#i just had a vision of john as a tired single mom

[corkinavoid]

I'm pretty sure this has been done before (and several times), but brain going brrr, so

DPxDC John Constantine's How To: Ghost Kids

Bruce doesn't even get to say anything when the door to his study opens with a slam against the wall, and before he knows it, he gets an armful of kids. As in, a bouquet of them.

"I'm so done," John Constantine breathes out, raspy and exhausted, looking like a trainwreck incarnate. Granted, the man always looked like one, but right now, the effect has been greatly worsened. The dark circles under John's eyes are, in fact, black, and it looks like he hasn't shaved in at least a week.

Bruce looks down to the small gaggle of children in his lap that he caught in his hands by sheer reflex.

All three of them look up at him with identical, sky blue eyes. They could be twins if it was not for their obviously different ages - the girl looks no older than three, while the boys are probably around five and six.

The older boy scrunches his nose. The girl pouts, but it looks directed at Constantine rather than at him.

Bruce looks back to John, a silent question in his eyes.

"They are- Well, not mine, for starters," the man begins, placing his hands on the table right over the sheets and documents, and leans on it, hanging his head down. Then, he raises one hand up and waves it in the air, "Not yours either, thank the Gods for that." He takes a deep breath.

Bruce's eyebrows raise all the way up to his hairline. The girl starts trying to wiggle out of his hands, but the middle boy holds her back, keeping her in Bruce's lap. She pouts harder.

"And you've brought them here why?" Bruce breaks the stretched out silence, gently repositioning the kids into a more comfortable hold. John raises his head up at him, and the magician's eyes look straight up pleading.

"You're the only person I know of who is, one, a parent, two, acquainted with supernatural, three, a man of great patience, and four, owes me a favor." Constantine lists off reasons that don't really make sense all together, especially regarding kids. Then he thinks for a moment and adds, "Five, owes a shitton of liquor."

"John, what-"

"Listen, I've been dealing with them for a week, I'm at my limit," Constantine interrupts him, desperate and close to whining, "I haven't slept in more than three consecutive hours for days. I don't remember the last time I ate. Or took a shower."

Yes, Bruce can see that. Or, rather, smell it. But that answers none of his questions as to who, why, and how.

"I would kill for a bath," John admits, like it's some sort of a secret. The middle boy opens his mouth, but Constantine points an accusing finger at him, "No, the puddle of melted ghost ice does not count for a bath. And don't come at me with your death puns."

The child rolls his eyes but closes his mouth back and slumps. Bruce resists the urge to pinch the bridge of his nose, but only because he is holding three kids. His hands are full, quite literally.

"John, I need you to explain," he asks, somewhere between a demand and a careful inquiry. Because, really, the man looks on the brink of losing his sanity, that much is evident. Bruce might not like the man, but he can at least partially sympathize with dealing with kids.

His bare minimum of sympathy - and isn't it a bizarre thought, emotionally sympathizing with John Constantine of all people - does not ease his growing worry and irritation. The girl starts trying to get out of his hold again.

John takes a very deep breath, holds it, and then-

"I stole them," he says, looking Bruce dead in the eye, with a sense of resigned, if a bit unhinged, determination. And, before Bruce is able to ask literally anything else, he keeps going, "Their parents are shit, a branch of government is out for their guts - as in, literal guts - there was- there is a backdoor to the afterlife in their basement, and also they are dead and because of some Realms fuckery and their spiritual granddad being a huge pain in the ass, they are all wrong ages."

Bruce blinks. Then blinks again. Processing that sentence turns out to be a lot harder than he estimated.

The oldest kid in his lap gives John a middle finger, nearly sneering. The girl starts snickering, somehow making it soundless.

"Oh, and they are under a silence charm because if I hear one more references to fucking Ghostbusters I will shoot myself," Constantine finishes matter-of-factly.

Distantly, Bruce wonders if John can make that spell into some sort of an amulet. God knows, Dick really needs one sometimes. Steph does, too. And Jason. Actually, all of them need one.

He looks over the kids again. They don't seem scared or unsettled, neither by the fact they are sitting in a lap of a stranger nor by Constantine's bullet point version of a summary to their lives. They mostly just look annoyed and grumpy, and a bit embarrassed in case of the middle boy.

Bruce sighs and decides to start somewhere.

"Do they have names?"

[part 2 ->]

[pogueit]

First Aid Kit

Paring: Pope Heyward x Reader

Summary: You have an accident while attempting to do a new trick and Pope is the man for the job.

Warnings: blood ofc and general first aid stuff nothing too graphic tho!!

WC: 1,994

A/N: There's not enough Pope content!! SO I made some!! Pls enjoy some Pope and Y/N action!

THE GIF IS NOT MINE IT BELONGS TO @rue-bennett !!!!

Saturdays are not meant to be boring, but this scorching afternoon there was nothing to do. John B. went on his weekly date with Sarah, JJ scored a date with a kook he's been eyeing, and Kie was forced to go to a gala on the mainland, so it was just you and Pope alone in the chateau. He had been studying all day for an upcoming chemistry exam he has first thing Monday morning. You tried all day to get his head out of the books, but he was not having any of it. It wasn't until the late afternoon that you got him to go outside with you. Even though his nose was still deep in the piles of notes at least he was outside. You were skating on a horrifically uneven stretch of concrete that was oddly slathered in front of the chateau. Every time he could hear the wheels pop upwards he would snap his eyes to you, cheering you on when you stuck the landing. You were glad that he was far enough away to not be able to see how red your cheeks were. You've had a massive crush on the boy ever since Kie introduced you to the group. Your mom had just moved your ass down to the banks to get a fresh start far away from your poor excuse for a father. She managed to quickly score a job at The Wreck (where you were also forced to work part-time) as head chef. Your mom got on well with the Carrera's who only deemed it appropriate to force their daughter to hang out with you, being new in town and all. Kie wasn’t bothered at all and was glad to have another girl around. After hanging out with her for a single day, you wouldn’t hesitate to take a bullet for her. Kiara didn't introduce you to the knuckleheads right away, since she had taken a liking to you and didn't want to scare you away. The day that she did you remembered Pope had been the last one to say "hey" yet his was the warmest. After that day your stomach would erupt with butterflies whenever you'd even look at him and you would nearly die when your hands would brush against each other in passing. There was just something about him. Maybe it was how he didn't believe in stupid questions, except for JJ's of course, or how he would learn a new subject just to be able to help one of you ace an exam. It could be how the sun sparkled against his wet skin after a long day of swimming or surfing. How relaxed he looks sitting in the driver's seat of the HMS Pogue taking in all that the sun had to offer. You were glad the rest of the crew hadn't caught on yet, especially JB since he's already taken the role as your big brother, even though you're sure that you’re definitely older than him. He would never let you hear the end of it if he knew. The constant pestering, nudging, and side-eyeing would have driven you insane. Your mind slowly drifted back to the boy studying a few feet away from you. The thoughts of those hot summer nights in the cool water with him clouded your brain, so much so you nearly wiped out.

"You good!?" Pope's concerned voice made your head snap in his direction. You knew that the embarrassment on your face was very telling but you just shot him two thumbs up and got back on your board. You shake off any remaining thoughts from your head before attempting your new trick. You were sick and tired of random strangers, but mostly JJ and JB, yelling at you to do a kickflip whenever you were skating. After watching countless videos on kickflips you were basically an expert on them at this point and all you had to do now was actually stick the landing. You slid your right foot to the middle of the board so that your heel was just off the edge while your toes rested in the middle. You shifted your left foot to the tail of the deck and with all the strength you could muster you push down on the tail while your right foot flicked down on the edge of the board. It would have been a spectacular landing if it weren't for the random-ass pebble that your wheel landed on.

"Oh fuck, are you alright!?" Pope was by your side before you even realized you were on the ground. Falling came with the game and you were not fazed at all, since you've had grislier wipeouts than this, but that's before you saw the fountain of blood that poured out of your knee.

"Yeah, I'm fine dude-- I've had-- I need to--The bathroom--" you hobbled quickly into the bathroom at the chateau trying your darndest to not get any blood in the house. By the time you were able to sit down on the toilet, you were seeing stars. Your vision was slowly fading to black and you felt like you were going to vomit. You closed your eyes tightly as you pressed a clump of toilet paper to your knee, which pulled a hiss right from your lungs at the sensation. Promptly, you bit down on your bottom lip to keep yourself from letting out a scream. A light knock came from the door and it couldn't be anyone else but Pope.

"Are you alright in there y/n?" From all the pain you were in you could only hum out a yes as a response, but you knew that would not be a good enough answer for the boy.

"Yeah, just don't--" before you could even finish your sentence he barged in "--open the door, why don't ya". His eyes grew wide at the bloody mess you made in the bathroom, but then quickly softened at the sight of you. Your skin was flushed with developing perspiration clinging to your skin and your lips had gone pale as your lungs suddenly only knew how to hyperventilate.

"Uh, I don’t think it would be in your best interest to say that it looks like a slasher flick was filmed in here" his words made you squeeze your eyes tighter as bloody images flashed before you and it only got harder for you to breathe. Pope stepped inside the rather small bathroom and closed the door behind him. He picked up all the toilet paper you had used for your leg and tossed them into the trash bin before he crouched down next to you.

"Does it still hurt?" His voice was quiet, barely above a whisper, as if you would shatter if he spoke any louder. All you could muster was a tiny nod as the pain took up most of your energy. His hands then gently pried your hands off of your injured knee and inspected it. Since the cut had almost stopped bleeding completely, Pope, was able to see that the wound was deep but not enough for it to garner any stitches and it was free of any debris. Lucky for you because JB had fallen there a couple of weeks ago and Pope had to whip out the tweezers to get all the gravel out of the bloody gash.

"Hey, it's not that bad-- I mean it is bad but it could be worse-- I'm gonna clean it now" the boy got to his feet and helped you sit on the edge of the bathtub with your feet sitting inside the tub. He then washed his hands furiously to avoid infection and gathered all the supplies he needed which consisted of antibacterial soap, antibiotic cream, gauze pads, gauze rolls, and unconditional love and support. Pope helped you undo both your shoes and removed them along with your embarrassing Winnie the Pooh socks. He sat with his legs outside the tub to have easy access to the supplies. After he checked to make sure the water wasn't too hot or too cold Pope moved your leg so your knee was underneath the faucet. The wound's contact with the water wasn't as bad as you thought, but it could’ve been you were distracted by his soothing touches as he held you close to him. Pope was careful not to get any of the soap in the cut just on the surrounding area and when he was finished he made sure to clean the rest of your blood-caked leg up as well. Once you were all cleaned up, he padded your leg dry before he attempted to put ointment on the tender flesh.

"Is it going to hurt?" You squeaked as he retrieved the ointment from the countertop.

"It might sting, but it shouldn't, '' he reassured you, as he brought the ointment-covered q-tip to your knee, but you couldn't help that your knee-jerked away from his touch.

"Ow, fuck!"

"Y/n, I haven't even touched you yet"

"I know, I know, sorry"

"I promise it won't hurt, y/n, and if it does you can punch me or something" even if it did hurt that bad you couldn’t imagine hurting Pope in any way. He once again leaned back in with the q-tip and sure enough, it wasn't painful at all. The ointment soothed the burning sensation of the area which finally allowed you to relax. He then carefully put a gauze pad on the injury, before wrapping your knee securely with gauze. You slid off the edge of the grimy porcelain tub and onto the ground while Pope stood next to the sink and neatly tucked everything back into the first aid kit.

"Uh, thanks--" your words got lost in your throat when your eyes met his warm eyes "--um, dude?" You felt stupid when it came out as a dumbfounded question and the heat quickly rose to your cheeks. If it was any time for you to die you wish it would have happened right then.

"Yeah, any time, y/n" he shot an endearing smile in your direction and you've never wanted to kiss a man so much before in your life.

You both let the awkwardness settle over you. The two of you riddled with hesitancy, but quietly yearned to confess your feelings to one another. He needed to get out of there. Pope gave you a curt nod and a tight smile, but as he headed towards the door there was vacillation in his movements. Before you lost sight of him from the doorway, he turned back around determined.

"Y/N, I gotta--" you were soon on your feet as the last bit of courage you had for your lifetime allowed you to meet him halfway. He didn't bother finishing his sentence as he decided his actions would speak for him. Pope cupped your face in his soft hands and crashed your lips together. The kiss was sweet, sweeter than anything you've ever experienced before. His plump lips gilded confidently over your timid ones. As the fire inside of you diminished your shyness you shifted yourself forward onto your tippy toes to deepen the kiss. Your movements caused you to pin Pope against the bathroom wall and you could feel him smile against your lips. His velvet tongue dragged against your bottom lip for permission to explore you further and you were more than eager to let him.

"Fucking finally!" The familiar voice of the rowdy klepto caught you guys by surprise causing both of you to jump away from each other.

"I guess I'm forty bucks richer, I knew you had it in ya, Pope!" JJ beamed as he walked towards the two of you and you playfully rolled your eyes at the blonde-haired boy.

"Fuck off!" Pope giggled and slammed the door in JJ's face before he turned to face you.

"Now, where were we?"

[katehuntington]

Title: Ride With Me (part 25) Fandom: Supernatural Timeline: 2008 Pairing: Dean x Reader Word count: ±6900 words Summary series: Y/N is a talented horse rider who is on her way to become a professional. In order to convince her father that she deserves the loan needed to start her own farm, she goes to Arizona for six months, to intern at a ranch owned by Bobby and Ellen Singer. Her future is set out, but then she meets a handsome horseman, who goes by the name of Dean Winchester. A heartwarming series about a cowboy who falls for the girl, letting go of the past and the importance of family. Summary part 25: Y/N and Dean struggle with the aftermath of their split. Working together proves to be difficult, but other relationships within the ranch family took a hit as well. When the cowboy thinks the day can’t get much worse, complications arise, forcing him to make yet another difficult decision. Warnings series: NSFW, 18+ only! Fluff,  angst, eventually smut. Swearing, smoking, alcohol intoxication, alcohol abuse. Mutual pining, heartbreak, slowburn. Crying, nightmares, childhood  trauma. Description of animal abuse, domestic violence, mentions of  addiction. Financial problems, stress, mental breakdown. Description of  blood and injury, hospital scenes, character death, grief. Music: (opening scene) The Eye - Brandi Carlile. (Ride with Meadow scene) Home - Hans Zimmer. Follow ‘Kate Huntington’s Ride With Me playlist’ on Spotify! Author’s note: Beta’d by my mom (yes, you read that right. My mom reads my stuff and is on Tumblr). Thank you, @girl-with-a-fandom-fettish​​, @kittenofdoomage​​, @manawhaat​​, @waywardbeanie​​, @atc74​​​​​, and @winchest09​​​​​ for helping me with this story. Also a special thanks to @jules-1999​​​​​, who has offered me her knowledge about rodeo events like these, and @squirrelnotsam​​​​​, who knows Arizona like the back of her hand.

Ride With Me Masterlist

     With frustrated motions, Y/N stuffs her clothes into a bag, not even bothered to sort the items out. Her cheeks are tear-stained once again and she wipes at them angrily. Stop crying, it won’t get you anywhere, she scolds herself, done with feeling this emotional. After all, today is Monday, just another day at the ranch, and they have a lot of work to do. Garth and Ellen did the necessary stable work, but the horses which are usually trained by Jo, Dean, and herself had three days off while their riders were in Flagstaff. 

     Dean. Just the name reverberating in her head forces her to pause her actions. She dips her chin, closes her eyes, and takes a breath. Why? That’s the question she keeps asking herself. Why did he break up with her? Why did he pretend to care, only to hurt her the way he did? Why has he become so bitter, so selfish, so unlike the man she thought he was?

     The questions remain unanswered, and she doesn’t expect they will give her any consolation either. That was the whole issue to begin with, wasn’t it? He can’t be honest. Apparently, he doesn’t think she’s capable of bearing the load he is meant to share with his partner. Apparently, she’s not good enough. Just like she didn’t meet her first boyfriend’s standards, who got tired of her spending more time with her horses than with him. Her second relationship ended in a fiasco as well, this time it was his jealousy of her success that caused the split. Yesterday proved that the third time clearly isn’t a charm. But neither of her previous significant others ever caused a cataclysm as the one Dean has left behind. Her heart is a wasteland now.

     “Are you leaving?”      She’s pulled away from her thoughts by Jo’s voice, her tone matching the horrified expression on her face. She stands in the doorway, looking down at the open suitcase on the floor and the unzipped bag. All of a sudden, Y/N realizes what the scene must look like.      “No. I’m just sorting out my washing,” she says quickly.      “Oh…” the blonde cowgirl sighs, relieved. “For a second there I thought--”      “I won’t let your scumbag cousin chase me away, Jo,” her friend assures her.

     Truth be told, though, she has been thinking about it. Last night she had typed down her information on a booking website, ready to confirm her flight back to Freeport, but as her finger hovered over the ‘confirm’ button, she closed the tab and slammed her laptop closed. The intern came here on a mission. She is going to prove to her parents and to herself that she has what it takes to run her own ranch and that she deserves that business loan. She is not going to abort just because her heart is broken, come hell or high water.

     “Well, good. I would have roped you like a cow and tied you to the saddle anyway,” Jo scoffs, leaning against the doorframe. 

     The cowgirl chuckles as she collects the last of her dirty laundry, zips up the bag, and puts it on the bed. The sight of the not-particularly comfortable mattress has her wishing she could crawl back under the covers and get some much-needed sleep. That’s not an option, however, and so she takes her hat from the corner bedpost and places it on her head. Before she goes out, she quickly checks her makeup in the mirror, but thankfully her tears haven’t smudged her waterproof eyeliner and mascara, and her foundation is still covering the bags under her eyes. It’s been a while since she hid behind the beauty-products, but the confidence Dean gave her has disappeared the second he ended their relationship, so she put her mask back on. There is no way she will give her ex-boyfriend the satisfaction of witnessing just how broken she is.

     Y/N inhales deeply and squares her shoulders, lifting her chin as she stares at her reflection. The woman who looks back at her is fierce and resilient; the complete opposite of the little girl that’s hiding inside. Of course, she doesn’t want to face the day nor the man who hurt her, but she is left with no choice. There is so much more at stake here; her future, her career. This is business, and she will treat it as such. Y/N glances at Jo, giving her a nod, and her friend smiles faintly doing the same.

     Rubbing his tired eyes, Dean pours himself his third cup of coffee. Saying that he had a rough night, is putting it mildly. The first digit of his alarm clock had already changed into a ‘2’ when he finally drifted off, only to jolt awake an hour and a half later, his bedsheets clinging to his sweat-covered skin. For the first time in years, a nightmare has caused havoc, images of his worst memories coming through cracks in the walls he built around all that childhood trauma. After freshening up, he laid in bed again while last night’s events alternated with those same disturbing scenes he saw in his dreams, the sad motion picture of sorrow and heartbreak projected on the ceiling. He gave up on sleeping around four-thirty in the morning, got dressed, and sat out on the porch until the sun came up. But no matter how hard he focused on the sounds of the night that tried to soothe him, he couldn't get her out of his mind. The pain laced in her desperate voice, the tears that fell because of him. But after those hurtful images, he also remembers that bright smile, her giggles, the sparkle in her eyes when she has achieved something. Her tenderness, her touch… It hasn’t even been twelve hours and he’s already craving Y/N, fighting an addiction for a drug he can never have again. The girl who is no longer his Yankee.

     A door squeaks and Dean glances aside, immediately redirecting his gaze back to the coffee mug on the small kitchen counter when Y/N comes into view, followed suit by Jo. Instantly, the tension in the living room shoots through the roof, the crooked, little bunkhouse barely able to maintain the strain. He doesn’t say anything, but thankfully Garth and Benny do exchange a ‘good morning’ with the girls, the silence interrupted by the casual exchange. 

     He spots her perfectly applied makeup, her hair tied back in a tight ponytail that doesn’t  allow a single strand to escape the rubber band. Her shirt is neatly tucked into her jeans, ironed and spotless, just like the day when she arrived at the ranch. Even though she looks breathtaking, the vision saddens him; she’s back to being the woman who needs to have everything under control. He gets it, though, because when she took his advice to loosen up, she let her guard down. If she had kept both hands on the reins, Y/N would have never allowed him to get so close and comfortable. Dean only made things worse for her, and now she was left to pick up the pieces of all that he broke.

     Without saying a word, he grabs his coffee and pushes the door handle down to make his exit, not wanting to make her life more difficult than he already has.

     Ultimately, this Monday was bound to get worse with every passing minute. Dean decided to get an early start before breakfast and got on the tractor, but when the ranch hand tried to back up in order to drag the arena, he couldn't get the old John Deere into reverse. A glance underneath soon determined why and he exclaimed a loud ‘fuck!’ when he detected the puddle of gearbox-oil on the dusty ground. Turning the fresh horses out only added to his agitation, especially when the youngsters stirred up the palomino stallion Led while the wrangler was hand-walking him. The Quarter is still recovering from the nasty tendon injury he suffered on the job, and isn’t supposed to be bouncing off the concrete like a rubber ball on a leash, but tell that to an energetic horse who has barely been out of his box for the past month. Garth readied a horse for his boss, which he managed to ride before breakfast, but Dean was unfocused and gave up after thirty minutes.

     Now, they were all quietly eating their breakfast, the delicious meal giving them some consolation. Ellen observes the awfully silent crew, exchanging a look with her daughter, who with a slow shake of her head tells her mother to not bring it up, and so she doesn’t. The head wrangler is the first to get up from his seat, rinse his plate in the sink, and return to the stables. The others follow his example, the barn soon buzzing with activity. 

     Y/N works like a dog, mucking out the stable in record time without pausing. It’s a good distraction for her reeling mind, the hard labor ridding her of the frustration that boils her blood whenever she thinks of the man who ruined her faith in true love. Garth, sensing that the intern was fine on her own, took the tough job of raking the arena by hand, since machinery has let them down. Meanwhile, Jo and Dean train the animals as per usual, but there’s no bantering between them during the cool down. In fact, the wrangler’s cousin has decided to ignore him altogether. 

     Getting more irritated with every second passing, the horseman dismounts the six-year-old gelding named Santana, deciding that a light workout is enough for today. The wrangler is always careful to not let his emotions bleed into his work, but he’s finding it difficult to keep himself in check. Jo has already parked her horse next to the bay Quarter and has tacked down the buckskin without granting Dean a look. He sighs; Jo is not easily going to forgive him for hurting her friend, but he still tries to break the stifling silence.

     “Can you pass me the water?” he asks, nodding at the yellow garden hose that’s rolled up by the faucet.      Without even granting him a look, the ranch owner’s daughter throws the showerhead in his direction, the nozzle clattering on the tiles in front of Dean’s feet. He sighs, annoyed.      “So this is how it’s gonna be?” he scoffs. “I get that you’re mad, but you can at least t--”      “I have nothing to say to you,” she snaps. 

     It’s not the first time Jo is angry with him, because the two have a habit of getting on each other’s nerves. This time it’s different, though, and the bitterness in her tone sends a clear message that he has burned his bridges. Gritting his teeth, he lets the comment slide, deciding that it’s useless to fire back a counter. She has a solid point after all; he doesn’t deserve her sympathy in the slightest. Figuring that these will be the only words they exchange for at least a couple of days, the cowboy begins to hose down Santana, when Jo turns on her heels with her horse’s lead rope in one hand and her fist firmly planted on her waist.      “You know what? I do have something to say. You just don’t get to speak in return,” she kicks off, about to unleash her wrath.      Dean lifts his gaze from the dirt and sweat that he’s washing out of his horse’s coat, for the first time looking into his cousin’s fiery eyes. The petit cowgirl, who is easily nine inches shorter than the man before her, is intimidating nonetheless. He takes a breath, bracing himself for impact. Here it comes.

     “You’re a cold-hearted, spineless, self-absorbed dick, know that? For once in your life, you’ve got something good goin’, someone who was willing to look past your gigantic ego and your daddy issues, yet the first thing you do when life gets tough, is drop her like a hot potato. Do you have any idea how much pain you’ve caused the poor girl? Because I do! She wouldn’t want me to tell you this, but she cried for hours, hours, and that’s on you! Guess who had to comfort her, huh?” Jo goes off. “I am so far past mad; I am furious! I really thought you had finally found a reason to change into something better than the abbreviated piece of nothing that you are now, but it seems like Y/N wasn’t the only one who was naive.”      “You done?” the wrangler says coldly when she pauses to catch her breath.      “Go hump a cactus, Dean,” she sneers.

     With those words, Jo strides away, the large animal next to her obediently following her, well aware that now is not the time to be stubborn. The man who’s left with the poignant insults still echoing inside his head, pulls at his bottom lip with his teeth, staring at his feet for a second before he sniffs and focuses on the task at hand again. He might have pretended that her message left him unbothered, but the opposite is true. Jo could as well slap him across the face; it would hurt less. 

     Defeated, the wrangler takes Santana to his box and removes the halter from the large animal’s head. The sweet horse seeks contact, nudging her nose against Dean’s shoulder. He rubs the Quarter’s withers before he exits the stable, appreciating the only kindness that he’s received so far this morning.

     “Dean?”      He tenses, not expecting his name to fall off the lips of the woman who he parted from only yesterday. When the cowboy meets her gaze, the look Y/N gives him is as cold as the tone of her voice.      “I need a word,” she says, although it sounds more like a demand.      “S - sure,” he stutters, glancing down briefly before he looks back up again, suddenly nervous. He’s not sure if he can handle being scolded by his ex-girlfriend as well.      “I don’t think it’s a good idea for us to work together anymore,” she states formally. “I’d like a new supervisor.”

     Dean cocks his head back slightly, unbalanced by the appeal. He rubs his temple, averting his eyes but then nods, acknowledging that she’s probably right, even though the request is a painful one.      “Yeah, uh - sure. I’ll ask Garth,” he stammers, estimating that he would be the obvious choice since she’s so close with Jo. He wouldn’t want their friendship to be tainted by the difference in rank.      “Okay,” the intern responds, her expression stark and strained, before she walks past him.

     Motionless, the head wrangler remains on his spot, setting his jaw and closing his eyes for a second. Somehow, he didn’t expect their first exchange to be strictly business. Her stance is so different from what he’s grown used to. Even on the night they met when she gave him a hard time, the tension between them didn’t feel as heavy as it does now. He realized when he called it quits that she would struggle with his decision, but Jo’s confirmation that she spent most of last night crying over their separation has him desperate to ease the pain.

     “Y/N…” he says softly while turning before she’s too far gone to pick up on his voice.      “I have work to do,” she cuts off, shooting him a short glare over her shoulder.

     Dean swallows thickly while watching her leave, fast and determined strides taking her as far away from him as possible. Damn it, he really did ruin his chances of even maintaining any sort of a friendship, didn’t he? He’s not sure what else he expected after the way they parted, but despite the loathing and vexed look she just shot him that feels like a bullet to the heart, he’s glad. Let her be angry, let her hate him. It will be easier for her to deal with those emotions, than just the overwhelming sense of sadness. He knows, because he hasn’t felt this devastated, empty, and incomplete since his family fell apart; he’s talking from experience.      Wishing the day was over already, the cowboy adjusts his hat and gets back to work, hoping that riding will offer him the therapy he so desperately needs.

     Unfortunately, the day doesn’t pass by nearly as fast as Dean would like to. After riding five horses, he, Benny, and Garth use their lunch break to look at the beat-up tractor that once again has let them down. The head wrangler doesn’t mind skipping his midday meal; he would rather avoid sitting across from Y/N in a room overflowing with awkwardness, plus, he’s not hungry anyway. 

     The machine from 1979 was bound to die on the crew sooner than later, but after the farrier slash mechanic discovers metal particles in the gearbox fluid, it becomes clear that a simple oil change isn’t going to cut it this time.      “Yep, she’s toast,” Benny sighs, wiping his dirty hands with a cloth.      “Just what we need,” his friend grunts. He’s not looking forward to his uncle’s response to the setback. “I’ll tell Bobby.”      “I can if you want me to,” the stable boy - who is also responsible for the machinery - offers.      Dean purses his lips slightly, his thumbs hooked through the belt loops of his jeans while he stares at the old John Deere absently. “Nah, I’ll do it. I got a question for you, though. Do you mind supervising Y/N from now on?”      Garth shakes his head, taking in his boss, somewhat confused. “No, not at all.”      “Good,” the wrangler replies quickly, thankful that the slender employee takes on the task without question. The clueless young man didn’t pick up on the relationship between Dean and the intern to begin with, and he would rather keep him in the dark, especially now that it has ended. He knocks on the rusty hood of the tractor before he heads off. “I’ll see y’all in a bit. Can you start rolling out the hay to the pastures with the wheelbarrows? It’s gonna take a hell of a lot longer without this old thing.”

     The shade inside the stables is welcoming, and not just because it offers cooler temperatures. Dean’s eyes are still painfully sore from the lack of sleep and he rubs at them again, trying to stop them from burning. Shit, and it’s only Monday, he sighs to himself. The three-day event over the weekend means no time off for the employees who attended. The last time he didn’t have to show up at seven in the morning or earlier was late September, which means that he has been working twelve-hour plus shifts for fourteen days straight now. Work never stops on a ranch. The horses depend on him; they will always need food, a clean stable and exercise, no matter how tired, lovesick, or miserable he is. 

     The cafeteria is already empty. His aunt is probably at the guesthouses to change the sheets and towels, giving the accommodations a quick once-over. However, he finds a post-it on the long table with his name on it; ‘Don’t forget to eat. Bacon sandwiches are in the fridge - Ellen’. As the cowboy smiles for the first time today, he wonders if Bobby has told his wife anything about John’s unexpected visit in Flagstaff, hoping that he hasn’t. Knowing his aunt, she’s going to sit him down for some sweet tea and a talk, even though previous attempts of having a conversation as such proved to be unsuccessful. He appreciates her concern, though, the idea of his surrogate mom caring about him offering Dean some solace.

     The wrangler walks through the high barn doors on the other side, the sun doing its very best to cheer him up, but the rays don’t reach his soul. He makes his way to the Singer’s home, reckoning he will find Bobby there. As per usual, Dean takes off his hat and hangs it on the coat hanger, kicking off his boots before he proceeds to the office in the back of the house. After knocking, he pushes the door ajar, finding his uncle behind his desk. The place is still a mess, but the occupant’s features aren’t draped in shadows like the last time he was here. The blinders are open, the window a passe-partout of the Joshua tree, together with the paddocks and pastures surrounding it. 

     The rancher looks up when his nephew enters. “Hey, son. How’s the tractor comin’?”      “Well, I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but it’s fried. The oil is swimming with debris,” Dean tells, taking a seat on the other side of the desk.      “Metal?” Bobby questions. When the young man across from him nods, he curses. “Balls!”

     Dean presses his lips into a firm line, keeping still in the worn chair to prevent it from squeaking. His uncle seemed to be in a good mood after the successful show, but he can tell that this setback has put a strain on the old man’s frame of mind. 

     “You’re gonna call the service station?” the head wrangler wonders.      “No, that’s gonna cost us. We finally managed to make some money, I ain’t planning on spending it on that damned thing.” The rancher adjusts his ball cap before leaning back in his chair. “You boys can give it a go first, open up that gearbox, see what’s broken. I’ll order parts once you figure out what’s wrong with that piece of shit.”

     Scribbling something down on a piece of paper, Bobby sighs, but then returns his focus to Dean. “There’s somethin’ else I need to discuss with you.”      His right-hand raises his eyebrows slightly, his interest peaked. “What’s that?”      “It’s about Cain,” his uncle murmurs. “Apparently MacLeod didn’t tell the entire story.”      Dean scoffs, shaking his head. “Should I be surprised? I’m not sure what kinda vibes you picked up from that shady dude, but I sure as hell don’t trust him for the life of me.”      “I don’t either. That’s why I think we should reconsider that deal.” Bobby rests his elbows on the armrests of his chair, forking his fingers together in his lap. He expected some resistance from Dean, but not such a strong reaction as his nephew fires back.

     “What?! Are you serious?” he counters, perplexed. “You’re just gonna wipe it off the table?”      “Not ‘just’, but we need to consider our options,” his boss returns.      “How many options do we have exactly? Because the way I see it, this arrangement is a pretty damn good one. It’s good money, a steady income with the prospect of a huge bonus, not to mention what doors it might open for the future. This horse might be the break we need,” Dean advocates, remembering Y/N’s words clearly when she summed up all the possibilities that Cain might bring with him. “Look, I know Fergus is a proper dick, but he has a reputation to protect. There’s too much at stake for him, and I don’t believe he will double-cross us. If we deliver, he’s gonna pay good bucks.”      “And that’s where we might have a problem; actually delivering,” Bobby returns, taking in his head wrangler.      Dean draws his head back, slightly hurt, frowning at his uncle’s words. “You don’t think I can get the job done?”      “I’m not sure if anyone can, son,” the owner of the Gold Canyon Ranch states calmly. “The horse doesn’t just have ‘some behavioral issues’, as Fergus put it. He’s unapproachable, unpredictable, aggressive. That stallion is dangerous to everyone in a square mile radius. Jody rang me this morning to warn us.”      “Jody?” the cowboy returns, puzzled. He’s aware that the female rancher knows a lot of people in this business, but he didn’t expect the news of the famous stallion’s arrival would spread so fast. “How did she even know that Cain was coming to us?”      “Because MacLeod is a client of hers. Cain is currently in her stables.”

     Dean’s eyebrows hit his hairline, emerald greens staring over the desk at the man on the other side. While gaping at his uncle, questions begin to race through his mind. Jody did business with Fergus? Jody is a good trainer with excellent judgment, so if she claims Cain is untrainable, that says something. Their last conversation in Flagstaff comes to mind, the news about Gabe’s hospitalization shocking him at the time. Could his friend’s injuries be the stallion’s doing?

     Bobby watches his trusted worker process the information, rolling his chair a little closer and resting his forearms on the varnished wood, closing his hand over his fist. “I know this complicates things, but I’m gonna leave it up to you. If you think you can handle the stallion, I will trust your judgment. But I don’t want you to risk your neck for the money, Dean. We will find another way.”

     The horseman chews on his lip as he ponders, his focus capturing nothing in particular as his eyes flick over the items and documents on the desk. “We’ll have a week to evaluate him. I’ll make the call after that,” he decides. “Mind if I contact Jody to get some insight on what I’m up against?”      “Knock yourself out,” Bobby consents. “Just leave the numbers that we agreed to out of it.”      “Will do.” 

     Dean gets up from his seat, pushing the chair closer to the desk before he intends to slip out of the office before he’s stopped by his boss.      “One more thing,” the wise man says, looking over his enclosed hands. “What’s going on with you and the intern?”

     Caught, the head wrangler freezes, eyes wide with shock and pure horror staring into the hallway. Shit. How the hell is he going to answer that? Is he referring to the dance at the opening night of the horse show or the palpable tension that has surrounded the former couple whenever they were in close range of each other? Dean doesn’t know, but he has the feeling that the continuation of this conversation is going to be anything but pleasant. Composing himself before he turns back to face his uncle.

     “Nothin’. What do you mean?” He shrugs as the corners of his mouth draw down, pretending to be careless.      “Don’t play dumb, boy. I was born at night, but not last night.” Bobby glares at him knowingly. “Are you messin’ around with her?”      “No,” Dean says firmly, the truth in his words hurting him deep down.      His uncle lifts his chin, holding the cowboy’s gaze while narrowing his eyes. It’s clear that he’s not buying. “You wanna explain then why you two were like two peas in a pot in Flagstaff, but can’t even look at each other now?”

     With his hand still on the door handle, his nephew attempts to keep his act together, but then he sighs. Damn it, he was so close to making it out of this meeting alive. Oh well, what’s one more lecture, right?

     “Look, there’s nothing going on, not anymore. I - uh, I got carried away and I shouldn’t have let it,” he admits. “I broke it off. It won’t happen again.”      “Is this gonna be a problem?” his boss asks sternly. “If you two can’t work together--”      “It isn’t. Garth will supervise her from now on. Just to prevent any issues in the future,” he continues, hoping the fact that they actually discussed how to carry on as colleagues from this point forward will put the concern to rest.

     “There better be a future for her here on this ranch. I can’t afford to lose a free worker, especially not one as skilled as she is,” Bobby warns, not convinced. “I’d pray that she won’t pack her bags if I were you, ‘cause I’ll give ya one guess who’s gonna have to work twice as hard and whose ass I’m gonna bust.”      “She won’t leave,” his head wrangler guarantees, willing to bet his life on it. 

     His promise might seem based on a hopeful hunch, but Y/N hasn’t given Dean any indication to question her professionalism. She even approached him in order to change the conditions of her internship, which couldn’t have been easy for her. Their interaction will be minimized and strictly business from now on, something he reckons she will handle much more gracefully than he will, simply because she has a bigger purpose to focus on. This placement is a stepping stone to her dream of owning her own ranch, and that goal hasn’t changed. He knows she won’t leave Gold Canyon.

     Bobby observes his nephew, still bothered by the fact that he didn’t listen to him when he specifically told the bachelor not to get involved with the intern. He’s going to save the rant for another time, though, the sight of an already dejected man before him having him hold back. It seems like this is doing a number on young fellow, and considering how they were with each other at the horse show this weekend, he’s not surprised. The two reminded him of his twenties when he first got together with his Ellen. The boy is hurting, more than he lets on.      “Alright then. Get goin’, I’ve got bills to pay,” he eventually says, shooing Dean out with a flick of the wrist.

     Relieved that his uncle is cutting him some slack, he nods and silently pulls the door shut, putting a barrier between himself and the conversation he has been dreading for weeks. If only he could be able to tell Bobby that he’s with the girl he’s in love with; he would have taken the grumpy rebuke with a grin on his face. If only.

     While stepping outside, the cowboy pulls his cellphone from his jeans pocket, looking up Jody Mills’ number in his contacts. He begins to slowly stroll back and forth on the porch in its sheltering shade, the floorboards moaning and cracking under his boots as he waits with his Nokia pressed against his ear. The steady tone beeps twice before his friend picks up.      “Hey,” it sounds from the other side of the line. “I was hoping you’d call.”      “Yeah, Bobby told me about Cain,” he returns. “Kinda complicates things, don’t it?”      “I need to listen to me very carefully,” Jody starts, earnest and worried. “Do not take that horse into your stable.”

     The cowboy sighs, glancing over the land while hooking his thumb behind his belt. He figured the female rancher would try to convince him to back off.      “It’s good money, Jody, and I’ve handled difficult cases before. Cain deserves a shot. I have to try.”      “I get it, but hear me out. If Fergus offered you a deal that seems too good to be true, that’s because it is. I know you’re an excellent trainer, hell, the best that I know. But I’m telling you, we’re not talking about a stallion with some authority issues here. That horse is twisted, has wires crossed. I have never seen such behavior,” she presses. “So many people have tried to straighten him out already. I did some digging, and Fergus’ supposedly ‘million dollar prospect’ has moved in and out nine different stables over the past year. No one has succeeded.”

     He ponders, not taking her warning lightly. Jody is an experienced equestrian who has dealt with many tough animals. She even passed some horses on to him when she couldn’t get through to them. The woman is well aware of the limits to her expertise and has always been honest with clients when a horse was too much for her to handle, but never before has she doubted that the wrangler from the Gold Canyon Ranch could do the job.

     “When Gabe got hurt, was it…?” Dean wonders, hesitant, not finishing his sentence.      “It was Cain.”

     He sets his jaw, the muscles flexing under his stubble. Although he assumed it was the stallion who has put his former colleague into the hospital, it still shocks him. He continues to pace the deck in front of the Singer’s home.      “How is he doing?” he wonders.      Jody pulls in a deep breath, the message she’s about to deliver clearly a difficult one. “He’s never gonna walk again. Paralyzed from the waist down.”

     Dean closes his eyes and swallows thickly. It’s the outcome they all feared, but hearing the confirmation makes his gut churn. Losing one's legs is a nightmare for everyone, but for a rider? He can’t possibly picture it, becoming wheelchair-bound. Honestly, he would rather die than to never be able to get in the saddle again.

     “Dean, I know you believe every horse deserves a second chance, but please, let this one go. He is beyond repair. I’m not asking, I’m begging,” she pleads, a tremor in her voice. “If you take on Cain, it’s only a matter of time before you get hurt, or worse.” 

     The words are backed up by a heavy silence. The two stay quiet for a while, the words sinking in with the wrangler. Flight animals fueled by fear can do either two things; run or attack. If getting away from the supposed threat is impossible, they tend to go for the last. It’s not something the horse will even think about; it’s a survival instinct. When a naturally kind creature takes a turn like that, it becomes a thousand-pound killing machine. If Cain is truly that far gone, it is likely that he is indeed beyond saving. The trainer has to see it for himself, though, and not just because the ranch can use the cash. He realizes that if he doesn’t take on this task, someone else will, someone with less experience. If this stallion is really that lethal, the next novice trainer might make an error of judgment that will be his or her last. At least Dean has the skills. It seems like he is Cain’s last resort, because if he isn’t trainable, he will get the bullet at some point. He wouldn’t be the first horse to be put down because of similar problems.

     “Thanks for the warning, Jody,” he responds after a long pause. “I’ll keep it in mind.”      “Dean--”      “I know. I know what you’re gonna say, but if I don’t do this, who knows what might happen to him. I’ve got a week to decide if we wanna go through with it. That’s the least I can do.”      He can hear his friend grunt, frustrated, probably realizing that changing his mind was a long shot to begin with. “Just… be careful, okay?”      “I will, promise,” Dean assures. “Talk to you later.”

     The cowboy hangs up, staring at his phone for a few more seconds before he puts it away and steps out into the sun, heading back to the stables. The admonition continues to ring in his ears, and he allows the caution to imprint the decisions he needs to make in the upcoming days. After all, warned is forearmed.

     Y/N wishes anyone had warned her how painful it is to have her heart broken by the person who made it beat just for him. Maybe she would have been more mindful then, more guarded. Maybe she wouldn’t have let him have it, had she known how careless he would be.

     Around 5 o’clock, her new supervisor said it was okay if she wanted to take her own horse for a ride. Normally she trains Meadow either before or after shift, but she got all the work done at record speed, desperate for a distraction, that all her daily tasks were fulfilled two hours before dinner. Maybe Garth detected that she needed some alone-time with her four-legged friend, because he suggested the ride with a sympathetic smile and a kind nudge, sending her towards the Quarter’s box.

     After straightening out the saddle pad, the cowgirl tightens the cinch. Meadow, who can be a bit of a grumpy mare when it comes to tacking up, stands still without moving a muscle, allowing her owner to ready her for a ride without pulling a prank like she usually does. Sometimes the cheeky horse will try to fish Y/N’s phone from her back pocket, nibble at her hat or her sleeve, or refuse to take a step aside when requested, but not today. Maybe she can sense that such an action could set her human off. 

     The horse accepts the bit when the cowgirl offers it to her, after which she pulls the headpiece over Meadow’s black-tipped ears, securing the straps skillfully. She sniffles, wiping her nose and forcing herself to keep her composure a little while longer. In a few minutes, when she’s away from prying eyes, she will allow to let the tears flow again, but not now, not yet.

     Y/N unties her horse, places her left foot in the stirrup, and swings her right leg over the back of her bay mare, softly landing in the saddle. Picking up the reins, she steers her horse away from the tack up area, the smooth leather between her fingers giving her a sense of control that she’s missing in her love life. 

     Instead of leading Meadow towards the arena, the rider guides her towards the gate that leads to the trail. Her horse had an eventful weekend and gave it her all in competition, so it wouldn’t be fair to put her through a full workout. The performance took a lot out of the willing horse who never seizes to bring her best efforts and more. Even though the freestyle only lasted minutes, the athlete peaked with a brilliant execution of the routine, which takes a lot of skill and strength. Then there’s the ambiance of a show, the new environment, all the sensory overload. The combination of all those factors did a number the Quarter, and she deserves a calm and relaxing ride, much like the young woman she’s carrying on her back. Y/N is in no state to train, well aware that the heightened emotions will get the best of her if something might not work out the way she planned, and that’s not something she wants her companion to bear the consequences of. If anything, Meadow has been absolutely wonderful, seeming to understand that her person is sad and needs someone to lean on.

     After closing the fence behind them, the girl and her horse follow the path that leads towards the hills. Cacti flank the road ahead towards the Superstition Mountains, which stand tall in the backdrop. The beautiful amber colored volcanic rock formations seem even more vibrant now that the setting sun blesses nature with a warm glow. The vegetation is much greener than it was when they searched for the herd of youngsters in the reservoir. Autumn is here, and within a couple of months, the ridges that reach for the sky will be covered in snow. It’s supposed to be a beautiful sight, at least that’s what Dean told her.

     Now that it’s just her and Meadow, Y/N finally allows the suppressed tears to fall. The battle she has been fighting all day is one she knew she would lose eventually, she just wanted to be with her most faithful friend when the levee breaks. She doesn’t even intend to wipe the drops of despair away, knowing that she has to let it out now in order to keep up the facade later. And so the last rays of the day catch the shimmering pathways down her cheeks, similar to how the water cobbled at Willow’s Creek, where she and Dean shared their first kiss. All the memories, those perfect little moments that she thought to cherish forever, they are worth nothing now. It was all just a dream.

     Y/N transits into a slow canter, hoping that the wind in her face will chase the sorrow away. She has to feel something completely opposite to the grief that is ripping her apart. She needs to experience freedom and the bond that comes along with this unique partnership between her and Meadow, the simplicity of moving across the desert like men and their horses have been doing so for centuries. No engines, no computers, no engineering. Just two souls of completely different species merging as one. 

     Resting her free hand on her horse’s neck and gripping the black mane, she pushes her heels into the Quarter’s flanks, aiding her to pick up speed. The bay mare takes over, her rider is no longer in control, but she no longer has to be. Y/N doesn’t need to direct this movie, because she trusts Meadow with her life. If there is any being on the face of the planet that she would follow blindly, it’s her companion. Meadow has never let her down, not once, and her owner knows there will never come a moment when she will. And so she breathes in, welcoming the wind to fill her lungs with newfound courage, brought on by the majestic animal that gallops across the landscape, carrying Y/N on her wings. 

Thank you for reading. I appreciate every single one of you, but if   you do want to give me some extra love, you are free to like or reblog   my work, shoot me a message or buy me coffee (Link to Kofi in bio at the top of the page).

Read part twenty-six here

[shirtlesssammy]

1x21: Salvation

And with this recap, we’ve wrapped season 1.

Now:

Nope, Dad’s not there

Then:

Meg Masters is giving the confession of a lifetime. She then reveals herself to be a demon. The priest runs and tries to barricade himself in... his bunker of knives? Meg catches up to him and demands to know where the Winchesters are. He doesn’t know where they are. She slices his throat open. 

RIP Pastor Jim.

Meanwhile, John Winchester is showing off his best crafting skills. He fills his sons in on the demon he’s been chasing. It’s been burning houses --just like he did their house back in the day. Furthermore: They all have babies that are exactly 6 months old, just like Sam. Sam blames himself for his mother's death (RIP ME). 

Anyway, John notes there were signs before a house burned and he’s found them again in Salvation, Iowa. 

Once in Salvation, John pulls over in a dramatic fashion to announce that Pastor Jim is dead. Signs of a demon were in his place. He doesn’t know if it was THE demon. 

They’ve got work to do in finding all the 6 month old babies in town. He orders his sons to get to work. 

The family Winchester and their Carhartt uniforms con their way into looking at sensitive medical records. Well, Dean relies on his ridiculous good looks to get his way. Sam wins the research battle by getting a flash into the future --and another mother in pink white. He catches a road in the vision and heads to the house.  

He sees the house in his vision, and the mother walking her baby. He runs up to them and introduces himself as a neighbor. Monica and Rosie. Monica reveals that Rosie is exactly 6 months old. Sam tells her to take care and stares creepily from afar as she greets her husband. 

He gets another nightmarish vision.

It segues into a shadowy figure approaching Rosie in her crib. Monica approaches only to get smushed to the ceiling and her belly sliced open. Season one and they’re already recycling storylines, amirite? 

Sam tries telling his brother and dad about the vision.

John jumps down Dean’s throat about not telling him about what Sam’s been going through. AND I’m sharpening my knives right now. Dean stands up for himself, and I couldn’t be more proud. John tells him he’s right --and that little look and swallow of Dean’s? KILL ME. 

Sam gets a call from Meg. She wants to talk to John. Sam tries to lie, but she knows he’s right there so Sam passes the phone over. She reveals she’s got his friend Caleb all tied up. Without much preamble, she slices his throat too. 

John tells Meg that he’s going to kill her. (tbh, I can’t believe she made it a whole 8 years longer than him really.) Meg tells John that until he gives up the Colt, she’s going to kill everyone he knows. 

He agrees to bring her the Colt.

After the phone call they speculate briefly about the true nature of Meg - demon? Or simply possessed by one? Oh, Season One. They make a plan. John’s going to head to Lincoln with a fake Colt and Sam and Dean are going to stay behind and kill themselves a demon with a magical gun. Nobody’s happy about it. “I want to stop losing people we love. I want you to go to school. I want Dean to have a home. I want Mary alive,” John despairs to Sam. Excuse me while I pick up my TV and dash it violently against a wall! Because SAMESIES. 

Behind the railroad trestle of after-Endverse fame, they hold an exchange of weapons. 

John gets a fake Colt. Dean gets THE Colt. We are reminded that there are only FOUR bullets left and no bullets will EVER BE MADE AGAIN (until it’s convenient for the plot.) “You finish what I started,” John orders, and I hiss as I remember the finale yet again.

John arrives early to Lincoln in his ridiculously overcompensating muscle truck. He creeps into the factory’s bones, prowling along the pipes and preparing for his rendezvous. Meg arrives, oblivious to John skulking above her on the roof, where he’s blessing a water cistern on the top of the building. 

Outside Monica’s house, Dean and Sam brainstorm ways to save the day. They wish their dad was there. (Single man tear, I guess!) Sam gets emotional about facing the big bad demon AT LAST. He thanks Dean for always having his back, and Dean repays him with a stern lecture about not delivering farewell speeches. 

Meg greets John and even though I’m always like WHO IS THIS BLONDE CHICK WHERE’S MY MEG -- she’s looking fierce. 

She demands the Colt from John. Oh, and if he decides to shoot her with it instead, John’s going to have to contend with another rando demon after she dies. Demon Number Two saunters in like a CW show Young Business Executive and takes the gun with a smirk. With little dialogue and no preamble, he shoots Meg in the gut. While she grouses about the bullet, Demon Number Two pronounces the gun to be fake! Ruh roh, John. He scuttles into the back network of utility hallways he scouted out earlier, and then releases the floodwater of holy water he’d prepared. 

“Holy water, John? Real cute,” Meg says, as John scampers back outside, where he discovers that the demons slashed the tires on his truck. He swears, and heads BACK into the factory maze, while I yell at him to drive on his flats and destroy his truck! Doesn’t he know there are demons after him?

Back on the hunt, Dean and Sam fret over their father’s fate, but there’s no time for that. DEMON OMENS ARRIVE. Lights flicker, the radio buzzes, and the wind picks up. SO DRAMATIC. The Winchesters break into Monica’s house. Almost immediately, they get attacked by the dad with a baseball bat. He shouts at his wife to grab the baby from the nursery. This is going well! Sam races upstairs and faces ol’ Yellow Eyes just as he’s midway through the act of raising Monica to the ceiling. Sam takes a shot and Yellow Eyes immediately poofs out like a magician. Dean grabs the baby just in the nick of time.

The second floor of the house explodes in flame just as they escape. Briefly, they see the demon standing in the flaming room and Dean has to hold Sam back from plunging inside after him. SAM PLZ. 

Meanwhile, John gets magically pinned to a wall by Demon Number Two. 

Back at the motel, Dean calls John’s cell and gets his voicemail. He frets that John’s in trouble. I use this moment to cattily comment on how John never answers Dean’s calls anyway, so how could Dean even assume that? Sam doesn’t care. He wishes that Dean had let him run in after the demon!

Dean tells Sam that hunting Yellow Eyes isn’t worth getting himself killed, and Dean’s going to fight like hell to keep Sam safe. Mom and Jess are dead and throwing Sam’s life away to avenge them won’t bring them back. Sam takes this reliably well.

Dean won’t back down. “Three of us. That’s all we have,” he says with a tremor in his voice. “That’s all I have.” He confesses how on-the-edge he feels. How nearly alone, with only Sam and John in his life. 

Sam and Dean call John again, and the phone rings and rings. Meg picks up, and promises that Sam and Dean will never see John Winchester again.

Quotaphobia:

Dad, I called you from Lawrence, alright? Sam called you when I was dying. I mean...getting you on the phone? I got a better chance of winning the lottery

You make every shot count

Don't say ‘just in case something happens to you.’ I don't wanna hear that freaking speech, man

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[echo-three-one]

Chapter 27

Who's still reading this? Have fun!

CW : character death (This spoils a lot I'm sorry but I have to put it.)

THE ROAD SO FAR

Previous Chapter : What's behind door number two?

Staying in Shape

John Price

MacTavish Residence, Glasgow, Scotland

It has been almost three days since the culmination of the New York Attack and most of his contacts regarding Nero and Shepherd's movements were quiet. He was getting anxious to step back into the fight, but without sufficient intel, or even better weapons, they couldn't do anything.

Price scanned the room, everyone else started to pair up with each other, a dynamic he expected to happen anytime soon. With all the challenges they've been through, finding love within each other was inevitable. And Price was fine by that. Heck, when he was younger, he had his fair share of romance during missions.

With the thought of Nero and Shepherd resurfacing any moment soon, Price devised a plan, to keep his crew in shape and always prepared to deploy as soon as sufficient intel is presented.

With the help of Jack, they created a training and endurance exercise schedule, where the soldiers, including Price himself, would follow to still continue to stay in shape and prepared for battle. They asked permission from Soap who was more than willing to help, an excited grin all over his face.

"I'll help you set up." he said, gaining a nod from the old man.

"France will train at the basement gym." He added and Soap nodded.

From that moment, the team started training, improving their physical abilities and endurance. Weapons training wasn't possible at the moment as they left it all in Brazil.

Jack overlooked the team from afar, Samantha and Maxine were at the gym helping out France's version of the training. They did the regular set of training from standard 141 protocol, using everyday materials in exchange for some of the equipment Soap didn't own. Price also instructed a specific dietary plan for the soldiers instead of just eating whatever they liked.

While on break, the two girls, Samantha and Maxine approached Price with an excited look in their eyes. Priced raised an eyebrow and asked what they were up to.

"Everyone's doing their best and We both wanted to offer our help." Samantha explained as Maxine inserted.

"We'd like to apply as the team's dietician and health consultant. My resumé is that I have vast knowledge in cooking along with their nutritional information." She grinned.

"And Samantha here has little background on tending to physical wounds and pain. You could see how fast Alex's face healed!" Maxine added. Price was more than happy to accept their offer, it goes to show that they were willing to give whatever it takes for the people and cause they cared about.

"Alright. Guess you're both hired." he chuckled as the two cheered and made their way to their respective 'partners', probably out to share the good news.

Wiping his sweaty forehead with a towel, he looked around the main room where everybody was. Jack was by the office, looking up something on the laptop or probably just playing solitaire. Soap and France were at the gazebo, he could barely see them by the angle he's at but he couldn't miss that flashy mohawk.

To his left, he saw Samantha sitting on Alex's lap as she carefully cleaned Alex's bruise, Roach sat on the other end of the sofa, chugging a bottle of Gatorade while Maxine stood behind him, he could barely hear it, but it looked like the newly hired dietician was already lecturing him about the benefits of said drink, saying the word 'electrolytes' somewhere in the sentence.

He felt proud that this team stood by him ever since he made that choice. He was very grateful that he had someone whom he shared common goals with.

"Price. It's for you." Jack called from the office, causing him to immediately get up and answer the call.

"Aye, this is Price. Got anything for me?" he muttered.

"John. Looks like your friend is on the move." Kate Laswell spoke on the other end of the line, her voice was authoritative as always.

"Which one?" he chuckled, it was about time he received some news.

"Shadow Company. Looks like they're brave using the same car again. Same plate and all." she informed, giving Price the last route they went before going cold once again. It led them to an empty warehouse just by the docks.

"Just what are these bastards up to…" he muttered.

"I have no idea. Think you'll do recon? It doesn't strike as a threat to warrant an official team, this leads really calling your name, John."

Laswell hinted. Despite him being out of the force and one of Fbi's most wanted, Kate insisted to use such perk for further trapping the suspicious Shepherd.

"I worked hard forming the 141 and he easily disbands it like it's nothing…" she added, her voice sounded very bitter.

"Now now, Kate. Take it easy. We'll get him. He's bound to fuck up anytime soon. Keep in touch, mkay?" he said as they both said their goodbyes and ended the call.

"A little recon mission won't hurt, right?" he nudged to Jack who grinned proudly at the solitaire victory screen, cards bounced all around the edges of the screen.

John Price found himself unable to sleep. It was either he's actually excited to do some missions or he's too worried about what they're about to discover, what would Shadow Company be up to and what is the quiet Nero planning behind the scenes? His thoughts raced to a dozen possibilities, all calling for drastic measures and sacrifices. He knew he had allies by his side, allies that are always ready to do whatever it takes to fix this mess.

He lazily dragged his feet to get a glass of water in the kitchen, despite being huge, the house was awfully quiet. Too quiet that he could hear every soft rustling from the halls.

He wasn't one to eavesdrop but he couldn't help but hear soft murmuring near MacTavish's bedroom.

"So.. um.. same time tomorrow?" said a low Scottish voice a chuckle followed. It was obviously Soap and Price thought only enemies were doing something behind the scenes.

"You wish.." a female voice giggled.

"But seriously… Thanks for tonight John." she added.

"No problem, Francine. So.. what's stopping you from staying overnight?" he chuckled. Price knew this was wrong but his glass of water was still half full.

"You know that I'd love to… but Maxine also needs me right now. Especially that she's slowly recovering bits and pieces of the past." she reasoned and Price knew it was time to head back to his room quietly.

Maxine Winters

MacTavish Residence, Glasgow, Scotland

It felt real. She looked around and felt that this was more than just an ordinary dream. The vision was too dark with a small ray of light peeking from the slightly ajar door.

She knew where this was. She liked hiding here, her parent's closet.

She was waiting for Francine to find her, Francine always knew where she hid. But in this certain memory, she wasn't there.

She giggled quietly and hushed herself as soon as the door opened, France was going to find her. But instead, what she heard was her Dad saying words of assurance followed by heavy breathing. She was curious enough to peek through the small opening.

Her dad carried her Mom to the bed, his hands held hers tight, wiping the sweat off her forehead as her chest rose and fell quickly, her breath was labored and her eyes looked tired.

"Hang in there, love. The doctor's on the way." his father assured, making his wife comfortable as they wait for help to arrive.

"I don't think I can make it anymore…" She whispered.

"No no no. Don't do this to me Coraline, don't you want to see our angels grow up?" he sobbed, tears fell on her hands as he kissed it. Maxine remained still, she wanted to cry but she just sat inside the closet, peeking, frozen in a mix of fear and worry.

"I do , Love … but it looks like my body can't make it to that day… I'm sorry…"

"Don't! Please Coraline, stay strong, for me… for the kids…"

"I am… and I know that you know it." she exhaled, panting heavily after the last sentence. Her Dad hugged her until her breathing stabilized, while Coraline weakly raised her hand and hugged him back.

"Promise me you'll see the kids grow up…

Promise me to tell them how much I love them every single day…

And promise me that you'll never forget how much I loved you… Francis Maximus Winters." tears fell from her tired eyes. Her dad held her cheek and wiped it off, sobbing as she slowly closed them.

"I'm not sure if I could keep all of those promises… but I will try… I love you Coraline Winters, I always have and I always will, until the time we'll meet again." he muttered. Maxine witnessed it all, the way her father's face frowned when he realized he just lost his wife. It was one of her saddest memories.

~

Maxine gasped and opened her eyes, touching her face as soon as they opened. Tears. She was crying while asleep. She flicked the lamp and looked around her, France wasn't around. Just as she pulled the sheets so she could leave the bed, the door knob slowly turned and a soft creak was heard. It was Francine.

"France!" Maxine gasped and immediately ran to her side, hugging her tight as she began crying. France smelled different, almost masculine, but she didn't mind.

"Max! What happened? Are you okay?" France quickly hugged her, rubbing her back as she quietly bawled out her emotions.

"I saw… " She panted.

"I saw… Mom…"

"Mom died…" She exhaled as Francine escorted her downstairs to the kitchen, grabbing a glass of water to calm her heart.

"You were in the closet. We were supposed to be playing hide and seek." France muttered as Maxine turned to her.

"Francis… Maximus Winters." she recalled.

"That's dad's name. It's quite long, right? Mom actually liked him because of it." France enlightened, trying to make Max calm down.

"Yeah… is he ?" Max asked.

"Yeah… but he's kinda forgot about us now. Every time we visit he just looks for Coraline."

"Mom."

"Yes."

"He kept his promise." Max said.

"Huh?" France tilted her head.

"Mom's last words. Promise me you'll see the kids grow up…

Promise me to tell them how much I love them every single day…

And promise me that you'll never forget how much I loved you…" Max recalled from her dream and as more words were added, France's sobs were louder.

"He… he did them all…" France cried as they both hugged each other. And it was the moment that Maxine remembered what France looked like when they first met, her smile… It was the smile of someone who was finally reunited with her only family, and it was painful how the only ones she could cling to couldn't remember her.

"What's that smell?" Maxine asked as she killed the mood of the sisterly hug. France's face turned red, even in the dimly lit room, Max could tell that she was blushing.

"N-Nothing… I don't smell anything." She laughed nervously.

"I swear I passed by that scent somewhere…" she looked at her suspiciously and laughed, shrugging it off which actually made France relax her shoulders.

"Let's go back to sleep." Maxine invited her sister and they both got back to their room.

Next Chapter : Docked and Loaded

Notification Squad my Beloved

@beemybee @enderio @smokeywhalee @samatedeansbroccoli @whimsywispsblog @ricinbach

[atc74]

Legacy

Square Filled: Futuristic!AU for @spnaubingo

Warnings: Angst...a lot of angst, **spoilers for S14**

Summary: Mary Campbell didn’t want to be a hunter. She wanted that apple pie life with John Winchester, but one yellow eyed demon ruined all that. Can a glimpse into her future change a single moment in time?

Pairing: none (Young Mary x John mentioned)

Word Count: 1901

Written for: @spnaubingo

Beta’d by: @hannahindie thank you love

A/N: I took some creative liberties here with the term AU. We all know what happened when Zachariah sent Dean five years into the future for the Endverse!AU and I thought it would be a different take to see it from Mary’s perspective. I hope you like it. Your feedback is my motivation!

Buy Sam, Dean and Mary here from @scentsfromthebunker for an all new fan experience!

“Nooooooo! John, no!” Mary Campbell wept over her new fiance’s limp body, his neck snapped at the hands of the yellow eyed demon.

“Hello, Mary,” the sweet voice broke through her sobs. The world around her had gone still. Her father’s wounded body loomed over her, frozen, with the demon still trapped inside him.  

“Who are you?” She gasped.

“My name is Jessica. I’m a reaper. We have to hurry before Death finds out I’m here,” Jessica warned Mary.

“A reaper? What are you doing here? What do you want?” She demanded.

Jessica grabbed Mary by the wrist and the world spun beneath her.

~*~

“Sam I don’t know what’s going on, but something is going on,” the blond woman whispered into the device in her hand, perched in the dark stairwell.

Mary Campbell looked around the wooden home. There was a man at the stove. His back was to her, but he wore a burgundy button down, denim blue jeans and sensible work boots. A bell went off and he reached into the oven, removing a casserole dish and carried it to the table. It wasn’t until he turned around that she saw his face.

“Dean?” She questioned, her hand flying to her mouth. She had just seen Dean earlier that evening when he left her parents home. This man looks like Dean, but he had aged in the mere hours since she had seen him last.

“Yes, Mary. That is Dean. But he can’t hear you, or see you,” Jessica explained to her.

“Then why did you bring me here, Jessica?” Mary turned on the reaper.

“Think of me as a crystal ball,” she reminded the young blonde hunter.

~*~

Dean and the blonde woman laughed while they shared their meal, reminiscing about old times. Dean told a story about his younger brother and the woman turned quiet.

“Sometimes I forget just how much I missed while I was gone,” she said. “And how much the two of you just…”

“But you’re here now, right?” Dean smiled. “And even though the last couple of years have been a little rough, just knowing that you’re around, that you’re alive...Mom, that’s meant everything to me. And everything to Sam.” He cleared his throat, looking around the table. “And how great is this, hm? You, me, sitting here, eating the real thing, not some bologna version of Winchester Surprise? You know, we’re not fighting any monsters. There’s-there’s no clouds on the horizon.”

Mary Campbell gasped, her hand flying to her mouth. Did he just say Winchester Surprise? She looked over at Jessica in shock. This woman was Dean’s mother. That meant...oh no. Her gut wrenched as she turned her attention back to the two of them.

“Dean? Dean, whatever you’re going through, you can talk to me,” his mother told him warmly, concern filled her voice and her soft features. She reminded Mary of her own mother, kind and ready to give someone her full attention.

Mary knew that the hunting life wasn’t easy, but she wonders what happened in Dean’s life since the last time she saw him.

“I just saw him. He looks ragged and tired. I’ve seen this look on hunters after too many years,” Mary whispered. “What happened to him?” She looked to Jessica for answers.

“This is the same Dean that you met, just days ago in your world, Mary. But he’s not the same. Dean was sent back to your time by an angel of the Lord to try to stop a demon. He failed and this is what his life became. The year is 2019, Mary. I’ve brought you to the future,” Jessica divulged.

“Everyone keeps asking how I am, and how I am...is I don’t wanna talk about it,” Dean implored with sorrow and sadness in his eyes. “Please.”

His mother didn’t speak, just agreed with a small nod of her head.

Mary blinked back tears at the interaction between the mother and son. Whatever it was that was going on caused him tremendous pain.

Through her blurred vision, the room flipped and now they were in some type of out building. The man’s mother bent over the table, examining the ancient tomes on the workbench. “No. No, no, no, no.” She whispers.

The ground shifted and Mary saw Dean running frantically out of the cabin. He stopped, gun ready at his side, until a twig snapped behind him. He swings wide, his gun aimed and finger poised for any potential threat.

“Hey! Whoa! Easy!” Shouted another man, hands in the air, showing he means no harm.

Dean recognized the man and lowers his weapon, a look of disbelief on his face.

“Dean, what’s going on here?” The taller man asked.

“It’s mom. She’s gone,” Dean revealed.

Mary and Jessica are back in the cabin. Another woman, a police officer, had joined the Dean and the man Mary assumes is his brother, they way the conversed about the missing woman.

Another gut wrenching shift and Mary was back in the storage shed, Jessica at her side. She glanced from one man to the other, the tension between them was heavy. It filled the room and was stifling as she watched the interaction.

‘It’s a Malock box, secured and warded. Once inside, nothing gets out,” Dean informed Sam. “Not even an archangel. Especially not an archangel.”

“Yeah, yeah, I’ve read ab-about these...b-but no one’s ever...they’re impossible to build,” Sam muttered.

“Yeah, well, not so much,” Dean stood on the other side of the box, looking Sam in the eye.

“That’s your plan? You-you want to be buried alive?” Sam theorized, shock in his voice.

“Well, buried’s not safe enough. Plan is, pay a little hush money, charter a boat to take me out to the Pacific,” Dean revealed. “Splash.”

“You and Michael, trapped? Together? For eternity?” Sam challenged.

“Yeah,” Dean answered with determination.

“You do realize how insane this is, right?” Sam pointed out.

“It’s the only sane play I’ve got,” Dean maintained. The look on Sam’s face compelled him to continue. “Michael gets out? That’s it for this world. And he will get out.”

“But how do you know that for su-?” Sam started.

“Because I do,” Dean interjected, his hand up to stop Sam from speaking. “Because I can feel him in my head! That door is giving. I can feel it giving!”

“But there has to be another way,” Sam argued.

“There’s not, okay?” Dean asserted. “Sam, you’ve tried. Cas has tried. Jack...and I love you for trying, but none of it’s going to work.”

“We don’t know that!” Sam shouted.

“Yeah, we do,” Dean looked down.

“What?” Sam asked, his mind still struggled to wrap around his brothers insane plan.

“Billie,” Dean uttered.

“Billie?” Sam echoed.

“She paid me a little visit. She said there’s only one way this ends right,” Dean explained, slamming his fist down on the metal box for emphasis. “And this is it. This right here. This...box.”

Sam stood there, staring at his brother, his face scrunched in dubiety.

“So she gave up the special recipe and all I had to do was the work. It’s fate,” Dean said.

“Since when do we believe in fate?” Sam scoffed.

“Now, Sam. Since now,” Dean shook his head.

Sam was the one shaking his head now. “So you came out here...to see Donna? To see mom? On some, what, some sick secret farewell tour?” Sam bellowed at his brother. “You were gonna leave...and you weren’t even going to tell me. Me. Do you realize how messed up that is? How unfair that is?” He was shouting now.

“I didn’t have a choice!” Dean shouted back. “Sam, you’re the last person I could tell. The last person I could be around, because you’re the only person that could’ve talked me out of it!”

Dean composed himself and continued. “And I won’t be talked out of it. I won’t. I’m doing this. Now, you can either let me do it alone...or you could help me. But I’m doing this.”

Dean bowed his head, his hands flat on the box as Sam contemplated his options. Mary saw the turmoil as it moved through him. His face spoke a million questions and emotions all at once.

“Alright,” Sam conceded his fight with one simple word and Dean let out the breath he didn’t know he was holding.

The ground quaked under Mary’s feet and she found herself back in 1973. She stood over John’s dead body, tears streamed down her face.

“Why?! Why did you take me there? Why would you make me witness that?” Mary screamed at the reaper.

“You need to know that every action has an opposite and equal reaction, Mary,” Jessica reminded her.

“Yeah, I got it Einstein. I paid attention in science class. What does any of that have to do with me?” She got in Jessica’s face, demanding answers.

“Tonight, right here, right now, when I am gone, you will make a decision that will haunt those people for the rest of their lives, you included,” the reaper disclosed. “I’m not allowed to interfere, but over the years I have grown very fond of Sam and Dean Winchester, so I think you know why I took you on that little excursion.”

“They’re not-they can’t be…” Mary whispered, her head shaking in denial.

“But they are Mary. And that will be you in forty six years, give or take. Your sons have both been possessed by archangels. Sam by the devil himself. Dean was possessed by Michael, who tortured him for weeks! He wants to burn humanity to the ground!

“You will say one word in minutes, setting the dominoes in motion that will fall for eternity. You made a deal with demon and your sons will pay for your sins with their lives! Think about your life Mary. Your sons lives. Is that the legacy you want to leave for them?” With a blink Jessica was gone and Mary collapsed to the ground next to John.

“I’ll tell you what. I’ll arrange to have lover boy here brought back breathing,” the yellow eyed demon promised with her father’s voice and body.

“What? And all it costs is my soul?” Mary asked.

“Oh no, you can keep that. I just need permission,” he sneered. “I’ll swing by your house in ten years for a little something, that’s all,” he told her.

“For what?” Mary cried.

“Relax. Relax. As long as I’m not interrupted, nobody gets hurt, I promise...Or you can spend the rest of your life desperate and alone,” the demon chuckled.

Mary sobbed, holding tighter to John’s body.

“It’s a good deal, Mary. So what do you say?” The demon asked impatiently.

A car sputtered in the distance.

“Yes,” Mary cried.

The yellow eyed demon crashed his lips to hers, sealing the deal. He pulled away and smoked out, leaving her dead father’s body on the ground.

“No!” A voice shouted.

Mary looked from her father's body to John’s and back to the man still screaming no.

A gasp came from her lap. John sat up, confused. “Mary?”

“John?!” She threw her arms around his neck and looked back at the man one more time. He was getting closer with each step. “I’m sorry, Dean.” She mouthed and buried her face in the collar of John’s leather jacket.

Did you like it? The nicest thing you can do for a writer is reblog their work and tell them, and others, how much you like it!

The Whole Enchilada: @iwantthedean @dolphincliffs @mrswhozeewhatsis @meganwinchester1999 @cherrycokegirls1 @closetspngirl  @roxyspearing @flamencodiva @blacktithe7 @sis-tafics @just-another-busy-fangirl @evansrogerskitten @amanda-teaches @hannahindie @wotinspntarnation​ @winchesterprincessbride @winecatsandpizza @kickingitwithkirk  @deanwinchesterswitch @wi-deangirl77 @hobby27 @mogaruke  @gh0stgurl

The Dean’s List: @jerkbitchidjitassbutt @dean-winchesters-bacon @maddiepants @thing-you-do-with-that-thing @supernatural-jackles  @docharleythegeekqueen @adoptdontshoppets @mtngirlforever 

[swimmingwolf59]

It’s Just the Strangest Thing, I’ve Seen Your Face Somewhere

(A/N) It didn't take me as long as I thought to get this up, so hooray! I may be able to get back on schedule by tomorrow~

Title of this story comes from the song "Do You Know Me" by John Mayer

The first time Ronan met Adam, Adam saved him from drowning.

It had been one of those nightmares that had been occurring more and more often the more Ronan came to terms with the fact that his father was dead. The kind where Ronan dreamed he was dying in some painful, gruesome way—like he was sure his father had—and he didn’t really want it to stop. Most of the time, he was alright with it happening. Sometimes, he wished it would work in real life as well.

In this particular variation, he had been running from night horrors, their claws scraping at the air inches from his back, when he’d stumbled over a cliff that he hadn’t been able to see until it was right under his feet. He’d fallen into a pool of water which had immediately turned into acid as soon as he’d felt relieved that it was only water.

The acid had burned his lungs, his eyes, his skin until everything felt hot and painful. He couldn’t breathe; he couldn’t scream. He attempted to swim, but he couldn’t tell which way was up through the pain, and he doubted his dream would let him reach the surface, anyway.

But then, vines curled around his body and he was suddenly hoisted out of the pool.

He flew through the air for a couple of seconds before he landed on the shore with a painful thud that took all of what little remaining air there was from his lungs. For a while he just laid there on his back, gasping and writhing from the pain that still assaulted his body.

What…what the hell just happened?

“Are you okay?” someone shouted and Ronan spooked so badly he nearly fell back into the acid pool.

Glancing wildly around, his eyes caught on a figure picking their way carefully down the cliff Ronan had fallen off of. On closer inspection, he was a boy, probably somewhere around Ronan’s age, with dirt-blonde hair and freckles that Ronan could see all the way from where he was still lying on the ground.

Ronan noticed him immediately, but he shelved the thought away before he could linger on it.

Sitting up, Ronan spat out a mouthful of acid. He glared as the strange boy came to a stop on the opposite side of the pool. He didn’t seem like a night horror in disguise, but… “Who the fuck are you?!”

The boy looked appalled. “’Who the fuck am I’? Who the fuck are you?”

“I’m Ronan,” he said, tilting his head up. When he said Ronan, he meant venomous snake.

“…I didn’t expect you to actually give me your name,” the boy admitted, something of a smirk on his face. “I’m Adam.”

Adam.

“What are you doing here?” Ronan demanded. “I’ve never seen anyone else in this forest.”

Adam rose an eyebrow. “I didn’t know dreams came with predetermined backstories, but alright. This is my first time here. And I’m apparently saving dream-boys from dying.”

“I’m not a dream,” Ronan snarled. “You’re the dream.”

Adam scoffed. “Right, because I definitely didn’t come to this forest in real life and then dream about it—and you—later.”

Ronan stood and stalked around the pool; he needed to intimidate Adam with his height. Adam was actually fairly tall himself when Ronan made his way over, but Ronan still had a couple of inches on him and knew how to use them. He towered over Adam and growled, “I’m not sure if my message was reaching you from all the way across the acid-pool, but I’m accusing you of being a dream. Dreams don’t usually accuse the dreamers of being dreams.”

“Then by that logic, doesn’t that mean we’re both dreamers?” Adam argued. “Because I’m also accusing you of being a dream.”

Ronan considered this. He hated that he was failing to intimidate Adam, but he was also intrigued by it. “No, because I refuse to share my title.”

“Why do you get the title?” Adam demanded.

“Because I was here first, as demonstrated by my act earlier.” Ronan gestured at the acid-pool. “I call it ‘Dying in Acid’.”

“How poetic,” Adam snorted before he frowned slightly. “But seriously, if we really are both real, we can’t just be dreaming the same dream.”

“Maybe you can’t, but I don’t follow the rules,” Ronan retorted. Something convulsed in his chest when Adam actually laughed at this.

In some ways, Adam the dream might be worse than the night horrors.

“Alright then ‘Mr. Dreamer’,” Adam taunted, a grin on his face as he threw himself down onto the grass and rested back on his elbows. “Convince me that you’re real. Tell me about your life.”

And since it was really only a dream anyway, Ronan did. He told him about his mom and his brothers and how his father had died recently. He told him about Gansey and Noah and the extremely old industrial building that they all called home. He told him about Aglionby and how much he hated it and how he wanted nothing more than to go home. It was more than he’d ever opened up to anyone before.

But it was all just inside his head, so it didn’t really count.

“I go to Aglionby too,” Adam said when Ronan was done. “I don’t remember seeing you around, though.”

“That sounds like something a dream would say,” Ronan accused. The thing in his chest convulsed again as Adam laughed. He was worried this was becoming a reoccurring thing. “How do I know you didn’t just hear me say Aglionby and decide it was where you went, too?”

“Because I’m real and I really do go there!” Adam insisted. “I bike to school and go to classes, and then I go to work, do homework—”

Ronan reared back. “You do homework?”

“So not the point, Ronan,” Adam said but he was laughing again, and that was all Ronan needed, really. “Look, I have Latin with Whelk, history with Greenmantle, math with—”

“Okay, okay, we don’t need to talk about math,” Ronan grumbled, waving him off. Adam’s smirk was incriminating. “I also have Latin and history with those bozos.”

“Now, that sounds like something a dream would say,” Adam said and laughed yet again when Ronan pushed him playfully.

He feared he was dangerously starting to like Adam.

When Ronan woke that morning, he had a smile on his face. He couldn’t really remember what the dream had been about, but it must not have been about him dying for once. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d had a good dream. Gansey would be ecstatic.

…If only he could remember what the dream had been about.

--

 Adam’s entire life changed the day he’d wandered into the forest.

It hadn’t been anything purposeful, which often seemed to be the case when it came to major life-altering events. Adam had just been trying to get away: away from his father, away from the trailer park, away from the blood and ache all over his body, away from the fury and dust that rested in his bones.

It had been a horrible night. His father had won a big bonus at his job but, characteristically, instead of saving it or using it to buy groceries, he’d gambled it. Had boasted that he would win the lottery with it, could feel it in the tips of his fingers.

To no one’s surprise but Robert Parrish’s, he’d lost it. Majorly. And he’d come home drunk and furious about it. He’d beaten out his frustrations on his son, throwing things and swinging punches and kicks until it felt like there wasn’t a single part of Adam’s body that didn’t hurt. He hadn’t expected it to be so bad, but after a full ten minutes of it with no sign of reprieve he’d known that staying in the double-wide would be suicide. Leaving the double-wide was also suicide, but at least then Adam had a chance of slipping back in when his father was passed out and avoiding the rest of the storm.

So he’d ran. He’d reached for the doorknob and sprinted out the door, racing for his bike and pedaling as furiously as he could away from his father’s bellows. Robert was drunk enough that he probably wouldn’t remember Adam’s panicked flight response in the morning, but Adam still felt terrified as he biked along, too scared to look behind him, too scared of how much trouble he would be in tomorrow.

He’d been so scared he hadn’t been able to pay attention to where he was going. He hadn’t even noticed the shift from pavement to dirt roads as he somehow strayed from the main road and entered the forest.

He only noticed when his front tire ran solidly into a log in the path and his bike flipped up and over, him along with it.

He landed hard on his back, all of the breath leaving him as even more pain pulsed through his body. It was agonizing; it didn’t seem possible that he could tolerate it all. The fall jarred his body so much that his wounds from yesterday reopened, spilling over his hands and the ancient gauze he had wrapped it with earlier. He laid there, bleeding and in pain, and, because there was no one around to care, let himself cry, begging for the agony to stop. He wanted to stop being punished for things he didn’t do. He wanted to stop being in pain, and being afraid of being in pain.

He would give anything.

And suddenly, the world shifted. The pain left his body. Mad whispers spoke into the ear he thought he’d never hear from again. Vines trailed up and along his body, probing and caressing, and his wounds healed before his eyes. He heard leaves rustling and saw visions of trails of energy, blackened and dark in some places, blocked by something.

He didn’t fully understand what his side of the bargain was, but as he laid there, communicating with the forest for the first time, he knew he had made a bargain.

He just wasn’t sure with what.  

That night, once he’d gathered the courage to go back, he’d had a wonderful dream, though the next morning he couldn’t remember a thing about it—just that it, for once, wasn’t about his dad’s fists. This happened every day for a week, and didn’t seem close to stopping. He was glad, because he no longer went to bed afraid. He felt less rested though, probably because now he had the forest tapping into his energy, trying to communicate with him, asking for help. Now, immediately after school and a shift at Boyd’s he had to bike over to the forest and move rocks, tree logs, or whatever else the forest deemed out of place. He still didn’t understand what he was doing or why, but the forest seemed to be keeping its end of the bargain; the next time his father tried to hit him, thorns embedded themselves into his fist and he withdrew, staring wide-eyed at his son like he didn’t know who he was.

Unknowable.

So during the day Adam moved rocks and at night he entered the forest in his dreams and hung out with Ronan. He could never remember Ronan until he was asleep, a fact which he found annoying every time he dreamt.

“I wanted to look for you at school, but I never remember you until I’m back in a dream,” Adam told him. They were sitting by a river that flowed gold, skipping rocks that were as dark blue as cobalt and clumsily attempting to catch rainbow fish with their bare hands.

“I never remember you, either,” Ronan replied, on his hands and knees as he attempted to snap for a fish with his teeth.

They’d more or less gotten to the point where they accepted, sort of, that the other person was real. Or at least that they would never be able to prove they weren’t real so it didn’t matter. Adam was still skeptical, though – he couldn’t prove that Ronan wasn’t just another byproduct of the deal he’d made with Cabeswater. Because after all, having a friend did ease his pain. Going to sleep with warm dreams ahead made him less afraid.

And he honestly doubted anyone like Ronan could exist in the real world anyway. Devilishly handsome but soft as a puppy on the inside, fiercely loyal, and outrageously funny. He could get Adam sprawled on his back, gasping for breath through his laughter, in a matter of seconds. Adam hardly even smiled around other people.

He was worried he was becoming way too attached to someone who may or may not be real.

“What if we tried to leave a note for our awake selves?” Adam suggested as he sat down on the bank of the river and stuck his feet in the water, having given up on fishing for now. “It could say, ‘look for Ronan Lynch at Aglionby – you know him’.”

“Seriously? That would freak me the fuck out if I woke up and saw a note like that,” Ronan said. He nearly toppled into the river as he leaned too far forward and Adam had to reach out to grab his arm to steady him. Ronan’s skin was warm under his palm, incredibly warm. “And how are we supposed to leave the note? You going to tattoo the words on my body?”

Adam made a frustrated noise in the back of his throat. “Well we should at least try something.”

Ronan plopped down onto the bank next to him. “I don’t know man, does it really matter?”

Pain stabbed Adam’s chest. “…Do you not want to know me in real life?”

“No, I mean yes fuck, of course I do, I just…” Ronan glanced to the side, the back of his neck pink. “…You wouldn’t like me in real life.”

“Why not?”

“Because, I can’t express myself well and I don’t usually want to. You’d probably think I was an asshole.”

“Don’t worry, Ronan, I already think you’re an asshole.” Adam grinned as Ronan reached behind him without looking and smacked him in the arm. Ronan’s whole body was turned away from him now, embarrassed and defensive. Adam knew Ronan found conversations like this difficult, even in dreams, so he said, “But seriously, you probably wouldn’t like me either, then. I’d never tell you anything about me but get angry that you didn’t know and swear at you or something.”

Ronan snorted before glancing over his shoulder. The way he did it was almost shy. “Honestly, we sound like a perfect match.”

Adam smiled and moved closer, drawing his knees up to his chest. “You’re the only person who knows anything about me, and that’s why I want to know you when we’re awake too, no matter how much of an asshole you are.”

He’d even told Ronan about his dad because there was no reason not to – even if Ronan was real, he probably couldn’t remember Adam when he woke up either. Even knowing it was safe, though, it had been terrifying opening up. He’d suspected it had been that way for Ronan too, when he’d talked about his own father and his brutal death. But they’d done it, and had grown closer because of it.

He didn’t want that to all be in their heads.

Ronan considered what Adam had said before he finally turned back around. “Okay. But I still don’t know how we’re going to leave a note without fucking carving words into our bodies. And I’ve already carved enough shit into my body.”

He meant his attempted suicide a few years before, and possibly his tattoo. Not wanting to think about how he’d almost lost the person he’d come to care for so much before he even knew him—and not knowing what to do about the whole message thing—Adam asked, “Speaking of which, can I see your tattoo again?”

“You really have an obsession with it, don’t you?” Ronan teased, but yanked off his tank and let Adam look, as he always did.

Adam stared at the ink carved into his skin, getting lost in it as he always did. It was beautiful and complicated; vines and thorns and ravens chased each other and melded together in an intricate dance that Adam never got tired of watching. He had a feeling he could stare at this tattoo every day for the rest of his life and still never see all of it.

He loved it, and something inside of him ached.

He reached out to touch it, against all better judgement, and woke up.

--

 Ronan had known for some time now that he was gay, he’d just never acknowledged it until recently.

It had taken a long time for him to get over the ingrained belief that it was wrong, bred into him from going to church his whole life and the general views of society. He remembered distinctly a conversation he’d had with Declan when they were younger—when Declan was going through puberty and Ronan was not—where Declan had gone on and on about how great and pretty girls were. 8-year-old Ronan had said, “I don’t like girls”, probably to get his brother to shut up more than anything, and Declan had said “you will soon.”

Of course, Ronan never did grow to like girls in that way, but he didn’t admit to himself that maybe he was different until he nearly got a boner watching Thor with Gansey. After that point, it was impossible to hide it from himself.

So yeah, he was gay.

He still didn’t quite believe it wasn’t wrong to be that way.

He figured Adam was God’s punishment because he was witty and attractive and Ronan loved everything about him, which was pretty messed up considering that Adam was only a dream, no matter how real he insisted he was. His sole purpose was to torture Ronan with his beautiful hands and his beautiful eyes and remind him that he couldn’t have anything like this in real life.

At least he couldn’t remember him when he woke up, though of course that also brought its own agonies. He ached for him at night in his sleep, but when he woke he was always confused, disoriented, and sometimes painfully aroused, and he could never remember why until he went to sleep again the next night.

It was agony, but no part of him wanted to stop.

Hanging out with Adam had become routine. He was always there now, in his dream forest, and Ronan couldn’t avoid him even if he wanted to, so they wandered around until they found a nice place to hang out and then just sat and…talked. It was strange, because Ronan didn’t just sit down and talk with people, but he always wanted to with Adam.

The other weird thing was that he had, for the most part, stopped having nightmares. He was sure, though, that the nightmares would return as soon as he told Adam how he felt about him.

Because this was his punishment and his torture, Ronan had no doubts that Adam would fail to reciprocate his feelings or disappear altogether once Ronan confessed. But the truly stupid thing was that he still wanted to tell him – he was hooked on the small things, like when Adam laughed at his jokes or shoved at his shoulder. Every accidental touch seared through his skin like wildfire and he wanted more of it; he wanted Adam’s hands and lips everywhere on his body, and if he wasn’t already dreaming about Adam, he would probably be dreaming about Adam touching him.

He wanted it so much it physically hurt.

“You’re staring again,” Adam said, drawing Ronan from his thoughts.

He was indeed staring at Adam, as he so often was, and Adam was staring back, as he so often was. Ronan couldn’t remember when they’d started this game, looking and looking and not looking away when the other noticed.

They were stretched out in a mossy clearing of the forest, weak sunlight filtering through small gaps in the canopy. Large, antient trees circled the clearing, stretching so high that Ronan couldn’t see their crowns even when he craned his neck all the way back. He and Adam always managed to find a new place to relax in the forest—due to the never-ending possibilities of dreams, he supposed—and they had taken to throwing out names for the new places they discovered. Ronan had jokingly called this place ‘Old Man’s Grove’ and Adam had laughed, walked up to the thickest tree, and wrapped his arms around its trunk. His arms didn’t even reach a quarter of the way around.

“When I’m old, I want to be this thick,” Adam had said, and Ronan had snorted so hard he’d nearly choked.

Ronan had joined him at the tree and wrapped his arms around the trunk as well. His fingers were tantalizing inches from Adam’s. “When I’m old, I want to be this hard.”

Adam barked out a shrill laugh. “Yeah, good luck with that.”

When he’d pulled away, his fingers had brushed Ronan’s.

Ronan had thought, fuck it. He could live with this only being a dream.

So as they laid there in the moss, instead of answering Adam, Ronan rolled over and kissed him.

For a terrifying moment, Adam didn’t respond. Before Ronan could lose his nerve and pull back, however, Adam reached for him, tugging their bodies closer together, and kissed him back with a fire that burned down to Ronan’s bones. The kiss had started out gentle and tentative but was now something more, something greater. It was every mile Ronan had ever gone over the speed limit. It was every good thought he’d had about himself after his father died. It was Adam making small little gasping noises when Ronan pressed into him in just the right way. It was their noses bumping together and them breaking apart to laugh about it before ducking in again.

It was perfect.

It was Ronan’s first kiss.

“I’ve been waiting forever for you to do that,” Adam sighed as they pulled apart to breathe.

Ronan couldn’t stop staring at the splash of freckles across his nose. “Then why didn’t you do it, asshole?”

“I don’t know, I thought…” Adam broke off to roll onto his back and stare up at the canopy. “I guess I thought I made the whole thing up.”

Ronan hesitated before reaching out and brushing Adam’s cheek with his finger. Adam turned to meet his gaze and Ronan’s throat felt dry, his heart pumping erratically in his chest. As Adam’s hand came up to gently squeeze Ronan’s, Ronan whispered, “You are real, aren’t you?”

Because he had been wrong – before hadn’t been his punishment. This was. For nothing could be more punishing than this: falling in love, being loved back, but with someone that you may or may not have made up in your own head.

Adam leaned forward and pressed their foreheads together. “I’m real, I promise.”

--  

 Adam was coming home from doing work for the forest one night when he came across a bright orange Camaro broken down on the side of the highway.

He recognized the car, because who wouldn’t? Everyone who went to Aglionby—and most people who didn’t—knew of Richard Campbell Gansey III, or at least knew of his family. The Gansey Clan was one of the richest families in the nation, and Gansey III’s mother was currently running for Congress. It was hard not to know them. Plus, Gansey III’s car was so distinctive it could be seen from miles away. It could be heard from miles away.

It was also renown for constantly breaking down.

So Adam wasn’t surprised to see it, really, he just wasn’t sure if he should do something about it. Gansey wasn’t someone he particularly wanted to associate with, as he was Aglionby and Adam tended to hate all things Aglionby. He was a politer Aglionby than most Aglionbys, but it didn’t really improve Adam’s opinion of him that much.

But something compelled him to stop his bike next to where Gansey was bent over the hood and ask, “Do you need help?”

Gansey startled so badly that he banged his head on the lid of the hood. Clutching the sore spot, he turned and squinted at Adam. “…Adam Parrish, right? In fact, you may be just the one to help me.”

The way he said it irritated Adam – he resented the implication that his sole purpose of existing was to help Gansey. It was a miracle he didn’t just bike away right then and there. He almost snapped something unkind, but then Gansey said, “Will you teach me how to fix this?”

They easily became friends after that. Gansey was good at sticking his foot in his mouth and Adam was good at getting offended by it, but they both had similar scholarly interests and a sense of adventure. The more Adam spent time with Gansey, the more he realized that Gansey wasn’t as Aglionby as he’d originally thought: Gansey was considerate (to the best of his ability), intellectual, and excited to discover things. He enjoyed solving puzzles and the research and journey it took to find things. He read more books than anyone else in their age class.

Adam adored him when he wasn’t mad at him, and their friendship progressed smoothly.

Now he was sitting in Latin and Gansey was sitting next to him. One of Gansey’s friends—Ronan Lynch, as he’d been introduced—was sitting diagonal from Adam, behind Gansey. There was something about him that bothered Adam, but he couldn’t place it. Almost like…he knew him from somewhere.

“And Ronan, this is Adam Parrish,” Gansey finished, gesturing with his hand.

Adam nodded at Ronan, but Ronan didn’t even look at him as he addressed Gansey, “Another pet project, Dick?”

Adam’s blood boiled. Who did this guy think he was to walk all over him like that? Somehow, though, he could sense that getting angry was exactly what this guy wanted him to do. So he forced the anger down, like he’d been doing for years, and said coolly, “That’s strange, I thought you were Gansey’s dog?”

Ronan snarled and Gansey shifted, as if to intervene, but just then Whelk walked in and started the class, ending the conversation for now. When he turned to face the board, Adam could still feel the heat of Ronan’s glare against the back of his neck.

The day didn’t improve their interactions much. Ronan was irritable and snappy almost the entire time Adam had to interact with him and it was starting to put Adam in a foul mood. He was tired of being pointlessly insulted; he was tired of arguing; he was tired of proving that he belonged here.

He considered telling Gansey that he would be more than happy to be friends with him just as long as he didn’t have to interact with Ronan, but decided to let it go for the day. Maybe tomorrow would be better.

That night, after hours of work and homework and more work, Adam woke in the forest and a thrill shot through his fingertips.

Ronan was real. He existed and Adam had met him and been in proximity to him and, best of all, Adam hadn’t made up the person who he was starting to love so much. But then he remembered how Ronan had treated him all day, how different he’d been from the Ronan he’d come to know. Was he just supposed to forgive that because they were something more than friends in their dreams? Just because he didn’t remember didn’t mean he could treat Adam like shit.

Standing up, Adam made his way through the forest, wandering aimlessly. He always bumped into Ronan eventually, so he didn’t try very hard and just trusted his feet as he walked.

Soon enough, he came across Ronan sitting at a pool, his feet in the water and his pants rolled up to his knees. Other than the fact that the pool obviously wasn’t acid this time, it was very reminiscent of how they’d first met.

For the first time, Adam dreaded walking over to him.

He almost considered turning around, but Ronan had already spotted him. He scrambled to stand and started making his way over to Adam, something close to a grin on his face. “Adam, you are real…!”

Adam stood there stiffly and let Ronan approach. When he got closer, Ronan reached for him and pushed strands of his hair back behind his ear. The touch made Adam shiver, though he wished that it didn’t. “Are you seriously fucking telling me I could’ve been kissing you all day today instead of just thinking about it?”

Adam pushed his hand away, irritation searing through him. How could Ronan talk like that after what had happened today? “Why were you so rude to me? You literally couldn’t open your mouth today without insulting me.”

Ronan looked surprised. “I wasn’t—” Stopping, he sighed and scrubbed the back of his head. “Look, I don’t—” But those words didn’t work either. Making a frustrated sound in the back of his throat, something in Ronan’s gaze darkened and he looked away. “…I told you you wouldn’t like me in real life.”

Something stung deep in Adam’s chest seeing this vulnerability that Ronan almost never showed, even around him. He took a deep breath. He of all people knew what had happened to Ronan; he knew that lashing out and possessive jealousy happened when you were used to losing the people you cared about. Not that he could’ve remembered, but he struggled to rein his temper in, to understand.

“I know you wouldn’t have said that if you’d remembered,” Adam said eventually. “But it was still a shitty thing to say.”

“I know.” Ronan looked miserably down at his feet. “Shitty things are all I know how to say anymore.”

Ronan sighed and kicked at the ground. “The worst thing is I’m not going to remember this and be fucking rude to you again tomorrow. I don’t know why I’m so fucking—”

“Hey,” Adam interrupted. He stepped forward and cupped Ronan’s cheeks in his hands, forcing his head up to look at him. “You’re healing. I get that. It’s just…I’m trying to heal too, you know?”

“Yeah.” Ronan closed his eyes and pressed their foreheads together. “…Is it too soon to say that I love you?”

Adam startled, though he tried hard to hide it. But of course, they were standing so close together it was impossible to hide it. Ronan blinked his eyes open and gave him a strained smile. “Too soon then.”

“No, I just…” Words died on Adam’s tongue. He didn’t know how he felt; he didn’t even know if he was capable of love. What if he was too broken? What if… “What if we never remember each other when we’re awake?”

“Then we’ll just have to fucking do it again,” Ronan said harshly. Adam opened his mouth but Ronan plowed on, “It’ll fucking suck, but Parrish, there is literally no universe where I don’t love you. It’ll happen again.”

Adam was frozen. Ronan had now told him he loved him twice. How was he supposed to respond? He knew he cared deeply for Ronan, and was probably in love with him, but…how did he know for sure? How was he supposed to say it, if he was?

“…Maybe we should carve messages into our bodies,” Adam said, even though the conversation wasn’t really about that.

Ronan laughed, let him change the subject. Right then, Adam was unreasonably grateful for it. “Hell Parrish, you can carve every word on my body. I’m sure I’ll understand when I wake up with the name of someone I don’t think I like permanently marked on my body.”

Adam laughed too, a weak one that barely left his ribcage. “This is so fucked up. We’re so fucked up.”

“I’ll toast to that,” Ronan said and kissed him.

Adam kissed him back before he pulled away slightly. He rested their foreheads together and, because it was a dream, said, “I really like you, Ronan. I don’t want to do it again; I don’t trust myself not to fuck it up.”

“I’ll fuck up way before you will – you saw how I handled today,” Ronan replied. He was blushing as he kissed the bridge of Adam’s nose.

“I didn’t handle it well either,” Adam admitted. He could feel his consciousness tugging him away so he reached up to grip Ronan’s shoulders. “At least we have Gansey to stop us from killing each other.”

Adam woke with the echo of Ronan’s laughter in his ear.

--

 Ronan kind of hated Parrish.

He was good friends with Gansey, knew how to hold his own, and was not intimidated easily. Ronan both admired and despised these traits about him, and it confused him. It would be one thing if Parrish was just an asshole, but he was also incredibly smart, stubborn, and attractive as hell. And he had those stupid adorable freckles splattered across his nose…

Ronan hated how Parrish made him feel; he felt dangerous, explosive, close to opening the box he’d sealed shut for so long, close to destroying all of the fragile strands of self-care he had left. He hated that he wanted to like Parrish, that he knew he could willingly turn his back on God for someone like him.

It made him feel dirty, wrong.

And he couldn’t shake the feeling that he’d met him somewhere before.

“So let me get this straight,” Gansey was saying as the three of them sat at a table for lunch. It was always the three of them now: Parrish was with them everywhere they went. He shared all of their classes, Gansey invited him to sit with them for lunch, he hung out at Monmouth until he had to work or whatever it was Parrishes did in the evenings. There was no escape from Ronan’s feelings and it was slowly driving him crazy. “You wandered into a forest a couple of months ago and…made a bargain with it?”

“Yes,” Parrish said as he took out a measly sandwich from his backpack and nothing else. “I know it sounds crazy, but that forest is sentient, Gansey. I think you would love it.”

Gansey had his thumb to his lip and he was faintly shaking, which meant he certainly did love it but was trying not to show it. Ronan rolled his eyes, exasperated but fond. Gansey would chase any breadcrumb trail, no matter how small, and Ronan would follow him, no matter how stupid.

He just hadn’t expected Parrish to also be as crazy as them.

“We should go check it out!” Gansey declared after some thought. “Adam, can you communicate with it?”

“Sort of,” Adam rubbed the back of his neck in a self-conscious way. “I can hear it talking to me, but…I can’t really understand it. And I haven’t tried communicating with it.”

“But you know how to get there?”

“Yeah. I go there all the time to move rocks and stuff for it.”

Ronan snorted. The other two glared at him.

“Let’s go today!” Gansey suggested. “You don’t have work, right, Adam?”

“Nope. I just have to be back before dark.”

“Will you be okay with that, Ronan?” Gansey asked.

Ronan snorted again. Now he cared about his opinion. “Why the fuck wouldn’t I be?”

“Don’t your nightmares usually involve running through forests? I don’t want to make you uncomfortable.”

“It’s fine, it’s not really the forest that’s the scary part. Besides, I don’t really have those types of dreams anymore.”

Gansey looked bewildered, but also delighted. “You don’t? Ronan, that’s great! When did they stop?”

Ronan opened his mouth but then closed it again. He blinked. He couldn’t remember when he’d stopped having nightmares.

Parrish was watching him carefully and Ronan suddenly felt too exposed. Too open. Curling his shoulders in, he crossed his arms and glared. “I don’t know Dick, I don’t keep a fucking diary.”

Parrish snorted back a laugh. Ronan felt oddly pleased with himself.

“That’s the best thing I’ve heard today,” Gansey said and, like the dad that he was, sounded like he meant it. “Then, with this good fortune on our side, let’s journey to this sentient forest! Excelsior!”

--

 They went immediately after school, piling into the Pig. Ronan made Parrish sit in the back because if he was willing to give up his heart and his pride to him, then at least he was keeping his fucking seat in the car.

The Pig started on the first try with a happy growl, something that made Gansey unbearably pleased.

“It’s a good omen,” he said, and grinned the entire drive to the forest.

As Parrish directed them, Ronan slouched in his seat and put his feet up on the dash, ignoring Gansey’s protests. Despite what he’d told them, going to the forest did make him a little uneasy. In his dreams, the forest was always sentient too, and it felt too close to home to be journeying to one while he was awake. Forests held magic—he believed that—and who knew if this one was going to be friendly or not.

Maybe this one wanted him dead too.

“This is it,” Parrish said after a few minutes of driving on a dirt road. Ronan glanced warily at the trees as Gansey pulled over as much as possible. The place gave him the same feeling he got when he met Parrish the first time, and it unnerved him.

He’d been here before.

But it was too late to turn back now; Gansey had already gotten out of the car and was digging around in the back for his equipment, which meant the adventure had officially started. Ronan took a deep breath, sent a short prayer to God, and stepped out of the car.

The memories struck him like a tsunami. He remembered almost drowning, and he remembered Adam saving him. He remembered showing him his tattoo for the first time; he remembered when Adam had opened up to him about his dad in the dark shadow of the moon; he remembered kissing him in Old Man’s Grove; he remembered the first time they’d done more than that in the shelter of a cave.

He remembered everything, and it was such a relief that he almost cried.

He glanced at Adam and knew that he’d remembered, too.

“Ronan,” Adam sighed, and the smile on his face could melt glaciers.

They fell into each other, Adam kissing him desperately and Ronan wrapping his arms around him for dear life. He was afraid that if he let go he would forget him again. They kissed again and again and again and it felt bigger than life; the love Ronan felt in his chest for him was enough to choke him. Kissing Adam was a thousand times better now that they were awake.

“Uh,” a voice said, startling them. They’d forgotten Gansey was there. When they turned to their friend, he was gaping at them. “Has this…? When did this happen? I thought you guys didn’t like each other…??”

“Fuck, man, this happened forever ago,” Ronan said and grinned at Adam. He couldn’t stop running his hands up underneath his shirt and touching his skin; he was warm and so very real.

Adam grinned back and kissed him again before turning to Gansey. “Shit Gans, have we got the story to tell you!”

[maxthommusic]

Vinyl Time.

Daisuki Baby on vinyl. It's finally happening. This is a dream come true, folks. It cost me an arm and a leg and I doubt I'll sell all the copies. But I'm 31 years old and there was a part of me that said, "If you don't do it now, when will you?"

Part of creating music is leaving behind a legacy. There's a desire to be successful, be notable, not because you want riches and fame, but because you want to know you mattered. Take Minus the Bear for example. It seems very obvious those dudes are pretty fulfilled and happy with their legacy. Are they "famous"? Not by any majorly commercial standards. But they're definitely successful and they built their little indie rock kingdom. And that's all I ever really wanted. But as time marches on, I'm seeing I'm actually destined to not have that. Despite my best efforts, every year I just get a little more jaded, a little more tired and I simply can't sacrifice what I used to. In some ways I sacrifice even more... but it's about economy of goods, right? What do I have available left to sacrifice?

Getting Daisuki Baby on vinyl was an important step because I'd always been waiting for a record label to foot the bill. Someone would want to publish me, right? Despite my best efforts I either can't afford the right PR, the PR I can afford does nothing, or I just don't seem to connect with the right people. I've gotten close. Many, many times. The stars look like they're about to align and then something falls through. I ain't mad. It's just how it happens. And printing Daisuki Baby myself was my way of forcing the stars to align.

What really sparked the concept was that people were really liking DB. Songs were resonating and I was getting a lot of plays on streaming sites. But what I realized is that when you're done with the album, what did I have to keep you strung along? How was I keeping Maxwell-Thomas in your life beyond that single stream? Having something physical to represent the music seemed crucial. Because I know that's exactly what I do. If I love your sound, I want to know how I can support you. Honestly, I don't wear band merch outside of like... hats. I find the prices of hoodies and sweatshirts to be outrageous and designs often feel like after-thoughts than a truly inspired concept. It's why I really strove to create premium products for my fans when I decided to print tried and true staples (bags, hats, shirts, tanks). But I surely feel different about an actual record. Records are great keepsakes. I love buying a record to add to the collection and know I supported someone along the way. Even look at John Mayer's new album, Sob Rock. I spun that record ONCE. And I loved every second. But I'm even more happy to know I got to keep something tangible that's evidence of my adoration for the guy -- even if it's not something I engage with every day or even once a month. Maybe it's only once a year.

Daisuki Baby on vinyl is that chance to give listeners an opportunity to support Maxwell-Thomas with something that is physical and eternally rewarding. Adding Maxwell-Thomas to your collection will be an opportunity to flip through your music and some days think, "Oh, man, I forgot how great this album is," as opposed to the constant new-ness of algorithms like Spotify and Apple Music. The deluge of playlists and new releases make streaming an entirely modern affair, focused very much on keeping things fresh. Whereas owning records, listening to records -- that's about nostalgia and reflection. Taking a moment to go, "When was the last time I heard this?" and then really get an opportunity to engage with it on a superior medium.

I listened to Daisuki Baby on my bike ride home last night. God, it's good. It's not perfect -- nothing is. But it's really fantastic. The poetry on it is really mesmerizing sometimes. Definitely the hallmark of the album, in my opinion. And I just know that when people rip it on vinyl they're going to finally, actually hear just how 3D Nomatic's mix is. Streaming sites murder those mixes, man. It's a damn shame. And I pressed it on unadulterated black vinyl so the audio quality wouldn't be affected at all. Though I understand colors are dope. It was my hope that the music would be as untainted as possible so my vision could come through as well to you as it does to me when I hear these songs.

Especially the sequencing. The way Daisuki Baby flows is just masterful. Side A and Side B are complete experiences on their own and then transitioning between them is a perfect roller coaster of emotion. I've been wanting people to hear it this way since the day I thought up the track listing. Before I even had vocals down, or written, I knew how the songs would flow. I was out for a run in San Bernardino, staying with my parents before I'd move back to Chicago. I was playing around with sequencing because everything had been recorded besides vocals. I was hoping putting the songs in some sort of order might inform the lyrics (and it did), so I moved things here and there... but by and large, the way Daisuki Baby rests is the way I heard it from the start. Like the songs could exist no other way.

Anyways, I wax pretty poetic IN the liner notes. Lyrics, stories, credits and more are all included in the gatefold packaging. I haven't even seen the final product and I bet you it's just wildly beautiful. Eddie Navarro's design is out of this world. I'm eagerly awaiting the records to arrive at my shipping warehouse (aka mom and dad's) and will start ordering ASAP afterwards.

This is truly a landmark moment in my musical career. One I created for myself. One I took for my own. I'm done waiting on others. Done waiting for opportunity. I gave so many years to so many other projects; people who didn't want to elevate to the level I always dreamt of. This is me making up for lost time and saying, "screw it, let's just go." I'm probably going broke as opposed to going for broke, as the saying goes, but at least I can die knowing I tried. The last thing I want is to wonder if I could have done more.

At the rate I'm going? Doubtful. Success doesn't have to be in my future. But I do need to know I tried everything.

Cheers.

[scarlet-argent-fire-fanfics]

Requiem

prompt: reader “dies” and gets to find out if the people that love her are better off without her or not.

Tw: Death, alcoholism, suicide cursing

modern era

word count:2373

A/n: So, I have had a lot of issues with my depression and I was recently in the position the reader is in now. I wanted my world to end and the people I loved to move on without me. However even though I’m still working myself back from that edge I’m so happy I didn’t go through with it. Please remember there is always going to be someone who misses you...Even if you don’t think there will be.

masterlist

                 You gasped softly as you glanced down to see your body laying dead. The pill bottle rolling away from you. You gasped your hand flying to your mouth. You had done it, you were free. You couldn’t help smiling however that quickly faded when you felt the pain in your body. It was excruciating.  You screamed holding your hand to your chest before the pain suddenly stopped and another being stood in front of you. Except they looked like you. The only difference was the white robe they wore and when they opened their eyes there was nothing but white milkiness.               “Congratulations, welcome to limbo.” there voice echoed and you couldn’t help but sigh. “What is the problem?” they asked cocking their head to the side.                “So I’m stuck between plains. Why should I be happy with that?” you growled and they just remained expressionless.             “Your case is unique. The fates feel your life is too important to not give you a chance to fix your mistake.” they said The blackness vanished and you once again saw your body laying on the ground. The figure waved their hand as the door opened to show Lafayette. Lafayette stood up from the couch and walked to the bathroom knowing Y/n had been in their for a long time. “Mon amour are you alright.” he turned the doorknob to show you lying there lifeless the empty pill bottle next to your hand. He gasped and went to you pulling your body against his chest. “Y/N!!! No, please wake up. No, you can’t do this.” He cried seeing your cellphone which he used making a quick call to 911. He slammed your phone down and sobbed against you. He rocked your lifeless body against him.               You sighed softly as the bathroom faded and you were in a living room. Only John was on the couch. Sam Adams cans littered the floor and a bottle of vodka was in his grip.               “John became an alcoholic three months after you died and eventually left the boys. He’s crashing in his parents basement.” they said and you felt your heart ache more knowing John was alone now.                John took a huge swig of the now half empty Smirnoff bottle. He wiped his mouth before flopping onto his side. He sniffled as his eyes landed on a group picture of him ,the boys and Y/n. His face twisted into an angry sneer before he stood up and stumbled. “This is your fault, Y/n! It’s your fault we’re falling apart. You left us. Why!” he yelled throwing the bottle at the picture frame. It shattered and the frame fell to the floor now soaked in vodka. John’s breathing became more short before his face twisted and his shoulders began to shake. He fell to his knees sobbing into his hands. “Why Y/n? Why didn’t you stay ?” his shouts echoed through the basement.               You felt your body ache and you glared at the figure. “Stop this! I don’t wanna see anymore. I’m tired, I-I just wanna be gone.”  You felt tears gather in your eyes before you could say anything, everything blurred and suddenly you were in the another living room but it was  your apartment. You felt your heart clench when you saw Alexander. He had huge bags under his eyes. He looked a mess.

                “I figured I would bring you bout six months into your future to see if the people you love had moved on. Since you felt no one would miss you after all.” This was just cruel.                 Alexander looked up as Hercules walked in sighing softly. “Alex, we need to go. Lafayette is waiting.” Alex shook his head and Hercules  sat next to him pulling him into his side. “Herc, I can’t just leave. This was our home. The last place we saw Y/n smiling.” he sobbed and Herc sighed holding back his own tears.                 “She would want us to move on eventually. It’s been  six months Alex we can’t just pause our lives. She wouldn’t want that.” Alex hiccupped before pulling away from Herc and left. Herc stood up slowly and walked toward the door. He glanced up at the ceiling. “I wish you were still here baby. I’m so sorry I wasn’t there to keep you safe.” his voice broke a single tear trailed down his dark cheek.                You felt the tears gather in your eyes as you watched Hercules leave your first apartment you had all shared. You wanted to run to him and hug him but you couldn’t “This is just cruelty.” you whimpered softly and the figure just stood their. The figure once again didn’t say anything before the vision shifted to yet another home except you recognized it as your childhood home. You glanced around your old childhood room seeing a figure sleeping on your bed. At least you thought they were before they moved to sit up. It was your little brother.  You noticed how skinny he was.               Jamie sat up feeling his stomach ache again. He hadn’t eaten a regular meal in months. He looked up as his mother walked in with some poptarts. “Jamie please eat something. Y/n, wouldn’t want to-” he stood up fast anger clear on his face.              “How would you fucking know mom!? How would you know what she would have wanted?! Huh! If you know so much mom, then why didn’t you know she was gonna kill herself, huh?”           You felt your chest ache at how much your little brother was hurting and how awful he was being to your mother.

            “Jamie Evan Y/L, don’t  ever talk to me like that. You weren’t the only one who lost her!” she sobbed setting the poptarts down. “We all lost her the same as you. Don’t you ever dare try to pin her death on me. She shut everyone out. Don’t you think I blame myself everyday for not seeing it. Don’t you think I hate that I wasn’t there for my baby when she needed me! Now, I’m watching my other child slowly killing himself and I can’t do a damn thing. I can’t make you eat. I’m gonna lose both of my babies and I can’t blame anyone but myself. I’m sorry. I’m so fucking sorry she’s gone.” She sobbed collapsing onto her knees Jamie frozen before going to her and hugging her tears running down his face as well. “I’m s-sorry mom.” he cried and they both sobbed together.              “Enough!” you cried causing the figure to actually jump. “ I don’t wanna see anymore please. I’m begging you.” It shook its head.             “I have a couple more things to show you before I will stop.” it said and your mother and brother were gone. The room change to an office. The walls a bland yellow with a big leather chair. You noticed Lafayette walking in. He looked so horrible. No joy left in his eyes. Just emptiness. He sat down and a woman smiled at him    “Good morning Lafayette. How are you feeling today.” Dr. Oly asked softly. Lafayette just sat there with his hands in his lap. The doctor sighed softly. “Please Lafayette, you’ve be coming in for three months now. I’d really like to help you but you have to talk to me.” she sighed and he just sat there. She turned on the normal playlist they listened to during their sessions and sat back. Lafayette swayed side to side listening trying to feel anything but everything was bland and nothing was going to change that. His thirst for life was gone.    After an hour the timer went off and Lafayette stood up. Oly sighed. “ Same time next week. Maybe then we can finally talk.” she said and he nodded just leaving her office..    “Lafayette stopped talking really after you died. The boys made him go to a shrink to try to help since he was the one that found you.” you hiccupped softly before the scene changed yet again.  “Now we’re about two years into the future.” It waved it’s hand showing the boys gathered around a grave stone. Alexander’s shoulder were hunched and Lafayette held the umbrella over them as Hercules place flowers on the stone.             “We miss you baby.” Hercules finally broke his shoulder shaking as Lafayette pulled him into a big hug. After another few moments they left leaving the grave behind.               “Why are we at a graveyard.” you questioned before you were finally able to make out the name on the tombstone. Your heart shattered not seeing your name but John’s. You shook your head violently. “Nonononono, this has to be a joke. He can’t be dead!” you cried and the figure stood there. You growled and walked over gripping their robe. “Tell me, tell me I can change this. Please, tell me I can change this damn future and I’m not too late.” you sobbed. The figure hugged you before it softly whispered.                “You can change this Y/n. Say the word and it can be changed.” you nodded quickly.                “Please take me back. I don’t want them to go through this. I never wanted  to see them in this much pain.” you sobbed and everything once again whirled.    You opened your eyes seeing your red irritated eyes staring back at you in the mirror. The pill bottle open on the counter. You gasped and took the pills and dumped them into the toilet quickly flushing them. You almost didn’t hear the soft whisper, that seemed to float by your ear.    “Don’t waste your second chance.” you smiled brightly grabbing your phone. You quickly dialed your mothers number.

Mom: Y/n, what’s going on. Is something wrong baby. You couldn’t help but smile at your mother’s concern. Why hadn’t you realized that she did care and just how much she loved you. You cleared your throat sniffling lightly. Y/N: No, mom. I promise everything is fine. I just wanted to call and  tell you how much I love you and how much I love Jamie. Is he awake? Mom seemed to shuffle around before answering    Mom: Yeah, hold on. (more shuffling) What up sis? You held back a sniffle. He sounded so much better.    Y/N: Hey Jamie, your soccer game is coming up in a week right? Well I’m gonna come home for it alright. I promise I’ll be there.    Jamie: Really and yeah it’s next week. I thought you hated sports Y/n? You laughed softly at that. He was right you hated sports and thought they were really dumb.    Y/N: Yeah well, you’re my little brother I’m gonna embarrass the shit out of you. Hey you know I love you right. I love you so much. You heard him scoff lightly on the other end.    Jamie: Yeah, sis I know. Geez, you sound like you’re about to die or something….You aren’t gonna be dyeing are you. If only he knew the day you had just had. You laughed to ease his nerves.    Y/N: No, I just feel like I don’t tell you and mom that enough. You heard your front door open knowing Hercules would be back from work.    Y/N: Hey I gotta go but I’ll see you next week. Love you guys so much.    Jamie: Yeah we love you too Y/n                The line went dead and you walked out of the bathroom to see Hercules pulling off his shoes. You felt your chest well up. You ran over to Herc wrapping your arms around his waist causing him to grunt.                “Hey princess glad to- hey what’s wrong why are your eyes so red.” he cooed softly holding your cheek in his hand. You just shook your head more tears falling before throwing your arms around his neck and cried against his chest. “Hey-hey baby, breath. It’s okay. Laf, babe you home.” you felt your body tense when you heard another pair of footsteps.                 “Yes, what’s going on.” You turned to see him wearing the same thing you had seen him in in your vision. You ran over to him and sobbed into his chest as well.                The boy looked at each other confused not knowing why you were crying. “I-I love you guys so much.” you sobbed softly against Lafayette’s t-shirt and soon felt Hercules hugging you both sandwiching you between their chest.  You breathed in Lafayette’s scent reveling in it. They were here, your boys. You pulled back after a moment and cleared your throat. “I-I’ll tell you once Alex and John get home.” kissing both of their cheeks. They nodded still looking confused.                 The door opened once again to show Alex and John smiling. When John saw your face the smile dropped and he immediately came over putting his hands on your cheeks. “Babe, what’s going on?” concern clear in his eyes. You gave him a sad smile and kissed his palm before leading the boys to the bedroom.                  “Get comfy boys.” you said softly and waited for them to be in their lounge clothes before you began. “I have depression. It has been bad for a while now and for the longest time I felt that no one would miss me if I was gone. Hell I still think that a little but I know that’s not true. I have you boys and my family. Of course I’d be missed.” you said new tears springing from your eyes. “I wanted to die.” you sobbed into your hand the boy tensed up. “ I thought everyone would be better without me but….something inside my heart convinced me not to.” you looking up from your hands. “It convinced me I have too much to live for.” you whimpered and John couldn’t stay sitting and he brought you into his arms holding  you close as you fully broke down. Your body shook in his strong arms before you felt the others join your hug.                 “We love you so much Y/n. Don’t ever think you can’t come to us.” John whispered tears trailing down his cheeks now.                                       You were so happy to be alive.

[oscopelabs]

‘O.C. and Stiggs’ And The Utterly Unreleasable, Mind-Roasting Summer Of Robert Altman by Keith Phipps

[This month, Musings pays homage to Produced and Abandoned: The Best Films You’ve Never Seen, a review anthology from the National Society of Film Critics that championed studio orphans from the ‘70s and ‘80s. In the days before the Internet, young cinephiles like myself relied on reference books and anthologies to lead us to film we might not have discovered otherwise. Released in 1990, Produced and Abandoned was a foundational piece of work, introducing me to such wonders as Cutter’s Way, Lost in America, High Tide, Choose Me, Housekeeping, and Fat City. (You can find the full list of entries here.) Over the next four weeks, Musings will offer its own selection of tarnished gems, in the hope they’ll get a second look. Or, more likely, a first. —Scott Tobias, editor.]

Robert Altman was happiest working in the shadows. That’s true of his relationship with Hollywood—where he never fit in, except as the town’s designated maverick—but also true of his relationship with other movies. Altman always had a lot to say about his craft, even if he tended to treat interviews as opportunities to reiterate points he made many times. One talking point he returned to, including when I spoke to him in 2000, is the notion that influence could work backwards. “The directors who’ve probably had the most influence on me,” he said, “were probably names I don’t even know, because I looked at a film that was really bad and I would say, ‘Hmm, I’m never going to do that.’ That’s probably the most direct positive influence on the work I do. I don’t even know who those directors are.”

When talking about Altman, it’s always worth talking about what he was trying not to do as much as what he hoped to accomplish. M*A*S*H can be seen as a war film determined to show viewers what other films would not, from the bloody mess left after battles end to the long stretches of wartime boredom to the sometimes ugly sides of the lifesaving heroes. McCabe and Mrs. Miller is a Western without heroes. The Long Goodbye lets a noir play out in the sunny, counterculture-filled ‘70s Los Angeles.

All of which sort of explains how Altman came to direct the teen comedy O.C. and Stiggs—but only sort of. Shot in 1983—while films like Screwballs, Private School, and Losin’ It rolled out in multiplexes across America—it should have been released to catch the wave of raunchy teen comedies stirred by National Lampoon’s Animal House in 1978 and made into a tsunami by Bob Clark’s Porky’s three years later. But Altman was far from on board with the T&A-filled spirit of the times. When approached by producer Peter Newman, he recalled thinking, in an interview conducted for the film’s DVD release, “This isn’t my kind of film. I don’t know how to do these kinds of films.’ But that was a time when these teenage films were kind of in…mode. And I hated them. I just hated them. And I thought, here’s a chance to do a satire on something that I feel strongly about.” “I went after it,” he added, in a telling choice of phrase, “in that matter.”

He at least had slightly more prestigious source material from which to draw, if only slightly. Though the film doesn’t bear the National Lampoon name, its title characters, a pair of prank-happy Arizona teens, come from the magazine’s pages. Created by Lampoon writers Ted Mann and Tod Carroll, Oliver “Out Of Control” Ogilvie and Mark Stiggs became favorite recurring characters in the Lampoon’s last gasp of relevance in the early ’80s. Their stories also embodied the changes to the magazine’s spirit in the Reagan era, when the always freewheeling publication started punching down far more often than it punched up. Two children of privilege, the O.C. and Stiggs of its pages enjoy an adolescence filled with excess, abuse, and casual racism and misogyny. Their adventures climaxed with the novella-length “The Utterly Monstrous, Mind-Roasting Summer of O.C. and Stiggs,” which took up the entirety of the Lampoon’s 1982 issue.

It also provided the backbone to Altman’s film, courtesy of a screenplay credited to Mann and Donald Cantrell. In Hunter Stephenson’s extensive history/appreciation of the film, Mann notes that Carroll worked on the script but took his name off the movie. Altman then reworked the script and allowed it to drift further from the original vision thanks to a typically improvisation-friendly set. Really, he had no choice. Altman was never known for being overly respectful of screenplays, but O.C. and Stiggs plays as if he’s compelled to actively work against the source material while still following the outline of the plot. There’s a brutal wit to Mann and Carroll’s stories*, but the teenage nihilism at their core is hard to square with Altman’s sensibility, which could be unsparing of human behavior while still maintaining an underlying respect for human decency.

As such, Wino Bob, the boys’ “Negro derelict” friend, is given all the dignity a character named Wino Bob can hope to have, thanks to a heartfelt performance from Melvin Van Peebles. The heroes’ attempt to shame a pair of teachers in a gay relationship becomes the occasion for one of the teachers to say he doesn’t care. And the film’s central conflict between O.C. and Stiggs’ and the Schwab family, a grotesque suburban clan that’s grown rich from insurance sales, becomes a battle between haves and have-nots, with O.C. now motivated to exact revenge on the Schwabs thanks to the cancellation of his grandfather’s (Ray Walston) health insurance, a development that will send O.C. off to live with relatives in Arkansas at the end of the summer unless something can be done. What emerged looks more like an Altman movie than, say, Fraternity Vacation, but it’s a strange beast nonetheless, a Brundlefly-like hybrid that’s not really equipped to live in any known movie habitat. There’s too much overlapping dialogue and restless camerawork, to say nothing of the virtual absence of nudity, for Porky’s fans, too many outrageous pranks for the arthouse.

That might explain why MGM didn’t know what to do with the movie, shelving it after disastrous screenings in 1984, which came and went without a release. So did 1985. And 1986. And though the film apparently played some theaters in 1987, it didn’t reach New York until 1988, when it appeared at Film Forum as part of a Dennis Hopper retrospective. Most viewers who encountered it did so on VHS in the late ‘80s, when it already looked like a lost film from a bygone time, the T&A comedies of the early ‘80s having given way to the more sympathetic efforts of another Lampoon alum, John Hughes. (If nothing else, Jon Cryer, who plays the much-tormented Randall Schwab, already looked noticeably younger in his feature debut by the time saw the light of day.)

Yet while O.C. and Stiggs will deservedly never be mentioned near the top of any Altman ranking of the director’s film (or, if we’re being honest, too close to the middle), there’s nothing else quite like it. Both Daniel H. Jenkins and Neil Barry (O.C. and Stiggs, respectively) make for appealing leads, embodying their characters’ screw-it-all, question everything, respect nothing teenage attitude without making them seem heartless. (That spirit in two lines: “I want you to call me Stiggs. It sounds more ridiculous.”) And for every obvious flaw, there’s some compensating element. A big wedding set piece doesn’t really go anywhere, but it does feature a charming dance sequence between Jenkins and Cynthia Nixon (both of whom would stay in Altman’s orbit for a while). The comedy falls flat in the action finale, but it does feature a bizarre, self-parodying performance from Dennis Hopper as a Vietnam vet for whom the war never ended. Some sections drag, but Altman throws in a winning concert scene from King Sunny Ade. Also featured: Jane Curtin as an inventive alcoholic mom for whom every object can double as a place to hide booze, a supremely chill Martin Mull, Bob Uecker, and a cameo from Hal Phillip Walker (Thomas Hal Phillips), the third-party candidate whose cryptic proclamations filled the background of Nashville.

It’s a film that time has only made more intriguing, thanks to its unmistakable Altman-ness, its undeniable eighties-ness, and the uneasy alliance the film forces between the two. Altman “went after” the ‘80s teen movie, and though the genre barely noticed his attack, the resulting film remains a disjointed but spirited critique of Reagan-era values and a salute to the teen spirit of subversion, even if that subversion took the form of driving around in a suped-up car with monster truck tires on it just to annoy the squares.

The film first came to my attention, years after its release, via my friend Todd Hanson, a gifted writer for The Onion whose pop culture enthusiasms had a way of getting passed from co-worker to co-worker. When I got the chance to speak to Altman, I knew I had to devote at least a few of my previous 20-minute slot to what had by then become an office-wide obsession. “I was attacking the teen mentality of the audience,” he said, “and I just was a little too… Nobody got it.”

Looking back, it might be that not enough tried. At that low ebb of Altman’s commercial fortunes—post-Popeye, pre-Player—he’d become too easy to take for granted and an odd, flawed, but undeniably one-of-a-kind film could be dismissed as just another ‘80s misstep. Maybe it seemed like we’d have Altman movies forever, and the era in which studios might somehow find themselves funding impossible-to-define oddities that doubled as single-finger salutes to the bad taste of their intended audience would never end.

* In an odd case of two geniuses drawing inspiration from an unlikely source, Mann and Carroll’s stories also inspired D.R. and Quinch, an early writing effort from comics great Alan Moore.

[avaliveradio]

10.21 New Music Monday Release Radar with Jacqueline Jax

Musicians create music to express their creativity and skill. Listening to new music is an experience and an opportunity to connect with that creative spark. Explore some exciting new music from creators all over the world recently discovered by our host Jacqueline Jax as she searches the far corners of the globe for talented songwriters and music creators who are telling their truth to bring the listener a unique experience.

SUBSCRIBE to our broadcast here: www.wavve.link/avaliveradio

Listen to the Show: https://anchor.fm/ava-live-radio/episodes/10-21-New-Music-Monday-Release-Radar-Mixed-genre-playlist-with-Jacqueline-Jax-e7t8ub

Artist: Miranda Easten

New Release: Stars And Dreams

Genre: Pop

Located in:  Christchurch City, New Zealand

This song reminds me of warm Summer nights spent star-gazing with good company. The music I am creating at the moment is therapeutic and honest. I'm not afraid to write about how I am feeling or what's catching my soul on fire. My new album is a mixture of biographical lyrics as well as observations I've made about current events or people and stories I've heard of.

I create music because... creating something from nothing makes me happy. I love how I can start the day with a blank piece of paper and by mid-afternoon I have created something tangible and shareable. After the music is created I will put it out there and move onto the next creation right away. I would be quite lost without a pen, paper, and guitar!

Next... I am currently recording my debut album (and several music videos) with some amazingly talented musicians and good friends. I feel very blessed to do what I love every day.

LINKS:  https://open.spotify.com/artist/6tPllDnDr6rB7CS5diguqw https://www.facebook.com/mirandaeasten https://twitter.com/MirandaEasten https://www.instagram.com/mirandaeasten

Artist: CEEM

New Release: Remedy

Genre: Electro Pop

Sounds like: Black Coffee

Located in: Seattle, Washington

This release is important as it's the final single before the release of the full-length Cruel World on Oct 18th. The main theme of Cruel World is a moody and brooding blend of pop and electronica, and as an artist, the project was inspired by so many losses from 2016.

'Remedy' is a sequel to another song I wrote called 'Unbreakable' written in response to living through the 2016 terrorist attack in Nice France on Bastille day. Coming back from that trip feeling shattered and confused, the song helped put his life back together. 

As cathartic and healing as writing Unbreakable was, he still felt that need to face his ultimate fear and go back to the scene of the crime. I went back to Nice July 2019 for Bastille day, alone this time, and retraced the steps and the horror that took place. I wanted to go back and finish writing Cruel World, but for the first four days I was there, the words wouldn’t come, there was some sort of glitch in my brain. I would put pen to paper and write but nothing felt authentic or genuine until I made it through Bastille day.

LINKS:  Spotify - https://open.spotify.com/track/2QoZZRRxGzMGqvj1RYXgfP?si=wyY-B755TJCDJ25JRtYbGQ Twitter - @musicbyceem Facebook - https://www.facebook.com/musicbyceem Instagram - https://www.instagram.com/musicbyceem

Artist: A Permanent Shadow

New Release: Now

Genre: Indie, electronic, rock, synthpop, eighties

Sounds like: David Bowie, Moby, John Grant, Peter Gabriel, LCD Soundsystem

Located in: Barcelona, Spain

The music we are creating is... thoughtful, deep, dark yet optimistic, powerful, beautiful, catchy, hopeful, and uplifting. "Now" is a carpe diem song with which we've written a note to ourselves and other people to stop worrying about the future and thinking about the past. Life is happening NOW and we should take it by the horns and be happy.

Music is what I think about 83% of the time...

It's what I've always wanted to do and one of the very few things in life that give me total fulfillment. I adore the creative process. It is an absolute joy to write a song and then record it in the studio and observe how it is gaining shape. Apart from being a musician, I am also a fervent music fan. I never grow tired of discovering new bands and digging deeper into the catalogs of the real greats.

Right now we are...

We have just launched our first album "Songs of Loss" which the song "Now" can be found on. We are busy with promotion and also are preparing a one-off live show to be webcast soon.

LINKS:  https://www.reverbnation.com/apermanentshadow/song/31155111-now https://open.spotify.com/track/3ksn7QYDyqpFZ7rsounxsT https://www.twitter.com/apermanentshad1 https://www.facebook.com/apermanentshadow https://www.instagram.com/apermanentshadow

Artist: Sleuth

New Release: Empty Room

Genre: Genre: Electronica, sub-genre: techno/trance.

Sounds like: Nine Inch Nails, Tori Amos, Portishead

Located in:  Portland, Victoria, Australia

'Empty Room' has recently been described by one reviewer as an ‘experience.’ This song takes the listener inside my journey to a time when I was feeling extremely frustrated and angry. I’d tried to convince a potential colleague that I was a decent person after they had openly condemned me to others. They had stonewalled me for months because I was viewed as a competitor. Yet stupidly I’d kept trying, and kept getting shut down repeatedly in the face of their ‘solo show’. I couldn’t understand why they couldn’t see the same potentials that I could, or see that my intentions were good. The truth was of course that they just didn’t want to! 

This song came from the ultimate realization that I couldn’t do anything about their lack of belief in my character or vision, despite having given up so much of myself to prove ‘there’s somehow sunlight breaking through’. 

I am someone who resonates strongly with the story of the Phoenix rising from the ashes, never destroyed by the fire, so much so that I have a large Phoenix tattooed all over my back. 

This song is a declaration of finally understanding the game that was being played, as well as a cathartic expression of rage, war, and victory. Empty Room draws very vivid musical images for the listener.

The Album...

'Empty Room' was released as part of my debut album Umbra Anima - meaning Shadows and Light. The album is a celebration of both the lighter and darker elements of my journey - not everything that we experience is pretty or aesthetically pleasing to all, but that doesn’t mean that it shouldn’t teach us, or have value, or be recognized and celebrated. Those sentiments of the album are perhaps best expressed in my song Empty Room - a song about blazing defiantly in spite of others’ negativity and fear.

LINKS:  https://open.spotify.com/album/0VlFahuWVPQp5GlCi6niSn?si=9bx2JpchQnm2vRdWyd4yBw Twitter: @sleuthmusic1 Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/sleuthmusician Insta: @sleuthmusic11 Bandcamp: www.sleuthartist.bandcamp.com

Artist: Nathan Lewis Thomas

New Release: The Melody

Genre: Pop: Singer-Songwriter / Alternative Pop

Sounds like:  Hozier / John Mayer / James Bay / Tom Misch

Located in:  Warrington, Cheshire, United Kingdom

This song is an exploration of the idea of music as a form of escapism. The Melody's stomping rhythm, rich vocal harmonies, and catchy hooks are sure to draw you in.

The music I am creating is the result of years spent honing my sound to find a style that truly represents what I'm about musically. I love compositions with a strong harmonic arrangement and I like to think that I have incorporated that into my first release.

I do this because I love it! I am very lucky to be able to work as a musician as my profession, but my work involves performing covers. As musicians will know, there is nothing like expressing yourself through your music and I am no different, which is why I have decided to release some of my material as an exciting side project to my work.

Right now I am recording my second single which will be out in December. I can't wait for people to hear my second offering.

LINKS:  Spotify: https://open.spotify.com/album/2sHLtIl30kabkXt22Qvo2D?si=qqysRWCcTDWtHbu2F_KT-g Twitter: www.twitter.com/musicbynlt Instagram: www.instagram.com/musicbynlt Facebook: www.facebook.com/musicbynlt

Artist: MoPoNeck

New Release: Enough Love

Genre: reggae, dancehall, afro,

Sounds like: WIZKID, DAVIDO, KOFFEE,SIZZLA, VYBZ KARTEL, MOVADO,ALKALINE, AKON

Located in: Roseau , Common Wealth of Dominica, West Indies 767

This song was written based on the name of the beat. The beat was named 'Enough Love' so I tried to see where those two words appeared most in my life, and most of those times were in relationships, where my other half would ask me questions like, baby how much do you love me? Baby on a scale of 1-10 how much do you love me? But I would always answer her with, Baby please tell me how much love is enough? Cause there is no such thing as Enough Love or Too Much Love, when you are in a relationship with someone no amount of Love is too much or Enough. There is no such thing as Enough Love so I wrote this song based on this concept of Enough Love.

My direction is to showcase the music from my country to the world and keep on adding to my countries Arts and Culture by creating good songs and keeping the vibe positive. The music I am creating for fans right now is tailored more to things that they can relate to. Music that they can listen to and feel the lyrics and vibe to the melody and rhythm.

I do this because...

I was born into the first-ever music store on the island. My dad had a studio at home and a studio at this store, so while my mom was pregnant I was already listening to music while I developed as a baby in her stomach. I recorded my first song when I was 8, but I was recording myself on cassette way before then. I love making music for my friends, fans and to represent my country. What I love most about performing is making a connection with the crowd and watching them engage while I sing my lyrics. My inspiration comes naturally. I am inspired by all the things going on around me.

Right now we are...

 I'm currently working on a script for the Enough Love Official Music Video to be recorded sometime next month. To subscribe to my youtube channel so you can get notified as soon as it drops.

LINKS:  https://open.spotify.com/album/0ksuDkDwxbxqb6wUduFwVH www.twitter.com/moponeck https://www.facebook.com/MoPoNeck www.instagram.com/moponeck

Artist: Spontaneous Groovin' Combustion

New Release: Spy vs Spy

Genre: Contemporary Jazz

Sounds like:  Down To The Bone, Fourplay, Fattburger, Pieces Of A Dream

Located in:  New York, NY

"Spy vs Spy" is the second single by Spontaneous Groovin' Combustion, a Contemporary/Smooth Jazz ensemble, led by saxophonist/flutist Warren Keller, featuring original, groove-oriented music. “Spy vs Spy” pays homage to the great TV theme songs of yesteryear- think 'The Man from U.N.C.L.E.' "Spy vs Spy” is driven by an infectious sax and flute line that will have you boppin'! Though you might be looking over your shoulder to make sure you're not being followed!

We try to straddle the line between C-Jazz and Funk. "Spy vs Spy" compliments our debut single, "Kickin" It," also from 2019, in establishing the 'Spontaneous Groovin' Combustion Sound.' We want our tunes to be fun, yet provocative and slightly different than the rest- not just background music!

Right now, we're most excited about having locked-in the next single campaign, going for adds in February 2020. Early next year, we'll release that single #3 (TBD), hopefully, to even better results than the first two records achieved!

LINKS:  https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fwMPuprOTvE https://open.spotify.com/album/1sFBTZq6aL0OC7OZeh1zCg https://twitter.com/Spontaneous_GC https://www.facebook.com/SpontaneousGroovinCombustion https://www.instagram.com/spontaneousgroovin

Artist: Suniil Bhatia (Artist)/ Sound Machine (Band)

New Release: Kahani Sunil (I'm stuck in here)

Genre: Indie Hip Hop with Poetry Rap and shades of Rock Music

Located in: : Mumbai

Kahani Suno means 'Hear a story' in in English. The song is about the artist and can be relatable to any individual as its about the trials, tribulations and struggles which an individual goes through in life. In a brief translation, the song says "Hear my story which is about aspirations, struggles, sadness, times of feeling lost in the journey of life, destiny and moving on with hopes of getting a new dawn"

This music is part of an ongoing album called 'Yeh Din' which means 'These Days' in English.

One can convey one's thoughts and emotions through words and music. Performing is the way to communicate ones songs and if people are able to relate to them, the work of an artist is done. Living a life of ones dreams is the only thing which pushes us to do what we do. Am still doing what I'm doing accordingly.

Right now I am working on more songs to complete the Album.

LINKS:  Reverbnation : https://www.reverbnation.com/sunilbhatia/song/31226644-kahani-suno-im-stuck-in-here Soundcloud : https://soundcloud.com/sunil-bhatia Spotify : https://open.spotify.com/album/2YN7ZCGcV9hame4JWJnwci  Twitter : https://twitter.com/sunilbhatia Facebook : https://www.facebook.com/YoursMusically Instagram : https://www.instagram.com/sonu.sunil.bhatia

Artist: Bucket Boys

New Release: Won't you be

Genre: Pop music, Adult contemporary, Roots, Fifties

Located in: Mönchengladbach, NW, Germany

If you’re a fan of the 50’s sound, check out the Bucket Boys. The latest songs of the BUCKET BOYS, published in autumn 2019, are the construction box to build all kinds of stories dealing with love and hate. We have songs between yesterday and tomorrow, nice and naughty, sick & sicker.

If you’re looking for an unrealistic illustration of LOVE'N'HATE, you’ll find all you need in this sound from Rock'n'Roll to Country, from Roots to Desert-Rock. The songs are inspired by a different kind of backyard-romance and desire, tequila-driven fantasies and even all imaginable varieties of love and hate.

I do this because...

I love concerts, The Bucket Boys are still on the road. To feel dust and sweat on their skin, burnin’ heat in one hell of a night. An endless landscape of desert’s sand and burnin’ darkness in their eyes. With Tequila-driven fantasies, a taste of backyard-romance and dirty desire, are they looking for their lucky chance.

This mixture of rock’n’roll and country, roots and desert-rock, it makes them happy and is the ultimate soundtrack of a never-ending road-movie.

The Bucket Boys are promoting their new album "Love'n'Hate" and play live on the "up to honey hill-tour".

LINKS:  http://www.reverbnation.com/bucketboys/song/31155604-wont-you-be http://open.spotify.com/track/63u8p69QInABgsf0TtngV3 http://twitter.com/bucketboystweet http://www.facebook.com/TheBucketBoys

Artist: Cabela and Schmitt

New Release: I Pray For You

Genre: Rock/Pop Ballad

Sounds like: The Beatles, Tom Petty, Imagine Dragons, Coldplay

Located in: Nebraska and Colorado

Cabela and Schmitt are an alternative to classic rock. Our influences come from decades of listening to great music. The song is about a couple who gave up too early. The sadness and turmoil of a love gone wrong tearing apart two hearts that give it all up before true love is achieved. And you pray that it will all work out.

This song is track eleven on our newly released album DANCING SHOES. The music comes from our souls. It's an absolute part of us.

Right now we are gearing up for the holiday season with some original Christmas songs. Also, we have been setting our goals and preparing for 2020. Lots of good marketing ideas are flowing.

LINKS:  https://open.spotify.com/track/2QTgOQ4WWWVIqCPvUMdLUV?si=4Ok9qCcDTTybMCyr7kjtcw Twitter: @CabelaSchmitt https://www.facebook.com/cabelaschmittmusic https://www.instagram.com/cabelaandschmitt www.cabelaandschmitt.com

[mysisfoundmyblogsoimadethisone]

posted on an old tumblr. 2011

100 facts about me

Sometimes, I don’t like being Mexican.

I’ve done many things I wish I haven’t done.

I consider myself a bad friend.

I can never stop worrying about something.

I’m a loner at home.

I don’t feel comfortable around my family without my sister.

My sister is the person I most look up to.

Whenever I’m sad I watch old RayWilliamJohnson videos on youtube.

I’m jealous of people.

I dislike how I look.

I feel I can only be satisfied with myself if I change how I look.

I push people away.

I’ve never had a legit best friend.

I love white rice.

I can make rainbow cupcakes.

I have 3 friends that used to self harm.

I still love my old dog, Lola.

I have terrible long distance vision.

I’m forgetful when I want to be.

I support gay marriage.

I am against animal cruelty.

I wish I was her.

I wish I could be the daughter my parents want.

I feel like I am never what my parents want.

I hate getting better grades than my sister. When I am one A away from straight A’s, my parents don’t care. When my sister finally gets a D instead of an F in algebra, they celebrate.

I want to live in Chicago.

I'm tired of the same old things.

My grandma thinks I don’t like her.

I think all of my aunts, uncles, cousins, grandparents, like my sister more that they like me.

I have always been the strange child.

I’ve made my mom cry before.

I hate myself at times.

I dislike playing the violin.

I hate being put on the spot.

I can't pronounce some words right, like Chicago, chase-Chace, children, shoes-chose, and others words.

I was born in Chicago.

My first ever best-friend lives in Texas now and I miss her.

My first ever crush lives in Texas and I want to find him.

I had a friend that I’ve know since we were in the 1st grade.

I was born on Groundhog’s day.

I have a lot of cousins.

I am my sister’s therapist.

I fear I might not remember how to speak spanish as well in 10 years.

I’ve (on accident) hit my little cousin with a piñata stick before…on his 4th birthday.

I’m a procrastinator.

I love Salt & Vinger chips.

I’ve stopped drinking soda.

Arizona Mucho Mango is my favorite drink.

I’m addicted to Netflix.

I’ve watched the whole Greek series, thanks to Netflix.

I live near a Walgreens.

I love to swim.

I need to improve my communication skills to make plans with friends.

I’ve stopped talking to many of my friends.

I tend to ditch someone if I see someone more interesting.

I wanna have long hair.

I dyed my hair black 3 months ago and it’s still that color.

I was a cute, annoying, little kid.

I love wearing skirts and dresses, just not outside my house.

I pretty much wear jeans and vans every single day.

I regret losing my best friend over a lie.

I love animals.

I don’t know what I want to do in the future.

I hate summer and part of spring.

I love the Strokes.

Hey Arnold! is my show.

I have the old iPod touch.

I never have anything interesting to say when I’m texting someone.

I love this number.

Justin Bieber is amazing and hot.

I am the worst gift giver ever.

I know 3 of my friend’s password to their facebook. Password keeper (;

I hate getting my hopes up, which happens all the time.

I miss 7th grade.

I’m self conscious most of the time.

I don’t understand the world.

I’m still waiting for a lot of things. fuck waiting.

My favorite line from a movie is “Roses are red, violets are blue, fuck you whore.”-500 Days of Summer.

I have a goal to watch 1000 movies in a year. So far:17. I might not reach that goal at this pace.

I’m currently watching Ugly Betty-Season 3. I'm obsessed.

My sister is my best friend but she doesn’t know it.

I’ve been asked to make plans this weekend, but I don’t answer them because I’m afraid of letting them down.

I’m not as scared to make presentation to the class anymore because I know I’m a boss.

I’m currently pale.

I want a friend that wants to come over whenever and tan with me on my trampoline this summer.

My mom thinks I have a secret boyfriend. Boy is she wrong.

I’m having my quinceanera next year.

I like taking pictures.

I’ve been to a John Mayer concert and a Paramore concert.

My favorite number is 7.

I am the alarm of my family in the mornings.

I’m not witty.

People think I’m funny, I think they’re crazy.

I’m playing volleyball in high school. Maybe I’ll make new friends.

My sister knows how to have fun, I do not.

I change my handwriting around.

I do not like anyone at the moment.

I hardly text people anymore.

I can predict already that my summer is going to be a fail.

I need to talk more.