteen when she died.
Lucifer grins. "Now, you may be thinking, 'Why this family's mausoleum, Lucifer? Why not someone else?' Well, I'll tell you. The Rhodes family were some of my most loyal followers! They're all demons now of course, long story, and have kindly let me borrow their lovely tomb for this ritual. In fact, they had it built for this very purpose! All the symbols are already carved in the floor, and look! They even provided candles."
I look around. The ground is one giant pentagram unlike one I have ever seen before. Candles burn at each point of the star, and in the center of the room is a stone table that looks uncomfortably like a coffin. Several other demons including Abraxas stand around the room, each holding a different object. "Let's just get this over with." I growl.
Lucifer looks at me curiously. "You sound so much like your mother."
"Shut up."
Following his directions, I laid down on the coffin-table, hands folded on my stomach. Lucifer stood at the top side of the table, hovering above my head, an ancient book in his hands.
"Don't worry. This won't hurt....much." Abraxas smirked at me as Lucifer opened the book.
"Id quicquam risum stultus diabolus non mauris non mauris non mauris magna..."
The first two demons approached me, silver knives in their hands.
"...ridiculum est haec amo, cum Jero ego potest stercore est scriptor..."
Two more demons approached and knelt on either side of me, wooden bowls in their hands. My heart pounded with fear. What if I had made the wrong choice?
"...hoc totum fasciculum stercore bovis stercore Non possum credere potest Latinum translata..."
To late to back out now. The demons with the silver knives each grabbed one of my hands, holding them out over the wooden bowls. They slit my wrists, and I bit back a scream as the blood began to drip into the bowls.
"...munda , et hoc purificat libentissime est sanctus , ut est Dominus, in tenebris..."
Abraxas approached the table, a goblet in his hands. The demons who had been collecting my blood poured it into the goblet. I panted heavily, dizzy from the rapid loss of blood.
"...pius hoc est fun, et commutatio sanguinem inter dominum et servum, puer voluntatem..."
Abraxas took the book from Lucifer and in exchange handed him the goblet of my blood, which he drank greedily, the crimson liquid dripping from the corner of his mouth. I held back a gag as Abraxas took the goblet and handed Lucifer the book back.
"...nunc in sanguine comeditis et servus dominum suum ministerium in studio ad eum..."
Another demon approached, a knife in hand, and Lucifer took it, slicing into his palm. Blood dripped from his palm to the floor.
"...Illud prorsus tauro hanc animam servi sui et trade nihil habet usque serviamus, ut haberet filium!"
Lucifer finished reading and handed the book to Abraxas.
"Open your mouth, darling."
I did as I was told, and just as Lucifer raised his hand, the doors slammed open.
"Y/N!" I turned my head and saw Dean and Sam fighting through the demons that had swarmed them the instant they stepped foot in the mausoleum.
With tears in my eyes at the sight of the family I was giving my life to protect, all I could do was whisper. "I'm sorry." I say, turning my head back to it's normal position. Lucifer drips his blood into my mouth, and I close my eyes, knowing what is coming.
"NO!" I can hear Sam and Dean screaming, but it's cut short as soon as the blade lacerates my throat and the world fades blissfully away.
***Third Person POV***
Sam and Dean struggle through the horde of demons, hell bent on ripping Lucifer limb from limb after watching their sister be slaughtered in front of them. But Lucifer disappears, along with all the demons except Abraxas, who's still in his suit, leaning on the table.
"Don't worry boys. You can have the body. Well, this one anyway. I'm sure Lucifer will be enjoying her new one in Hell." And then he too disappears before Sam or Dean can utter the first word of an exorcism.
Dean collapses at the table, his jeans soaking up the blood of his sister that has spilled to the floor, tears rolling down his face. Sam too kneels next to her cold body, brushing her H/C hair out of her face, tears brimming in his eyes as he realizes that he'll never see her again. They sit next to her dead body, remembering. Remembering the times they fought, every regret, every mistake. Realizing they will never see her smile or laugh again. That she will never gank another monster or demon with them. That she will never eat another greasy burger or sing along to another classic rock song in the Impala. That she will never get married, never finish school. Never see another sunset or sunrise.
Both men look up at the sound of a familiar flutter. Cas stood on the other side of the table, looking down at the female's body, emotion sweeping over him.
"Cas..." Dean looks up. "Cas, you can bring her back right? Pull her out of Hell just like me?"
Castiel reached out and stroked her cheek, cold as the stone on which she lay. His Father had done a such great job in creating her, it was a travesty to take something so young, innocent, and beautiful from the world. Cas had sensed it when her soul left her body. He had seen her close her eyes, give herself willingly to death for her brother, an action so selfless Castiel wouldn’t have even considered it within the realm of possibility.
Her body was still, drenched in blood, sprawled in front of her brothers and the angel. Dean bowed his head and knelt down by her side, one of her hands clasped securely in his, the blood still spilling from her wrists. All he wanted was to hold her in his arms, to tell her it would be alright.
Dean was the first to rise, hands sticky with the blood of his baby sister, tears streaking his face. "W-we should probably..."
"Yeah." Sam agreed, wiping his eyes. His flannel shirt was soaked with blood, but he lifted his youngest sister in his arms, trying hard to keep from trembling. He ignored the laceration through her neck, focusing on her face, peaceful despite the gory scene she left behind. For a moment, he could almost believe she went to Heaven. But she didn't. His baby sister was in Hell. And it was all his fault. If only he hadn't fallen for Ruby's lies, if he hadn't made so many mistakes she might still be alive. None of this would have ever happened if he hadn't... Sam's hands tightened on her body, fingers digging into the purple material of the dress. He presses his lips to her pale forehead, tears dropping off the end of his nose as he thinks of all the life lost, all the things she could have done. Silently, Sam followed Dean out the mausoleum door and through the graveyard. In the parking lot Dean pulled a blanket from the trunk of the car and together they wrap her body before laying her down in the back seat for one last ride.
#writingwinchesterscontest#dean x reader#sam x reader#demon#spn#supernatural#imagines#winsister#angst
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Johnny and the Delinquents: A Murphamy Rock Band AU
warnings: brief unspecific references to child abuse, alcoholism that was mostly in the past, lots of swearing, men who suck at talking, my aggressive inability to write lyrics, and John Murphy singing a cover Can't Help Falling in Love BECAUSE FUCKING EVERYONE ELSE IS RIGHT NOW.
apologies: on how long this took, and also the sheer number of JTHM references in here. I spent the early 2000's writing JTHM fics and it turns out the name Johnny is FOREVER linked with that so there's that. Also I know nothing about music besides singing so I'm sure I got a lot of that wrong and also I apologize for the stage names...I thought it was funny
and last but not least, a note: I'm pretty sure this is gonna be my last work in the 100 fandom, at least at the moment. thank you all for sticking with me, and who knows, maybe I'll return to the 100 in the days to come!
below or on ao3
Murphy answered the phone, because it was Jaha. As much as he hated his new manager, he had also learned better than to blow him off. “Y’ello,” he said, because he knew how much it irritated Jaha.
He was exhausted and had earned his uninterrupted sleep. He and Emori had a show that went until two the night before and then they had gone out for drinks. The City of Light had been months in the making, but their fifth major gig had gone splendidly, and he blamed the combination of sleepy, hungover and deeply satisfied on why he completely missed what Jaha said.
“It would be a really good opportunity for you,” Jaha said. “Everyone else has agreed,” Jaha said. “The publicity would really help The City of Light, and you know how much I want to see you all become a success,” Jaha said.
Murphy could tell there was something Jaha wasn’t saying, but didn’t know what it was. Jaha could be infuriatingly cryptic. Everything had been better before he had done a summer at Burning Man and come back frustratingly zen. “Okay,” Murphy replied. “What is this great opportunity?”
Jaha’s long pause was telling enough and Murphy really wanted to hang up, but resisted because Emori would be irritable if she knew he was blowing off their manager. “A reunion of Johnny and the Delinquents. Don’t hang up.”
Murphy took his finger off of the end-call button reluctantly. “No. I’m not doing it.”
Jaha continued like Murphy didn’t say anything, which he always, always did. “Album and tour, a couple of photos of you all hugging, and you’re done.”
“I believe I already said no.” Murphy felt anger already bubbling up from within him like a volcano of rage, but so far he’d kept his voice quiet enough that Emori was still passed out and he hadn’t threatened anyone or even cursed.
His anger management counselor would have been so proud.
Jaha took another long pause to find his words. “You’re contractually obligated. They expect you in New York in a week.”
Murphy could feel his blood pressure rise. “Excuse me?” he said, and it all went downhill from there.
The second he hung up with Jaha he called Raven. “What the actually fuck is going on, Raven?”
“I dunno,” she said, and he could tell she had a wrench in her mouth because he had known her long enough to know what that sounded like. “Just the sound engineer.”
Murphy rolled his eyes. He might be across the country, but he was not in a different reality. “I know you know, so spit it out.”
“Apparently your split from The Delinquents wasn’t ever made official—now that Kane’s in charge of the label, he wants the publicity from a reunion tour. Plus technically you’ve been in breach of contract for five years.” She paused. He tried not to fidget. “But that’s just what I’ve heard. I’m only a lowly engineer.”
Murphy took a deep breath and counted to ten. There’s background noise on the phone, something that sounded like voices.
Raven came back sounding too chipper. “Octavia wants to know if you still have your combat boots or if she should order you another pair.”
He hung up. Emori was still passed out in bed. He didn’t want to wake her. He looked at the clock. It was 9:23 on a Saturday, so he left the room, still dressed in his gig clothes, which he realized he hadn’t taken off, in search of somewhere serving brunch. He’s pretty sure getting mimosa drunk at brunch was acceptable.
He stormed back into the hotel two hours later, and five mimosas tipsier.
Emori was sitting up in bed, repainting her nails, black on black, which he, drunkenly, thought must be a metaphor for something. She looked up at him expectantly.
He stared her down. “I am contractually obligated to do a reunion-thing. I don’t know how long it’ll last.”
Emori nodded. “Okay. When you are going?”
He sighed and slumped into the bed across from hers. “Friday. But I’d prefer never.”
She shrugged. “It’s almost the summer. You know I go every summer to teach some humility to those little rock camp shits. This summer wasn’t going to be any different.”
Murphy nodded. “I know, I just felt like we were finally getting somewhere, you know?”
She nodded again. She was very understanding when she wasn’t being destructive or angry. He liked that about her because he hated that about himself. “The City of Light could wait. Go finish out your contract, and if we’re still feeling it, we’ll keep going. And if not, we’ve had a good run.”
He wanted to hug her, but Emori hated hugs. “You’re the best guitarist I’ve ever worked with,” he said instead.
She laughed, and it was clearly at him. “Nonsense. You’ve worked with Bellamy Blake.”
And that right there was the problem.
He spent the rest of the week in a much nicer hotel that he bullied Jaha into paying for, and occupied his time looking through the lyrics he wrote for that last album that never happened and trying to get back into the headspace of Johnny.
It was harder than he expected. Johnny had been all about righteous anger. He was a violent character, vicious and hurting and eager to watch the world burn, and the music he had created had been the area of pop-rock that flirted with metal and punk. Murphy’s more recent work had been a solo album, that was embarrassingly depressed and almost entirely about heartbreak and acoustic, and his work with Emori, which was a neo-folk duo.
He didn’t want to be Johnny again. Johnny was an idiot, and Murphy liked to think he had learned something since then. He thought about seeing them all again, and it made his chest ache. Murphy probably hadn’t learned shit.
The week ended too quickly and then he was flying into JFK which was not his favorite, but at least wasn’t Newark, and wishing maybe a little more than he should that the plane would crash and his untimely death would cancel the contract for him.
“Who’s picking me up?” he texted Raven as he took the escalator down. It has taken forever to get off the plane and he was irritable and exhausted.
She texted back immediately, “why should i know im just the sound engineer,” followed second later by, “the blakes.”
Murphy looked up from his phone and saw Bellamy standing at the bottom of the escalator in his usual public disguise of a baseball hat and sunglasses.
“No,” he said, pushing past Bellamy and heading for the baggage carousel.
“John,” Bellamy said, and it almost sounded like he was pleading.
He managed to snag Murphy’s arm in his hand, but Murphy shrugged it off. “I’m taking a cab.”
Bellamy sighed. “We’re going to have to work together.”
Murphy sneered at him, but his heart was beating a mile a minute. “We’re not working right now, are we?” He turned around and stormed off to get his bag. Octavia was sitting on it, sipping something from a Starbucks cup.
“Do I at least get a hug?” she said, and he was so mad he wanted to say no, but he never had a problem with her.
She hugged him tightly, and she was still using the same shampoo that smelled like coconuts and he spent so much of his youth in the Blake’s basement so even the smell of her hair sort of felt like a home-coming, but then he remembered Bellamy and he wanted to cry.
“I saw your interview. About Skycrew. You guys sound good,” Murphy said, pulling away.
Octavia grinned at him, easily, like they hadn’t been out of touch for half a decade. “Thank you. We’re unfortunately on hold at the moment. Lincoln’s in rehab.”
Murphy managed a sympathetic smile. “Sorry to hear that.”
She shook her head. “No, it’s good. He’s getting help. Besides, I’ve been waiting for this reunion for ages.” She handed him another Starbucks cup that she must have had squirreled away somewhere. “I heard your new EP with Emori. It was really, really good Johnny.”
Murphy nearly choked on his hazelnut mocha (and was a little pleased to see that she had remembered his favorite drink). “No, no, no, no, no and no. Same rules apply as before, you use my stage name, I use yours, and I have no compunction calling you Babydoll in public.”
Octavia scowled. “Fine, Murphy. You win this round. Now, c’mon, if we hurry we’ll miss the worst part of rush hour.”
She grabbed his bag and started wheeling back in the direction of Bellamy, who he realized hadn’t followed them.
“Octavia, wait,” he said resolutely. “I should take a cab.” He was strong of body and mind, and his will could not be broken. Or something.
Octavia rolled her eyes, but the look was softened by the smile she offered him. “You should sit in the back with me and eat the cupcakes I got for you from Melissa’s.”
Murphy was the weakest of willed. “The mini cupcakes?”
Octavia laughed. “Come on!”
So he did. The car ride would have been awkward, in no small part because Bellamy kept shooting him these furtive looks in the rearview mirror, but Octavia was talkative and kept him from focusing too much on the back of Bellamy’s head.
“So what about Clarke?” Murphy asked, halfway to Manhattan.
“She and Lexa just finished a tour as Wanheda, so they were planning on a break anyway. She’ll be flying in tomorrow, and they asked if anyone would mind if Lexa hung around, and considering they’re the hottest couple of the season, we all said no problemo.” Octavia stole a cupcake from him, but he still had twenty left, so he chose not to complain.
Bellamy from the front said, “We would have asked you, too, but none of us had your number.”
Murphy very obviously turned to smile at Octavia. “It’ll be nice to see Clarke again in person. I caught Wanheda in Chicago, they’re very…” He tried to think a word that wouldn’t sound backhanded.
“They’re a lot,” Octavia said with a smile, and he smiled back. “Finn’s not coming back, but considering he didn’t do the last two albums with us, I’m not sure anyone will notice. Wells won’t be available for the tour, so he’s a no go. We’d love to get Mbege back, but he’s not responding to any of our calls since…”
Murphy nodded. “I’ll call him.” Mbege would come back for him. They’ve toured together twice since the split, and they were still as close as they’d ever been. He pulled out his phone and texted him, because calling was for losers.
Mbege texted back, “when and where?” so Murphy mentally patted himself on the back. He would be going into this experience with at least Mbege and Octavia on his side, maybe even Clarke. Things could have been a lot worse.
Things could not have been a lot worse.
“I’ll stay in a hotel,” he said to Octavia, because he was not making eye contact with Bellamy.
Octavia sighed. “We don’t know how long it’s going to take to record the album, there’s no need to throw away money on a hotel room when Bell has a perfectly good spare room.”
Murphy’s palms were getting sweaty. “What about your spare room?”
“Clarke and Lexa called it,” she said, and sounded so honestly apologetic that Murphy almost felt bad for how angry he was getting.
“I’ll get a really cheap hotel,” he bargained.
Bellamy spoke up for the first time during this exchange. “And you’ll have to also pay for transportation. I’m two blocks from the studio. We don’t have to talk if you don’t want, but you know the writing will go faster if we’re in the same place.”
Historically, Murphy wrote the lyrics, maybe half a melody, and Bellamy filled in the rest. Murphy didn’t give a fuck about history.
“Fine,” he spat, and he wasn’t yelling or swearing or punching anyone, so he figured he was doing okay. He dragged his bag into the spare room and slammed the door.
The bed was comfortable, and lying on it, he felt more out of place than he’d felt in years. He called Emori.
“How’re The Delinquents?” she asked without a greeting, because that’s who she was. He usually found it charming. Currently, he found it beyond irritating.
“I want to go home,” he said, because if she could speak in non-sequiturs, so could he.
“Give him a chance,” she said back.
He hung up and barely felt guilty. He spent so many nights of his youth in the guest room at Octavia and Bellamy’s house, desperate to get away from his mother and her shouting, and he had been so angry, Johnny had come naturally.
He was tired now. He was tired of the music and the attention and tired of acting and of Bellamy and of the person he felt himself becoming.
He fell asleep in his clothes and woke up to the sound of someone knocking quietly on his door. When he dragged himself out of bed there was no one there, but there was a tray with a cup of coffee and a real New York bagel.
It was nice, as far as peace offerings go, but nowhere near enough to make Murphy forgive him.
Bellamy was scarce all morning, and Octavia arrived at noon to take him to lunch. They got burgers and shakes and she sat across from him and waited for him to stop chewing.
“So do you know where this album is going?”
He chewed more slowly to give himself some time. While the band had always done edits, the actual meat of the stories had always been his. The first four albums were the evolution of Johnny, and everyone was waiting for the fifth, the last of the Johnny story, to end it somehow satisfactorily. He had been writing those songs right before the split. He had maybe half an album in notes. They were all concept albums, all a linked story. He wasn’t sure he hadn’t lost the concept.
“Maybe,” he said after a long pause, swallowing.
Octavia took a thoughtful sip of her milkshake. “The last album,” she reminded him, unnecessarily, like he hadn’t been listening to it non-stop, “ended with Johnny in his darkest place. Since the split happened so quickly after, a lot of the fans thought that it was sign. That Johnny died.”
Murphy nodded. He’d been skimming through forums for days. “I was thinking I could maybe go with that. Johnny in the afterlife. Johnny in heaven, Johnny in hell. Maybe being reborn.”
Octavia’s face turned thoughtful. “Huh. Not really dead, but changing into something different. I like it.”
“I don’t want to keep doing Johnny after this,” he blurted, and was embarrassed. He used to be so much more sarcastic, caustic, even. He missed that part of himself, maybe a little.
Octavia put her hand on his, which was more comforting than he wanted it to be. “I don’t want you to run away after this. There’s definitely room for you in Skycrew, or we could all start something new. Just don’t leave.”
Murphy absolutely was not crying in a Schnippers. “I can’t face Bellamy, O. I just can’t.”
“Think about it,” she said, and lead him out into Manhattan. She sent him away in an Uber; he couldn’t really blame her, plus he had work to do.
With Octavia’s support, the lyrics began to flow more readily. He sat on Bellamy’s inexcusably comfortable sofa and accessed his anger, which was easier than he would have liked. The comfortable couch only served as another reminder that Bellamy had built something successful—and comfortable—without him, while he had spent the past five years wallowing in his crappy one bedroom in fucking Wisconsin of all places.
By the time Octavia burst into Bellamy’s apartment with Clarke, Lexa, Raven and Jasper in tow, he had solid melodies and words for a few songs. Bellamy followed behind the group, looking around angrily, but Murphy ignored him, because he would much rather hug Clarke.
“Murphy!” she exclaimed, and gave him a very rewarding embrace. “So good to see you!”
“Clarke,” he said, because he was good at not being mushy. “I saw Wanheda in Chicago. You were great.”
Lexa smiled at him, and he shook her hand firmly once Clarke had released him. “We appreciate it, thank you.” Lexa was strikingly beautiful in a could-easily-kill-you kind of way, which tended to be the sort of women Clarke went for.
Raven slung an arm over his shoulder and gave him the most heartfelt side hug he’d ever experienced, which was nice, but unnecessary, because the two of them had kept in contact.
He and Jasper fist bumped. They had never been close—Jasper wasn’t even really part of the band—but they had hung out enough that a greeting was expected.
“Anyone want a beer?” Octavia called as she skipped into the kitchen, returning with an armful of bottles and corn chips, placing them all on the low table in the living room and ushering them onto the couch. She turned to Murphy and said, “I called Mbege, he can’t come tonight, but we have the studio tomorrow to start a rehearsal-slash-jam-sesh tomorrow assuming you write at the speed you usually do. That okay?”
Murphy nodded and threw his notebook to Bellamy, who was sitting in a separate chair as close to Murphy as he could get while not being on the same couch, and who promptly fumbled it.
“Nice one, Bell!” Jasper called, extended his bottle for a toast. Murphy reluctantly clinked with him.
“Shut your face, Jasper,” Bellamy replied, settling the notebook on his lap and flipping through it.
Bellamy had seen his writing since the age of seven, so the rush of anxiety that made his chest ache was completely uncalled for. Bellamy had read his first ever poem, which had gone, “I like my friends/I like the sun/I miss them both/When the day’s done,” and it didn’t get much worse than that. He sat still to keep from hyperventilating.
Bellamy scanned the lyrics and scraps of music he’d written around it and looked skeptical. “We’re doing Johnny as Jesus?”
Murphy’s face flushed hot with anger and embarrassment. “No, Johnny’s not that forgiving,” and turned away from him to face Clarke, who had her concern hidden badly under her curiosity and immediately engaged him in the backstory for the new album.
“I’m thinking more Dante than Jesus, yeah?” she asked him, and his breathing came more easily.
He’d always sort of loved Clarke. She was so unattainable in high school, popular and beautiful and honor roll smart, until one day she had walked up to him and said, “Bellamy said you’re starting a band, and I want to join, if that’s okay. My name’s Clarke Griffin,” and had shaken his hand so professionally. She was like a sister, but better because she didn’t have the baggage of growing up with him to affect her love for him.
“I like it,” Clarke declared after nearly an hour of intense plotting, and turned to Bellamy. “What would you change?”
“Oh,” Bellamy said. He looked like a deer in the headlights, like he thought he wouldn’t at some point have to weigh in on the situation. “I guess it’s pretty good.” He held up a page covered in Murphy’s scribbles. “How do you feel about this one in a minor key? Maybe acoustic?”
Octavia scoffed at him. “We don’t do acoustic.”
Clarke frowned. “Why not? Everyone’s expecting us to have grown as artists. They want the music to be familiar, but innovative. Bellamy’s not suggesting doing an acoustic album, just a song. I think it could be the kind of twist that people will like.”
Murphy nodded because words were too hard. He wanted nothing more than to leave. He looked up and met Bellamy’s eyes and it was like he’s twelve again, or fifteen, or eighteen, or twenty, because now he was almost twenty-five and the only thing that had changed was that his dream had gone from fantasy to impossibility.
He looked away. “I’m gonna turn in, if that’s okay.”
The others tried to stop him, and he could hear them, but he didn’t listen. He closed the door softly, resisting the urge to slide down it and cry like he wanted to. He lay in bed and looked at the ceiling. He missed it the night before, but there were stick-on stars, like there used to be in his guest room in the Blake house. He stared at the stars and felt homesick for a place that was never his home.
He didn’t remember falling asleep, but woke up several hours later when there was a tentative knock on his door. The clock by his bed said it was 4:30 am. It had to be Bellamy, it couldn’t be anyone else. Murphy wanted to scream.
Instead, he counted to ten. His therapist would have been so proud.
Bellamy was standing there when he opened the door, eyes cast downward. “Could we talk?”
“I wasn’t aware we had anything to talk about.” Murphy’s hands were clenched into fists. “So if that’s all—”
“I didn’t mean for this to happen,” Bellamy said desperately. He’s backlit, barely, by a light in the kitchen, but Murphy could see the bags under his eyes, the deep sadness in his face that never used to be there. Serves him right, Murphy thought, and tried to feel vindictive but he couldn’t muster it. “You were my best friend and I didn’t…”
It’s the “were” that made Murphy regret agreeing to come. He should have tried to weasel his way out of the contract. He should have gotten a hotel room. He should have—
“I’ve regretted losing you every single day.”
“You ran! You left! I left you 80 voicemails, trying to fix this, trying to make sure you were okay and somehow, I’m the bad guy! You didn’t lose me, because you never had me, and as soon as I’ve completed my contract, I’m gone and you will never see me again.” Murphy hands were shaking and his chest felt tight and his face was burning and he was so angry he might start crying and he hated that.
“John.” Bellamy sounded choked up, hurt almost, and it hurt Murphy more than he thought it would.
“Get the fuck out of my room.” He looked at Bellamy, whose face echoed the exhaustion and pain he felt. He sighed, and offered, “please.”
Bellamy retreated slowly with a look that said he’d really rather stay. But that was okay. Murphy had gotten used to not getting what he wanted, Bellamy Blake could afford a taste, too.
The next day went better, thankfully. The label had rented out a studio around the clock for three weeks, like they were the Beatles or something. After their first couple of albums, Murphy thought they would have killed for studio time like this. Currently, three weeks felt like centuries.
Despite how much he would have given to avoid the situation altogether, he and Bellamy worked like they’d been practicing for the past five years instead of avoiding each other like the plague.
Performing together again would be like riding a bike, Murphy thought, showing up last despite the fact that he and Bellamy lived closest to the studio; it would hurt like hell when he fell, but he’d have to just keep trying, anyway.
Everyone was tuning when Bellamy called him over to the upright piano he had set on the left side of the studio. He threw his shoulder bag on the floor and didn’t bother greeting his bandmates; hardly a minute had gone by that he hadn’t seen them and so the need for greetings had quickly evaporated. He sat down next to Bellamy without being asked, and Bellamy tried not to smile at him.
Bellamy’s stupid half-smile made a full body tingle rush through him, and he was resentful of his stupid body’s stupid feelings.
“I still can’t read your chicken-scratch,” he said, and pointed to a corner of the page where Murphy wrote what might have been lyrics, but also could have been a chord progression. Or a phone number.
“Lyrics,” Murphy clarified. “The rhyme is off though, and I can’t seem to fix it.”
“Hmm,” Bellamy said, looking over the page thoughtfully. He always used to help Murphy; it’s nothing new, but it makes Murphy’s head ache. “What if we,” he started, and Murphy got caught up in the “we” for so long he didn’t realize how animated they’d gotten until Octavia started laughing.
The candid picture that Clarke took of the two of them sharing a piano bench, huddled round a notebook like they were still the best of friends, became the bane of Murphy’s existence. She uploaded it to twitter with caption, “guess what’s coming?”
Not an hour later, someone unearthed a picture of them doing the same thing years before, with Murphy perched on Bellamy’s lap, and put the pictures side by side. Murphy wasn’t sure if praying for death would actually be appropriate.
“It’s not so bad,” Octavia said, scrolling through her favorite Delinquents tumblrs during their lunch break. “Ooh, this fanart’s pretty accurate, even though I’m not sure either of you gets off on choking.” The long considering look she gave him made him regret all parts of their friendship. “Do you think you’d be more of a bottom or a top with my brother?”
He thought about Bellamy, his long, strong, fast as fuck fingers which earned him his stage name, Twitch.
That thought had brought up a whole slew of feelings that Murphy had actually thought he had buried, as a semi-adult well into his twenties should have. Bellamy’s dexterity had been most of his fantasy life during his teen years, considering he didn’t have a reliable internet connection and who needed porn when he had a best friend like Bellamy?
Despite being a plain fact of his youth—the sky was blue, the grass was green, the thought of Bellamy’s fingers gave him a woody—it was also something he hadn’t actively thought about. His first few post-Delinquents years had been spent getting drunken blowjobs behind various concert venues, and the past few had been spent sharing hotel rooms with Emori who gave him judge-y looks when he had hookups, but judged him more when he masturbated in their room, assuming, wrongly, that she was asleep.
So it wasn’t as though he never thought of Bellamy, or his long slim fingers, or the afternoons spent in his basement watching Futurama and eating cheetohs, and being so far gone on him that the his fingers were even sexy covered in cheetoh dust, but instead that he hadn’t gripped his dick and actively imagined Bellamy’s long quick fingers there instead.
He had been in a funk for the rest of day. Half a song had been written and recorded, but not nearly enough if they were planning to finish in three weeks.
And now he just felt guilty. He stared at the door separating him from Bellamy and Bellamy’s loud 11:30pm moping. It wasn’t like Bellamy would come in without knocking, or like Bellamy could possibly know what he was up to. Fuck it, he decided. Fuck you, he then clarified to himself.
Murphy threw himself onto the bed and unzipped his pants. He closed his eyes and he could almost imagine Bellamy leaning over him, unzipping his pants instead, staring at him longingly, which wasn’t really a hard expression to conjure. He’d wrap his palm around the head of Murphy’s cock and—
The teakettle whistled shrilly.
Murphy groaned in frustration, hand falling apathetically onto his stomach and dick still bobbing obliviously. This was a mistake. He sighed again. He couldn’t keep that image of Bellamy in his mind, anyway. Instead it was replaced with the look of sheer panic that Bellamy had worn right before the split, his elegant fingers clenched into tight white fists, and he felt nauseous. His cock softened obligingly, and with one last look at the door he decided he would just go to sleep.
The fact the he could hear Bellamy in the kitchen humming the first ballad they had ever written together didn’t help at all.
When TwitchxJohnny was trending the next day, Murphy was reluctantly glad that at least they were sticking to their stage names, and couldn’t help but think that in a karmic way, he had brought this on himself.
They meshed much the same way they always did. Clarke had only become a stronger guitarist, Bellamy one-upping her and tooling away on the piano if the song called for it, Octavia doing her thing on bass and Mbege kicking ass on the drums.
Murphy, as usual, felt a little like the Davy Jones of their group, casually waiting for someone to hand him a tambourine or maracas. Despite his feelings, he had grown as a writer, and it was obvious that the group felt the same, deferring to him instead of Bellamy, which was both incredibly reassuring and deeply saddening.
By the third day, they’re on to their fifth track. Murphy missed this, even when he and Emori had finally hit their stride, there was always something between them that made their rehearsal times seem to drag.
The Delinquents’ music was buoyant, vibrant and adrenaline fast, and Murphy missed the quiet swell of The City of Light a little bit more than he thought he would, but this music was like being on a rollercoaster and he’s surprised at how much he missed the thrill.
Mbege got it. He had ended up in several indie bands, but was clearly thriving banging away with The Delinquents. The fact that he spent all his spare time glaring at Bellamy didn’t hurt either. He took Murphy out and around the town after that first week, supposedly to re-introduce him to New York, but really so Murphy didn’t have to be in that tiny apartment with Bellamy.
Mbege was really too good for Murphy.
“I’m so sorry, J2, you know I’d let you crash if I had any room,” he told Murphy several times when they were drunk off their asses and Murphy’s anger had turned to sadness.
“Don’t worry about it, J1, you’re still my fave.” And it’s true. Mbege’s friendship mostly relied on Murphy spending time with him when he had it. They wouldn’t talk for months, and then when did, it was like nothing changed.
Getting to work with him again was in many ways the balm to living with Bellamy. They avoided each other at the apartment, worked in each other’s pockets at the studio, and then tried to spend the evenings as far apart as they geographically could while staying in the same city and apartment.
“Do you think you two will ever get over it?” Mbege asked him, dropping another beer in front of Murphy. No seemed like too simple an answer.
It got harder during the second week. Murphy’s voice was embarrassingly unused to the amount of screaming and abuse he used to regularly subject it to. He left the studio every day with his voice shot, coughing, and after almost a week of this, Bellamy burst into his room one night holding a cup of Murphy’s favorite chai blend with a large quantity of honey.
“Thank you,” Murphy whispered and waited for Bellamy to leave. He didn’t. “You could sit,” he said after a long moment, because he knew Bellamy would just hover awkwardly indefinitely if he didn’t offer.
“Thanks.” Bellamy sat at the edge of the bed and stared out Murphy’s window. “This is kinda like—”
“—Midnight snack sesh,” Murphy said, because he was thinking it, too.
Bellamy smiled wistfully and it made Murphy’s chest ache. He was seriously considering going to see a cardiologist. “Remember? Every night after recording, we’d go out for a snack.”
“We were so fucking young then.” It had mostly been fast food, eaten quickly in Bellamy’s third hand Ford before they passed out from sheer exhaustion. He can’t remember a single one of those nights individually, but the summation of them was like a warm weight in his chest, a burning orange glow. “Clarke thought we were going to get fat.” Murphy smiled reluctantly.
There was a moment when their eyes met, and Murphy was unsure how he ever gave this up. How he didn’t fight harder. How could he have not fought harder?
Bellamy broke eye contact first. “Worse things have happened,” he said as he stood. He hesitated at the door, back to Murphy. “Good night, Murphy.”
“Goodnight, Bell.”
He drank the rest of his tea by himself and set the cup down, like an adult should do, instead of smashing it, like he wanted to.
Bellamy came back the next night, and the next, and it was almost okay. They didn’t always speak, but there was something between them, closer to what Murphy remembered.
It was the second to last day when Bellamy called a band meeting in the middle of recording. They had seventeen tracks which was excellent because there were always a few that were better in their heads than in their ears. Octavia shot him a warning look and crossed her arms over her chest, so Murphy knew this was something that the Blakes have discussed at least.
Which could be either really good or terrifically bad.
“I don’t like the way we’re ending the album,” Bellamy said, and made sure he met all of their gazes.
Mbege rolled his eyes. “Jesus, Bell, and you wait until now to say anything?”
Clarke shook her head, determined, as always to be the most levelheaded. “Let’s hear him out.” She reached very subtly and squeezed Murphy’s hand, which he appreciated, because he hated this.
Bellamy took a deep breath and tried to gather his words.
“Any fucking day now?” Murphy muttered and tried to avoid Bellamy’s gaze at all costs.
“The last song is still too angry.”
Murphy scoffed. “Yeah. Johnny’s angry. Johnny’s always been angry. That’s sort of his defining characteristic.”
Bellamy scowled, turning his whole attention on Murphy. “Yeah, but we all agreed, years ago to a five album sequence. Do you think it should end on an angry note? You and Octavia keep talking about growing and changing, and the entire album feels like a growth until the end.”
Murphy wanted to bite back, wanted Bellamy to look away and never look back. “End on a familiar note, is there a problem with that?”
He could see Clarke making panicked eyes at Octavia, but neither one cut in. “Don’t you think Johnny deserves more than that? Don’t we all? It’s our story, too.” Bellamy had always been a master of mixed signals, but the anger and, Murphy thought, hope in his face was beyond confusing and Murphy couldn’t believe it actually took him this long to realize they’re having two different conversations.
“How would you end it?” he asked, and pretended like he didn’t sound hoarse.
Bellamy’s eyes were boring into him. “I don’t know. Contentment doesn’t suit him maybe, but, I dunno, I…”
Octavia spoke up, but didn’t look any happier. “Optimism.”
Clarke nodded slowly. “Might be nice.”
He was furious. He didn’t get to have optimism, so why should Johnny? He wanted to yell and scream and throw stuff, because Bellamy didn’t seem to have a problem throwing this back in his face. “Fine, I’ll see what I can fucking do,” Murphy said, because he was a professional, before storming off and bunkering down in a conference room.
He was a good writer, had become so with sweat and effort. An anthem, he thought, because if he couldn’t be angry he’d be emblematic. It still was angry, when he finished an hour later. It was angry and it was an anthem and it was hopeful, and he felt 1/3 of those things, but maybe he’d earned some hope.
He brought it back to the room, and tried to ignore how broadly Bellamy smiled when he saw the words.
And then the album was done. It felt like they had just started, but then he and Bellamy were ushered into a meeting with Marcus Kane, who Murphy only hated slightly less than Jaha.
Kane smiled and gestured for them to take the two seats in front of him. Maya stood off to one side, and Murphy had only met her once, but he liked her. She was way nicer than Jasper deserved, but he couldn’t help but feel that her presence at this meeting was a bad omen.
It might have been her very uncomfortable smile.
“Gentlemen!” Kane greeted exuberantly, and looked at them both expectantly.
Bellamy nodded a weak a hello and Murphy managed an, “Uh, hi,” by utilizing all of his personhood skills.
Kane was still smiling, but his smiles didn’t reach his eyes as a rule and Murphy wasn’t convinced he wasn’t a robot or a pod person. “I heard the album, and it’s great, just great. I wanted to talk to you both about the tour. We’re pushing the timeline a little, so the album’s going to be in stores in five weeks, and then the tour will start one week after that, which gives you six weeks to get prepared, figure out choreo and costumes and whatever else.” He gestured to Maya and she gave a tentative wave. “Maya will be on the tour to do hair and makeup.”
He turned his full attention on Murphy. “The dreads were very popular, would you consider—”
“Nooooo,” Murphy interrupted. “No, the days of white-boy dreads are long gone.” Bellamy laughed, and Murphy pointedly didn’t look at him and pretended like he wasn’t blushing.
Kane frown said he was going to insist, but Maya, who he had clearly underestimated, came to the rescue. “What if did pulled back twists? Like in the promo pictures for the second album?” she asked and he nodded quickly. Anything was better than the dreads.
Kane nodded, smiling tightly. “Alright, twists it is. Maya, could you give us a moment please.” Maya left quietly and Kane gave them the exceedingly tight smile again.
It could only be a bad sign.
“I know this is…uncomfortable to talk about, but part of the appeal of Johnny and the Delinquents has always been the chemistry between the two of you. I don’t know the details of what happened, and I don’t want to. I don’t care what happens in your personal life, but on the stage, I need you two to behave how you always have.”
Bellamy choked, then croaked out a weak, “yessir,” and Murphy contemplated shoving a paperweight down Kane’s throat.
“Yeah, fine,” he said finally. “What-the-fuck-ever.”
Kane nodded decisively. “Excellent. Glad we’re all clear on that. Now then, John.” Murphy bristled. “I need you to have a more active online presence. Soon as you can. Periscope would help, twitter, the works. We’ll also be getting you on some late night programs, so play nice.”
He promised he would try but he meant it about as much as Kane meant his whole, let-me-be-your-father routine.
As soon as the CD’s were pressed they released a single, and then Johnny and the Delinquents job was hyping the hell out of it.
Kane got him on a late night show starring a white man in a suit, which was better than Murphy was expecting. He didn’t think his name carried any sway anymore. He sat on the comfortable chair in his Johnny clothes and smirked at the host and the audience and all the folks who had tuned in to see him flash his canines.
“So I’m sure you get asked this all the time,” the host asked him. “But what happened? Five years ago, Johnny and the Delinquents were truly on top, and then suddenly, nothing. Nothing for five years. So what happened?”
Murphy thought about what he could say, what Kane would want him to say. He finally settled on, “I decided y’all could use a little anticipation, so I took a long drunken sabbatical.”
He laughed. “And based on your pre-sales, you were not wrong. Where It’s Going, out this week!”
After Kane explained how very disappointed he was in Murphy, they both agreed he should try and stick to social media. Periscope, he stressed again.
Periscope helped with nothing. He used it, though, streamed rehearsals and coffee breaks. He wandered through the chaos of set-up for their first concert with his phone out and ready.
“This is Raven,” he whispered, showing the internet Raven as she yelled at a stubborn microphone cable. “She’s the best.” He walked a little further, stumbling upon Jasper, Monty and Miller. “This is Jasper, I guess he does lights, I dunno, say hi Jasper.”
Jasper smiled into the phone and said, “Hi, Jasper,” because Jasper was the worst.
Murphy tilted the phone away from him. “This is Monty and Miller. Monty does something…and Miller sleeps with him? I’m unclear.”
He was already walking away but in the corner of his screen Monty yelled, exasperated, “Craft services! We fucking feed you!” and Murphy couldn’t help but laugh.
He harassed Maya as she braided Octavia’s hair, and they were laughing so hard Murphy was barely holding up the phone when Bellamy appeared, right in front of him and said, “Hey, could we talk?” like they haven’t been living in the same tiny apartment for months and now was the perfect time to speak.
The broadcast cut off so suddenly that twitter was filled with gossip. Clips of the last three seconds of that video were looped all over twitter and tumblr and vine and Murphy couldn’t escape from his own awkward fumbling on his iphone and the pained expression on Bellamy’s face.
“What?” Murphy asked, gripping his phone in his shaking hands.
Bellamy glanced from Maya to Octavia to Murphy and grimaced. “Privately?”
Octavia scowled at Bellamy, glaring. “We’re not listening, are we, Maya?”
Maya smiled serenely at Octavia. “We are not, Octavia.”
“So please,” Octavia continued savagely. “Feel free to speak openly here.”
Murphy thought he could be in love with her in that moment (if, in reality, he wasn’t so horribly gone on her brother). “Well?” he said, and Bellamy frowned.
“I just wanted to—I wanted to talk to you before we—look, can we do this in private? Please?” Bellamy’s jaw was clenched tight and Murphy almost felt bad but he also felt vicious and self-righteous and living in Johnny’s pocket had made his anger so much easier to access.
“This is private,” Octavia insisted, still glaring.
“Very private,” Maya agreed, sealing one of Octavia’s braids with a load of hairspray.
Bellamy’s face fell, realizing he was losing and preparing to wallow. Murphy sighed. “I don’t have anything else to say, Bell. I don’t.”
Bellamy nodded slowly and backed up, turning around and running off with his symbolic tail between his very nicely muscled legs.
Octavia cackled, and Maya chuckled along and Murphy felt like he was maybe drowning.
He didn’t want to talk to Bellamy. Not at all. He didn’t think there was anything that hadn’t been said, and the tentative truce that they had formed couldn’t hold under the weight of real friendship. He wasn’t ready for that again.
Besides, he figured, storming off into his dressing room. He had a show to prepare for, figurative pounds of eyeliner to apply to his face, and twenty minutes of vocal warm ups.
The next day, sitting in Kane’s office, he wished he had maybe tried to talk to Bellamy a little bit harder than not.
Kane’s Disappointed Dad face was out in full form, and Bellamy was staring fixedly at his knees. Murphy couldn’t take his eyes off the computer on Kane’s desk, where a video of their last concert was playing. He had been aware, at the time, that he didn’t want to look at or dance on Bellamy, but he hadn’t thought that it had shown.
Watching the video, the tension between them was palpable. They barely made eye contact, and Murphy had kept far away from Bellamy’s part of the stage. It was painful to watch, like two strangers instead of people who had been best friends.
Kane cleared his throat and waited for them to look at him. “This, as I am sure you know, is unacceptable. I don’t care how you two feel about each other, really, I don’t. You have a job to do.”
Bellamy sucked his teeth and Kane glared at him. “Maybe—just throwing out some ideas here—maybe fake gay undertones shouldn’t be part of our job?”
And why did that make Murphy’s heart ache? There was almost nothing between them now, but hearing Bellamy be so cavalier about his feelings, the ones he had had since middle school, made Murphy want to drink. Heavily.
Kane scowled and folded his hands neatly on the desk. He stared at Bellamy for a long time before turning to Murphy and studying him as well. “I don’t know what went down five years ago. I don’t care. I do know that your fans are showing up for you, in droves, to try and capture the magic you had before. And you’re disappointing them. Your fans want the childhood friends who decided to start a band together, not the jaded folk artist and playboy rock star. Get your shit together, get your act together, and for fuck’s sake, try and remember that your fans are paying good money and all you have to do is remember what you liked about each other.”
Murphy glanced at Bellamy, who was staring at him, and so their eyes met, and Murphy couldn’t look away.
“Good,” Kane said. “Glad we’re agreed.” He excused them together and they walked silently out of the room.
“We should probably talk,” Murphy suggested once they hit the hall. It was surprisingly deserted.
Bellamy looked at him in surprise before fishing his phone out of his pocket. “Later? I gotta meet O in Brooklyn in 20 minutes. Wish me luck?”
They were currently in the Upper East Side. Murphy grinned. “There’s not enough luck in the world.”
Bellamy’s face shifted into a confused smile and he started backing up towards the elevator, eyes fixed on Murphy. “Later, yeah?”
Murphy nodded. “Yeah.” Later, they would talk, and they would work some of this shit out.
Clarke found him first. “Listen,” she said to him, grabbing his upper arm and herding him into a break room. Murphy glanced around anxiously, but Clarke had always been good at sensing what rooms were empty. “We’ve tried to be supportive without being overbearing, we’ve kept our distance, and we haven’t asked any questions, but this is getting out of hand, John. What happened with you and Bellamy?”
She led him to chair and looked at him expectantly until he sat down. She kept standing, and moved off to make him a cup of tea.
It occurred to him that Octavia was probably grilling Bellamy in Brooklyn, probably with less tact and more public yelling and he had never been more grateful for Clarke’s friendship in his life. That could have been him. “We fought, I quit, end of story.”
She walked over to him with a mug full of tea and honey and stood in front of him in full disapproving glory. She handed him the cup and crossed her arms, every inch the intimidating front woman she had grown into in Wanheda. “I don’t know what I did to make you think I was an idiot, but I’d appreciate it if you at least came up with a better story.”
“Clarke,” he started, sighing, but she interrupted him.
“Murphy, five years ago my family was ripped apart and no one will tell me why. Do you think this was easy on me? On Octavia? Do you think we liked having no idea what was happening with you, if you were okay? With Bellamy moping and crying and drinking and sleeping his way through everyone who looked his way?” She wiped an angry tear out of her eye and glared. “I’ve been accommodating and I’ve been kind but I am exhausted and sad and I need to know if this is something that can be fixed or if I’ve lost my family for good.”
Murphy was embarrassed his find his eyes were teary, too. “Yeah,” he said. “Okay.” And he told her. “It was the after the last show we did for Goblins, the one in LA? Bellamy came up to me after the show.”
They had been sweaty, still covered in stage makeup and hours worth of musical grime, tired and delirious and bright and happy. Raven was packing up the van (or rather gleefully directing her underlings to) and Murphy was in the green room chugging plastic water bottles and trying to decide if he had it in him to go outside and greet the roadies or if he would just retreat to his hotel room and wait for morning.
Bellamy stuck his head in the door. When his eyes fell on Murphy he smiled lazily, and Murphy felt a flood of warmth like the stage lights hitting him all over again. “Hey, Murphy.”
He would have blushed if his face hadn’t already been red from exertion. “Hey, yourself.”
Bellamy had invited himself in, then, like he always did. They had been sharing a space for so long that they frequently forgot about personal space. He smiled, and then Murphy’s phone buzzed. He frowned instead. “Who is that?”
Murphy looked at his phone and then blushed even harder. “That guy. From the show in Philly?” Bellamy’s face still clearly asked for clarification so Murphy made with the clarifying. “We’ve been talking a lot. He’s in town. Wants to see me, I think.”
Bellamy was still frowning. “Are you going to see him?”
Murphy sighed, standing up and stretching. “I guess so.” He smiled at Bellamy, but it was a weak smile. “Can’t keep chasing my dreams forever.”
Bellamy scoffed and gesturing grandly around the green room. “That’s literally all we do.”
“Yeah but—” Murphy sighed again, tried to align his brain with his mouth. “It’s different now, isn’t it?” It was different. Wells was gone, Finn was leaving. Raven had gotten into MIT and Clarke was talking about college, plus Monty and Octavia were talking about settling down with their respective boyfriends, like they weren’t too young for that shit and Murphy—Murphy was chasing after Bellamy’s shadow, just like he had done his whole life.
When he looked up, Bellamy was close to him, so close to him Murphy could hear his breaths, could practically taste his sweat. “It doesn’t have to be different,” he said vehemently. “We can stay the same.”
Murphy shook his head. “I can’t stay the same. I need to stop chasing.” He smiled, melancholic. “Don’t I deserve some happiness, too?”
“Yeah.” Bellamy was so close he could feel the whisper of his words and then Bellamy was kissing him and Murphy was so caught up in the sensations he could barely process what was happening until Bellamy pulled away.
“Bell,” he said, and tried to close the distance between them, but Bellamy shoved him backwards and he hit the makeup table—not hard enough to hurt, but enough so that his things went flying.
“I’m sorry,” Bellamy said, and then he was out the door.
By the time Murphy was up and into the hall, Bellamy had disappeared into the throng.
When Murphy got to the hotel, Bellamy’s stuff was gone, and no one—not even Octavia, who would have absolutely lied for him but had no poker face whatsoever—knew where he was.
So he texted him. And he called him. Left message after message and email upon email and finally after five days he got a call from their manager politely demanding that they fix their shit, or Murphy, the volatile lead singer, was going to get the axe.
And Murphy was angry, the deep, hot, seething sort of anger that he had only felt before for his mother, that he channeled on the stage but never really let himself soak in anymore because he had been so depressed in middle school and high school and he had excised that anger through music and friendship and now he was adrift, and the figure that he had chased after for so many years was nowhere to be seen.
He thought, what would I have said in high school? And so, calmly, politely, he phoned up their manager and said, “fuck you, I quit.”
And then, he told Clarke, sitting in the recording studio, in the breakroom, “I drank for a week, and I thought about moving to Australia, and then I put out an album of me crying for seventy minutes. And now here we are.”
Clarke reached out and gripped his hand tightly in hers. “I love you, you know that?”
He was teary eyed again, and his voice was shaky with it. “Yeah, I do.”
Clarke nodded decisively. “And Bellamy is an idiot. But he loves you, too.”
“Clarke—“
She shook her head. “No. I know he fucked up and he hurt you, I get that. I do. But he loves you and he’s been trying.”
Murphy could feel himself getting angry but he swallowed it. His first thought was, fuck Bellamy. Fuck Bellamy and fuck the fact that he got to have Murphy’s family and Murphy’s job and Murphy’s life while Murphy had to settle with trying-hard-and-not-quite-making-it. “And I haven’t been.”
Clarke smiled at him. “You’ve been trying. A little. But he’s been trying a lot. Meet him half way?”
Murphy nodded, and stood up, figuring Clarke was done with him. She squeezed his hand and stood gingerly. “Good,” she said. “Now let’s go find Lexa, she has a proposition for you—before you have that interview to get to.”
He couldn’t remember anything about an interview but he hadn’t really been paying attention, had he? He hadn’t been trying. They found Lexa in the lobby, scaring off paparazzi with a glare. She smiled at them as they approached, which was much more friendly than he expected from her. She absolutely terrified him and he really liked that about her.
She laid out her proposition and Murphy immediately accepted, before being ushered into a company car by Clarke, presumably taking him to the aforementioned interview.
He texted Raven on the way. “Where exactly am I going?” he asked her.
“not ur calendar & am in fact doing important sound stuff,” she replied, followed almost immediately by, “casual fan interview, should mostly be a puff piece, but wat do i no im just the sound engineer.”
He got out of the car in a small cupcake café on the lower east side, which he wasn’t expecting, but considering Murphy remembered literally nothing about the interview, he supposed that wasn’t shocking. He walked in and looked around anxiously at the pastel covered café, glad he was in his civvies instead of his Johnny regalia.
“Mr. Murphy?” He turned and was face to face with a girl who was definitely younger than him, wearing a very professional outfit that did nothing to age her up. The French braids didn’t help, either. “Hi, I’m here to interview you! My name’s Charlotte. I’m a music blogger. I started SoundSiren?”
“Hi,” he replied, and reached out to shake her hand. It then occurred to him that he had heard of her blog before. “Oh! Hi, yeah I know you. Can I ask a stupid question before you start recording stuff?”
She laughed, a real sounding and very charming laugh. “Of course!”
“Why are we in a cupcake den?” He had been avoiding looking at the glass case because Murphy was weak and the cupcakes smelled like exactly what he deserved after the past few hellish days.
Charlotte grinned mischievously. “I heard they were your drug of choice.”
He smiled back but was instantly filled with guilt. He was pretty sure his drugs of choice were, in order of most destructive to least, Bellamy Blake, tequila, Bellamy’s twitter account, vodka, Bellamy’s old anonymous livejournal account, rum, and then cupcakes.
“You heard right,” he said, and let her lead him to a table, already covered in cupcakes.
“I wasn’t sure which kind you like,” she said apologetically, gesturing to the smorgasbord of cupcakes.
He laughed, and felt more prepared for this interview than he’d felt for anything in months. “Oh, you are definitely on my good side.”
She smiled and slid into her seat, Murphy following. She pulled out her phone. “Do you mind if I…?”
He hated having audio recordings of himself wandering through the internet, but despite himself he trusted her. Murphy nodded and bit into a red velvet cupcake. The girl had good taste.
“So,” she asked picking a caramel cupcake, “how does it feel to be back in New York?”
“Like a kick in the balls,” he said, and she laughed.
“Just like old times, then? Speaking of, how’s the band meshing after years apart?”
Murphy paused, chewing. She scribbled something onto her phone with a stylus. He hoped it said something like, “he chewed contemplatively,” instead of “he stared stupidly into the distance and messily devoured a cupcake.” He had seen her blog before and she could be ruthless when she wanted to.
“We’re coming together,” he said finally. “There were some road-bumps, but we’re family, you know? Even when we hate each other, we still love each other. And I think that comes across in the new album.”
Charlotte’s face turned a little guilty even as she said, innocently, “was last night’s concert one of those bumps in the road?”
Murphy choked on a piece of cupcake. “Yeah,” he wheezed and tried to remember how to swallow like an adult. “Definitely. But we’re working on it, and it’s only going to get better.”
“Good,” Charlotte said, and beamed. “I saw the show last night and it was…”
“A work in progress?” Murphy offered.
Charlotte laughed. “That’s a good word for it. Do you mind if I ask—what went wrong?”
Murphy paused and used the opportunity to cut into another cupcake. “I think there were some miscommunications. Some bad blood that we needed to excise.”
“Metaphorical or literally?”
He thought about how badly he had wanted to punch Bellamy’s face in the night before. “Metaphorical blood letting,” he clarified, “literal talking.”
Charlotte laughed again, and very kindly changed the subject. “So I asked my readers what they were most interested in me finding out, and surprise surprise, they want to know who is the inspiration for “Brainfreeze” and “Kill the Moment”?”
Murphy polished off the cupcake and moved onto a chocolate one covered in glitter. “Who says they’re about anyone? Let alone the same person?”
Charlotte pounced. “Well, general fan theory is that before your character, Johnny, died at the end of Goblins, he was developing feelings for someone. The imagery in “Brainfreeze” and “Kill the Moment” are very similar; wanting to stay in the moment that’s occurring right now, but wanting to see what happens next. All this rising to the high note of “Finger Guns,” before the album ends abruptly, presumably in Johnny’s death.” At his incredulous look, Charlotte blushed. “I’ve been a fan since I was in middle school,” she admitted.
Murphy laughed and wiped the chocolate off his mouth. She made another scribble on her screen. “There was someone in Johnny’s life—we intended to give him an accomplice. But his life didn’t turn out that way.”
“And your life?”
Murphy could feel the self-deprecating smile unfurl across his face. “My life didn’t turn out that way either.”
Charlotte gave him a very sympathetic look before visibly changing gears. “I was very excited to hear a studio version of “ ’07,” which has gotten consistent concert play, but has never been recorded until now. What made you decide to change that?”
Murphy sighed. He loved almost every song he had ever written—and he loved ’07. That said, if no one asked him about it for the rest of his life he would die happy. “People have been asking for you it, you know? I wrote it for our first album, We Who Are About to Die, but it was cut for space reasons, and so we could end on “Salute,” which clinched the reference, you know?”
Charlotte nodded avidly.
Encouraged, he continued, “So we’ve been trying to squeeze it onto somewhere, and Octavia—er, Babydoll suggested it be the bonus track, and we all agreed.”
Charlotte nodded. “Well, it sounds great! Definitely well worth the wait. And I believe you wrote it for your mother, correct?”
Murphy’s heart started pounding loudly in his ears. “No,” he heard himself say. “I wrote it about my mom, but I wrote for me. My mother was terrible—honestly if it wasn’t for Mrs. Blake I doubt I would have survived high school. When I turned seventeen, she disappeared and I haven’t heard from her since. So “’07” was for me to excise those feelings. She made my life hard enough when she was in it, she has no right to make it harder now that she’s out of it.”
She looked at him, impressed, or maybe even proud, and he reached for another cupcake because he’d earned it.
He got back to the apartment before Bellamy that night, and, exhausted, fell asleep before he heard Bellamy return. He figured, as he drifted, that they would talk in the morning, when Bellamy didn’t feel so angry from fighting with Octavia, and he didn’t feel so exhausted from spilling his guts out to small bloggers.
The article was up the next day, and Murphy was glad that Charlotte had made him seem engaging and funny and had left out that he had eaten a total of seven cupcakes.
Talking about his mother had, in some ways, put things into perspective for him. He was actively hating Bellamy because he had committed himself to it, even though it made him miserable. If happiness was his end goal, then he should try to make that happen, instead. Which probably meant reconnecting with Bellamy, even just to see if he could.
He walked out into the main apartment area, still skimming through the article, and looked up, when Bellamy made a soft, surprised sound.
“Good morning,” Murphy offered, before grabbing a piece of toast off of Bellamy’s plate and stuffing it into his mouth.
Bellamy gaped at him, open mouthed and floundering. “Um. Hi.” Even fishlike and baffled, Bellamy still managed to seem aloof and available and charming, and in the morning light as a new and improved Murphy, he realized he was just as head over heels as he’d ever been.
“You sleep well?” he asked, and tried to play it off like they had this kind of conversation on the daily, like two grown ass men.
“To be honest, I’m not sure I’m awake,” Bellamy said and then winced. “Sorry, that was—sorry.”
Murphy shrugged. He almost certainly deserved that. “You ready for tonight?”
Tonight was the real start of their tour, their biggest show ever and at Madison Square Garden (the Madison Square Garden, was this even the real life), before their stateside tour began.
“Honestly?” Bellamy asked, rolling his shoulders. “I feel like I’m about to vibrate out of my skin.”
“Yeah,” Murphy agreed. “It’s great, right?” Murphy held his gaze for a long moment, and his body hummed. He felt energized, centered and a little horny.
Bellamy swallowed hard and turned away, which was good, because it meant he missed how much Murphy stared at his throat. “What are your plans for the day?”
Murphy would give the amount that Bellamy’s voice didn’t waver an E for Effort. “Not a whole lot. You?”
“Nothing.”
Murphy tried to smile openly. He wasn’t really an open kind of guy, but he didn’t want Bellamy to think this was a trick. “Wanna order pad thai and watch Pulp Fiction?” which really shouldn’t have been a tradition but absolutely was.
Bellamy looked stunned, open and vulnerable, and the shitty vindictive part of Murphy wanted to laugh in his face, but the rest of him wanted to cuddle down on the couch with Bellamy Blake, thai food, John Travolta, and Samuel L. Jackson.
“Yeah,” Bellamy said. “Yeah, okay.”
Pulp Fiction had lead to Kill Bill which had lead, inexplicably, to Charlie’s Angels, and when they left, together, for MSG, Murphy more at peace than he had felt in years.
Because they were all big name stars now, they each had their own dressing room, not just a green room. Maya had emailed them all very specific schedules of when she expected them to be sitting in their rooms waiting for her, and Murphy was cutting it close as he spotted his name on the door. Or well, Johnny, but he’d take it.
He had just reached for the handle when Bellamy said, “Wait.”
Murphy turned around, conscious that every ticking second brought him closer to Maya’s subdued and quiet (but still probably dangerous) wrath.
Bellamy fidgeted, which made Murphy nervous too, before pulling something from his pocket. “I know, I—we—there isn’t really—here,” he said, and passed Murphy a tarnished silver nut on a chain. “I’m not sure if we do this anymore, but it was from before, so. Have a good concert. It’s from that night, but I—I should go,” he said, and ran.
Murphy squeezed it tightly in his hand and walked into his dressing room.
Bellamy had, at some point, created a tradition for them, whereby he stole a piece of the venue they did the last show of a tour in, and gave it to Murphy at the start of the subsequent tour. It was a silly tradition that resulted in stupid pieces of memorabilia like the dumb necklace in his hand.
He put it on over his head and sat down to wait for Maya. He looked in the mirror. He was stupidly in love with Bellamy Blake, but maybe, just maybe, Bellamy Blake was stupidly in love with him, too. He began applying the first of many layers of eyeliner and smiled.
Maya came by to do his hair and rolled her eyes at the way he couldn’t stop smiling. Raven came by afterwards and was even less amused.
“This is a microphone,” she said, holding the microphone in front of his face. “Microphones are for singing into, they are not for dropping, me entiendes?”
“Mhmmm,” he said dreamily.
Raven took a deep breath, and then whacked him with the mic.
“Hey!” Murphy yelled indignantly. “You’re the one hitting people with them!”
Raven nodded. “Right. Because they are my mics. And I know what they can take, like a light smack against the empty head of a dumbass. And I also know what they can’t take, which is being flung into the ceiling by the same empty headed dumbass.”
“It was funny though, right?” he asked, smirking.
Raven rolled her eyes but he knew he had won.
Tonight was going to be amazing.
And it sort of was. Unlike the night before, it had gone down without a hitch. Murphy had remembered how to properly stalk and run and throw himself around the stage including not one, not two, but four backflips (take that Brendan and Josh), and had engaged in some really questionable grinding on two microphone stands and also Bellamy, to the loud approval of the audience. He was surprised to find he felt like Johnny again.
They reached the first encore way too soon, in Murphy’s opinion.
He sneered into the mic while his bandmates tuned and hydrated. “What’s good?” he asked the crowd, and they screeched. “I’m Johnny,” he said, and paused for the cheers. “And these are my Delinquents. On my right,” he pointed to Octavia, “the beautiful Babydoll on the bass. Next to her, the incomparable Sandman on guitar,” he pointed at Clarke, who gave him and obliging sting on her guitar. “My pal Thanatos on the drums, and of course, Twitch, who doesn’t even need an instrument to play you.”
He blew Bellamy an exaggerated kiss and the crowd shrieked again. Bellamy rolled his eyes, but it felt so much more like their normal patter. Murphy grinned again. “Thank you, New York, you’ve been great!” he said, and then sauntered off stage. The others followed, and they huddled off stage while the audience chanted, “Johnny, Johnny,” over and over.
“Hey,” Murphy said to Bellamy, pulling him aside physically.
“What’s up?” Bellamy’s eyes were glued to the spot where Murphy’s hand was attached to his arm.
Their stage manager was already prepping them to go back out, but Murphy refused to be rushed.
“Hey,” Murphy said again, and then cupped Bellamy’s face and pulled him into a kiss. He could hear Clarke’s gasp and Octavia’s cackle and Mbege’s obnoxiously loud wolf whistle, but he ignored them. This was his moment. “I love you,” he said, and then ran back on stage.
The crowd roared again, and Murphy had never been in front of so many people in his entire life. “We got a surprise for you tonight,” he said, as Lexa marched on stage, looking like she could kill. “Lexa from Wanheda is here to play for you lucky delinquents, so make some fucking noise!”
The crowd did, as crowds are known to, and they began their first encore. Lexa was an incredible bassist, and Murphy was definitely going to tap her for their next group project.
Their first two encore songs went better than he expected, and as he desperately chugged water before their last two songs, he turned to see Bellamy actually smoldering at him.
He hadn’t wanted to play “’07” in public but Octavia had insisted. In part, he assumed, because it was one of only three songs where she got to sing back up. It was still one of his best, but also personal and way too relevant. It may have been written about his mother, but he could have written the same song about Bellamy.
He sang the entire song without checking on Bellamy again, which he counted as a personal achievement. “’07” ended in a false cheery tone that he loved and he waited for the cheers to die down.
Out of the corner of his eye he could see Clarke motioning for the other’s to put their instruments away, and he was as, always, extremely grateful for Clarke. Lexa switched out her electric bass for an acoustic one and her eyes twinkled as theirs met.
“We got another surprise for you lucky criminals!” The crowd exploded with cheers.
Lexa began playing the melody on her bass, which was way more affective than he thought it would be and he gripped the mic and began to sing. “Wise men say, only fools rush in,” and the audience cheered its approval.
His hands were shaking, Jesus, more than they had ever shook in his life. He wanted to turn around and look at Bellamy but he didn’t let himself. Bellamy had to know, he was smart and he knew Murphy, and wasn’t that the problem, anyway? Murphy had let himself be hurt and he knew he was setting himself up for the same exact fall. Fool me once, shame on you, fool me a hundred times and shame on love.
“But I can’t help falling in love with you.”
Lexa nodded at him, and he managed to take a real breath before he kept singing. The final time through, as he sang, “Take my hand, take my whole life, too,” he tilted his microphone out to the audience, who obligingly sang along.
He felt the hands on his shoulder spinning him before he could register it. His hand was still outstretched, the mic aimed at the crowd when Bellamy swooped down and kissed him again and he dropped the mic and Raven was absolutely going to murder him, but he could hardly care because Bellamy Blake was playing tonsil hockey with him in front of the biggest crowd they’d ever played for and he was pretty sure he wasn’t dreaming.
The crowd was deafening or Murphy’s heart was just pounding so loudly in his ears that when Bellamy pulled away, his equilibrium had gone to shit—and it had to be the noise because there was no way he just got weak in the knees.
“Don’t run away this time,” Murphy said against his mouth.
“Never again,” Bellamy said, and Murphy reluctantly detached himself.
Lexa had just finished playing and was smiling at him smugly, which both meant that Murphy had impeccable timing and that he and Bellamy had made out for possibly an embarrassingly long time.
“Good fucking night New York,” he hollered, and ran offstage, dragging Bellamy behind him.
“We should talk,” Murphy started, but Bellamy interrupted him.
“I love you,” he said. “I love you and I’m in love with you and I’ve spent the past five years hating myself for chasing you away.”
“Oh,” Murphy replied, and prided himself on his sharp wit. “Well in the case—” and let Bellamy pull him into a kiss again.
Behind him, he could hear Octavia say, probably to Clarke, “I’m beginning to think we made a huge mistake.
“I don’t know,” Lexa replied, managing to sound introspective and domineering all at once. “I think they’re cute.”
Epilogue
“So,” Charlotte asked, and smiled charmingly at the webcam. “What can you tell us about your new project?” Her set-up had improved in the last year, and instead of a cell phone and some cupcakes, she had a full a video portion of her website and a studio to match, although her hair was still in two little braids.
“Well,” Murphy said. “It’s massive. It’s a coalition between Skycrew, Wanheda, City of Light, The Delinquents and Lexa’s old band, Tree People. It’s me, the Blakes, Lexa and Clarke and their old bandmates Anya and Gustus. We have Mbege—Emori and Finn are going to be on selected tracks—and we have Lincoln, who is finally fighting fit and the kind of badass a band of this size really needs. We strings and a trumpet, more drummers than I personally know what to do with and so many guitarists that I literally can’t make a g-string joke without risk to my life. Oh—and we’re calling ourselves Polis.”
Charlotte’s excitement was very poorly hidden, but he liked that. It was nice that she had asked to interview him first, nice that he could finally do a press interview in his civvies. “I can’t wait to hear your new stuff! When does the album drop?”
Murphy grinned back. “It’s called Power to the People, and it’ll be out mid-march. But actually, we wanted to surprise you and your viewers with our first single.”
Charlotte’s disbelief was so genuine he almost laughed. It was replaced by excitement almost instantly. “I—thank you—this is such an I honor—I—”
“It’s called “Arcadia,” why don’t we take a listen?” he said, and nodded to Bellamy off camera, who had taken over her sound equipment, and let it play.
Afterwards Charlotte whispered to him, “I’m going to cut the part where I’m all googly-eyed and cry in the middle of your new single okay?” and Murphy nodded, because he was nothing if not accommodating.
She gathered herself and looked him in the eye. “Mr. Murphy, I know I shouldn’t, but I have to ask. How are things with you and Mr. Blake?”
He glanced at Bellamy off screen, who was smiling a reluctant, dopey smile, the way he always did when Murphy did interviews. “Things,” he said, still looking directly at Bellamy and feeling possibly contentment. “Things have never been better.”
#long post#murphamy#murphamy fanfic#the 100 fic#murphamy fic#implied clexa#jesus i'm so sorry#gabriel writes fic
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Hunting The Mescalero
One of my nightly routines is to sit in my recliner, and go through my mail that hopefully has outdoor magazines and catalogs with the potential for new adventures.
On one of those evenings, I received a Return To The Outdoors catalog. I wasn’t sure what to expect inside but much to my delight, the catalog had hunts in several states. I thumbed through the pages thinking that maybe I could find my next adventure. This is where I found the hunts on the Mescalero, during the rut with a rifle, a perfect hunt for a 67 year old man that loves elk hunting.
The biggest problem with elk hunting today is that you have to draw a tag in most states, and in order to be successful you had better have lots of points for areas that have Boone & Crocket bulls.
My theory is, if you are 67 years old, do not plan on drawing unless you started applying 15 years ago. What I am saying, is that at 67, don’t wait to be drawn, you may not be alive in two years. Buy your tag thru outfitters or from the Indian Reservations like the Mescelero.
Doing my research on the Mescalero shows that they have the potential for B&C bulls, and 500,000 acres to hunt. My only doubt about the hunt at this point is the elk camp. I have hunted an Indian Reservation before and did not like sleeping in a dorm with 12 other guys. Much to my delight, the elk camp on the Mescalero is their very own Casino, Inn of the Mountain Gods. Two queen sized beds and a bathroom all to myself, with a maid that came in and made the bed every day. This will spoil me on other elk camps forever.
I called in to the Return To The Outdoors staff and asked if I could have a tag for first season, and a tag for second season on the Mescalero Indian Reservation. I was sent a contract, which I promptly signed and sent back with my check. Now came the hard part. I had to wait until September 9th, 2011 to hunt.
Finally September 6th arrived, which meant it was time to start driving solo from the Oregon Coast, to Ruidosa, New Mexico. The first day’s drive was 14 hours, the second 13 hours. I was very impressed with the country, lots of trees and mountains. Perfect elk country.
I found the Big Game Management Building, and inside was the manager Herman along with the person that keeps everybody going in the right direction, Marilyn.
At the introduction meeting and dinner, I was introduced to my guide, Patrick Hiles. I’m not sure what Patrick thought when he saw me for the first time, but it probably went something like, “Why do I always get the old guys?”
Opening morning, breakfast is served at 4:00 am. On our way to the truck, after breakfast, we grab our box lunches (each lunch is enough for 4 people). Patrick picked me up and it was not exactly the time he told me. When he arrived, he said, it was “Indian Time”. Not sure what he meant by that, but I was not about to upset the guide on our first morning by questioning him.
We started driving, East I think, it’s very dark still. We get about 3 miles from the Casino, I mean elk camp, when Patrick stops the truck and rolls down the window. What do we hear? No less than 12 bulls are bugling. The hair on the back of my neck is standing straight up, and I am drooling. I think to myself, this has to be heaven. To my surprise, Patrick says “Get in the truck, we are leaving”. WHAT, but there are bulls here! We drove, change that, Patrick drove away from the bulls, while I pouted.
We drove another 15 minutes and parked. When daylight came, I got my first look at Mescalero elk country. WOW. Everyplace we glassed there were bulls, and I mean every hillside we saw bulls.
That first day, we saw no less than 40 bulls. No 1st day shooters. Maybe tomorrow.
The second day we went to another portion of the Reservation, with more timber and brush. Lot’s of bugles and close calls. The elk were not quite hot enough to stay and fight, it was bugle and run.
The third day brought more timber and brush and more long hikes. That evening, I heard a bugle, and it was close. One call on the cow call, and here he comes. I am ready, laying on the ground at the edge of a 100 yard meadow, with my bipod down in the ready position. This six point bull steps out of the brush, he is wide, heavy and tall. My crosshairs are on this bull, waiting for him to turn broadside so we can make a quick decision. “Patrick, I am ready” I say. Patrick says, “wait”. The bull turns and starts walking closer when he stops at 50 yards. The bulls turns. Patrick tells me not to shoot, that he is short on his G-4 and G-5. That was fun! I didn’t stop smiling for three days.
Day four was very much like the others, lots of bulls, but they just weren’t ready to dance yet.
The last morning of my first hunt on the Mescelero was a little slower than the other days. We came back to camp at about 1:00 pm. Patrick said he would pick me up at about 3:30 for the evening hunt. I took a nap in my beautiful room at the Inn, rough camp right? At 4:00 we are on the hill and find two herds, but neither has a shooter. We move on to another ridge, where after about 30 minutes of glassing Patrick finds a nice six point by himself raking the hell out of a tree.
Now, I have to make a decision. This is not a B&C bull, but we think he will score between 320 and 330. The bull is 375 yards down a steep hill, and it’s getting dark. I made my decision. It was time to lay down with my 300 WBY Christensen Arms, and pull the trigger. I find a comfortable spot, put one in the tube, and change the power on my best scope under 100$ to 18 power. I put the crosshairs high on the shoulder, push the safety off, take a deep breath, exhale half and squeeze. The bull drops to the surprise of my guide, and does not move. The Black Mamba strikes again.
Now we have to get to the bull before dark, and get the hard part done. I leave from my shooting place and work my way down thru the steep ridge. Patrick says he will meet me at the bull with the truck. We loaded the bull into the back of the truck in a full on thunder storm with lightening directly overhead.
We got back to the Big Game Management Building at about 9:00pm, soaking wet, very cold and hungry. While Patrick and I ate, three great guys did their thing unloading the bull with an electric hoist. They skinned, washed, and quartered the meat which then went into the cooler. They then caped my bull. Did I say that I love this elk camp?
Now with first season over, I have nothing to do until second season starts on Saturday. Did I mention that the Reservation has a championship 18 hole golf course and that I brought my clubs? What a beautiful course, 7200 foot elevation, perfect greens, water and lots of trees.
Patrick calls me Friday night and tells me that I am going to like what he found on his day off. He had done some glassing just before dark, and found a B&C bull with about 15 cows. He said we would have to leave early as it was a long drive and walk and that we needed to be there before daylight. The only thing I have to do is try to sleep, while trying not to think about what the morning will bring.
Patrick shows up on time, I take this as a sign that this is going to be a good morning. We talk about what the plan is. We wait at the bottom of the hill until 15 minutes before shooting time. Patrick turns off the truck, rolls down the windows and listens. It sounds like one hell of a party out there! I am not sure how many bulls are bugling, a wild guess is a bunch.
With packs on our backs, we start walking up the mountain. Patrick thinks our bull will be on the East side of this mountain and says we need to be ready because they are on the move. We creep to the top, a deep canyon on the South and a ridge down the West side. There are two herds, with satellite bulls all over the ridge. There are too many things to look at all at once, it is overwhelming.
Patrick point over to the East and says “There’s your bull and he is leaving. You’d better hurry.” At this point, I got very lucky. Two things happened, I found a tree with the perfect rest with me sitting on my butt, the rifle came down on the only limb on that side of the tree and with a little adjusting, I was on my bull. Second, the bull stopped at 325 yards to look back and left me with a hole in the brush to shoot thru.
Patrick asks “Are you going to take him?” I answer with a boom. Patrick tells me he is down. I can’t see the bull. He is in the brush so I am not ready to celebrate until I have my hands on his rack. It takes about 30 minutes to reach where the bull was standing. We get close to the spot and Patrick gets a call on his cell phone. One of his buddy’s is watching from another ridge and tells us that the bull is standing up and looking around. He is 100 yards below us and we still can’t see him, there’s too much brush. I move down 50 yards and a little West. The top half of his antlers are in sight. I move a little more West, now I can see his neck. This is going to be a an offhand shot downhill. When I find his neck, he looks up the hill just as I pulled the trigger. The bullet made a perfect 30 caliber hole in his main beam just above his G2 and then into his neck. Now he is mine, and the main beam is still in one piece. Did I say I love this elk camp?
We work our way down to the bull, still not knowing just how big he is.
We finally make it down to the bull and all I can say is, “Wow, what a bull”, he’s a perfect 6 point. I’m guessing that the G3’s are over 20”, and the main beams over 50, we will score it later. How do we get this bull out of here?” I say. Patrick gets on his cell phone and calls for three horses. Now, it’s time to get our knives out and prepare this bull for the horses to pack out. One and a half hours later, the horses have worked their way to us. We load up and start the pack out to the truck, then it’s on to the Big Game Management Building for the stories and celebration.
As soon as the animal was caped out, Norman and Herman started to score the bull. The G3’s were 24”, and the main beam was 55”, for a total B&C score of 389. Did I say I love this elk camp?
My Christensen Arms 300 WBY, which I call the “Black Mamba”, performed without fail. The shot I made on this bull was one of the most difficult I have ever made, and could not have make it with a lesser rifle. Thank you Christensen Arms.
As for the Mescalero Indian Reservation and its people, thank you for sharing your piece of heaven with me. I tried very hard not to piss anyone off, so maybe you will let me return for the 2012 season.
Did I mention I love this elk camp?
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What Hollywood Can Teach Us About Camper
We wagered great cash you'll find out at the very least one brand-new suggestion from this collection
SEARCHING STRATEGIES
1) GO EXTRA SLOW
Attempt utilizing your watch as an overview. Determine on a period of time to stand still, such as five minutes.
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2) STOP AT THE NOISE
Here's a saying I developed to remind me of an animal's great detects. "The sound of a snapped twig is quickly failed to remember by the hunter, however long kept in mind by the quarry." If you make an unusually loud noise, stop and stand there as long as you can if you presume pets are close by. A deer may stand a long time as well as stare in your direction. If it doesn't see or scent you, it might return to feeding or whatever else it was doing before it was interrupted.
3) QUICK-STEPPING FOR DEER
A deer is quickly informed to human cadence as we walk through loud fallen leaves. This might sound like a dumb concept, but attempt taking quick action in a short sprint for 10 to 20 lawns or two. Stop, and do it once again. Maintain your tramps as light as possible; you'll be stunned at how much you seem like a squirrel clambering through the fallen leaves.
4) DESIGN A BETTER DRIVE
When placing a drive together, we tend to put standers in front of as well as together with the area being driven. If you have adequate people in your celebration, position a stander in the rear where the drive originated. Deer will often wait for seekers to pass and after that creep back and run off in the contrary direction.
5) DRIVE SOLO
Attempt a one-man drive if you're searching alone. Deliberately stroll into an area with the wind at your back. The idea is to stir deer up and also get them moving. As soon as you've travelled through, make a circle as well as do it again. You could see confused deer sneaking around, uncertain of your place. If this does not function, take a position on the flank of the area you walked through as well as wait an hour or 2. You might see deer sneaking back in, believing the danger has actually passed. This operates in thick thickets that deer make use of for safety cover.
6) PICK YOUR LANDMARKS
When you prepare to track an animal by making a huge circle and also turning up behind it, it's simple to become baffled as you alter your location. Choose an unique object on the horizon that you can acknowledge from the back, such as a large tree, a fence line or a rock, to help direct you to the correct spot.
7) JUDGE THE QUARRY'S PACE
Likewise attempt to anticipate where the animal will be when you finish your stalk. Prior to starting, watch the quarry enough time to identify its direction as well as price of travel if it's proactively feeding or strolling. Choose your destination appropriately.
8) FOLLOW WITH CARE
If you're tracking an animal, remember that the quarry will look out to its back trail. A really fresh track requires you practically to still-hunt rather than simply follow, especially if the pet isn't "lined out" however is taking attacks of browse as it goes.
9) CLEAR SHOOTING LANES
When you initially get involved in your tree stand, practice using up shooting settings for all the directions where an animal may show up. After doing that, attempt to get rid of branches unprotected if you can reach them, as well as use up the setting that calls for the least quantity of movement for you to kip down any kind of instructions. Make certain your security strap is safe and secure and also permits complimentary activity.
10) SWEEP AWAY BLIND CLUTTER
If you're sitting in a ground blind or standing beside a tree, move away leaves and also brush with your boot so the area you're in is tidy of woodland particles. This will certainly remove unnecessary sound if you have to make a relocation when an animal methods.
11) GLASS AND RE-GLASS
When glassing with a binocular early in the early morning, relocate to your vantage point in the dark. Glass likely areas, yet don't take just a solitary general look. Once in a while, redouble your focus on areas you've currently checked out. The transforming light could reveal animals you hadn't seen prior to or pets that have actually moved out of deep brush or lumber.
TRACKING
If other seekers are with you, interact with hand signals. Mark every spot of blood with a piece of toilet cells or flagging, which need to be eliminated later.
13 DON'T GIVE UP Many times an excellent blood route that you've complied with a long method will peter out to absolutely nothing. That's not a good indication, due to the fact that the pet is still going strong, yet it doesn't mean it isn't fatally injured. Do not surrender. Start seeking little places of blood. Jump on your hands as well as knees, if needed, to help keep you on the spoor.
14 CALL THE SPOT If you're searching in a brushy area and also you go down an animal at a range, make a psychological note of where it stood at the shot, especially if you must take your eyes off it to arrive. It's vitally important to find the precise area so you can grab the blood path.
15 BEWARE OF THE 'INSTANT DROP' A pet that goes down at the shot is more likely to run than one that doesn't drop but runs some range and then falls. The pet that falls immediately could do so from shock, then recover and run. When a pet goes down immediately, stay as well as be prepared for a quick follow-up shot.
16 NO EYE POKES Television hunting-show hosts like to walk up to a dropped pet as well as push it with the weapon muzzle to make sure it's dead. The last thing you want is for a pet to jump up when you're so close that you can't take action. If a pet's eyes are shut, it's most likely still alive.
17 LOOK UP FOR BLOOD When tracking a wounded animal, do not remain focused just on the ground. Try to find blood higher on the sides of trees, on lawn heads, as well as on stems of brush. Occasionally we're so intention at seeking traces on the woodland flooring that we completely miss out on hints off the ground.
THE COMPETITION
18 GETTING IN FIRST Many roadways are obstructed these days to limit automobile access, permitting just foot or equine web traffic. Seekers generally park at gates early in the morning and hike up roadways. When resolved, take a snooze and wait for other hunters to push deer to you as firing hrs technique, or look for unpressured deer feeding normally.
19 BIG-GAME HONEY HOLES If you're in huge country as well as wish to focus on the location where the probabilities are ideal of searching for game, look no further than a deep, greatly timbered canyon without roadways or significant trails to the bottom. Many seekers don't come down right into unpleasant areas because they know they'll have to climb up back out. The suggestion of hauling a deer or elk out of all-time low is a double problem that makes them even more prone to avoid these potentially game-rich areas.
20 DRIVE DOUBLE-DIPPING If you know of a drive being placed on by another party of hunters, try deciding well away from the group in hefty cover where startled deer might run. This is morally appropriate if you maintain an affordable distance from the celebration and also don't disrupt the drive.
21 DON'T FOLLOW THE LEADER If you're tracking a deer in snow and also suddenly discover that another hunter has come upon the tracks and also remains in front of you, there's clearly no sense in adhering to. Rather, quickly make a big circle and try to assail the deer. Chances are the various other seeker will just maintain pushing it in advance-- perhaps to you. Ethics need that you do this a considerable range where you believe the hunter could be. I 'd recommend at the very least a fifty percent mile or even more.
STAYING WARM
22 SLEEP IN COMFORT A cot in an unheated tent or cabin will maintain you cold all evening if you do not have a pad below your sleeping bag. If you have no pad, expanded apparel to protect you from the cool air under the cot. The loft in your bag is compressed from the weight of your body, as well as supplies little insulation when touching the thin material of a cot.
23 BRING YOUR BEST BAG Be sure you have your ideal resting bag along throughout a cold-weather hunt, also if you're in a camping tent or cabin with a timber cooktop. The fire will certainly head out throughout the night, and the temperature within will virtually equal the temperature level exterior. A light-weight summertime bag is just for that-- summer.
24 COLD-WEATHER HORSEMANSHIP Riding an equine in winter will certainly chill you rapidly if you end up resting for long periods of time. Heat up by strolling the horse downhill. Not only will this obtain your blood relocating, but it's also excellent horsemanship to offer the pet a break.
UPLAND GAME/WATERFOWL
25 DON'T SPOOK THE RINGNECKS Wild pheasants scare easily at the sounds of automobiles, pets and also voices. Most birds will certainly begin running or flying at the very first indicator of humans. Park as far as feasible from where you anticipate to hunt and also technique the location quietly.
26 DON'T SWEAT IT Perspiration is your best adversary on a chilly day. Take every precaution to keep completely dry, also if it implies removing off layers of garments as you stroll in cold temperature levels to stay clear of sweating. If you sit for any length of time, developing a sweat in advance will guarantee that you get cooled.
27 GLASSING FOR DUCKS When jump-shooting ducks along streams or craters, utilize a good binocular to scan the area for remote ducks. Make your observation looking through brush, if possible. Ducks have keen eyesight as well as will fly off if they find you.
Many seekers pass up shots if the birds aren't in the clear. If you continuously pass up birds you may never ever obtain a shot.
SMALL-GAME CARE
29 BRING SOME SHEARS Carry game shears to remove wings as well as legs of birds in the area. Make certain to leave evidence of sex or types of the bird if called for by law. Outfit the birds when you pause and cover them in cheesecloth to maintain them clean, allowing air to circulate and also cool the meat. Never put a warm bird in a plastic bag.
Some little game pets harbor fleas, which can bring illness. If you get rid of the skin promptly, the fleas won't have time to migrate off the carcass and also onto you!
31 DON'T BREAST OUT TURKEY Turkey hunters often "breast" their birds, taking the breast meat and also disposing of the legs, upper legs as well as wings. Merely prepare them in a crock pot till the meat falls off the bones, as well as put the boned, diced meat in a pot with soup or stew active ingredients.
32 MOO-VING IN FOR THE KILL If it's a silent day and you're trying to strategy ducks by creeping with thick reeds, the noise you make will usually startle birds prior to you're in range. If cattle are about, try this: Say "moo" noisally as you slip, being as cowlike as possible. Do not laugh-- it functions like a charm. Ducks will certainly tolerate cows, yet not you.
PACKING SMART
33 BAGGING YOUR GEAR On wet days, wetness will inevitably find its way inside your day pack. Secure your equipment by storing products in zip-top bags. Shop comparable things with each other, such as flashlights as well as batteries in one bag, fire starters as well as matches in another, etc.
34 BUILD A BETTER FIRE Fire beginners are important to getting a fire going. I make use of a number of kinds. One of the very best is easy to make at home. Impregnate cotton balls completely with oil jelly. Concerning 7 of them will fit in a 35mm film container. Each will shed for concerning three mins.
TRANSPORT AND STORAGE
35 GET THOSE SHOULDERS UP It's much easier to drag a deer with its shoulders high off the ground. Pull it with a harness that fits snugly over your torso, relocating the carcass brief ranges at a time. Don't try an extensive drag, because you might tire before obtaining the job achieved.
Wrap the meat in cheesecloth to maintain it temporarily clean as well as to let air circulate. For longer durations of storage space, throw the cheesecloth as well as put the meat in sturdy bags that can be washed.
37 HANG 'EM HIGH Never hang a carcass or part of a carcass any type of less than 3 feet from the ground in a lawn or shed. Pets can rapidly eat your hard-earned venison. I've had it occur to me more than once.
38 GRIZZLY SMARTS If you're in grizzly nation and also shoot an elk late in the mid-day as well as don't have time to get it out that evening, put the quarters in a location that's noticeable from a distance. In the morning when you return, you can examine the meat with field glasses to make sure it had not been disrupted or covered with brush. A neighboring grizzly will be possessive of the meat and also you could be in huge difficulty if you unwittingly approach. Many grizzly fights with hunters take place around meat that has been left in the field over night.
39 POLE POSITION Although couple of seekers do this, one very easy method to transport a deer or a number of quarters of elk or moose is to lash them to a stout post and then lug the pole across your shoulders. Place some padding on your shoulders and wrap a lot of orange flagging around the pet for security factors.
40 WHEELIN' IT OUT The best way to relocate a pet, various other than with an equine or having it fall next to a road, is to wheel it on a cart. A one-wheeled cart will go virtually everywhere.
PREDATORS
41 HIKE BEFORE YOU HUNT Park as for you can from your calling location. Coyotes can hear your vehicle a lengthy method away if you're in a remote location. You can get away with auto parking close if you're in a location where there's a lot of website traffic.
42 TAKE A SHOTGUN TOO Bobcats are commonly so mesmerized by a killer call that they run right into the lap of the caller. Many times prairie wolves will certainly come close to within simply a few backyards. A shotgun is a great selection momentarily gun.
43 SWITCH YOUR CALL Try a radically various phone call if the location you're in has heavy hunting pressure. Prairie wolves can come to be familiar with standard phone calls, such as the bunny distress, which is made use of widely. Try a fawn cry, a flicker telephone call or one more unusual noise.
44 HUNTING FOR THE https://penzu.com/p/c65bc769 BIRDS Incoming foxes and prairie wolves are usually come with by magpies or other birds. Keep alert if you see a squawking bird approaching your calling placement or activity decoy. Chances are great an undetected killer is nearby and closing in.
WILD GAME COOKING
No matter how well you care for it, a pet can taste gamey because of its age, the rut, its diet or other aspects. Stir-fries are the ideal at covering up a too-strong preference since the components are in close contact with the surface of the meat.
Obtain a little electric meat grinder for much less than $100 and make your own burger and also sausage. Try boning rabbits, squirrels and other video game meats, as well as grinding the meat to make meatballs as well as burgers.
Wrap a fish fillet along with butter, onions and also spices in foil, then wrap it once again. Put the entire jobs in the dishwasher (minus soap) and turn it on.
48 SAUTE A SNAKE You've no doubt listened to concerning rattlesnake meat being a delicacy, and that it tastes like poultry. Fillet the meat, which comes away in slim strips. It's truly great things.
49 HOW TO EAT ANYTHING Offbeat animals such as porcupines, woodchucks, muskrats, raccoons as well as beavers can be superior table fare. Make certain to eliminate any kind of fat and also musk glands and cut the meat into pieces. Soak it in a moderate salt service for 12 hrs ( 1/2 mug salt to one gallon of water) as well as cook it in a slow-moving cooker with a lot of spices and also vegetables-- the extra tomatoes, the much better. Allow it prepare up until the meat falls off the bones. You may be amazed.
50 STEW MADE EASY My favorite stew is called whatchagot, indicating whatever you've obtained in the back of your fridge freezer. When I have a loads or so packages, I thaw everything and also discard it in a huge pot. I let it simmer, include salt and also pepper to taste and also throw in some bonus, such as rice and beans.
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