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katehuntington · 4 years

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Title: In Bad Waters - part seven Word count: ±5570 words Episode summary: Still in possession of the Winchesters’ belongings, Zoë meets up with the hunters on her next case. When it turns out to be a little more complicated than anticipated, she accepts their help in order to make an important deadline. Part seven summary: Zoë goes undercover to find out more about the murder she saw in her dream. Little does she know, that Sam and Dean do the same. Episode warnings: Dark! NSFW, 18+ only! Descriptions of domestic violence/child abuse. Drug use/addiction. Angst, gore, violence, character death. Description of blood, injury and medical procedures/resuscitation. Swearing, alcoholism. Supernatural creatures/entities, mentions of demon possession. Descriptions of torture and murder, drowning. Illegal/criminal practices. Mentions of nightmares and flashbacks. Author’s note: Beta’d by @winchest09 and @deanwanddamons. Thanks, girls!

Supernatural: The Sullivan Series Masterlist

S1E02 “In Bad Waters” Masterlist

Confident, Zoë bends down in order to fit under the yellow ‘crime scene - do not cross’ ribbon. She takes out her federal agent ID and flips it open before the officer guarding the perimeter can ask her about it. He steps away respectfully and lets her through.

It’s about 10 AM and the sun is already out on this relatively warm November day. Marching up the driveway with her heels clicking rhythmically on the concrete, Zoë unbuttons her black suit jacket to let in some air. The Stars and Stripes hasn’t been taken down yet and still flutters from the top of the mast, located in the center of a perfectly landscaped garden. The fallen leaves drape parts of the neatly mowed lawn in different tones of orange and brown. Not only does this particular estate look amazing, the entire street is brochure perfect. It is obvious that the families living in these homes on Reynolds Park Road, are wealthy ones. However, the ambulances and police cars blocking the street and the officers scanning the area, indicate that something is terribly wrong. What would seem like the last place on earth for a murder, is indeed a gruesome crime scene.

Two officers are having a conversation by the front entry. They pause the discussion once they notice the unfamiliar face approaching them. She captivates them instantly. Determined strides, head held high, clearly a woman who stands her ground in the men’s words that is law enforcement. There’s not a single trace of doubt noticeable when she flashes her ID once more. “Agent Evans, FBI,” she states.

“Detective Lee. This is officer Sanchez,” a tall man, with a serious case of a receding hairline, introduces his colleague a little reluctantly, clearly not happy about the presence of a fed. He holds out his hand anyway and Zoë makes eye contact, giving him a powerful handshake. “I didn’t know the Bureau was involved,” he comments with an Upper South accent, common for the region.

“Well, if you had paid attention while investigating the crimes in your own county, detective,” the specialist returns without missing a beat, facing the two man with enough arrogance to shut them down immediately, “- you might had noticed that there has been a murder similar to this one, making this a serial killing.” “Still don’t make this a federal case,” Lee returns, standing his ground. “What does, is the fact that there’s a whole string of deaths leading from Alabama up to your lovely little town.”

Of course she just made that up on the spot, just to back up her reason to be here, but no one would be able to tell without doing some solid digging first. She is so convincing that the two men fail to counter her. “Now if you'll excuse me, I have work to do. If you could be so kind to show me the way, that would be neat,” she requires, throwing them a fake smile while narrowing her eyes.

The two officers glance at each other, it being clear as day that the detective is not amused by the way he’s spoken to. Nonetheless, he gestures to the FBI agent to get into the house. She seems like a person not to be messed with.

They enter the villa with Zoë in tow, who nods approving while taking a look around. She glances up to the high ceilings, which are decorated with beautiful alto-reveilo, carved into the white plaster. Roman pillars support the level above, and in the back two staircases circle up to the second floor. Every square inch of the floor underneath their feet is made from marble. Renaissance paintings, portraying country sides in the 19th century and battles from the Civil War hang from the walls, a gold plated chandelier floats overhead. Flower pieces, amongst them an expensive bouquet placed on the mahogany round table in the center of the main room, gives the house a finishing touch. Zoë knows the lifestyle of the rich and famous, but this place looks more like a palace than a principal’s home in a town called Paragould.

“As you can see, Mr. Van Dyke lived the good life. His father owned a Dutch shipping company and made millions,” Officer Sanchez explains, having noticed the federal agent’s impressed expression. “We believe the fortune he passed on to his son might have something to do with Van Dyke’s death.”

As they climb the stairs, Zoë chuckles, but doesn’t say a word. These oblivious bastards... they have absolutely no clue, do they? “You think something else is going on?” Lee questions, noticing the sarcasm in her little laugh. “Money is not the motive,” she returns, curt.

An awkward silence follows and Zoë can feel the hostility between her and the two police officers. She has experienced it before, especially in smaller communities. Most cops despise the feds, simply because the cases they work quite literally hit close to home. The FBI is no stranger to barging in and taking over entire investigations, without sending a ‘thank you’ card. A lot of hard work for the local coppers, without any credit. Zoë can’t say she blames the police for being reluctant.

“This way.” Sanchez beckons them after climbing the stairs to the second floor, where he turns left on the vestibule. The closer they get to the crime scene, the more crowded it gets. The Crime Scene Unit has already arrived and forensics dust for prints, take pictures and search for evidence. When Zoë enters the room and finds Mr. Van Dyke, she frowns.

In the corner lies a man, probably in his mid fifties, half into a shattered exhibition case, his eyes open, death evident. It’s not the first time Zoë has seen a dead guy, but she wasn’t expecting such a violent killing committed by a ten year old. Apparently his head got smashed into the showcase; glass is scattered all over his body. He has bruises and cuts on his arms and face, but most peculiar is his probable cause of death. His neck is broken; the head at a 90° angle.

Zoë scans the room, which shows several signs of a struggle. One thing is certain; Van Dyke really got his ass kicked before he died. As she takes a look around, a woman wearing white latex gloves updates Lee and his partner. Zoë glances over, notices the CSU logo on her jacket, and walks over to tune in. “- time of death was between 6:30 and 7 AM. No prints found so far,” the forensic states. “Look at this place. There must be something,” Detective Lee ponders, his gaze panning over the crime scene. “Not even a fiber,” she sighs. “I have to admit; I’ve never seen anything like this.”

“Seems like the suspect has left no trace,” Zoë intervenes, mixing into the conversation. “Someone just did a good job covering up,” Sanchez scoffs, not finding her remark relevant. “We’ll find something.” Dude, you have no idea, Zoë thinks to herself, the corner of her mouth twitching in amusement. She doesn’t cut in on him, although she has about a dozen smart curve balls ready. Never get too smart around cops, who knows what she might need them for later on.

“There’s one thing, though, but it adds more confusion than it clears up.” The forensic walks over to the body of Mr. Van Dyke and points out the way his sweater is pulled down. It uncovers his left shoulder, the sleeve seems too long at the end by the force that was used. “Looks like someone pulled him down. As if the killer wanted to level his victim with him or her,” she clarifies. “The murderer was shorter than the victim,” Lee concludes. “Not just a little shorter, I’m talking about round 4 ft. 5 here, looking at the angle and location of the bruising,” the forensic adds up. “About the height of a ten year old, right?” Zoë fills in, as the clues sum up. “Yeah, that would be correct, but that’s impossible. Even if a ten year old could be capable of doing such a thing, they wouldn’t have the strength,” she rules out.

Impossible isn’t in Zoë’s dictionary, but she has seen enough. The forensics might be on a dead end, Zoë is a hundred percent sure of who Van Dyke’s killer is. She is dealing with one furious ghost child here, but two questions remain unanswered: why isn't Laura at rest and how is she able to relocate? A cursed object is the first thing that comes to mind. Being on the clock, Zoë decides to leave and have a talk with the family. “Thanks very much, I’ve got everything I need.” She gives both the forensic and the members of the PPD a nod, before she exits the room.

While Zoë walks down the corridor towards the staircase, the undercover huntress goes through the things she just learned. It almost seems like Laura is trying to put her victims through the same horror she experienced before she died. She simply shows them who’s boss, just like her father used to teach her. It’s violent, not suited for viewers under the age of eighteen, and yet a girl of only ten years of age, is behind these murders.

Back on the first floor, Zoë can hear soft wailing coming from the dining room. For the third time this morning she shows her ID, this time to the officer guarding the shielded off private space. The door is slightly ajar, when she pushes it open further in order to enter, the investigator finds the Van Dyke family, gathered together. A woman in her early fifties with blonde pixie hair has her arms around a teenage girl, who Zoë presumes to be the principal’s daughter. The son, a few years younger than his sister, stares outside, his empty eyes gazing out over the lake, quietly grieving in his own way. Instantly, Zoë feels sorry for the family. She wouldn’t wish this upon anyone. “Mrs. Van Dyke?”

The woman looks up with tears in her eyes and lets go of her daughter, but not before sweetly stroking her hair. Zoë shows Mr. Van Dyke’s wife her identification. “I’m Special Agent Evans, you can call me Sharon. I would like to ask you a few questions if that’s alright.” The mother of two nods her head as she wipes away her tears. “Of course.” “Your husband’s passing took place between 6:30 and 7 O'clock this morning. Where were you at this time?” Zoë questions calmly. “I was in the kitchen, preparing breakfast,” Mrs. Van Dyke replies, having crossed one arm over her chest, her hand covering her mouth as she breathes out with a shudder. “And you heard nothing?” the huntress wonders, her voice gentle, not wanting to upset the poor woman even more. “Not a sound,” she shakes her head. “Heather was in her room next to Bill’s office, she didn’t hear a thing until the dog started barking, that’s when she found him.”

Zoë nods at that, aware that dogs have a better sense of the supernatural than humans have. She glances past the woman before her, noticing the kind Australian shepherd, who has laid his head in Heather’s lap, watching up at her with worried eyes while trying to comfort his owner. The dog seems calm now, a good indication that Laura isn’t anywhere near. What the huntress does find strange, though, is that their daughter didn’t hear a thing. The article in the newspaper yesterday about Robert Shire’s murder comes to mind. His family was home during the incident as well.

“That will be it for now, thank you for your time,” Zoë notifies, smiling sympathetically. “I’m very sorry for your loss.” Mrs. Van Dyke turns back to her family with half a nod, still in complete shock after this morning’s events which turned her world upside down. Zoë would like to take more time to talk to the children, but she simply doesn’t have a minute to spare. Hastened, the huntress exits the house, stepping out into the warm sun as she takes out her shades and puts them on.

It all makes sense now. Laura isn’t just getting even with the people who are directly or indirectly connected to her death. She’s recreating how she died. What Zoë remembers from her flashback, the poor girl was a punching bag for her father’s fist on a daily basis, but it’s not just that. No one around heard a thing, not even a single sound, like the victims were isolated from the outside world. The vision of Laura’s mother stoically continuing her dinner while her older brother watched TV. As if they couldn’t bear the abuse and therefore shut out the sounds that came along with it.

Pondering, Zoë strides down Reynolds Park Road, back to her bike, which she parked near the water. Unlike the police, the huntress is everything but stuck, she knows exactly where she needs to go. Next stop; The Shire residence.

“I can’t believe we’re actually doing this.”

Dean has been complaining ever since they pulled away from the In-N-Out, when Sam came up with his newest masterplan. Their usual jeans and several layers of plaid have been replaced with black suits, the sharp dressed men now approaching Arkansas Methodist Medical Center, leaving the Impala in the parking lot.

“We are doing this, so get used to it,” Sam returns, getting tired of his brother’s whining. “You have the ID’s?” Dean takes out two leather wallets and flips them open, showing him the fake identification. Sam stares at the ID’s, his jaw falling open. “FBI? Are you nuts, Dean?” “Dad and I do it all the time. No sweat,” Dean shrugs, not that worried about getting caught.

“What if they look up our badge numbers? This is suicide!” Sam hisses, keeping his voice down when they pass people at the entrance of the hospital. “You wanna know what’s suicide? Meddling with Zoë’s case,” Dean counters. Sam huffs. “Oh, come on. How bad can it be?” “You should have seen her in Rochester when she found out we rang Cliffer and blew her cover. That wasn’t even intentional, and now you actually choose to get involved?” Dean argues.

He gives his brother his new identification, which Sam studies carefully as he mumbles his fake name. Dean watches his brother closely, curious if he will detect the little gimmick in their aliases, them being Angus and Young. But Sam doesn’t know enough about rock music to notice that the two names combined is the full name of AC/DC’s lead guitarist. Nonetheless, Dean is proud of the inside joke.

“She might get a little annoyed, but she won’t get mad. We’re helping her,” Sam assures, hoping his brother will stop being dramatic. “Exactly! I’m dressed like a fucking penguin while I know she won’t ever thank us, even if we have a major breakthrough.” Dean loosens his tie a bit, smothered by the tightness of his collar. “Look man, we can sit on our ass and waste this day or--” “- I prefer that actually,” the oldest intervenes. “Or--” Sam continues, sternly, “- we can do something useful.”

With that being said, he walks through the revolving doors of the governmental facility, followed by Dean, who mutters something unintelligible; stubborn fucker. Dean might be the older sibling here, but when Sammy has got his mind set on something, he can’t be reasoned with. Heading straight for the main desk, the Winchester brothers get into character. Sam especially looks somewhat young to be a federal agent, thankfully his height makes up for that. They both need to sell this in order to gather new information on the case. Confidently, Dean flashes his FBI identification to the woman behind the counter. “Agent Young, this is my partner Agent Angus. We’re here to see a dead body.” “You came to the right place,” she comments, apparently not impressed by their badges. She calls for an older physician in a long white coat who just passed by. “Dr. Hughes? Could you escort these two agents to the morgue?” she asks him. “Of course, I’m heading over there anyway,” he agrees, beckoning Dean and Sam to walk with him.

The hunters follow the doctor through the long hospital hallways. White ceilings, mint green vinyl floors and random photos and Picasso rip offs on the walls every now and then; the typical hospital decor the Winchester brothers are more familiar with than they would want to be. They’ve been inside medical centers plenty. To investigate a case, but also as a visitor whenever someone in their close circle got hurt on the job, but also as a patient. Hunting isn’t just a profession prone to injury, it’s worse than that. It’s a profession prone to death.

Dr. Hughes eventually breaks the silence when they reach an elevator. “Who are you here for?” “Ronald Shire,” Sam informs. Unpleasantly surprised, Hughes looks up at the tall agent. He halts by the elevator, calling it down to the first floor. It takes a second to arrive, the doctor uncomfortably shifts from one foot to the other. Dean and Sam have noticed it, however, exchanging a look.

“I’m sorry,” the physician apologizes when he realizes how his behavior might come across. “Ronald was a colleague of mine, but he was also a close friend.” “Our condolences,” Dean says, knowing all about Shire’s death after Sam filled him in earlier. Hughes pushes the button to call the elevator down, accepting the sympathy offered by the agent. “Unbelievable, isn’t it? We see death every day and yet when it hits close to home, you never see it coming.”

Wise words, applicable to everyone. He has been there on many occasions when the final hour struck; of hunters, of people they were trying to save. One would expect all this experience to give him thick skin, since he’s used to the violence and killings. But when Jess was murdered, it hit him harder than a wrecking ball.

The younger Winchesters train of thought is interrupted by the sound of the bell, announcing that the elevator has reached their level. He clears his throat and directs his attention to the doctor again. “Do you have an idea what happened to Mr. Shire?” “I did the autopsy myself; it left me stunned,” Dr. Hughes tells them as they enter the elevator.

Again the doctor presses a key and the doors close. As they slowly move down to the basement, Dean tries to find out if Hughes knows more about the case then he’s willing to let go at this point. “We think his death might have something to do with the murder that took place in the Van Dyke residence,” he fills in. “I heard about that on the news. CSU is still on that, though”, the physician says. “We have one of our agents at the scene,” Sam returns, with the short statement explaining their suspicion.

The doors open and the three enter the morgue of the hospital. It’s cool in this section and an unpleasant scent fills the area, chemicals almost masking the lingering smell of the dead. The doctor walks over to the furthest wall of metal drawers. He pulls out one of the many trays and puts on a pair of latex gloves before he zips open the body bag. “What’s so stunning about this case?” Sam wonders. “See for yourself.” Hughes unfolds the bag and both boys raise their eyebrows. “Ouch,” Dean comments.

The body of Laura’s father is badly bruised and battered, as if he got beaten up by a street gang in a bad neighborhood. His jaw is demolished, his neck broken; this is some serious abuse. The ‘Y’ shaped incisions on his torso indicated that a full autopsy has been performed on Ronald Shire, but the large stitches barely stand out between the black and broken skin.

“That’s not all,” the doctor adds as he takes out the file. “I searched every inch of his body on the in and outside, but there is not a print, not one single fiber on him that could point you fellas towards a suspect.” Dean gives Sam a look without the physician seeing it. Dr. Hughes might have never seen this before, the hunters certainly have. Ghosts never leave any trace on their victims, unless they want to.

“This caught my attention, though.” The doctor points out the bruises. “See how they run out upwards? That indicates that these injuries were caused from a lower angle. Or the killer was on its knees - which would be most unlikely - or the injuries were inflicted by someone shorter than 4 ft. 7. Someone with a growth defect, dwarf syndrome. That’s the only way I can clarify this.” “Have you considered a child?” Sam questions, carefully. “I have for a brief moment, but it’s theoretically impossible for a child to throw punches like this, even when it would use an object to create some kind of leverage, which I found no indication of,” the doctor explains. “Honestly, I’ve never seen damage done like this, not even by trained fighters. The evidence doesn’t add up in the slightest. This shouldn’t be possible.”

The boys exchange another glance; the evidence adds up just fine for them. Sam tilts his head and nods to the door, giving Dean the signal that they are leaving. “Thank you for your time, doctor.” he rounds up their visit. “If there is anything else, let us know.” “You’re welcome, I hope you’ll get this one,” Hughes mentions while he cleans up. “We’ll do our best,” Sam ensures.

The two hunters leave the morgue and step back into the elevator. As soon as the doors close, the oldest of the two turns to the other. “Laura, definitely,” the youngest brother states, determined. “Unless this town is haunted by two frustrated mini spirits, yeah, it’s Laura.” Dean agrees, watching Sam take his phone out of his pocket as they arrive at the first floor again. “Who’re you gonna call?” “The other Ghostbuster,” Sam replies, as he looks up Zoë’s number and presses the green button as soon as they step outside the hospital. “Shouldn’t we get to the bomb shelter first?” the oldest suggests, snarky. “This information could be useful”, Sam replies, but before Dean can respond to that, Zoë answers her phone.

“Sullivan.” “Hey Zoë, it’s Sam. Listen, I’ve got some info on Ronald Shire for you,” Sam cuts to the chase. “Why would you have info on Laura’s dad?” Sam cringes slightly, detecting the suspecting tone in her voice. Oh well, here goes nothing. “We went to the Medical Center to see Shire’s body.”

Complete silence, but Sam can almost hear Zoë’s blood boil on the other side of the line. Dean pulls his sleeve and gestures at him, frustrated. “What are you including me for?” he hisses, making sure Zoë can’t hear him. Sam waves him away, without making a sound he hushes his brother to be quiet, turning away from him in order not to get distracted. He takes a breath, gathering his courage.

“Zoë?” “I’m sorry, I think I misunderstood you. Did you just tell me that you deliberately messed with my case, even though I told you VERY clearly not to get involved?” The huntress’s voice trembles with anger, Sam can hear she tries to keep calm. “We figured we could spare you some time by going ourselves--” “- You FIGURED?!”

Sam cowers, her voice so sharp and loud that he doesn’t have to put her on speaker for Dean to pick up on the conversation. He did move closer to his brother, invading his personal space in order to tune in. “Better take cover,” Dean advises his brother. Annoyed, Sam pushes his brother away and focuses on Zoë again.

“We didn’t mess anything up if that’s what you’re worried about”, he states defensively. “I wouldn't give a flying fuck if you solved the fucking case! You didn’t listen!” “You’re not my boss!” Sam makes clear, not having her raging attitude, no matter how intimidated he feels by the fiery woman. “I am the boss when it comes to MY cases, damn it! This is not a fucking candy store I’m running, Sam! You can’t go do my job without telling me, you almost got me killed last time!” “It was an innocent morgue visit!” Sam exclaims while making a wild gesture, even though Zoë isn’t there to see it. “And honestly, would you have said ‘yes’ if I asked you first?”

“No of course not, you fucking asshat! That’s the fucking point!” she returns, clearly furious. “I swear to God, Sam, if you and your brother cross my path again…” “What? You’ll kill us?” Sam huffs. “Listen, Zoë. Ronald Shire was attacked by Laura, without doubt. He was a mess, his jaw was wrecked and his neck was broken, all injuries inflicted from a lower angle. That’s all the info I’ve got for you, you do with it whatever the hell you want.”

Before Zoë can return an answer, Sam ends the call. It’s only now that he notices Dean opposite of him, his arms crossed in front of him. He nods, appreciating. “No more Mr. Nice Guy. I like it,” he comments, then continues his way to the Impala. Without responding to his notification, Sam follows and catches up with him, still angry with the ungrateful attitude of the huntress. He cannot believe he saved her at least an hour and a half and this is what he gets in return; so much for gratitude.

Together they walk over to the classic Chevrolet without speaking about it further. Yet Dean can’t help but smile as he opens his door. Sam notices the grin and rolls his eyes. “Just say it,” he mutters. “Say what?” “You know what.” Dean looks at him over the top of the black Chevrolet and ponders, still deciding if he should say the words which he longs to say. He can’t help himself, he has to enjoy the moment and rub it in. His smirk grows even wider. “Hate to say I told you so.” “No, you don’t,” Sam sighs, sits down and closes the door.

Dean does the same and turns the key, starting up the Impala’s V8 engine, which lets out an enthusiastic roar. People Are Strange by The Doors is playing on the radio while Sam stares through the windshield, still bummed about the call. “Why doesn’t she just drop the act?” Sam wonders. “I’m not sure if it’s an act, Sammy.” Dean checks in both directions before steering his precious car onto the road. “I sincerely think her soul is pitch black.”

But Sam shakes his head, not buying it. “This can’t be her persona. You said it yourself; she was different when you first met her.” “So? People change,” Dean simply declares, shrugging his shoulders. “Maybe, but this is just stupid. We’re in town, bored out of our skull while she is working her ass off to finish up on time. It can’t be that hard to accept our help.” “Apparently she’s socially disturbed, Sam. Let it go already. If she can’t appreciate a helping hand, she’s not worth the effort,” the older brother suggests, not wanting Sam to be bothered by the matter. “Let’s go to Texas and hunt some wolf, huh?”

He considers the advice for a moment as they drive by Linwood Cemetery. As soon as he spots the place, he glances across the road at the Hampton Inn, but there is no sign of Zoë; she must be at the crime scene. As they pass through, he decides he wants to stay. “No. We agreed to stay in town till tonight. Zoë will leave, case closed or not. It’s almost midday, so what difference will it make if we leave now or tonight?” “Half a day,” Dean answers smartly. “Denise? Or did you completely forget about the fact that you are meeting up with her later?”

The driver of the black car raises his eyebrow at that, contemplating, because Sam is right; he did forget about his ‘date’ later today for just a second. Dean doesn’t like to admit it, but Denise is a very big plus to stay in town just a little while longer. A silence follows after Sam’s mention while his brother thinks through his options.

“Point taken,” he gives in. “But I’ll tell you one thing. Zoë is not gonna come around.” “She will, believe me. She’s not as bad to the bone as she pretends to be,” Sam states, sure of his words. After all, last night she was friendly for letting him crash in her room and transferring all that lore to his computer. “I know her better than you do,” Dean weighs up. “I don’t believe that's true,” Sam counters, shaking his head. “Wanna bet?” Dean looks aside as the argument is starting to turn into a ‘do not, do too’ fight. “Burgers for a week.” “I rarely eat burgers. How’s that gonna benefit me?” the younger sibling brings to mind.

“Okay, well… If I win, you buy me burgers for a week. If you win, I won’t give you shit for ordering a salad in every fast food joint we eat at.” The green eyed hunter wiggles his eyebrows, his arrogant grin confident, spread wide on his lips. “I’m not settling for that.” Sam huffs and shakes his head. “You can buy me whatever I order for the next seven days if I’m right.” “Deal.”

Before Dean can assure him that this is a bet he will win, his brother’s Blackberry rings. Surprised, he checks the screen for the number, his long chestnut hair falling in front of his eyes when he looks down, then he raises his eyebrows and smiles. Victoriously he shows the screen to Dean; it’s Zoë. Sam picks up his phone and puts her on speaker. “What?” he snaps, still mad at her. “What are you up to?” The youngest of the Winchesters isn’t sure if she’s asking him if he’s still intending to mess with her case or that she’s asking if he has some spare time. “Depends,” he answers, curt. “You said Shire broke his neck, so did Van Dyke.” “So?” “Might be something.”

Sam keeps his mouth shut, warning Dean to do the same with only a look and a slight shake of the head. An unpleasant silence follows. Obviously, it irritates Zoë. “C'mon, Sam. Knock it off!” “No, Zoë! We’re helping you out and this is what we get?” Sam returns. “You two nosey dickwads went behind my back! How can you expect me to be--”

They can hear her sigh and swallow down the rest of the sentence as she collects herself, trying to keep her temper in check. “I don’t like working with others and I certainly don’t want to abandon this case. I’ve never passed up a job, it’s not my style. But if I don't finish up by tonight, I don't have another option.”

“I get that, but wouldn’t it be better if we just work together now and make sure that you’ll make your deadline?” Sam suggests, calmer than a moment ago, now that the woman on the other end of the line has done the same. “Look, Zo,” Dean interrupts, adding his two cents. “I know you’re not particularly happy about teaming up - and hey, neither am I - but you’ll be able to cover more ground that way. You can’t expect us to leave town knowing you might have to face a dilemma. The sooner you close this case, the sooner we can go our separate ways.” “I don’t know...” Again a sigh while Zoë considers her next move. Sam allows the silence, granting her the time to think it through. The way he sees it, she doesn't have much of a choice. The Winchesters are the best option she’s got. “Okay, fine,” she eventually gives in. “But this is still my case. I call the shots and might we stumble on trouble, we stick to the plan. I can’t settle for anything less.” Dean has already opened his mouth to object, but Sam elbows him hard, shooting him a warning glare. “Agreed,” the youngest quickly answers, ignoring the quiet muttering from his left. “Dean?”

The older Winchester brother grinds his teeth. Shit, he does not want to bow down to her, because he knows the second he does, she will without a doubt step up to become Evil Queen Bitch. He’s never going to live it down. One case, he tells himself. One fucking case and he will never have to deal with her again. “Fine,” he utters, barely audible. “One other thing. I need to leave town tonight, case finished or not. We have to try or take care of this today, okay?” “We will,” Sam assures. “And if we run into trouble and can’t manage to wrap up, you don’t have to worry about this case. We’ll make sure to have it covered and that Laura will be put to rest.” “So, do we meet up or what?” “Yeah, sure.” “Where are you at?”

Before Sam answers he checks the name of the road they are on. “W. Kings Highway, going west. We’re staying at the Ramada Inn,” Sam tells her. “Shit motel.” He scoffs a chuckle, glad the tension has lifted. “Tell me ‘bout it.” “I'll see you at In-N-Out,” the huntress decides. “I want an Animal Burger.” “Have you had that 4x4 burger?” Dean says, his mouth watering. “The amount of meat, hmm.” “Are you kidding me? I grew up in California; In-N-Out is my jam!” “Their food is fuckin’ amazing, ain’t it?” Dean agrees. “Oh my God, yes! How they grill their cheese—”

Stunned, Sam stares from the phone to Dean and back. Did the unthinkable just happen? Did Zoë and Dean actually agree on something? Remarkable, but truly, here is the one subject they can’t fight about; food. “Zo?” he interrupts. “Yeah?” “See you at In-N-Out.” He chuckles and hangs up.

The Ramada Inn shows up in front of them and Dean pulls up into the parking lot, turning off the ignition once he has found a spot close to the entrance. Before he gets out of the car, he registers Sam, who’s wearing a boyish grin on his face. His eyes sparkle through the curtain of his bangs, his pearl white teeth on display; it’s clear he’s very much amused. “Hate to say I told you so,” Sam nags victoriously, and pushes the passenger door open.

With a confused expression upon his face, Dean gets out of his car himself. He then glares at younger Winchester over the top of the Impala, the words sinking in. Fuck, he lost a bet; Zoë came around. “No, you don’t,” he mutters, following his sibling inside. Looks like he’s going to have to live through the embarrassment of ordering and paying for salads the coming week. Oh well, at least he doesn’t have to eat them.

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 eight here

#Supernatural: the Sullivan Series #Supernatural series #Dean Winchester series #Sam Winchester series #Supernatural OFC series #SPN #Supernatural #dean angst #sam angst #Dean Winchester fanfiction #Sam Winchester fanfiction #Dean Winchester #Sam Winchester #Zoë Sullivan #STSS #STSS 1x01 #In Bad Waters #Kate Huntington

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freebooter4ever · 4 years

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Eugene's Second Date

AU where Sledge and Snafu meet before the war in 1940 Mobile, Alabama. Eugene and Merriell already had their first date where Merriell surprised him with Eugene's first kiss at the end, and now Eugene is dogging Merriell's steps like a lovesick puppy.

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That night Eugene floats home in a weird euphoria. It's not even necessarily happy, because he's half confused over his own emotions, but he's very joyful about it. He's so out of it he runs the car over his parent's mailbox.

He tells Shelton about this when they meet up for lunch at the lumberyard the next day. Shelton laughs.

"It was dark, I couldn't see a thing," Eugene protests in his defense.

"You're lucky it wasn't a tree," Shelton says. Still grinning. Eugene wonders if Shelton ever stopped grinning since last night.

"I would have seen a tree," Eugene argues.

"You said it was dark…"

"Not dark enough I couldn't see a tree, for goodness sake. I'm not blind."

"You couldn't see a mailbox."

"The height of my family's mailbox lines up almost exactly with the bottom of the car's windshield giving me at most an inch of warning that the damn thing is there."

"Should've let me drive...."

"I'm not a bad driver."

"Never said you weren't but you better let me drive next time just in case. Don't want to go hurting no more innocent mailboxes."

"There's gonna be a next time?" Eugene raises an eyebrow.

Shelton smiles and pauses the conversation to light his cigarette. Eugene turns back to his sketch of the dry docks.

"I'll fix it for you," Shelton drawls.

"Fix what?" Eugene asks distractedly, having already forgotten their conversation in his concentration over his drawing.

"You said it's one of those fancy mailboxes...shaped like a tiny house, yeah?" Shelton asks, "The boss saves the scrap lumber for us temp workers to take home. It'd be easy to get my hands on some small pieces. Make your little house good as new."

"You'd do that?"

"Sure," Shelton looks away from him, out to sea.

Eugene seizes the chance to draw his profile. It doesn't turn out well. He rips the page out of his notebook, crumples it, and tosses it down to the floor of the dock for the gulls to pick apart.

"I've got to go," Eugene says, "Need to get back before I'm missed." He doesn't mention that his class after lunch is woodshop, and how ironic it feels that he's building crooked decorative clocks while Shelton builds the infrastructure needed for warship production. Eugene stands and shoves his journal into his bookstrap.

Shelton hastily gets up to stand beside him, "Missed where?"

"School," Eugene admits. He feels like a child and he knows his embarrassment shows on his face. He can't look at Shelton as he packs up his lunch box and starts to climb down off the dock.

"Eugene," Shelton calls, following him down.

Eugene starts picking his way across the rickety wood. Their lunch spot is one of the ancient docks, probably from the 1800's. It's slowly being stripped away - any useful materials being put to work in the new, bigger, more robust docks.

"You mean to tell me you drove all the way downtown on your lunch break?" Shelton calls out to Eugene's back.

"No," Eugene replies over his shoulder, "I skipped third period so I could bicycle all the way downtown, for my health."

"Gene," Shelton finally catches up to him and grabs his hand, pulling him back.

Eugene gives in. He stops and turns around. Sometimes he wishes Shelton would just quit smiling for once.

Shelton bites his bottom lip, looking at Eugene. "You skipped class for me," he says.

"I did not say that," Eugene protests.

"Sure, Gene," Shelton says, tipping forward into Eugene's space.

Eugene fidgets, slinging his books over his shoulder, "It feels...useless; sitting in class, waiting to be able to do something meaningful. At least here I can see what's happening."

Shelton's expression goes serious then. He licks his lips and tightens his hold on Eugene's hand. "C'mon," he says.

"What?"

"I know what you need," is Shelton's only answer.

Eugene follows his lead. They climb around the docks and duck into the alley between the old waterfront dancehall and a warehouse. And much to Eugene's surprise - although it answers all of Eugene's unspoken wishes - Shelton pushes him up against the brick and kisses him. For a seemingly aloof, sometimes awkward guy, Shelton can be very demanding when he wants to be. And this kiss demands everything. They break apart whenever a car drives by on the busy city street a block away, but otherwise their necking goes uninterrupted.

Eugene's going to miss his fourth period class, for sure.

"I don't see how this is supporting the war effort either," Eugene teases during one break when a car actually parks in front of the alley opening and makes things difficult for them to kiss without being seen.

Shelton laughs. He is leaning languidly on the alley wall across from Eugene, his legs stretched out in front of him. He slides a little farther down the brick and lazily extends one leg until his foot is flat against the opposite wall.

"You're boosting worker morale," Shelton drawls.

"Oh god, don't say it like that," Eugene rolls his eyes and shoves Shelton's foot off the wall with his hip.

"I'm severely lacking in patriotism," Shelton continues, lifting his chin and putting on a fake serious air, "Multiple sessions may be needed to boost..." he flexes his hips and grabs at the baggy crotch of his work overalls in a rude gesture, "...my sagging morale."

"Shut up, Shelton," Eugene grins. He glances down the alley to make sure the car finally left. And then shoves off his side to close the distance between them and flatten Merriell's body against the opposite wall. Pressed against him like this, Eugene can feel Merriell's 'morale' and it is in no danger of sagging. Eugene kisses his neck just to be sure.

"If I boost it too much, we might end up with the opposite effect," Eugene whispers in his ear.

Merriell groans and latches his hands into Eugene's hair. "Oh, aren't you clever," he says glibly. He sounds sarcastic.

Though when Eugene moves to look Merriell in the eye again before locking lips with him once more, Merriell appears to be completely and totally in bliss.

This time if another car stops neither of them notice. Eugene doesn't think he could notice anything except Merriel, as long as Merriel keeps his hands around the back of Eugene's neck, and his knee wedged between Eugene's legs. Luckily they aren't seen. Cause, god, Eugene could kiss Merriell all day and forget about the time.

Fortunately as it turns out, there's plenty of warning when they eventually hear Merriell's name being called.

"Shelton?" a man's voice yells, husky from years of cigarettes, "Get your sorry ass out here, I saw you having a smoke. I need a hand with this."

"Fuck," Shelton breaks their kiss but doesn't push Eugene off.

Eugene groans quietly and presses his nose in the crook of Merriell's neck. He smells like the ocean and sawdust. Eugene wonders what he himself smells like. Probably musty old books.

"Gonna get me in trouble," Shelton smirks and disentangles himself from Eugene's arms. He backs off down the alley and gives Eugene a salute, "Uncle Sam thanks you for your service." And with a parting wink, Shelton jogs around the corner to meet his boss.

Eugene slides down the wall, breathing hard, and sits in the alley to give himself a moment before he goes back to school. It's only been a minute of separation from Merriell's body, and already Eugene's chest is aching terribly with need. Probably not a good sign for the days to come. He predicts a lot of his other responsibilities will fall by the wayside in favor of this.

He returns to the docks for lunch every single day after that. And with lunch always comes kisses that turn out to be addictive.

On the weekend Shelton comes over to Eugene's house. He drives the ugliest old Ford truck with rusted, chipped paint that might have been green at one point. But the engine purrs like a kitten.

Shelton notices Eugene's interest in his truck. He slaps the hood and announces, "I pour all my poker winnings into her."

"You must be shit at poker," Eugene replies.

Shelton laughs and maneuvers around the cab to pop the hood. He proudly displays the gleaming, beautiful engine and shiny parts to Eugene. Eugene makes appropriate admiring noises. He's never seen a car engine so clean that isn't fresh off the line - there's not a single speck of dust in sight.

"All new parts. Machined most of em custom myself," Shelton brags as he runs his hands through his hair and gazes at his vehicle proudly, "Impossible to get anything manufactured nowadays with rationing and shortages."

"How...?" Eugene asks.

"Just good with my hands," Shelton says, turning his face up to Eugene with a shit eating grin.

Eugene pinches Merriell's thigh through the hole in his jeans.

Shelton throws an arm over Eugene's shoulder and traps Eugene's hand between their bodies to deter anymore pinching. He bites his lip and grins with his nose close enough to almost touch Eugene's cheek.

Eugene doesn't dare turn his head. The temptation to kiss Shelton is too great, and his parents are a few short yards away in the house at the top of their driveway. His mom could be watching out the window right now. Eugene's hands tighten his grip on the truck's frame as he leans over the engine, pretending to take a closer look.

"Before he died my dad would collect old junkers and give 'em to me," Shelton explains, "I'd fix em up, get em working, even make em look pretty. Then he'd go and sell em. I never even got a chance to drive any. Only driving practice I ever got was on tractors."

Eugene looks up at him. "Well," he says, "It was worthwhile practice. This truck's beautiful."

Shelton laughs, "Yeah. Her shell may not look pretty, but she'll get me anywhere, guaranteed. And ain't nobody gonna steal her, cause who'd want a rust bucket?"

"If anybody turns their nose up at this truck, they're fools," Eugene tells him.

Shelton grins and squeezes Eugene's hip fondly, "C'mon. Help me unload."

Shelton grabs his toolbox and settles on the ground next to Eugene's knocked over mailbox. He arrays his tools around himself in organized chaos and picks up the mailbox to examine it. Next to him Eugene stacks neat piles of scrap wood from the bed of Shelton's truck.

As Shelton diligently works, Eugene lays down, props his sketchbook up in the grass and sketches.

Occasionally Shelton pauses to lean over and tickle Eugene's ear to get his attention.

"My buddy got his hands on this new synthetic adhesive," Shelton explains as he works, "They're testing it down at the lumberyard. They say it's completely waterproof. But look…" he runs a line of glue along the edge of a block of wood, and another line of glue on the edge of a second block of identical length and width. He clamps the two together, and holds it up in front of Eugene's face, "Give it a few hours and this scrap will be the perfect size for the wall of your splintered mailbox."

"Impressive," Eugene says blandly.

Shelton reaches over to ruffle Eugene's hair, but Eugene blocks him. "Hey, not with glue on your fingers," Eugene protests.

"You don't know enough about woodworking to appreciate my genius," Shelton taunts.

"I do appreciate your genius," Eugene insists as he continues to deflect all of Shelton's attempts to get glue in his hair.

And he shows that appreciation, later, after the mailbox is finished good as new - better than new. Shelton carved a beautiful gingerbread trim and added it to the eaves using his magical blackmarket adhesive. Eugene's mother thanks Shelton by gifting him a basket full of food and fresh baked cornbread. "I still can't believe our boy ran over a mailbox. Sometimes I worry Eugene would lose his head if it wasn't attached to his shoulders," she says to Shelton right in front of Eugene before he leaves, "He spends so much of his time in the clouds."

"It was one accident, mother," Eugene sighs.

Eugene thanks Shelton by riding back with him in the truck, his bicycle waiting for him secure in the bed. He instructs Shelton to pull over after they cross the bridge and he leads him down to the creek. They sit on the wooden trestle underneath the road and kiss until long after the cornbread goes cold. Shelton doesn't seem to mind. Eugene even boosts Merriell's morale to completion crudely with his hand until Merriell is sagging against Eugene's shoulder, murmuring his pleasure.

Eventually they have to return to the park where Shelton lives and pick up Mairzy from the old neighbor lady who watches Merriell's little sister most evenings. Shelton picks flowers from the side of the road and presents them to the old woman as a bouquet. He smiles at her and asks after her own grandkids living two towns over, and Eugene can tell by her response that the old woman cares about both Shelton and Mairzy dearly.

"Let's go into town," Eugene suggests before the three of them walk over to Shelton's house.

"What for?" Shelton asks.

"I was thinking maybe ice cream," Eugene shrugs, "My treat."

Mairzy's eyes bug out of her head. She grabs onto Merriell's arm and swings on his elbow, "Ice cream! For dinner?!" Her imagination explodes and it's written all over the awe in her face.

"You are going to regret ever saying those words," Merriell informs Eugene gravely.

"Consider it a thank you for fixing my mailbox," Eugene replies.

"Thought it was my fault you ran over the damn thing in the first place," Shelton says.

"Ice cream!" Mairzy exclaims desperately, shaking Merriell's arm.

He gives in, feigning reluctance, but he smiles at Eugene over Mairzy's head. "I know just the place," Shelton says.

They don't go into town, they drive across the tracks, metaphorically speaking. Eugene receives odd looks when he climbs out of the truck behind Mairzy. But he schools his nerves and tries to be gracious as he holds the door open for Shelton to go into the ice cream parlor. The parlor is far from new, there's no jukebox, the overhead fans don't function, and as he and Shelton lean up against the clean but cracked tile counter, Eugene knows that he is getting away with this, in a place he doesn't fit in, but if Shelton tried this across town, in a place where any level of brown is too brown, Shelton might not be served.

They buy the largest banana split sundae Eugene can afford and Mairzy carries it proudly, worshipfully with both hands to a booth by the front windows. The window is wide open, with a brand new screen to keep out the bugs. But the music from the ragtag band playing outside on the porch filters through. Shelton slides into the booth next to Mairzy, and Eugene sits across from them. He passes out spoons, and Mairzy dips hers in eagerly to take the first bite. Merriell twirls his spoon in his hand, relaxes in his seat with his arm protectively thrown over the back of the booth, and he grins daringly at Eugene. Eugene digs his spoon into one of the chocolate brownies mixed into the sundae, takes a bite, and grins back.

Mairzy finishes the majority of the sundae. Shelton eats very little, he claims to not have much of a sweet tooth. Though Eugene notes for later reference that when Shelton does take bites he favors the vanilla and the apple crumble and whipped cream on one side of the dish.

When they're done, Mairzy pulls the gigantic bowl closer to her so she can scoop out the melted soupy leftovers with her spoon. Shelton reaches over her head and taps on the window during a break in the music. He asks the band if they know a specific song. The answer is yes, and Merriell slides open the window screen to pass some change through and the band strikes up again. Underneath the table Merriell starts tapping his foot to the beat against Eugene's own. Eugene laughs and jiggles his leg along with the music though he knows he can't hold a rhythm to save his life.

After Mairzy licks the last drop of ice cream off her spoon, she starts talking - mostly pestering her older brother with questions. In response Merriell starts telling stories, and Eugene settles in comfortably, happy to listen.

Eugene can't remember the last time he's spent a more pleasant evening.

When he announces this to Merriell, the other boy gets a highly suspect gleam in his eye, "Who says the night is over?"

Eugene raises his eyebrows in question.

Turns out the carnival is in town.

They park at the edge of the fairgrounds. People swarm in and out of the brightly lit fence. Eugene has to laugh because this vibrant, tacky, loud place is the last place he'd expect Merriell to go willingly. Sure enough, before they climb out of the truck Merriell leans in close over Mairzy's head and quietly explains, "the things I put up with for her." He grins and squeezes Eugene's hand tight, including Eugene in the conspiracy to make Mairzy happy. Merriell opens the door, Mairzy hops out, and he follows, giving Eugene a quick peck on the lips first.

As the three of them approach the gate, Mairzy starts skipping with extra sugar-induced energy, forcing Shelton to keep a tight grip on her hand for fear of losing her in the crowd. Eugene is running low on cash, so they don't have much money to spend at the ticket booth, but together they have enough to buy Mairzy a handful of rides.

Her favorite is the swings, with the whip-it a close second. Eugene and Merriell are left to lean up against the ride railings and wave and yell everytime she goes around. They use the tight press of the crowd to stand closer together than they might otherwise get away with. Merriell is pressed against Eugene's side, smiling and glowing and looking more handsome than Eugene's seen him before.

As luck would have it, the two of them come upon another couple with a child at the line for the ferris wheel. The four of them put Mairzy and the other little girl safely in a seat, which leaves Eugene and Merriell able to share one themselves. Shelton throws an arm tight over Eugene's shoulder, and traces patterns into Eugene's arm with his finger. He sneaks a quick kiss to the side of Eugene's head before anyone can notice.

Merriell spends his last coins at one of the midway games. Being preternaturally gifted at aim, Merriel wins handily and points to one of the stuffed bears hanging on the wall. The bear is wearing a miniature Marines campaign hat with a kerchief tied around its neck.

"No, this is for Eugene," Merriell announces as he hands the teddy bear to the boy beside him, "Something to hold onto at night." Merriell winks.

Eugene can feel himself turning bright red with embarrassment. To cover it, he steps up to the plate, pays the man behind the counter, and beats Merriell's score by more than a few points. Merriel laughs, and licks his lips while staring at Eugene in a way that tells Eugene he will be in trouble next time Merriell gets him alone. Eugene gifts the slightly bigger bear he wins to Mairzy, who is delighted and proclaims Eugene her new favorite person.

With their wallets thoroughly depleted the three walk back towards the carnival gate. Mairzy's sugar high finally crashes - whether by choice or not, hard to tell, but she convinces Merriell to carry her piggyback the rest of the way.

Eugene is happy to leave. Shelton has been riling him up for fun all night, and Eugene is desperate to get him back for it.

Until they pass a final booth just outside the gate erected on the side of the gravel path.

The military recruitment posters are impossible to miss. The lights trained on the booth are brighter than the entire carnival and there's a small cadre of beautiful girls in sequined costumes handing out flyers. A couple men in service uniforms stand behind the table answering questions posed by curious onlookers. Eugene can't help but stare.

A hand on the small of his back jolts Eugene out of his thoughts. Merriell leans in close and whispers, "Do I need to be jealous of the women...or the men?" He looks into Eugene's eyes and Eugene is surprised by the honest vulnerability reflected back at him.

Shelton isn't exaggerating or teasing, he is self-conscious. And making his jealousy plain.

"Neither," Eugene responds firmly, risking a quick squeeze of Merriell's hand.

"You want to go talk to them?" Merriell asks. He coaxes Mairzy off his back and guides her to sit down on a nearby park bench.

"No," Eugene shakes his head, "No, I'd be...shamed."

Merriell's expression turns cold and haughty, "Ain't got nothing to be ashamed of," and he marches confidently over to the table on his own.

Eugene hesitates. He hangs back to watch as Shelton turns on his smile, strides straight up to the men in uniform, and shakes their hands. Eugene can't hear what they're saying, but the military men are all smiles too, and everyone is clearly getting along well.

Eugene burns with jealousy.

He's about to shyly sneak away, not too far that Shelton couldn't find him after, but far enough he can't be seen. Then a third man joins the table. This man is older, and in the Marine Corps - there's no mistaking that distinctive hat. He's tall, and broad shouldered with a little bit of a barrel chest - enough to cut an imposing figure and not enough to distract from the silhouette of the uniform. He's clean shaven, and regimented, and he greets Shelton warmly but without a smile. This man takes his job seriously.

If Eugene could be anything, he'd be a Marine. He wants that pride - to know he is making a decisive choice about which side of history he'll be on.

"Gene?" Shelton's voice asks carefully.

Eugene looks to his right and discovers at some point while Eugene was daydreaming Shelton returned and ended up directly beside his elbow. "I'm fine," Eugene says, "Let's go."

"Don't you want to...I could introduce you…?" Shelton gestures to the table.

"I said, let's go," Eugene repeats. He picks up Mairzy this time and carries her back to the parking lot.

Shelton nods once, "Okay, Eugene," and follows.

The car ride home is silent. Mairzy falls asleep between them, completely oblivious to the tension. Her head is propped against Shelton's leg and her feet are on top of Eugene's lap.

Shelton's truck rolls a few feet into Eugene's driveway and Eugene signals for him to stop.

"Do you mind getting out for a minute?" Eugene asks softly.

"Sure thing," Shelton says without emotion in his voice.

They both slide out of the cab and leave Mairzy sleeping soundly on the seat. Shelton lingers on his side of the truck, forcing Eugene to come to him. Eugene takes Merriell's face in his hands and tilts his head back for a kiss. At first Merriell responds, grabbing Gene's wrists and pulling him closer. But then he shoves away.

It hurts. Not physically, but Eugene can feel it like an ache - even worse than the ache days ago when he wanted Merriell but didn't know how to act on it.

"Gene, I can't," Shelton whispers harshly.

"What, because I was admiring the uniform of some Marine I don't even know? Are you really that jealous?" Eugene demands an answer.

"What?" Shelton asks, "No!"

"Then why not?" Eugene exclaims.

"Because I'm not gonna be someone's shame," Shelton says in a rush, "Not again."

"Why would I be ashamed of you?" Eugene is confused.

"You said…" Shelton's nerves get the better of him and he can barely talk straight with his accent, "You said you wouldn't talk to the recruiting officers because you were ashamed."

"Yeah, ashamed of myself, knowing that they'd never take some skinny kid with a heart defect who gets winded climbing stairs," Eugene says irritably.

"You weren't...thinking of us…?" Shelton is skeptical, "Us, being together?"

"Didn't even cross my mind," Eugene says, "Though now that I do think about it, probably a good idea not to bring it up at recruitment."

Shelton laughs.

Eugene takes a step closer, takes Merriell's big hands in his. "Can't think of any reason why I'd ever be ashamed of you."

Merriell laughs again, "More fool on you."

"If anything, I'm the shameful one," Eugene argues.

Merriell grins and scoffs, "You? The son of the doctor?"

"Yeah, the one who, if we get into this war, is going to be stuck back here, looking on from afar, waiting. In agony of not knowing what's happening, no doubt," Eugene says, mostly serious though he likes that Merriell is smiling again, "I'll be left with nothing to do except track battle movements like I'm a kid playing soldier again."

"You won't be alone," Merriell says meaningfully and takes a step forward.

Eugene isn't really registering what Merriell is saying. He's too focused on the fact that finally, finally Merriell is kissing him again, passionately. He slips his fingers through Merriell's belt loops and tugs him close. Sometimes while they're kissing Eugene thinks about bringing Merriell home for reasons beyond fixing mailboxes. A stuffed teddy bear is nice and soft, but he thinks Merriell would be a better fit in his bed. He can imagine holding Merriell all night long, and it's still not enough. His imagination doesn't go much further than that, but he knows if he lets his thoughts run wild they would. Easily.

Just one slip over the edge and…

"Wait," Eugene pulls away, "Why won't I be alone?"

Merriell looks wry, "Well, I'm not planning on enlisting anytime soon."

"You're not?" Eugene extends his arms to put distance between them.

"No," Merriell laughs.

"I don't see how that's funny," Eugene says defensively.

Merriell shrugs, looking confused.

Eugene lets go of him and opens the truck door to pull his bear out of the cab. He clutches the teddy tight to his chest and asks, "You're not going to enlist?"

"No!" Shelton confirms, more certain and stubborn this time. He's not laughing anymore.

Eugene turns around and starts walking up the hill, "Good night, Shelton."

"Gene," Merriell grabs his hand and pulls him back.

Eugene twists out of his grip, "I can't believe you're not planning on enlisting. They predict the United States will enter war soon - and not just as an arsenal for the Allies this time. The question is no longer if, but when. We're going to need every able man." He gets right up into Shelton's face and glares, "Have you even seen the latest news reels from Europe?"

"Don't watch 'em," Shelton says. He's gone emotionless again, and that irritates Eugene more than anything.

"You don't care?" Eugene scoffs, "You don't care, you're going to let other men die for you while you stay here and, what...build tiny houses? Kiss me in back alleys for the war effort?"

"Eugene…"

"I can't enlist. Even if I was of age I'd be declined because of my health. Do you know what it's like to be so goddamned useless? And you...you…" Eugene loses control of his own thoughts.

"I'm not dying for nobody but myself," Shelton says.

Eugene stares at him with stunned shock. "You're fucked up, Shelton," Eugene says. He turns his back on the other boy and walks away.

"You ashamed of me, then?" Shelton calls to him in a mocking voice.

Eugene lets himself into the house, but he lingers at the front window. He pushes himself into the curtains and presses his ear to the cold glass. The truck engine starts, nearly silent even in the quiet night. Eugene buries his face in the top of the teddy bear's head and tries not to cry. He sits there till he hears the tires rumble across the bridge. And then he goes to his room, kicks off his shoes, and falls into bed.

He does cry then. But it's not for Shelton. It's for himself, and his own failings. And it feels almost guilty.

tag list @xmxisxforxmaybe

#sledgefu #bad germs

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himjopper · 4 years

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the flea & the acrobat (jim hopper fic)

pairing: hopper x reader, stranger things chapter: 2/? chapter rating: teen, 18+ (mention of violence, fear, mild swearing, mention of sexual intentions) summary: you’re an FBI agent from the behavioral analysis unit, living in the big city and enjoying the hustle and bustle of the 80’s crime scene. you’ve worked your ass off to get respect around a male dominated field, earning yourself a promotion as the head of your department after you helped solve a missing persons case that swept the nation just short of a year ago. the case closed, but something happening in a small town in Hawkins, Indiana is making your bones chill with its similarities to your closed case. a young girl, barbara holland, is missing and you’ve got a hunch on how to bring her home. little do you know, Hawkins isn’t exactly textbook and you need the locals’s help. a/n: oh my goodness, I finally got a chapter 2 out and we’re getting to meet Hop. I know I only hinted at it in chapter 1, but I didn’t want to rush it! trying to build some tension before we head down the road of uh cough tension ;-) anyway! please enjoy and send me ideas or thoughts! also let me know if you’d like to be tagged! <3 gif credit & tagged: @chiefharbour

Indiana.

The air was drier than Seattle’s, certainly promising that you weren’t going to be rained on all morning. Your plane touched down in Indianapolis and the drive between the city to this nowhere town was vast. You saw less and less as the miles continued. However, there were definitely more corn fields. Your mind immediately jumped to the possibility Barbara Holland was tortured and thrown in one of those fields. Surrounded by husks, glasses broken, windpipe probably shattered, blunt force trauma to the back of the head and if this really is an admirer of Schwartzmen, they would have removed all her teeth and fingertips to try to keep her from being identified. That’s how the original killer stayed under the radar for so long and how this case earned the name Snake Hole. It felt like every time you had a lead on Schwartzmen and you were on his heel, another murdered redhead would pop up on nearly the other side of Alabama. Every time you had him, he’d disappear before he would strike, just like a snake you didn’t see on a path. He’d keep his victims for a period of two to three days of grooming before the torture, making them feel guilty for abandoning him as a baby as if he was their son, anything to get them to confess before he’d forgive them and eventually “save” them from their sins. He was fast, manipulative, cunning, and obsessive. You had every hope whoever had Barbara Holland was anything but.

· · ──── ·𖥸· ──── · ·

Pulling up to the Hawkins’s Police Department left you a bit nervous and you weren’t entirely sure why. You’ve done plenty of solo investigating in your career and if anything, you’re a better agent when you work alone, but the idea of speaking with people from a close knit small town has its up and downs. On one hand, they’re eager to get their local to return home safely. On the other, they have no idea what the FBI should be doing in their town, they think their local PD is more than capable, and they don’t trust the FBI with their personal information because there’s a conspiracy that you’re the government and you’re going to sample their DNA for cloning to breed with aliens in Area 51.

You take a deep breath as you kill the ignition in the rental and check your appearance in the rear view mirror.

Be positive. This could go over smoothly and quickly if you are confident and strong. God, listen to yourself. What a load of shit.

Eventually you’re greeted by a front desk and you’re already noticing the difference in volume this office was compared to yours back home in Seattle. The fax machine was quiet. The conversations were low. There was very subtle sounds of keyboards clicking. Somewhere there’s a radio, still quiet but humming today’s popular hits. Even your heels seemed too loud.

“Good morning,” you began as you made eye contact with the older woman at the desk. Had to have been in her early sixties, been here since her thirties. Her nails were painted a fuchsia color, not a nail chipped, and her fingers decorated with jewelry including an older wedding ring. She seemed sweet, maternal, maybe a bit stern. Behind her thick rimmed glasses, her eyes looked up at you and she adjusted the frames to get a better look at your face before you spoke again.

“I’m special agent Scotch with the FBI, I spoke briefly with a Florence over the phone?”

Suddenly her hands fly up in excitement as she exclaims, “Oh! Yes!”

She stands up from her office chair to hold your hand over the counter, not even much of a shake but just a gentle grasp and supportive squeeze that took you off guard at first, but actually relieved a lot of your stress.

“It is so nice to meet you, I’m Florence, but please address me as Flo; my mother was Florence. I can’t tell you how much we appreciate you coming down here from your big city crimes to want to help us down here!” Your lips parted to speak, but she was already guiding you to the other side of her desk and towards a table decorated with various breakfast pastries and the smell of caffeine comforted you instantly. “Come, come, let’s get you a coffee and you tell me about your flight, is it a long trip from Washington? I don’t travel much, they’ve had me glued to this desk for nearly half my life now,” she trails off with a laugh to herself.

You make small talk over semi-stale croissants with jam and burnt coffee, but you’re grateful for her hospitality nonetheless. You notice there’s a couple other desks covered with stacks of paper thrown around haphazardly. The lack of organization and order was clear here. Your hear some men’s voices down the hall towards more office space.

“Flo, thank you for your kindness,” you start. “I just have a couple of questions, if that’s okay? Who was in charge here for the case on Barbara Holland’s disappearance?”

Immediately, she puts her paper plate down on the table you’ve been conversing next to and she sprinkles the crumbs off her fingertips onto the plate. She sighs, but it’s not out of frustration or exhaustion per say. Sympathy, maybe? “That’d be our chief of police here, Jim Hopper. It’s been a wild ride, I’ll tell you what. Seems like a bit of a dead end for our chief, but he’s a stubborn man, ehm ....?” she looks at you then, realizing she doesn’t know how to address you properly. Something about your last name and “agent” didn’t seem friendly enough for Flo, you’re inclined to introduce yourself again with your first name to which she then adds to her statement.

You squint in suspicion. “Stubborn?”

Flo nods feverishly with a comedic roll of her eyes. “Beyond belief,” she exasperates, “he has a hard time letting anything go or run its course. It’s difficult to see him at such a loss with Miss Holland’s disappearance. He’s been at that like a dog tied to a tree, I’ll tell you.“

Interesting.

By nature, you want to trust Flo’s judgement. However, the files she had faxed to you to read over with Hayes last week weren’t matching up with her words. The lack of information for Barbara’s disappearance made you believe this was a chief of police in charge who either got promoted too early and wasn’t sure how to investigate properly or he was a lazy cop who figured a sixteen year old girl ran away from her wholesome and structured square lifestyle to indulge in some teenage rebellion. Was it genuine carelessness or just sloppy law enforcement? There seemed to be nothing to really work with from Hawkins PD.

Your lips relieve themselves from the hard line you had pressed them together in, you make a hum sound of understanding.

“I see. Is your chief of police, Jim Hopper, available to speak to? I think he’d have more answers for me regarding this case.”

She shakes her head then and explains she hasn’t seen him since last night, your eyes catching the ticking clock above to see it was already a quarter passed ten. Incompetent as predicted, you think to yourself. “Ms. Flo,” your attempt at keeping your voice soft and patient was partially failing due to the frustration you were feeling in your chest. “I don’t mean to rush you or your team, however, this is a time sensitive case. Where is your chief of police?”

As if on cue, there’s a loud chime of the front doors opening and two men’s voices bellowing over each other in a heated discussion.

“For the last time, Mr. Larson, I don’t know where your damn gnomes are this time—“

“I think you do, chief, you’re just too lazy to do something about it—!”

There’s a louder roar from the first man’s voice, “Alright, alright! Enough!”

Flo excuses herself to see the problem, you assume. There’s some quieter bickering between the three of them now before the chime of the front door is heard again and one of the men comes into view first. He’s taller than you expected, clad in khakis and a pack of cigarettes is peeking from his pocket. Based off the scruff, off balance posture, and cold demeanor, you were left to assume this was the infamous chief.

Your breath catches in your throat when he catches your eye contact for the first time. You didn’t expect his eyes to be that blue, either.

“Who’re you.”

His voice is so gruff and flat, he doesn’t even ask it like a question. His brow is knitted together as he stares at you, you notice his eyes scan you up and down a few times.

Before you can speak, Flo rushes passed him and stands in front of you.

“Hopper, this is federal agent Scotch, she’s with the FBI-“ His hand flies up to stop her excitement and he has a clear look of distaste before he starts storming to his office with a string of grumbling, “No, no, no FBI, I don’t care where she’s from, I’ll be in my office, just show her out...”

This is where you lose your patience. “Excuse me, Chief.”

Hopper turns half way to look at you again, brows raised and obviously not expecting much from you. However, you’re unfortunately used to being patronized, especially in this field of work.

“My name is special agent Scotch, I’m with the behavioral analysis unit in the FBI located in Seattle. I really don’t care if you don’t want to talk with me, but I’ll have to rule you as a suspect if you keep me from information regarding the missing case of Barbara Holland, especially because you already fit our rough profile of an unsub from the matching murder cases from a year ago we believe is being mirrored here in Hawkins. Now, it’s just me and not the rest of my team, but I wouldn’t hesitate to make the call and have you arrested myself since you’re not in the position to refuse me, do I make myself clear?”

Flo’s widened eyes move from watching you to the chief. He looks skeptical and almost lets out a laugh with an unlit cigarette now dangling between his lips, “You think I took the missing kid?”

Your facial expression, however, doesn’t falter. You held his eye contact as he raised his lighter to his mouth.

“I said, do I make myself clear?” You repeat.

There’s a few small puffs of smoke while he continues to hold your gaze. There’s a different light in his eyes, the blue much darker than before. “Crystal,” he mutters.

As subtly as possible you exhale the breath you didn’t realize you had been holding. He draws in another drag before tilting his head towards a hall, motioning you to join.

“We’ll discuss this in my office. I don’t need the town gossiping about why there’s a goddamn FBI agent in my town.” With a turn on his heel, he doesn’t wait for you as he’s already halfway down the hall. You watch the muscles on his back and shoulders as he walks off.

Flo’s sudden grip on your wrist makes you flinch. Her smile is soft though and she gives you a reassuring squeeze. You return her smile for a moment before your heels match the rhythmic stomping of Hopper’s much heavier boots as you both entered his office. For a brief second, he was behind you and you could feel how much he really towered over you, it felt like nearly half your size. You could smell the cigarette smoke mixed with his aftershave and you became suddenly aware of how loud your heartbeat was. The slam of his office door that he kicked close woke you up from your senses quickly. Hopper went behind his desk, nudging several files and papers to the sides before he sat in front of you now, leaned back in the creaking chair and cigarette between his lips.

“You wanted to talk?”

You say nothing as he ashes his cigarette in the dish in front of you.

“Let’s talk.”

21 notes · View notes

kflirts · 5 years

Text

two is better than one

paring: you x mingi x wooyoung

genre: smut

word count: 3.3k

warnings: polyamory, voyeur, voilence and blood mention, just . a lot of smut, sub!wooyoung appearance (not for long dw)

notes: yet another fic swap with cait.

Having two hot boyfriends is convenient for a plethora of reasons. For example, twice the cuddles, two Valentine’s day gifts, two good morning texts and of course, twice the sex.

Having two hot boyfriends is especially cool when the werido sitting next to you is using pick up lines he definitely googled 4 minutes ago. Mingi had promised beforehand that he would not get jealous tonight and you were free to talk and do what you please (not that you needed his permission, you never listened to him anyway), and Wooyoung swore to be nice, so you were looking forward to a night out with your boys, but this guy really seemed to think the vacant seat beside you was an invitation into your pants. At first it was cute, it was nice to be reminded you were still hot to strangers, but at this point you were praying for Mingi to notice the lack of space in between the stranger and yourself.

“Is that ass made of sugar? Because it looks sweet as hell.” The dude chuckled, arm brushing your own and you fought the urge to ask him to kiss it and find out. You offered half of a smile as you searched for Mingi in the crowd to plead for help.

“What’s your name?” He asks, leaning in towards you, and you made a few polite shifts backwards. Your mouth opens to tell him to stuff it up his rectum, but you’re interrupted with a warm hand on your shoulder. You silently thank Jesus as you turn to look into the face of Wooyoung, who looks less than thrilled.

“She’s seeing someone, buddy.” Wooyoung says nonchalantly.

“What? You sure? Because it looks like she’s kinda digging me.”

You roll your eyes, shaking your head slightly at Wooyoung, who’s grip on you only tightened. You knew both Wooyoung and Mingi were jealous, not because they didn’t trust you, just because they’re fucking insane.

“Trust me. She’s not.” Wooyoung looks to the waitress, ordering a drink for the both of you, he seems disinterested with this guy, to say the least. “Oh, also. Your pickup lines fucking suck, dude. Like.. they’re awful.”

The male’s jaw tightens, and you instinctively press into Wooyoung more when his hand lands on your knee. Normally, you would have kicked him where the sun never shines and taken his future children away, but with Wooyoung, you allow him to take care of it. Less work.

And take care of it he does, grabbing the man’s wrist and forcefully pushing him back. This seemed to startle the man a little, him blinking surprised.

“Hey, look, dude. I’m not going to pick a fight with you over a bitch.”

“Well, that’s too bad, ‘cause I’m picking one with you.” Mingi’s voice seemed to boom, like thunder or drums, as he grabbed the less than thrilled man by his coat collar, practically dragging him out of the bar through a side door. You move to stand, calling Mingi’s name, feeling sorry for the poor guy, who was certainly going to have a fucked up face by the time Mingi was done with him.

Wooyoun stopped you, handing you a drink. “I wouldn’t go out there if I were you, ____.” He said, shaking his head. “We both know there’s no stopping Min once he’s started.”

You sighed. He was right. Mingi was normally a very mellow, sweet man, but when provoked, he was a force to be reckoned with. And you should know. You provoked him frequently.

After about 6 and a half minutes, with no sign of Mingi, you began to worry. The guy only deserved a 2 minute ass beating, tops.

“You’re worried.” Wooyoung observed, smiling softly at your face in the bar’s lighting.

“No shit.” You respond, glacing to the door again. “What if he like... killed him or something.”

“Mingi’s not that dumb, ____.”

“Are you sure about that?”

“Okay, yeah. We should probably check on him.” Wooyoung laid down money on the counter, before grasping your hand and leading you out the front door, looking for any sign of Mingi or the guy. When neither of you spot them, you began panicking, calling his name loudly. Wooyoung was slightly less worried, opting to call his phone instead.

“There he is.” You half shout, half sigh, jogging to meet a slightly red and definitely pissed Mingi emerging from an allyway. “Where’s the guy?”

“Don’t worry about him.” Mingi shrugged, wiping blood off of his arms.

“What in the fuck?” You notice more blood splatters, and your pulse quickens. “Mingi, what did you do?”

“Let’s just say he won’t be going contacting any women anytime soon.”

“Oh my god. Did you kill him?” Wooyoung asks from behind you.

“What the fuck? No, I stole his phone.” Mingi scoffs.

“I forget sometimes that you’re kind of an asshole.” You sigh.

“Yes. Thanks for noticing. I put a lot of effort into maintaining that persona.”

“Why?”

“So I can scare dicks who hit on you.”

“Yandere much?” Wooyoung chuckles as you all walk to the car.

“Y’know, blood isn’t a good color on you.” Wooyoung comments, half looking at you and Mingi in the backseat, half focusing on the road. Mingi had insised you sit in the back with him, to “tend to his wounds” (a scratch on his knuckle).

“Excuse me, it’s definitely my color, the red brings out my eyes.” Mingi responds, wiping the blood off of his arms with the babywipes you insisted you keep in the car at all times.

You laughed out loud, shaking your head, causing Mingi’s eyes to wander over your face. Sometimes he wondered what good deed he did in his past life to deserve having you, and his passion and persistence to make sure you were protected sometimes became anger at the world, knowing there were people out there who could hurt you, and he was determined to make sure they couldn’t, or die trying.

“You know, you really didn’t have to do all of that.” You said lowly, meeting Mingi’s eyes.

“And you didn’t have to entertain him as long as you did, but here we are, hm?” Mingi countered, his eyebrow raised.

“Don’t do that.” Your jaw dropped, feigning disbelief. “There was nothing I could do!”

“You could have came to me, dollface.” Wooyoung looked at you through the rear-view mirror, offering a smirk. You stuck out your tongue. Mingi clicked his tongue, gaining your attention again.

“You do know you’re in trouble now, right?” Mingi says, making quick eye contact with Wooyoung through the mirror. They speak in a silent language you can’t and don’t want to understand, eyebrows raising. Wooyoung’s lips tug up into a smile and your stomach drops in excitement and anticipation. You feel like teasing tonight.

“Why? I didn’t do anything.” You coo, poking out your lip at Mingi, tossing your leg over his.

Mingi looks as if he’s going to say something, but turns to Wooyoung instead, leaning forward.

“Woo. Do you think _____ behaved tonight?”

Wooyoung bit his lip, pretending to think. “Well, no. From what I saw, a guy had his hands on her.”

You opened your mouth in shock. “That’s so not fair, you’re both ganging up on me and you know that’s not how it went down!”

Mingi and Wooyoung both looked to you, and Mingi tilted his head. “Oh really? You want to talk back now. Hear that, Woo? She wants to talk back tonight.”

“If I have to pull over, it won’t be good for you, angel.” Wooyoung stared at you, glancing over his shoulder.

You clamp your mouth shut, crossing your arms over your chest and giving the both of them the evilest stares you can muster. Sex with Wooyoung and Mingi was more often times then not, a power struggle, Mingi declaring himself the ultimate power dom, and Wooyoung trying to convince the both of you he wasn’t a switch, only a soft dom. You’d gotten him into subspace more than once, but he begged you not to tell Mingi, saying it would “hurt his rep”. Sex with the both of them proved to last hours, Wooyoung teasing and Mingi’s over stimulation kink driving you insane. They liked to be able to take their time, so you doubted they would do anything in the car, or while Woo was driving, at least.

Mingi would prove you wrong in about 2 minutes. “Safe word, ____?”

You looked up, startled. Asking for the safeword was Mingi’s way of letting the both of you know shit was about to go down.

“Alabama.” You say, quietly. “But, Mingi, we’re in the ca-”

“It doesn’t matter if you cum quick, baby.” Mingi unbuckled himself, leaning into you. “How long ‘till home, Woo?”

“17 minutes.” Wooyoung’s voice was dry already, as it did when he was impatient, and Mingi hadn’t even started yet.

“I’ve seen you cum in 5. So, how much you wanna bet I can make you cum 3 times before we get inside?” Mingi smirked, planting wet kisses along your collarbone, shifting positions so you were trapped between him and the window behind you. Your pussy clenches around nothing and you grip the seat fabric, averting eyes to Wooyoung, as if he could help you. He offers no help, instead trying to focus on the dark roads ahead of him.

“Don’t look at Woo. Look at me.” Mingi commanded, his hand snaking down your dress before hiking it up around your hips, and tugging your panties to the side. “Tsk. Already wet.” He observes. You bring your eyes to the black haired male, biting your lip as you watch him position his lips at your entrance. You inhale as his tongue darts out to lick your slit, his eyes dating to catch your reaction. Your soft gasp makes Wooyoung crane his neck to see your face, the tent in his pants now evident.

“Fuck, how do you taste so good?” Mingi mumbles, using his hands to spread your legs, nipping your clit softly.

“I eat pineapples.” You half joke, half moan. Mingi gives you a look, taking your clit in his mouth in response. You catch your breath as he begins to harshly suck on it, moving his head side to side.

“Gi...” You moan quietly, a hand in his hair as you began grinding against his face, bucking your hips into him. He smirked, hand on your thigh pushing you back down, getting you to stay still. You whimper into your hand as he continues to suck, showing no mercy. Wooyoung tsks.

“Hand.” He says lowly, and Mingi uses his free hand to pull yours away from your mouth.

“Babygirl just isn’t listening well at all tonight, is she, Woo?” He says, shaking his head at you. He uses his middle finger to tease your entrance, before roughly pushing his finger inside you, coating it with your juices. This earns a loud whimper from you, and Wooyoung averts his eyes from the road to watch Mingi’s finger disappearing inside of you. The car swerves abruptly, and you snap your eyes open, looking at a sheepish Wooyoung.

“This is... such a bad idea.” You manage.

“What? You don’t think I’m a good driver, angel?” Wooyoung quirks his head.

“I know you aren’t.” You counter.

“Mingi, please shut her up.”

“Don’t have to tell me twice.” Mingi grins, adding 2 more fingers and beginning to pump them into you at an insane rate. You immediately close your eyes, feeling tension build up in your stomach as you fight back moans.

“What’s wrong? Daddy got your tongue?” Mingi smirked, fake pouting. “I know for a fact that you can be a lot louder than that.“

You inwardly cursed him out, whimpers coming from your throat as he relentlessly fingered you. The tension started to become too much to handle and you managed to mewl out, “I think I... I’m gonna-”

“Do it.”

He didn’t have to tell you twice, a string of curses and both of their names spilling out of your mouth as he rode you through your orgasm. By now, one of Wooyoung’s hands was definitely in his pants, and his breathing began slowing.

“Time, Woo?”

“13 minutes left.”

Mingi grins, never delaying in his fingering. “One down, two to go.”

“Ming...Mingi!” You cry at the over-stimulation. “Gimme a minute! Fuck!”

“Last time I checked, you don’t tell me what to fucking do.” Mingi didn’t relent, instead adding a fourth finger and flattening his tongue against your clit. It didn’t take long for the second orgasm to hit, your nerves already stimulated, and you were screaming by the third.

By the time the three of you made it to your apartment, your legs were jelly and Wooyoung was on the verge of cumming in his pants.

“My turn.” Wooyoung smirked, dropping his pants and sitting on the couch. “Saddle up, angel.”

You moan at the site of one of your boyfriends so ready for you, and oblige, straddling his hips, one hand on his shoulder for balance, the other on the base of his dick, lining him up with your entrance. Lubrication isnt even a problem, your own wetness and Woo’s precum proving to be more than enough as you slide his dick inbetween your folds. You slowly slide down his length until you get to the base, and immediately begin riding his dick. Wooyoung gasps, grabbing your hips to still you.

“Wait, angel. Adjust first.” He pulls you closer, his head in the curve of your neck. He waits a moment before snapping his hips up, sending waves of pleasure throughout your entire body.

“Wooyoung.” You sigh. “Can you just fuck me? Please?”

“Ah, is that what you want?”

Where Mingi was dominant, Wooyoung was a tease. Constantly pushing your buttons, living for your reactions. While Mingi would fuck you senseless, and then fuck you again, and again , Wooyoung found pleasure in the wait, in edging you on, making you beg for it. Foreplay was Woo’s favorite, a part of sex Mingi oftentimes skipped over. That’s one thing having two boyfriends benefits you. Where one lacks, the other picks up the slack. Where one had a weakness, the other one has a strength. The three of you together are absolutely amazing.

Now, Mingi sits in a chair across from the couch, palming himself through his jeans, shirtless. Wooyoung smirked at him from over your shoulder, bouncing you gently in his lap, and his cock scrapped against your walls agonizingly slow. You knew the best way to get Wooyoung to hurry up was to not entertain his teasing. He drew back out of you slowly, and you let out a quiet moan.

“Louder, Daddy can’t hear.” Mingi commanded from his spot. In response, you let out a cry from the cruel, slow pace at which Wooyoung was going. He was perfectly content, you knew. He could tease your walls for hours without releasing, you knew from a monumental weekend in Tokyo.

“Ride me.” Wooyoung commanded, and you didn’t hesitate to oblige him, thankful for the opportunity to pick up the pace. You rose and fell on his dick.

His hands traveled everywhere on you, from your ass, to choking you slightly, to your breasts, to your thighs, he explored every inch of you. Your hips began bucking more wildly, not following a rhythm, rather chasing your orgasm before he had time to deny you. Mingi noticed, chuckling to himself, hand now in his pants as he dragged his large hands across his length. His moans were low and throaty. You came down on him quicker and quicker, your fourth orgasm approaching, before his hips bucked up to meet yours, stopping you completely.. You opened your eyes as he smirked. You groaned as he began his slow pace from earlier.

“God, Woo.. How hard is it to let me cum?” You whined into his ear, tugging the hair at the nape of his neck.

“It’s no fun that way.” Wooyoung kissed along your neck, his pace way too slow for your liking. You looked over your shoulder, seeing a sweaty Mingi.

“For fucks sakes, Wooyoung. Let the poor girl cum so I can fuck her face.”

Your pussy clenched around Woo at Mingi’s words, and Wooyoung sulked, nodding before wrapping his arms around your waist, trapping you to his body as he pounded into you roughly, your wetness dripping down to his balls, making the sounds loud and wet.

“Tell me what you want.” Wooyoung mumbled against your skin.

“You.” You breathed, feeling pressure in your stomach again.

“Who’s fucking you this good, hm, angel?” He breathed heavily, hips bucking into you and he slowed, only to find your sweet spot. Once he hit it you moaned so loudly, even Mingi’s breath hitched.

“You, Woo.”

“You can cum. Such a good girl for us tonight.” Wooyoung praised, and his words sent you over the edge, pleading and begging for Lord knows what, convulsing and shaking, your eyes rolled back into your head. One thing about Woo, when he did let you cum, he let you cum.

When you’d finally came down from your orgasm, you felt Mingi’s hands pull you from his lap, placing you inbetween his legs as he sat by Woo.

“I know you’re tired, baby.” He started, a hint of sympathy in his tone as he saw how fucked out you looked. “But I need to cum, you’ve got me so worked up. So I’m gonna fuck your face, okay?”

You, frankly, were still seeing stars, but you nodded, taking the base of his cock in your hand.

“No teasing today.” Mingi mumbles a warning, hissing at the feeling of your hands. You nod, smiling.

“When have I ever?” Your finger brushed his slit.

“Baby...” Mingi started, warning in his tone. You obediently opened your mouth, taking his head in. He immediately took over, pushing his dick all the way in, until your nose was pressed against his navel. You fought your gag reflex, swallowing around him.

“Fuck.” Mingi cursed under his breath, pushing in and out of your mouth until he’s hitting the back of your throat and then pulling off again. Wooyoung watched this, tugging his own dick, his light, airy moans contrasting Min’s heavy ones.

You swallowed again, and Mingi bucked his hips up roughly. “Look at Wooyoung, baby. Look at how subby he looks.” He teased. Wooyoung rolled his eyes, but with his lavender hair stuck to his skin and his pink lips parted like that, he did look subby. You smiled with your eyes, your hand pushing Woo’s off of his cock, replacing it with your own. You jerked Wooyoung off while you Mingi fucked your throat, and you held back tears at his unnecessary pace.

“I’m close.” Wooyoung sighed.

“Me too,” Mingi breathed, throaing his head back.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck.” Mingi chanted, and you swallowed. “Fuck, do that again and I’ll cum.”

You did it again, and you soon felt his hot liquid running down your throat. You swallowed it as he pulled out, his breath heavy and labored. He continued to curse. You focused on Wooyoung, roughly jerking at his shaft and teasing his slit, and he whimpered. You and Mingi exchanged glances, Mingi mouthing, “sub.”. You chuckled, and soon Woo was bucking into your hand, his cum painting your hand and arm, You quickly licked it off, maintaining eye contact as he rode his orgasm out. Once he came down, you smiled. He turned to Min, eyes glazed.

“Mingi.”

“Yes, Wooyoung?”

“You still got blood on your neck. It does bring out your eyes though.”

Mingi rolled his eyes, turning to you.

“Let’s get you cleaned up, yeah?“

#ateez #ateez mingi #ateez wooyoung #ateez smut #mingi smut #wooyoung smut #ateez oneshot

2K notes · View notes

ohnojustimagine · 6 years

Text

Where We’re Meant to Be

Dean Ambrose/Reader/Seth Rollins; fluffy smut, 3615 words

This is in the same general universe as Believe In Me (though I don’t think you really need to read that first, just start knowing the three of them are in are poly relationship and you’ll be fine) and is set at the beginning of Dean’s time off.

***

You've always been aware how fortunate it is that Dean's never before been badly hurt, but you've also always known that he likely wouldn't be lucky forever. He's careful, more careful than most wrestlers, but it's the nature of the business that no one escapes a few injuries along the way.

Even so, it takes every ounce of persuasion and cajoling you and Seth can muster to make him even consider actually taking time off and having the surgery he needs. In the end, it's only management stepping in and threatening to forcibly suspend him that finally gets him to agree to the necessary treatment.

The surgeon is in Alabama, and Seth drives you both to the airport. His schedule is as packed as ever, and he'll be heading off tonight for another round of shows, so he can't go with you. "Good luck, man," he says, clasping Dean's raised hand, slapping him on the back.

"Yeah, yeah, I'll be fine," Dean says.

Seth takes you in his arms, holding you close for what you know won't ever feel like long enough, turning his head to briefly kiss the side of your face.

"Take care of yourself," he tells you softly, squeezing you tight one last time before letting you go.

"What about me?" Dean says, jokingly belligerent. "Shouldn't she be taking care of me?"

Seth laughs. "You can take care of yourself, asshole," he says, but there's only affection in his voice. He raises his hand in farewell, and then is gone.

***

The surgery goes well, but you know this is just the beginning, with months and months of rehab and healing ahead. Dean's only in the hospital overnight, and while they offer to put him up in a nearby hotel for the rest of the week, he insists on being referred to a more local doctor for his post-surgery checks and then flying home.

You try to talk him out of it, wanting him to stay, but you can't change his mind, and his surgeon okays things, so you do your best not to worry. And you have to admit that it does feel good to be back in your own house, so the first day or two isn't so bad, with Dean still doped up on painkillers and spending most of his time sleeping, but then he starts to feel a little better, and things get worse.

Way worse, because Dean doesn't do bored. He always enjoys his downtime, but it's never too long before he's itching to get back on the road, back in the ring, so this enforced nothingness? You know it's his own personal version of hell, and living with him means it's rapidly becoming pretty hellish for you too.

He won't leave you alone, not even for a second, won't rest like he's supposed to, won't take his pills unless you nag him to, is eating a remarkable amount of junk food, and keeps threatening to start his physical therapy program early, insisting he's feeling fine when you know perfectly well he's not.

What he actually is is frustrated and cranky and in pain, and he's trying, you can see that, doing his best to make light of his moodiness, because that's how he deals with things, but that doesn't actually mean it's any easier to put up with.

But you grit your teeth and count to ten, a lot, and you don't lose your cool. Or not yet, at least.

***

You freelance so you're able to travel with Dean and Seth as much as you can, but what with the surgery and the general stress of the last few weeks, you're behind on work, so today you're in your office at home, attempting to catch up. But, of course, it's not long before Dean wanders in. He's shirtless, wearing only sweat pants, his arm bound up tight in a sling, held close to his chest.

"Whatcha doing?" he asks.

"Working," you say, not looking up from your laptop, because you really, really need to get this done.

"Sounds fun," he says, and from anyone else that would be sarcasm, but Dean's not like that. "I'm gonna order some pizza for lunch, you want some?"

You stop typing and turn your chair around to look at him. "We had pizza for dinner last night," you remind him. "You had cold pizza for breakfast this morning."

"Cold pizza is the best." He grins, and you know there's no use arguing with him, because the man is literally incapable of taking proper care of himself.

"Come on," you say, standing up, and it seems your deadline will have to wait. "I'll make you something."

"You don't have to," he says.

"No, I don't," you tell him. "But you can't live on pizza."

"Yeah, I'm pretty sure I can."

"Well," you concede, "maybe you can, but let's not find out." You head downstairs to the kitchen, Dean following along behind you. "How about a sandwich?" you ask, glancing back at him. "We've got some of that roast beef you like."

"Sounds good," he agrees, and slaps you on the ass with his good hand. "My woman's gonna make me a sandwich," he says happily, and you turn, walking backwards for a few steps and giving him a look.

"Don't push it," you warn him, but he just smirks back at you, and you roll your eyes. "Sit down," you say, gesturing at the couch in front of the TV, because he's still meant to be taking it easy. "I'll only be a minute."

"I can help," he says, hopefully, but Dean's generally more hindrance than help in the kitchen.

"Sit," you reply, firmly, and he obeys, plopping himself down on the couch.

The door of the kitchen swings shut behind you and you inhale a deep breath, because right now, the thought of however many months it's going to be of this makes you wonder if either of you are going to make it to the end. You open the fridge, taking out everything you'll need for a sandwich, then, on impulse, pick up your phone, typing in HELP before pressing 'send.'

It rings almost immediately, and relief rushes through you as you answer.

"You all right?" Seth says, and the warmly familiar concern in his voice makes you feel instantly calmer.

"Yeah," you say. "Sorry."

"Not a problem," he says. "How are things going?"

"About as well as you'd expect," you reply, and he laughs.

"That bad, huh?"

You hear the kitchen door open behind you. "Who you talking to?" says Dean.

"Seth," you say, over your shoulder.

"Yeah?" Dean replies. "Hey, Seth, hey bro," he says, exaggeratedly friendly, then shouts, "HOW THOSE TAG TEAM TITLES TREATING YOU, YOU ASSHOLE?"

You hear Seth wince. "He pissed about that?"

"Well, you know." You sigh. "A little. He's mostly joking," you say, glaring at Dean, who's now beside you, sneaking a slice of roast beef.

"No I'm not," he says, and snatches the phone out of your hand. You try to grab it, but he holds it above your head, out of your reach and yells, "I'M NOT JOKING," into it before passing it back to you.

"Wow," says Seth. "Okay."

"Please tell me you're going to be here tonight," you say.

"Or," Dean says, almost conversationally, "he could go see Jordan instead. Maybe they could, like, hang out and suck each other's dicks now they're best friends and champions and all."

"Stop it," you hiss at Dean, and he rolls his eyes at you, but he's grinning. He wanders back out into the living room, and you sigh into the phone.

"Yeah," you hear Seth say, warily, the word drawn out. "Are you sure he wants to see me?"

"He's fine," you assure him. "You know what he's like when he gets bored."

"I do," he says, adding, with some feeling, "Man, I do."

"So you'll make it?" Seth still officially has his own place, but he spends pretty much all his downtime here with you and Dean, and though you've barely had a second to think about it, you miss him. You miss him more that you've been allowing yourself to admit, and the ache of it is like an empty space inside of you, a part of your heart that's been taken away.

"I'll be there," he says, firmly, and you have to believe that everything's going to be okay.

It only takes you a few minutes to finish making Dean's sandwich, and you take it out to the living room where he's sprawled on the couch, television blaring in front of him.

"Thanks." He flashes you a smile, grabbing the plate and digging in.

You watch him eating, vaguely amused by his careless gusto, but then you get to thinking. "You know," you say, "you don't need to be that much of a dick to him."

Dean shrugs, one-shouldered. "He can take it." He doesn't speak any further for what feels like a long while, finishing eating and dumping the plate on the coffee table before he turns to you, and says, more quietly, "Do you think he feels guilty?"

"Yeah, I do."

"Good."

"Come on," you say, "it's not his fault."

"I know," says Dean. He looks at you, and it's that Dean you don't see so often, the vulnerable one, all the swagger and bravado gone, just for a moment. "It's hard, seeing them all move on and I'm..." He gestures at his injured arm. "I'm stuck here like this."

You take his left hand in both your own, holding it tightly and looking him square in the eye. "Yeah," you tell him, "they're going to move on for a while, but the second you're ready you'll be straight back into your rightful place."

"Nah," he says, as if he's joking, but you know better, hearing the insecurity in his voice as he goes on, saying, "that's what happens, people forget."

"You're kidding, right?" you scoff. "Can you even imagine the reaction you're going to get when you come back?" You shake your head, picturing it. "It's going to be fucking amazing."

"You think?" he asks.

"I know," you say, and he smiles, but you can see the tiredness in his eyes. You kiss his hand, briefly, then stand up, grabbing the plate. "Okay?"

He nods, seemingly happier for now, and stretches out, lying down and swinging his legs up onto to couch. "Maybe time for a nap," he says. "Gotta rest up if Seth's coming home tonight."

"Why?" you ask, playful. "You got some plans?"

"Oh, baby." He raises his eyebrows at you. "I've always got plans."

You laugh, watching him for a second as he closes his eyes, his chest rising as he takes a deep breath, and then you walk away, leaving him to rest.

***

It's late by the time Seth arrives, letting himself in, and as soon as the front door opens, you and Dean are both on your feet, rushing out ready to greet him, both a little too eager, but it feels like forever since it's been just the three of you.

"Hey," Seth says to Dean. "How you feeling?"

"You know, been better," Dean replies and Seth nods ruefully, as if he understands exactly what he means, and you suppose he does, what with his own past injuries, but then he focuses his attention on you.

"Hey you," he says, warmly, pulling you into a hug, and you hold him tightly for a minute, face pressed to his chest, breathing in the smell of him, relaxing into the feel of his arms around you.

"Mind if I head straight up for a shower?" he asks, when he finally releases you.

"Of course," you tell him. "You okay with your bags?"

"I'm fine," he says.

"I'd help," Dean says, all mock-regret, "but you know..." He waves helplessly at his arm, and Seth just laughs.

"Sure," he says, and Dean smiles at him, eyes shining, and you realize you're not the only one who's been missing Seth.

You both watch him walk upstairs, silent, but then you turn to look at Dean, and he looks back at you, and there's something in his face you haven't seen there for a while; definitely not since his surgery and maybe not even since this whole shoulder thing became serious. It's that spark you recognize, that relish for life that makes Dean Dean, and suddenly you know, deep in your bones, that everything is going to be okay, however long it takes.

"We should go up too," Dean says, after a minute, "wait for him."

"Yeah," you say, knowing exactly what he means. "Let's do that."

***

Seth's using the shower in the bathroom off your bedroom, and as you enter you hear the sound of the water running, soft in the background. Dean sits down on the end of the bed, looking at you expectantly, and you know what he wants, but you hesitate.

"You sure you're up for this?" you ask him, needing to be certain. "You'll say if it's too much?"

"Yeah, yeah," he replies, sounding vaguely annoyed, and you can't blame him for that. "I'll behave myself."

And for once, you believe him, so you relent, pouting as you say, "Aw, but you're so much more fun when you misbehave."

He grins at you. "You know," he says, "I really think you need to be naked now."

"You do?" You toy with the hem of your shirt, teasing him, and you see his eyes darken slightly.

"Right now," he tells you, the demand in his voice sending a thrill through you, and you start to undress. And maybe you should make a performance of it, strip for him, but somehow it feels more appropriate, more intimate, to simply take off your clothes, letting him see you, your skin warming under the heat of his gaze until you stand before him, exposed.

He doesn't say anything, only holding out his hand, pulling you in towards him, and you sit down next to him, shifting to face him. You've barely done anything since his surgery; just a few boringly efficient handjobs followed by him watching you masturbate, and it's weird, you think, because you've been touching him, maybe even more than normal, but so much of it has been practical, almost impersonal; helping him wash and dress himself, checking and changing the coverings on his wound.

But you haven't touched him, not like this, your hands sliding slow over his body, exploring like it's the first time. His arm is around your waist, and he kisses you, softly, so unguarded and tender you have to moan.

"You starting without me?" you hear Seth say, and you smile at the sound of his voice, turning to look at him. His hair is wet, slicked back, and he's wearing only a white towel that sits dangerously low on his hips, his skin still glistening with the moisture of the shower. And the sudden rush of want you feel is almost dizzying in its intensity, like something that's been building within you that you haven't been able to acknowledge until this moment.

There's always that hint of doubt and uncertainly when Seth's not with you, a throwback to those days when he betrayed you both and was gone for so long, and even though you've forgiven him a million times over and trust him implicitly, there's still, even now, a small, seductive voice in the darkest places of your mind that will sometimes whisper what if? like an echo.

But now, he's here and you can forget all that.

"Just getting her nice and warmed up for you," Dean says.

Seth smiles back at you. "Yeah, she never needs much warming up."

"True," Dean agrees with a dirty laugh, and you probably should be at least a little offended by that, but yeah, it is true.

"What do you want to do to him?" Dean asks, watching you as you watch Seth, hand stroking up and down your thigh. "You want to suck him? Get on your knees for him?"

You nod, not taking your eyes off Seth, and Dean turns to him, saying, "That what you want? Our girl's mouth on your cock?"

You take a breath, because every single fucking time that gets you, that our. Not mine, not his, but ours, because you belong to both of them, shared between them with no possessiveness or jealousy, something only open and boundless.

"Yeah," Seth says, "I could go for that."

And you don't need any encouragement, sliding off the bed and onto your knees, moving towards him. You rest your hands on Seth's narrow hips, feeling the planes of muscle that slope diagonally across from his abs, and you lean in, pressing kisses along the trail of hair that leads downwards, following it until you reach the edge of the towel. You gaze up at him as you pull the towel away, licking your lips at the sight of his cock, standing out erect from his body, hard and ready for you.

You lean to lick it, kiss it, hand around him as you open your mouth, taking in just the head, sucking on it, gently as first, but then with increasing pressure, just the way you know Seth likes it, using your tongue.

"Oh yeah," you hear Dean say, and Seth's hands are either side of your face, gently cradling your jaw, thumbs stroking across your cheekbones. You look up, and he's staring at you, his eyes almost black with desire as you close your lips around him, going down until he hits the back of your throat and you swallow, taking him in as deep as you can.

"Fuck," he says, as you pull back, almost all the way, pausing to again lavish attention on the head of his cock before you slide back down, and you don't stop, repeating the same motions over and over. Seth groans, and you can tell he's getting close, that he wants you to go faster, but you linger over it, wanting this to last, knowing that when it's time, he won't hesitate to take what he needs.

And finally it seems he's had enough, because he pushes you away, dragging you roughly to your feet and practically throwing you down onto the bed, shoving your legs apart, and he's on top of you before you can even take a breath, cock thrusting into you, and you're powerless to do anything but go with him, allowing yourself to be carried away by it. You hold on as he fucks you, and when he comes it's with such force you think you might lose yourself, just for a minute, but then Dean's lying beside you, tugging on your arm, saying, "Come on," impatiently as Seth rolls off you.

You sit up, your head spinning, managing to get on top of Dean, straddling him as, one-handed, he guides you down onto his cock, letting it fill you as you start to ride him, hips in an urgent, familiar rhythm that you know will get you both there.

Dean's muttering something under his breath, nearing the edge, and you're about to come, you can feel it. You reach out, blindly desperate to connect with both of them in this moment, and Seth understands, because he's immediately right there beside you, holding your hand, kissing your shoulder. "I'm here," he soothes, "I'm with you, baby," and it's everything. You hear Dean moan out his own orgasm just as you come, heat flaring inside you, and the release of it is so great that for a brief second you think you might cry, but it passes, easing out into a sweet, easy contentment.

You climb off Dean, leaning down to kiss him, and you can tell he's about three seconds away from falling asleep, kissing you back, unhurriedly lazy, his eyes already falling closed. "So good," he murmurs happily and you lie down beside him, careful of his arm. Seth settles himself next to you so you're between the two of them, exactly where you like to be, where you belong, and Dean's already dozing off as Seth looks at you, smiling.

His hair is almost dry, curling out into its usual unruly frizz, and he runs his hand through it, pushing it back off his face with a small grunt of annoyance. There's a spare hair tie around your wrist, and you slip it off, offering it to him.

"Thanks," he says, taking it twisting his hair back into a carelessly messy bun, and he looks so good you have to kiss him again, your tongue hot in his mouth, still trying to catch your breath as he pulls back.

He stares past you at Dean, forehead wrinkling slightly in concern as he asks, "Is he gonna be okay?"

"Yeah," you say, and you mean it. "Yeah, he'll be fine, it's just going to take a while."

Seth looks at you. "Are you gonna be okay?"

"I am now."

"You know I'm here for you, right?" he says. "Both of you, yeah, but I mean..." He breathes in. "I get what a handful he can be sometimes, so any time you need help, I'm here."

"I know," you say, curling yourself into him, his arms enfolding you in a gentle embrace. Dean shifts slightly, unconsciously pressing closer, and you feel the warmth of both of their bodies against you, safe and steady.

"We're not going anywhere," Seth whispers, and it's a promise, fixed as a truth, built and then rebuilt, something so strong it can't be ever be broken.

#ohnojustwrites #dean ambrose imagine #seth rollins imagine #dean ambrose #seth rollins #wwe imagine #wwe smut

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donaldresslerfanfic · 7 years

Text

Paint II

Rating: M

Warnings: Strong Language, Sexual Content.

Word Count: 1792

Donald Ressler X OC Maggie Waters.

Chapter: Twenty Six

Chapter Index

Story on Wattpad

Maggie.

"So, here it is" I presented while I walked into the living room, Don behind me.

"You're right about the whole price deal, and a gated community? He must be very good doing business"

"Okay, I know that as soon as I gave you the address of the house you did your research because thats how you are" I walked a short step to him and threw my arms around his shoulders "but can you please not ruin it by saying that there was probably a murder in this house or that there's a secret room where they held some creepy fucked up kid chained up because the parents didn't want them?"

Don scoffed with a little laugh, holding me by the waist.

"I'll say nothing"

"Good, because it was kind of hard to make the decision to keep the house"

Yes. The house Raymond got me, the one that was in a gated community like Donald pointed out, that same one I decided to keep.

The initial problem with the house is that I felt like I was stepping into someone else's home, everything was already furnished and ready to live in. But it wasn't my house.

Then, Raymond took the liberty to take all of my things from my apartment and placed them here, against my will mind you.

But after I walked in here and saw my things fill the room, I just fell in love with this place, I stayed in Donald's place until I decided enough was enough and I didn't find any other apartment with similar settings as my old one, so, the house it was.

Don was still holding me by the waist. I gave him one short kiss before pulling back and holding open my purse.

"I don't want to make this weird but here" I pulled out a key and handed it to him

"A spare key?" He asked while holding me by he waist again.

"Yeah, I don't mind at all you dropping by whenever you want, you're more than welcome here"

He smiled down at me and kissed my lips. I delighted them with my own while my hands slipped to his neck again.

I pulled back with a chuckle when his hands moved from my waist to cup my ass.

"Get the cans of paint out of the car if you're feeling so handy"

He chuckled back at me and walked a short step back to the door, I turned around and grabbed the old papers I'd brought to cover the ground next to the wall I was going to paint today.

Don walked with the two cans of white paint and set them in the floor next to the painting trays and rollers.

"This time I'll take up, this ceiling is higher than the one in your apartment" he dragged one of the chairs from the kitchen while I set everything for him. He began to paint while I set my phone with my favorite radio station. A light song was playing, I stood in front of the wall and began to lightly stroke the brush carefully in the connection between one wall and another.

"Who thought this was a good color? It's piss yellow"

"I know, it's Grandma yellow, it's hideous. The wall paint is one of the most important parts of conditioning a house for sale, that and the floors, and white opens up the space. Yellow makes it seem like this is a weird Conjuring house"

"Conjuring house?" He asked.

"That horror movie we watched? The Conjuring? Bet something creepy like that happened here with the walls painted like this"

I lifted my eyes to find Don give me a little smirk and a shake of his head

"What? No" I complained "Don no, I have to sleep here tonight"

"I said nothing" he replied smugly

"You made a face I didn't like"

"And who said you would be sleeping alone tonight?" He asked suggestively

"I just thought you wouldn't want to spend much time here, knowing the things you know about the house" I looked at the wall and move to the side to continue brushing "so, you went to the Post Office for nothing today?"

"Yeah, Red's new name is a no no"

"Why?"

"It's just some crazy cult guy, we can't touch him, we have and it hasn't worked."

"And Raymond isn't giving you much work if you don't deal with crazy cult guy?"

"He said we're wrong in not taking his word for true, and we'll have to intervene soon"

"Well, I hope not that soon. Otherwise it'll be full circle, you helping me paint my wall and then get a call to go to work"

"Stop, you'll jinx it"

I smiled and looked up to Don, looking at him dreamily. He sensed me looking at him and looked down

"There's a lot of staring, but not much painting going on. Don't make me come down there" he said while turning his head to the wall, I chuckled and continued painting.

Ressler.

By nighttime we had already finished the first layer of pain, but since it didn't look that white yet, we would continue tomorrow.

Mags insisted we didn't order in again, since takeout for both dinner and lunch didn't suit her. I couldn't care less.

This day, this new chapter in my life that I was living with Mags, this was perfect. Me standing next to her while she cooked, fishing some wine for us, setting the table, this was perfection. She was perfection.

I couldn't keep myself away if we were both doing nothing, I had to be standing close to her, hold her by the waist, kiss her on the temple. She was glowing 24/7, and that made it harder for me to be away.

I set the table while she finished with her Puttanesca. She served and we sat in the little space that was left on the table, she was moving a lot of he nicknacks around.

"We can give it another layer tomorrow if you're still here." She said after taking a bite. My hand reached to hers and held it while we ate.

"It's a big place for you, you have a lot of spare bedrooms and can invite your sister over"

"Now that you mention it, I was thinking of inviting them over when they have their summer vacations in 5 months"

I took her hand and kissed her knuckles.

"That'll be awesome, we can take them to the Smithsonian or the Zoo, there's a lot of things to do"

"If you're allowed"

The door bell rang behind us, we both looked back at the door

"Are you waiting for someone?" I looked at her while she shrugged.

"No" still, she stood up. I was quicker and made her a gesture for her to remain in her seat.

I fished my gun while walking to the door, with one hand I hid it behind my back, the other one grasped the doorknob.

I opened just a bit, and frowned

"Evening Donald" Red said, behind him was Dembe. I opened the door wider to let them in, relaxing my shoulders.

"Raymond" Maggie exclaimed and stood up. She walked to him and greeted him with a hug.

"Is that Puttanesca I smell?"

"Yeah, and we've just finished with painting the living room, doesn't it look better now?"

"It does" he said looking around.

"Come, I'll serve you a plate" she led him to the kitchen where we still hadn't finished with our dinner

"I don't think agent Ressler would be very pleased to have me for dinner"

She took one plate, but stopped to look at me, I just gave her a little smile and complied, motioning at the table.

"See, agent Ressler would" she served a portion in the plate and took the silverware. Red left his hat in the table and sat across from me. I sat and took Maggie's hand when she returned to her seat "Donald doesn't mind"

Red looked between us, catching our hands holding.

"I'll assume you don't know what transpired an hour ago then" he looked at me. I frowned and looked at Maggie.

She fished her phone from the pocket of her sweatshirt and made a few movements before the news broadcast hit the screen.

"-white van with stolen plates, the two Alabama State Troopers approached the van, but unfortunately they were both killed by the explosion"

I took the phone and locked it, stopping the transmission.

"You don't even know if this is related"

"I've never been wrong Donald" he said. After that he took a bite and looked at Maggie between his lashes "this is delicious" he admired.

"So this is what this visit was all about? You showing me the news?"

"Frankly I had no idea you would be here Donald. I've come to speak with my associate" he said referring to Mags. She looked between us and then left her eyes on Red.

"Whatever it is I'm sure it can wait"

"No it can't. We're leaving to St. Petersburg in the morning"

"Like hell you are"

"Watch me" he challenged

"Okay!" Maggie said pushing out her arms to the both of us "we're not doing this tonight okay. And also, Maggie can make her own decisions"

She looked at the both of us making sure we got her point.

"And Maggie can now totally beat up Dembe, so you better not start something you can't stop" she playfully warned.

"You'll either way be busy with Justin Ken'yon Agent Ressler, so I suggest you have a nice night of rest" he stood up and took his hat.

Maggie saw him out this time while I cleaned the plates, she was out talking for a while, then entered and looked at me with arms crossed and a little smirk

"I appreciate you standing up for me, but let me remind you that I kind of work for Raymond"

I wasn't happy with where this conversation was going, but I shut my mouth. Maggie was always in tension between the two of us, and I didn't wanted to make this more unpleasant for her.

Instead I killed the lights in the kitchen and grabbed her by the waist, leading her to the bedroom upstairs.

"You just promise you'll be careful"

"I will." She kissed my cheek and then my lips. When we got to the first floor I turned her to me and held her up by the waist, her legs latched to my waist as my lips found hers.

If Reddington was right and we would have to take care of this tomorrow, then that meant I was going to enjoy tonight with my girl.

#donald ressler #fanfic #donald #ressler #agent ressler #diego klattenhoff #muse #amber heard #the blacklist #the bl fanfic

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junker-town · 5 years

Text

Jonah Williams can be a franchise left tackle in the NFL, short arms be damned

Retired defensive end Stephen White says the tape, not measurements, matters when it comes to offensive linemen — and Williams has what it takes to start immediately in the NFL.

I try my best not to read other people’s assessments of college prospects who I plan to do my own draft profiles on because I would hate for someone else’s opinion to consciously, or unconsciously, influence mine. Sometimes, however, opinions about a certain player are close to impossible to avoid. Like, for instance, when the offensive line prospects were being measured at the NFL Combine, and the numbers for Jonah Williams came in.

What a weird range of reactions did those digits elicit on my Twitter timeline. All because, if I am getting this straight, his arms were longer than some people thought, but still not quite long enough according to others?

It was all very confusing for me.

As it happens, I had just started watching Williams’ Alabama tape the day before it was announced that his arms measured in at just under 34 inches. Prior to that, I don’t think I had ever been aware that 34 inches was some sort of dividing line for some team scouts and evidently for some draft evaluators in the media. More to the point, I hadn’t seen anything on Williams’ film to that point that would have made me think his arms were some how not long enough.

If there even is such a thing.

When I sat down to think about it after seeing the takes fly around, I realized that before I started working on this column, I honestly don’t think I have ever regarded arm length as a big deal when it comes to offensive linemen. Sure, having long arms could, in theory, help someone as a blocker, but only if they had a lot of other skills in their tool box, too. After all, I have seen plenty of shitty offensive linemen who had exceedingly long arms in my time as a player and now as an analyst.

Long arms are not some kind of panacea for offensive linemen, nor are “short” arms, in and of themselves, some kind of fatal flaw. It’s actually hard for me to believe that people are still stuck on this “perfect” measurement bullshit in 2019. Maybe it’s because I’m still bitter about being labeled “undersized” back when I came out, but more likely it’s because my experience has taught me that good players come in all shapes and sizes. It just befuddles me that some still haven’t figured that out.

Now, over the years I have adjusted what I value most when it comes to offensive linemen in general, and offensive tackles specifically. If anything, I care a lot more what they do with their lower body than anything else. Having a good, consistent pass set matters way more to me than if you can scratch your kneecaps while standing upright.

I also put a high value on linemen having above-average lateral quickness, good balance, and enough functional strength to hold their own, if not dominate. A mean streak is a plus, but not necessarily required.

Long arms just for the sake of having long arms though?

Man, I guess.

Williams checks two big boxes to be an NFL left tackle.

I have no idea if Williams’ arms being 33 5/8 inches long is going to shoot him up some draft boards or drag him down others. What I do know is based on the things I saw on his tape, in conjunction with what I value in an offensive lineman, there is no question in my mind that he is an outstanding left tackle prospect.

You want to talk about a good pass set? Williams routinely exhibited training tape technique on film. No matter where the guys he was assigned to block were lined up, Williams was going to give them that same kick step and backpedal, time after time after time.

It is obviously natural to him now, and that means he won’t have to be coached up much on that aspect of the game once he gets to the next level. I’m sure his NFL position coach will try to polish his technique up a bit at practice and stay on him about continuing to be consistent with it, but, footwork-wise at least, Williams already looks like a veteran when he pass sets.

When I try to determine if I believe someone can hold up well as a left tackle in the NFL — where they generally won’t get a ton of help and will usually have to be on an island against top-notch pass rushers quite a bit — I look for two things that usually go hand in hand. The first is a good pass set and the second is a high level of athleticism.

Athleticism is for what happens after the blocker starts to set back and the pass rusher he’s assigned to quickly approaches. Can they maintain their technique while adjusting on the fly to a speed rush or a spin move? The best guys not only can, but they also look smooth doing so.

Such was the case with Williams, who was really good at mirroring edge rushers when he had to block them one-on-one.

Williams’ feet were superb out in space, and he hardly ever looked to be off balance. He never panicked in his pass set, and he always kept his weight back as he patiently waited for each pass rusher to commit to a move. That allowed him to do a good job of staying in front of them initially. It also put him in good position to recover when the pass rusher attempted a counter move.

He was always putting himself in prime position to adjust to whatever kind of move the pass rusher was going to throw at him. That allowed him to pass off defenders during games, which was also extraordinary in that you rarely see college offensive linemen with that kind of savvy and awareness as blockers.

He knows how to keep pass rushers on their toes.

Of course Williams wasn’t perfect, and he did get beat a few times while he was pass blocking. What I noticed, though, was that of the handful of times when Williams let someone get past him, it was usually a situation where he started off in good shape at the beginning of the play, then eventually the defender found a way to get past him right at the end after the quarterback had held on to the ball for awhile.

In fact, there was only really one play where Williams got beat cleanly right off the bat in the four games that I saw. And you know what, in four games Williams didn’t give up a single sack and only three pressures by my count. Otherwise he was rock solid. That’s damn good, especially against the level of competition he faced in some of those games. “Long” arms or not, he got the job done, that’s for sure.

Another thing that I liked about Williams in pass protection is that he switched up his pass set from time to time. Instead of just sitting back on every passing play, sometimes he would jump set his opponent to stop their momentum before they got started, right on the line of scrimmage.

That kept pass rushers from being able to get comfortable in their stances. When you don’t know if a guy is jumping you or setting back deep, it can be hell trying decide what kind of get-off you want to use against them. For Williams to switch it up like he did, he forced those edge rushers to stay on guard at all times instead of firing off with reckless abandon when the ball was snapped.

Williams likes to serve up pancakes.

Just based on his pass blocking alone, I would rate Williams as a first-round left tackle prospect, but it turns out the guy is actually a helluva run blocker as well. I particularly enjoyed watching his work on combo blocks where he participated in a double-team at the line of scrimmage, then continued on up to the second level to block a linebacker or safety. Or should I say to obliterate a linebacker or safety.

I mean, he was taking some of these cats and driving them right off the camera!

I don’t know if I would call that a mean streak, but it was definitely obvious on his tape that Williams liked to finish his blocks. He didn’t just want to knock his opponents off the ball — he wanted to pancake their asses. As an old defensive linemen myself, I respect that kind of intensity.

Oh, and that athleticism that showed up in Williams’ pass blocking? It was conspicuous in some of his run blocking, as well. Alabama didn’t ask him to do a a whole lot of pulling in the four games I watched, but when it did, it was something glorious to behold.

Williams repeatedly showed me that he was not only fast enough and quick enough to get to his responsibilities in a hurry when he pulled, but that he was also athletic enough to make good contact and actually drive guys down the field on those kinds of blocks, too.

That is not something you see every day.

To recap, in Williams you get the kind of run blocker who can drive a defensive tackle off the ball on one play, then pancake a linebacker on the second level on the next, then pull out wide and splatter on the play after that.

There really isn’t anything he can’t do as a run blocker. But do tell me more about long his arms are or aren’t ...

Williams is versatile enough to play elsewhere but he should be a LT.

At 6’4 and some change and a little over 300 pounds, Williams isn’t the biggest offensive lineman I’ve ever seen, but his functional strength was self-evident on tape. I also imagine he’s going to get heavier after he makes it to the pros, anyway. Regardless, I don’t have any problems with any of Williams measurements. His tape shows me a guy who can play at a very high level, period.

Having said that, I do believe that Williams could play well inside if a team decided to move him there. I already talked about how good he is at pulling and at making blocks on the second level, so it shouldn’t be too shocking that I believe he could excel as a guard. I believe that the potential to move him inside is more of a reason to draft Williams.

But first and foremost, I think he can be franchise-type left tackle, and I expect any team that drafts him to start him off there at first.

It’s a great thing to me when a player shows he has the kind of skillset where if it doesn’t work out at one position, he has the potential to succeed at a different spot. It gives teams leeway in case there are some struggles at the beginning of a guy’s career.

That kind of versatility is especially welcome for offensive linemen because of how few are usually carried on the gameday roster for most teams. When you have a bunch of guys who can play wherever, then an injury or two on a Sunday afternoon doesn’t have to result in disaster.

But, barring a disaster, I would expect Williams to end up as a right tackle at worst. He just shows too much potential at tackle for me to believe that he would automatically “need” to be moved inside. There also aren’t a lot of top-notch left tackles just lying around, which is even more of a reason to give the kid a shot there at first to see what he can do.

This is my first breakdown of an offensive lineman, so I have no idea how high I would rank Williams in relationship to the rest of the tackles coming out in this class just yet. However, I will say that he I believe in most years he would be taken somewhere around the middle of the first round if not higher.

Wherever he goes, his new team is getting a guy who is ready to start from day one protecting the quarterback’s blindside. Jonah Williams should be an upgrade as both a pass blocker and a road grader wherever he is inserted in the lineup.

And after he is drafted this April, I doubt anybody will talk about his arm length much, if at all, again.

For the purposes of this breakdown I watched Jonah Williams play against Arkansas State, Missouri, Auburn, and Georgia. Those represented the second, seventh, 12th, and 13th game on Alabama’s schedule last season, respectively.

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matt-skc-rp · 7 years

Text

Is This Love or Is It Pain?|| AU

TRIGGER WARNING: ABUSE

Trisha was sitting on the kitchen floor in the Theta house, she had grown to like it there because no one, no matter how hard she cried or screamed, was coming out to catch her on the floor. She knew this video was going to be hard. Especially since the man she was making this video about was right upstairs. It all felt familiar, but this was just...she felt like nothing was real, and it was because of his...his everything.

Then why did she feel like this was her fault?

She thought back to the first time she had even seen the tall boy: long locks, cute glasses, those drop dead blue pools of his eyes. She like how he was just..there. He was so attractive with his book and his coffee. So lanky- particularly of a light muscular build- and his hands...wow, she was sweating. And it’s the middle of the Montana winter in the Rockys.

Matt was sitting down and reading his textbook as he looked at his phone for a second to text his sister. Texting Hollie was the only thing that was helping him cope with letting Rosanna go.

[Text Matt] You didn’t need her anywayy! She’s obvs a total basket case..

[Text Matt] Get someone else who’s better! I’m sure if you look you can find her!

“Hey handsome,” Trisha mustered with her best voice and managed a very believable smile, shifting her weight from side to side as she playing with a strand of her blonde hair. It caught Matt off guard and his head snapped up and swiveled up slowly as he looked at the cherubic, curvaceous figure in his face. She was very pretty and he liked what he saw, and the voice was something that caressed his ear and kissed it, and the hairs on the back of his neck rose. Her scent, sweet yet powerful with maturity, grabbed his nose and practically pushed his eyes past her bosom to see her face and the source of her voice.

“Why, hello, hello, hello...Might I say, you how to articulate yourself in ways that...stimulate the senses to the point where..god, I would have to be dead to turn away from such spoils you offer. However, you’re not a bunch of sour grapes from my haunches, oh no...You, my succulent fox, are reminiscent of a southern belle...a summer princess of heat,” he started as he stood, taking her hands, kissing the fingers.

“OOOooo! A southern belle? How so?” she giggled, nervous as well as excited for his words. He talked about her like a symphony, like a guy from a romance novel. It was almost suiting. A real man. A man willing to comfort her. Willing to take care of her. Willing to spoil her like a princess. He called her a princess. Her hand went up to her chest, she felt like it was going to beat out, showing how she really felt. This feeling was better than any drug that they put her on for anxiety and antidepressants...or that time she discovered herself.

“Look at you, you deserve to smile. You deserve to sip mint juleps and have huge, slightly gaudy lace dresses that adorn your body and make you into a lovely gem in the summer sun. Your lips should stay that light and plump, with a delicious shade of pink or whatever color looks best. Your hair should always flow from you, beautiful and yellow as the corn in the sunshine,” he said, smiling down at her.

She doesn’t remember blushing that hard in her whole life.

“Someone’s happy,” Ro pointed out as she picked through her salad, watching Trisha smile and look at her phone constantly.

“You have been glued to your phone this whole time! Who’s the new beau? Does he have money? A nice dick?” Joey asked from across the table as he pointed his fork at her. Trisha giggled and sighed as she put her phone facedown, “Is a video doing well?”

“Well...I maayy or may not have a really good guy in my life and he’s totally awesome,” Trisha shrilled, flipping her hair and pushing it behind her shoulders, “He just....oh my god, I dunno how to like, explain...but he’s just BAE!” she gushed as she put her hands on the table and rolled her eyes, realizing how bad she was feeling for this guy.

“Oooooo,” both Ro and Joey reply, before sipping their drinks.

“Well, you gonna gush all day or are you gonna tell us!? What’s he like? How’d you guys meet? He sounds like Relationship Goals, and I’m engaged!” Joey said, flashing his engagement ring again.

“Alright, alright, enough with the ring, Joey! I’ll...I’ll tell you,” she settled in as she shifted and twisted a strand of hair, then started telling the story of how they had met. Her eyes were so wide and bright, they looked like they were reflecting the light from the sun in the pattern’s like it’s a gemstone.

Ro’s face was trying to hide her intrigue, her jealousy. How dare she find someone so supportive and kind. To compliment her and hold her the way she asks, listens to her, cherishes her for all that she is, good and bad. The fact that he can speak, as she says “like Shakespeare”.......

Wait...like Shakespeare..? She wouldn’t have, she can’t be...

“And his name is Matt!” Trisha finished and Ro snapped back into reality, her heart actually having a small intense pang..her hands starting to sweat. “He’s so tall, and he has this cute ass tattoo on his shoulder and oohh..his eyes are to die for, a-and his brown hair...such a babe-”

“Stop,” Ro said, flatly, staring at her glass on the table, drawing Joey’s attention and Trisha did what she demanded.

“Ro, come on-” Joey started.

“No...why him?...” she asked, spaced out and strained, taking harder breaths, shaking her head, “He’s not-”

“Wait, wait, wait! Hold up. Ro, are you...jealous? Did you wanna date him? Did you used to date him? Ar-”

“He harassed me, and you’re talking about him like he’s someone different....H-He’s not! He made Mark leave me...” she started, Joey rushing to her side and standing her up, taking the napkin from her hands that she was wringing at first and was now tearing it apart. He walked the girl outside of the restaurant and Trisha was sat there confused, but sure that she’ll get all of the details later.

“Baby..”

“Hm?..What is it princess?” Matt asks as he towers over his lover, giving her a soothing back massage and running his hands up and down her back, sending body calming vibrations through her.

“Hmm...well I was having lunch with my friends today. And I think that they know you,” she said after humming from another tight area loosening.

“Who are your friends exactly? I may not know them, since I’m new, but I interacted with a select few in my short time here,” he said, switch to working motions, rhythmically massaging his thumbs into her back in areas.

“Well...oh yeah..um..It’s Ro...R-rosanna Pansino...a little lower baby..and Joey Graceffa,” she managed. Matt stopped for a couple seconds and took a deep breath as he continued, “You know them?”

“Yes..I do..I knew Rosanna. Well, I thought I did. I completely messed up with her. Made her uncomfortable, and the way I knew Joey was because she made him stand-in for her boyfriend or something...It’s fine, I know the truth now and I just want things to..stay where they are. She’s happy where she is and he’s happily engaged.”

“Well she’s not. Mark broke up with her after that whole..whatever you just said..She just hasn’t been okay since. You..didn’t cause that, did you?”

“No..no sweetheart. I...I wouldn’t think that what I did..would..change her whole relationship. He came to her aide, as a good boyfriend should. What..I said to her was that she’s not going like how her relationship is at the time, and I said it was going blow up in her face. She was so unsure and almost scared of her own relationship, and she just took whatever happens because there was this thing where she wanted to be in control and another where she was completely in submission to this..monster of a person, a person who hurts her, who doesn’t respect her choices and wishes..that she wasn’t allowed to be all of herself. She had been blinded by their love...and I,...well, a mere infatuation, unfortunately; however, fortunate for you. If you wanna look at it that way. I was so..I was hurting and unfocused and I leaned on her entirely too much. I got her stuck in my head, she is definitely a victim of my loneliness,” he explained, Trisha happily and uneasily listening.

“What did you do exactly that got you involved?” She asked, completely sitting up and turning over, her pleading eyes on her boyfriend, biting her lip a little.

“Well, it was Christmastime and I couldn’t afford to go back home to Alabama. I knew what was going to happen if I did go back that I didn’t want, but at the same time, I couldn’t fly my sisters out here to be with me for the holidays...Long story short I had gotten my hands on some hard eggnog and a bottle of Jack and..I sent nudes to like all of the girls I had numbers to that I had just met here. I started arguing with Rosanna first, before I sent it to her about her life and how she was shielding me from it, like some dumb dirty secret, or something that she wanted to keep at arm’s reach. I can claim I don’t know her whole story, but the more I was rejected, the more upset I got and the more we argued. Then after that, the more I tried to make it right, the worse it got, so it got to a point, and I just gave up and let her be...So now, she hates me and doesn’t want anything to do with me. However, I hadn’t known that Mark was going to break up with her for defending herself...”

“Wait...so, you took responsibility?”

“For the argument? Yes. For Mark breaking up with her? No. She didn’t do anything. She was talking to someone, who didn’t turn out to be who they said they were, and she felt threatened. She told her boyfriend, who got upset and came to fight for her respect and her safety. That’s how it went down. He did a few crazy things here and there, but they were quite irrelevant to the situation at hand. She wasn’t unfaithful or anything.”

“Wow..th-that means..Mark broke up with her..by himself. She just...she wanted to make everything better and not lose him, but she didn’t know it was worse. Mark has a multiple personality disorder, but more like two personality, since Dark likes to run the show and cause havoc....What did he do to you, baby?”

“A couple of bruised jawbones from when he punched me in the face, it was a little swollen from where he stood on me. Then I had a couple bruised ribs and various cuts and bruises from when I threw myself down the steps to get away from him,” Matt explained.

“YOu..threw yourself down the steps?” she asked, surprised.

“Yeah, he had an alligator grip on my throat, he was gonna knock me out and hurt me. I might as well just let the stairs do it if it meant I was away from him,” he said, with a small chuckle.

“That’s not funny, you could have gotten hurt,” she folded her arms, concerned, but hurt that he wouldn’t take the explanation seriously.

“I have had to throw myself from a moving vehicle just to get away from my dad and my sisters’ dads, I’ve run my car into another car in front of a cop and kept driving so that I could get my sisters’ dad arrested for beating my mom or my sisters or my mom for beating my sisters. I lied and said my parents were dead for a while so that I could legally adopt my sister and have housing for a while. I’ve been beat up and run down before and deliberately hurt myself just to get out of harm’s way or protect my sisters. Don’t act like if you loved someone, you wouldn’t do the same..or if things got that heated, you would do anything to get out,” he began to tense up, thinking of the rage that he’s endured and how defensive he gets about his sisters.

“Don’t..Do not start that with me, Matt,” she spat at him, “You know I have. I hurt just as much as you.”

“Clearly not,” he muttered.

“Excuse me?! Who the fuck do you think you’re talking to?! You did not just say that! You know, nobody asked you to do that for them. They could have done it on their own. Nobody needs you-”

“LIKE YOU DON’T NEED ME?! Huh?..Is that what you’re saying?!” he snapped, lunging a little towards her. She retracted.

“Daddy..please..”

“...daddy..what?” he asked through his teeth and leaned into her, pulling her by her leg closer to him, “You just said you don’t need Daddy.You made me upset. You can take care of yourself tonight..how about that-”

“No..no, no, no no..Daddy, no. I need you I want you I’m sorry-”

“I did not say you could talk!...Now, hey look at me, I’m gonna go..and when I come back, if I come back, you are going to be punished. Do you understand me? I don’t want to hear from you. I don’t want you to talk to anyone. That will equal longer punishment..unless you want to try and come and change Daddy’s mind...Nothing, do you understand me?” he spoke carefully and breathed hard, his hand now on her throat enough to push her chin up, giving her the ability to breath, but to grab her attention.

Trisha nodded, “Good. Daddy loves you, but you know I can’t let you go on this..” She was frozen as his hands were taken off of her body and he stood up to put his shirt on, covering the stitches tattoo on his shoulder she loved to put her mouth on in any situation.

Matt place a kiss on his two fingers and touched her lips, since she was following him around as he got his things together, caressed her hair and her cheeks again. She gave him pleading eyes he didn’t want to look at right now, trying to make him stay. He was finally done and he kissed the top of her head, “My little julep...My sweet sunflower..Princess...I’ll be back before you know it.”

“Daddy..please..p-pl-please..do-don’t go...I’m-I’m sorry..Sorry I spoke to-to you like that...M-Matt...”

“Shhhhshush, baby....it’s okay. You know what to do..my little chicken nugget,” he whispered and kissed the top of her head and went out the door.

Trisha visibly shook, her makeup smeared all over from the tears streaming and wiping them furiously.

@nerdynumme-rp @trishapaytas-rp @joeygraceffa-rp

2 notes · View notes

snkret-photography · 5 years

Text

Scene from S4E2 - Let it Go

Fade In: Kevin walks into the room in slight bewilderment as Noah stands against the wall.

KEVIN

I'm still unaware of why you brought me here.

NOAH

Because we need to talk. You can't keep avoiding this conversation.

KEVIN

I have jack shit to talk to you about. You're a trash ass friend, you've always been a trash ass friend and quite frankly if you weren't so fine and I wasn't so shallow, we would never have been a thing.

Noah expresses his disappointment with the drop of his head and a loud sigh.

KEVIN (cont’d)

(Agitated)

I'm not doing this bullshit with your manipulative ass.

NOAH

Go on. Get it all off your chest so we can have a civil conversation. We both know how difficult it is for you to not hear yourself talk.

KEVIN

(Gasp)

Might I suggest you go burn in hell.

Kevin brushes past Noah and slams his shoulder into him.

KEVIN (cont’d)

I did that on purpo---

As Kevin walks into the large, open space, he takes notice of the surroundings.

NOAH

(Softly)

Are you ready to talk now?

Kevin turns to look at Noah but his eyes keep darting to take in the surroundings.

NOAH (cont’d)

Now you're speechless? Really?

NOAH (cont’d)

(Stepping forward)

I really don't understand what has you so stuck.

Kevin takes a step back in matching cadence to Noah. His eyes darting between Noah and the old bar cart covered in equipment.

NOAH

You can't slam me with the cart, asshole.

KEVIN

No one said I wanted to slam you with the ow

Kevin hits the back of his head on the wall.

KEVIN (cont’d)

(Rubbing the back of his head)

I'm not going to hit you asshole.

NOAH

Take it you got why I brought you here?

KEVIN

I have ideas.

NOAH

Elaborate.

KEVIN

And if I don't want to?

NOAH

You always want to.

The two stare at each other for a second. Kevin begins to chuckle.

NOAH (cont’d)

Just say it.

KEVIN

You're pathetic.

NOAH

That all you got?

KEVIN

You know, I really don't understand at what point we became friends. You've never once been good to me, for me, around me. You're essentially my foundation in the belief that abortion should be legal.

NOAH

So now my mother should have aborted me?

KEVIN

Your mother should have swallowed you. Abortion is the backup for her first mistake. Or maybe we should excuse that sorry ass excuse of a father who couldn't hold his nuts tight. I really don't know who to blame but I will acknowledge that the reason my life has become intertwined with your ass is because both of them didn't understand their lack of a need to reproduce. Then again the whole state of Alabama exists so I guess there's worse.

NOAH

(Calmly)

I feel like you've waited a long time to get that off your chest.

KEVIN

(Irritated)

I feel like fuck you.

NOAH

You would want to yet you can't.

KEVIN

I'm leaving.

NOAH

Do you even know where we are?

KEVIN

(Quietly)

I'll figure it out.

NOAH

What was that?

KEVIN

(Loudy)

I will figure it out.

NOAH

Just talk to me and we can leave.

KEVIN

You did all of this, just so we can have a bullshit conversation? And they say I'm the one who's crazy in this relationship.

NOAH

You act like I want to have this talk. But it's necessary so here we are.

KEVIN

Bitch, necessary is paying your rent on time. Necessary is pulling out to ensure more of YOU don't roam the Earth. Shit, necessary is going to Jersey just to get gas.

Kevin begins walking towards Noah.

KEVIN

This... this is extra and utter bullshit and I refuse to participate in whatever psychosomatic convention you've drawn up.

Kevin lunges his shoulder into Noah as he brushes by him as Noah goes slightly off balance. To regain his balance, he grabs at Kevin's arm.

KEVIN (cont’d)

(Turning to Noah)

I mean you didn't miss a fucking detail.

NOAH

(Regaining his stature.)

Kevin, just get it over with.

KEVIN

(Screaming)

LET IT GO!

NOAH

I can't.

KEVIN

You won't.

NOAH

I've tried.

#Writing #Script #Scene #Cliffhanger #College #Conversation #Men #Drama #Anger #NYC #Black #Black Writers #Black Photographers #NYCPhotographer #Photography

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twentytwentynews-blog · 6 years

Text

Mo silence, Mo bullsh*t

Franklin, Contributor With all of the bizarre shenanigans coming from the White House these days, you’d expect that your congressman might have an opinion or two on tariffs or Putin or he might possibly be trying to figure out how to get healthcare for the people in his district that don’t have it. In North Alabama, all we get is Mo silence or Mo bullshit. Recently, the dysfunctional incumbent who is too impotent to actively represent his district, Mo Brooks, discovered that he was getting his ass kicked in this last quarter of fundraising by a 2-1 margin. So, Mo decided to issue the following statement about his opponent, Peter Joffrion, saying, “We have all the money we need right now to make sure voters know that Peter Joffrion is from the radical left-wing of the Democratic Party.” Well, if that ain’t Mo bullshit, I don’t know what is. (At least Mo’s flunky intern who wrote that bullshit didn’t pull out the cliché of calling it the “Democrat Party”, but rest assured that there are Mo cliché’s coming). Anyone who has spent more than thirty seconds with Peter Joffrion knows without a doubt that he’s not “radically left.” This Mo bullshit response is a clear indicator that Mo has no effective argument against the fact that Peter Joffrion is gaining traction in the Fifth Congressional District because he is a leader who listens to his constituents and offers workable solutions. Mo, on the other hand, is too busy trying to convince his base that hordes of South American immigrants are desperate to relocate to, uh, Scottsboro or trying to convince us to enlist in Space Farce so that we can start new interplanetary wars over mining Uranus. Yep, Mo bullshit. Of course, Mo silence ain’t that much better. Brooks resorts to that often when it becomes obvious that his legislative ideas are about as effective as a one-legged man in an ass-kicking contest or nailing Jell-O to a tree. Mo also likes to run away. Especially if he thinks some radical left wingers are gonna show up at a town hall and he’ll have to answer a real question or two. Mo questions, Mo flees. It’s Mo than we should be forced to put up with when all we get is Mo and Mo incompetence. It’s just Mo of the same old, same Mo. Look, this election truly matters because we can’t afford Mo bullshit or Mo silence. We need leadership and we need someone that will stand up for North Alabama. We need Peter Joffrion because he will represent North Alabama honestly and fight for the things we care about. We don’t need Mo grandstanding or Mo embarrassment. The last thing we need is Mo problems or Mo rhetoric. So, let’s help Mo retire. He’s had a long, albeit ineffectual, run and his tired doublespeak isn’t doing much of squat to help the people of North Alabama. Either Mo’s voting no or he’s hiding from his constituents or he’s saying some embarrassing shit you’d expect to come from the lips of an angry adolescent. Yeah, Mo likes to vote no a lot because he thinks it makes him look like he has principles. Unfortunately, as part of the Freedom Caucus cult, all it means is that he’s mastered the art of throwing a monkey wrench into the gears of effective government. Mo gridlock, Mo kickin’ the can. Even in Congress, Mo is about as appreciated and revered as a turd in a punchbowl or being stuck in an elevator with Ted Cruz without air conditioning in August. It’s time to for bold leadership, it’s time to elect Peter Joffrion. We’ve had Mo silence and Mo bullshit than we can stand. Read the full article

0 notes

tube-thoughts-blog · 6 years

Text

Vol. 12

zero stars - terrible, 1/2 a star - dull, 1 star - folly, 1 1/2 stars - lacking, 2 stars - fair, 2 1/2 stars - decent, 3 stars - terrific

---------- Everything Is Terrible:

*Skittles Commercial 1989: A beach slob is out of luck at a not-so-sexy French beach in an animated skittles ad from France.* 2 stars

*The BAR-B-Q-GURU!: Basic grilling techniques (for example: use a whole bottle of lighter fluid) by a broke ass middle aged black dude.* 1 star

*Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles - Behind the Music: From scarfing pizza to snorting ants with Ozzy. Not really. More like a pathetic attempt by corporate America to exploit dumb kids and dumb parents.* either zero stars or close to 2 1/2 stars (for proof of said b.s.)

*Cowabunga! can do great things: Say something stupid, and feel good.* 2 1/2 stars

*Call Me Fantasy: Unintentionally awkward hardcore-phone-sex commercial.* 3 stars

------------------------

Cartoon Network Summerfest: (2002)

*Longhair and Doubledome - Good Wheel Hunting: Pre-historic odd couple.* close to 2 1/2 stars

*Utica Cartoon: A bear gets in over his head in a all you can eat without paying (as long as you can eat them) hot dog bargain.* close to 2 1/2 stars

*Yee Haw & Doo Dah - Bronco Breakin Boots: Yosemite Sam-esque cowboy and his talking horse are squatters in Central Park.* 2 stars

--------------

Gerhard Reinke's America: Gerhard Reinke Goes Ballooning *Over the rainbow and into the magical land of unicorns (not uniHorns) and Asian sluts.* close to 3 stars

----- Monstervision with Joe Bob Briggs: Barbarella

*Drive In Totals: 14 dead bodies - 1 vicious parakeet attack - 1 Roman orgy - 1 portable brainwave detector - Shag carpeted spaceship - 2 crash landings - 1 giant rubber stingray 1 vicious biting sharp toothed doll attack - demonic children - flower eating - sea through man - flying pod attack with fireballs - 1 burning outer space city - Snowball Fu - Green Laser Fu - and finally the Famous Lovemaking Tube

*TNT NFL Sunday Night Football commercial featuring New England Patriots' then quarterback Drew Bledsoe. Seems like ages ago before Tom Brady dominated the sports news media.

*Joe Bob talks about how the two sci blockbusters of 1968 were Barbarella and 2001. He says that critics wanted to call this one "2002: a Space Idiocy." HA!

*Jane Fonda is a terrible actress. Really terrible.

*Hippie / progressive logic is vomit enducing. "Free love" in this movie is made so confusing and non-fun.

*WCW "Rage in the Cage" FallBrawl commercial featuring Jim "The Anvil" (I believe)

*Joe Bob says this movie is like "Dante's Inferno meets Disney on Ice." Ha

*Hey, 90s business professional lady, don't be afraid of new technology. Get a Nokia cell phone with car lighter adapter for only $9.99. Offer good through 9/30/97

*Joe Bob's advice to the hopeless: talk of lesbos with the very sexy Reno the Mail Girl and Joe Bob helps deliver a viewer's baby (not literally, of course).

*Jane Fonda saves the galaxy by being as silly acting as possible and having softcore, no nudity no action, sex with every humanoid alien she meets.

1 star for the movie (It's more up Joel Schumacher's and Tim Burton's campy alley than mine.) between 1 1/2 and 2 stars for the commercials and 3 stars for Joe Bob's hosting

-----------------

The Greatest American Hero: My Heroes Have Always Been Cowboys *Poncho and Lefty.* 3 stars

Manimal: Scrimshaw *I am the walrus (literally).* either 1 star or between 2 1/2 and 3 stars

U.S.S. Alabama (Unaired FX network pilot) *Obviously this was gonna be Reno 911 meets Star Trek, and that's exactly what you get. Poking fun at the genre's tropes and adding the humorous element of inter-galactic govt. red tape getting in the way of space adventuring.* between 2 and 2 1/2 stars (The hit or miss ad-libbing is probably why this series never got picked up.)

----- TV CARNAGE:

*The Unfriendliest Town In America: "Can you help me out, buddy?" BAM! Knee the person asking you that in the groin.* 3 stars

*Stripping Lessons From The Insecure: You need a book about striptease allure from a lady that doesn't even feel sexy herself.* 2 1/2 stars

*Sad Sex Sillys!: Uncomfortable advice and uncomfortable laughter.* 1 star

*No More Free Blow Chobs: RICK, she's not some kind of oral sex machine. Stop coming into her dorm room and getting completely naked, while she's in the other room getting erotic candles for the two of you, you horny frat boy you.* 2 1/2 stars

*You Call This Relaxing: Neo-Nazis crucifying another Neo-Nazi* 2 stars

----------------------------------------

---Commander USA's Groovie Movies: CHUD

*For those not familiar with Commander USA, he's a tv movie host from the 80s. He looks like The Comedian from The Watchmen (he predates him, I believe) but he's more like a street wise version of Mr. Rogers. He likes to paint his right hand up with a smiley face, using ashes from his cigar butt, call it "Lefty" and talk to it like a sidekick friend. It's weird and almost painfully unfunny at times, but this is an afternoon, if I'm correct, movie show and not something late night like Joe Bob. Though, Svengoolie uses a lot of cheesy humor on his near-late night monster movie show.*

*Carefree bubble gum commercial. "Now with more flavor than ever." Was it sort of bland before? Were they holding back on the flavor? In the ad, a lot of very active and olympic level folk were blowing bubbles while performing. I can't picture people of the 20 Tens fitness culture even chewing any kind of gum. It's probably not gluten free, anyway.*

*An awesome USA network preview commercial for "Night Flight" "Where would your weekend be without it?" 11 pm eastern 10 pm central. Cool music videos and shorts. Generation X laments for MTV's glory days, well these other cable channels' attempts at MTV style programming were just as good, if not better.*

*Christopher Lee and Joan Collins in "Dark Places" TONIGHT 8pm on USA's Saturday Nightmares I'm tearing up thinking about how good old school cable used to be. Now, they'd probably have a four hour block of a reality show or a forensic detective show or a douchebag movie featuring The Rock, and never in a million years program a horror / mystery movie block followed by late night music videos and animated short films and stand up comedy. You sat in your acid washed jeans and watched this with only your remote, a bowl of popcorn, and a Pepsi. You didn't have an iphone, snapchat, twitter, facebook, netflix, redbox new releases only (barf), hulu, game of thrones, orange is the new black, pandora, real housewives of the kardashians, kanye west butchering bohemian rhapsody. We lived in ye good ole days.*

*One of the "Wet Bandits" from Home Alone is here in the 1980s NYC running a soup kitchen for the homeless. What a difference a decade and meeting Goodfella Joe Pesci makes.*

*Kolchak the Nightstalker would be right at home in this movie's environment. In fact, they have a haggard looking, snooping reporter who's almost a version of him.*

*Commander USA is carving meats for his footlong sandwich right after the scene where the photographer / hero goes down into the underground, with his homeless pal, and checks up on the injured homeless guy's chewed up and festering leg. Ewww. Ha.*

*An 80s nerd is playing bomber pilot in the mirror as he treats his zits with Oxy 10. He's so obnoxious, he deserves leprosy. However, I do miss uncool 80s teenagers who weren't afraid to be uncool.*

*Nabisco Brands logo on a BabyRuth commercial featuring two good looking male and female models in BabyRuth logo letter jackets. One: the Nabisco logo of the 80s gave off some kind of hypnotic feel good illuminatti trance vibe. Must love this corporate brand. Two: Why do they always show chocolate being poured in its melty form? The candy bar is gonna be solid and only melted if it's in your ass pocket and you sit on it or leave it on the dash of your car. Hot, melty chocolate is so damn much better it's like crack was in the 80s. More subliminal, chocolatey, illuminatti shit.*

*A 1-800 number ad featuring feel good American craftsmanship, sportsmanship, patriotism... uh ship and other propaganda for joining the National Rifle Association of America. The 80s were conservative as fuck, motherfucker. Have your VISA or MasterCard ready for your $20 NRA member baseball cap and 10,000 dollars worth of "accidental death" insurance with the NRA. Because you will kill yourself or a loved one or a hunting buddy. It's your 2nd amendment right.*

*Commander USA parodies the scene where the little girl is traumatized after her dad gets jerked out of a phone both by a C.H.U.D. Commander USA uses a blow up doll in his own personal phonebooth to re-enact the scene. Kind of black humor on the part of the old Commander. This was a sort of family friendly afternoon movie show with a basic cable edit of the film, and here they still mix in some bleak humor. Gotta love the 80s. They would not even show this kind movie in the afternoon on basic cable anymore. Sure, SYFY shows monster movies on Saturday afternoons, but they don't show 80s monster movies. They show 2000s crapfests and Asylum mock monster horror shitfests.*

*A yuppie couple is playing their morning game of tennis. The husband is sluggish because he didn't have his Kellog's Branflakes, while the wife is running circles around him. Yes, he didn't have his morning dump, and she did. These ads were effectively satirized in the 90s when Saturday Night Live did their "Colon Blow" cereal commercials.*

*AT&T wants to help 80s, pre internet business communications, small businesses become more successful. Sure, a big corporation really just wanted money like they always would. Truth is they'd like to merge with other super corporations and make the six headed corporate dragon of the apocalypse and suck the souls out of every small business, small business owner, and slug citizen of the global economic slavepit like a high speed slurpee.

*Roger Clemens lip-syncs in a non-redneck voice and gets naked behind a towel (for 80s chicks who wanted to see that. Surprised that he was ever considered a hunk. But whatever) in a "Zestfully Clean" ad. Cheesy, and wouldn't have been my brand of soap in the 80s, but nowhere near as obnoxious and off putting as modern Old Spice soap or Axe body wash.*

*Chef Dom Deluise doesn't wanna say goodbye to his Summer vegetables, as he sings a song to them about saying goodbye, in a Ziploc freezer bag commercial. He really needed to spend less time in the kitchen singing to food. R.I.P. Dom Deluise. He's dead, right?*

*Capn Lou Albano has to be dragged off screen in his 1-800 talk wrestling phone ad. Rejects from The Village People bust into his living room and do this, for some reason. There had to be some moron to call this number and listen to Lou ramble incoherently about Luigi and Jimmy Superfly Snuka.*

*"Dream Away" overnight weight loss tablets. I'm guessing these 1980s biggest losers sweated to the oldies with Richard Simmons in their dreams and all those fat cells just drifted away down into their waterbeds. Every moron in the 80s had a waterbed.*

*In the 80s, it took a magician named "Blackstone" and a series of motivational cassette tapes to get people to stop smoking. No one ever smoked after this and those annoying TRUTH ads featuring dying smoking victims talking out of their neckholes, that you have to hurry and look away as you flip the channel during dinner, never took place. What a wonderful alternate reality we live in.*

*C.H.U.D. and They Live would and probably has made a great double feature. Both have themes of the govt not caring about the people on the bottom level of society.*

*Another reason why this is a great movie is they're taking their sweet time to build up the tension of really getting a good look at the monsters. Sure, we've had glimpses of them. But nothing really lingers on them. It's all quick edits. When they finally show themselves to the people of New York, and the movie viewer, it will be worth the payoff. If this were a SYFY Asylum mock-monster-mock-movie we'd already had seen the shitty CGI croco-cerebus-cheetah in the first five minutes when it devours Caitlyn Jenner.*

*This movie also meets Joe Bob Briggs' rule of any good horror movie which is "Anybody can die at anytime." And they do, there, in the sewers of NYC in C.H.U.D.*

*Get Dianetics at Waldenbooks. The pseudo-psychology pseudo-religion selfhelp zeitgeist of 80s yuppies.*

*One more inspid bit of 80s propaganda by conservative Ronald Reagan America and corporate America: They would have "By Mennen" ads featuring babies and new moms with the 1950s tv mom standing over her shoulder giving her instructions on every "how to" and all the mother know how life advice she'd need. Basically saying, "Don't think for yourself. Make the 80s just like the good ole 50s."*

*"FDS Woman." Yes, ladies of the 80s used a huge aerosol can of feminine deodorant spray to keep their smelly vaginas in check, and that, coupled with their big hair, that needed to also be aerosol sprayed, is the reason that we have a hole in the ozone layer and now everyone has smelly genitals from the swamp crotch caused by a greenhouse gas oven climate that we all endure for most of the year.*

*There's no irony being noticed by anyone, here, that this movie that came out in the 80s and featured a plot about radioactive waste coming back to bite everyone in the ass is being shown on television, in the 80s, sandwiched in between all kinds of products that we have to destroy our bodies with using and our environment in making. Nope, none. Ha.*

*"Go back to sleep America. Your government is in control." -Bill Hicks*

*Nice government citywide coverup of the night of horrors and incident.*

*And a great cameo by John Goodman as a NYC cop in a greasy spoon diner, when the CHUDs show back up for the gotcha horror ending.*

*Commander USA puts on his trench coat and heads out the door after the credits roll.*

*The USA network voice over guy tells us to tune in tomorrow at noon for All American Wrestling featuring the voice talents of Mean Gene Okerlund. Can't get much more 80s than that.*

3 stars for the movie (even being on basic cable and edited) 2 1/2 stars for the Commander and finally either 1 star or close to 3 stars for the cheesy, despicable ads

----------------------------------------

---- Marc Summers' Mystery Magical Tour:

*For some reason Marc Summers is out on a stormy night, on a desolate road, after watching a movie with a group of kids, when his convertible gets a flat tire and he has no spare. One: that's just not responsible adult behavior, but what would you expect from the host of Double Dare. Two: Why is the top down when it's gonna rain? And where is this movie theater out on a winding mountain road right out of a David Lynch movie?

*The Addams Family's John Astin makes a cameo as a disgruntled magician, breaking the 4th wall and airing grievances, before quitting his magician job at a spooky, old dark house in the middle of nowhere.

*Guess who happens to pull in front of the house seeking help. Marc and kids.

*Of course, per requirement for a creepy mansion, no one is there to open the door and it is a case of just letting one's self in.

*It's gonna be Marc's own personal "Hotel California" as a creepy, gloved hand slides Marc's picture into the frame on the Now Appearing Act sign outside the mansion.

*Marc is proving why more game show hosts aren't asked to act. This is a labor of magician love, so he gets to star in his own pet project on Nickelodeon.*

*There's the old googly eyes behind the painting following around Marc and kids. A staple of old dark house horror.*

*Secret passageways and locked doors, spooky setting, ominous David Copperfield esque magician playing an old phonograph record using telepathy, but Are You Afraid of the Dark this ain't.*

*"Connect Four" singing faces commercial from the 1980s. Another awesome board game that caused many a sibling argument.*

*Johnny is the coolest 10 year old. He wears his jean jacket over his shoulders like a matador would wear a cape. Every kid in town has gathered to watch him take on Milton Bradley's Simon electronic guessing slap game.*

*The kids are running around without Marc who got disappeared into a skeleton in a phone booth. Now, the kids are pulling the old 3 Stooges "Knock it off" things happening behind the others backs routine.*

*Now, a maid has shown up to do a Carol Burnett mime routine. Sad and beautiful.*

*Lance Burton starts having a swashbuckling sword duel with the killer ghost character from Wes Craven's Scream.*

*The silky voiced and animated bear from the Golden Crisp commercial. Whatever became of him?*

*A Converse "Conasaur" commercial featuring pre-historic lizards from King Kong's Skull Island and the old black and white Lost World movie. Nice.*

*Tyco Dino-Riders toy commercial. Dinosaurs ruled the earth once again in the late 80s and early 90s and kids back then had awesome toys, cartoons, and movies to show for it.*

close to 2 1/2 stars for Marc, and kids, inside Lance's lunatic magician's mansion. close to 3 stars for the kid friendly retro ads

------------------------------------------

Twitch City: Killed By Cat Food *Art imitating life without merit. Without Hope. So, Curtis finally leaves the apartment and finds Hope, again.* 3 stars

--- Found Footage Fest:

*Clean Butt: Hands free shitting experience that's very dignified.* 2 1/2 stars

*Disney World, One Kid's Opinion: Although the lines are long, it's worth it.* 1 star or 5 Mickeys according to this kid

*Exercise Awareness Week: "The Wu Tang Clan of exercise shows" featuring an 80 year old govt hating bible thumper.* 2 strange stars

*Inline Skating Is Fun: Wear a helmet or have a sweet ponytail to protect your fragile egg shell of a head.* 2 1/2 stars

*Memorial Day 2000: For the land of the free and the home of the show us your fuckin' tits!* either zero stars or close to 3 stars

---------------------------------------

Spicy City: An Eye For An Eye *Cyberspace better than the shark tank. Tragic song and dance in a chat room lounge.* between 2 1/2 and 3 stars

Robocop the series: What Money Can't Buy *A sick kid needs the "Sultan of Detroit Swat," Robocop, to hit a homerun off of a curveball thrown by an organ snatcher.* either 1 star or between 2 and 2 1/2 stars (This show is at odds with itself. On one hand you have the clever Robocop style adult satire of society, and on the other it's a dumb, mainstream, early 90s, PG-action tv series with all the cliches and flaws of those kinds of series.)

Gerhard Reinke's America: Gerhard Reinke in Roswell, New Mexico *"All Chinese look alike just like all aliens look alike." -Stanton Friedman, UFO expert.* close to 3 stars

Casey and Friends: Episode 10 "1989" *The setting is late in the 2000s decade. Some hipster-nerd teenagers find their dad's old VHS cam-corder and set out to parody 1980s era, "cool Christian" teens television shows that they still show on Saturday afternoons on the religious channels. Unfortunately, the "too kewl for Sunday school" teens come up short on the satire and humor.* either between zero and 1/2 a star or between 1 1/2 and 2 stars

----------- Monstervision with Joe Bob Briggs: The Beast Within

*Joe Bob is all for mutant-insect sex with humans as long as it produces monster horror flicks.

*Drive In Totals: 16 dead bodies... 1 dead dog... Neck munching... Embalming needle through the chest... Electrocution... Disembowling... Head rolls.. Hand rolls..

*Joe Bob will be with the viewer all night for "all the insect sex info"

*Monster/murder/rape mystery and returning to a hicksploitation town where it happened

*Joe Bob knows about deep, dark southern mysteries involving can opener / electrical chord murders

*Yep, it's a strange one. Effeminite, elderly newspaper man patting out raw hamburger and flirting with the delivery boy who turns rabid and chomps on the raw flesh of the weirdo old man, killing him. Plus, Designing Women's man's man Meschach Taylor is one of the town's deputees. Ha.

*Joe Bob is making toy grasshoppers hump and questioning the strange, sexual tension of the movie. Like the romantic strolls, with a deranged redneck's daughter, by a swamp full of body parts.

*Joe Bob wants to know why adults can't watch innards, 'cause of censors, even after the midnite hour on Turner basic cable. I agree.

*Joe Bob threatens to go on Jerry Springer and air his complaints, because he loves the violence on that show.

*Being embalmed alive has to rank pretty high on the horror movie kill list hall of fame.

*The town drunk has figured out who the killer is, but the sheriff won't listen and tells him that he looks like "The high noon of a coon dog just leaving the swamp."

*The young lead/monster of this movie looks like John C. Reilly playing a teenage Dewey Cox / Lon Chaney Jr. Wolfman

*Joe Bob exclaims how Monstervision is better than Turner Classic movies, because instead of pointing out facts about Liz Taylor getting hickeys from lovers in 1957, he talks about dead Baptist ghosts in spooky Mississippi hospitals where they film horror flicks

*Joe Bob questions the logic of turning into a cicada monster that's never explained in the movie.*

close to 3 stars for the tv edit of the movie and 3 stars for Joe Bob

------------------------------------------------

---- John Candy in "Summer Rental" on AMC (American Movie Classics)

*National Lampoons Vacation comparisons, but Candy is more endearing than Chevy. His movie family, on the other hand, terrible... so far

*Stuck in a moving station wagon with a farting dog, yet this movie still is charming and nowhere near as bad as a 2000s era awful comedy with someone like Martin Lawrence or Adam Sandler taking their families on vacation.

*AMC is airing this Summer themed movie during the Christmas holidays, and showing a commercial for their upcoming Holiday hit movies. Bill Murray's Scrooged is gonna be ran for 24 hours straight. Who started this shit? I love Scrooged, I used to love a Christmas Story, Home Alone 1 & 2, and Christmas Vacation, but I'll be damn if they did not run these movies into the ground. 24 hours straight of the same movie is insane and enough to make fans start hating their favorite movies. They play Home Alone and Christmas Vacation every other day on cable starting around Thanksgiving up until Dec. 27. ENOUGH!

*Hallmark digital Holiday cards featuring the overused Charlie Brown song and more awful insurance ads guilting family's into life insurance. They're raking in the bucks off of sentimental feelings

*Shaq is sitting by a warm fireplace attempting to read a corporate Christmas story (buy our stuff!) to a bunch of multi-cultural tv commercial kids. How, sweet.... humbug

*Renters versus Owners. A Ronald Reagan type rich yuppie gets Haiwaiin shirt wearing John Candy's table at the fancy restaurant, after Candy waited forever in line, and his lobster dinner. Basically, the rich, who can live in the vacation town all year long, against the 40plus hour a week white collar worker who can only rent a condo for a couple of weeks in the nice vacation area.

*Rip Torn is a pirate in a rundown dive bar / Captain D's

*John Candy is one of those take all kinds of crap dads on a vacation from hell.

*J.G. Wentworth sure likes bad opera singing and people yelling out windows

*Run in with the evil Ron Reagan guy while sailing. After beach hiijinks and moving in to a crappy shack on the beach after getting kicked out of their nice condo by the real owners.

*Wife and kids go to a movie during a rainstorm, while Candy is laid up cripple after a sailing accident, and mom forgot her wallet leading to John Laroquette picking up the tickets for them and hitting on mom.

*John Candy's character should just kill himself now.

*Footloose Kevin Bacon poster on the lobby wall and teen daughter is listening to Wham! on her walkman headphones. Barf on both, but 80s nostalgia nonetheless.

*Flinstones gag where Candy gets locked outside, in the rainstorm, by his dog.

*Candy is nursing a hurt leg in a kids plastic pool while his wife is on a speedboat with a douchebag like Laroquette.

*AH, his luck might have changed for the better? The bikini beach bimbo shows up on his sandy lawn... with pity

*Corporate America has no shortage of insipid holiday commercials. They even try to be clever about being aware of this in some of the commercials. Bill Hicks would note that they're going for the "hating the holidays" dollar.

*There's a nude boob scene that Candy gets to be in (not his boobs, thankfully) and I wonder since this is an 80s flick, even though I'm sure PG13, if there were actual boobs shown. Since it was the 80s, and 80s PG13 was edgier, I'm thinking maybe they did show naked boobs. AMC doesn't, however, 'cause it's the Holidays and we still have Pilgrim and Puritan overlords and Santa watches everything.

*The 80s version of Larry the Cable guy has taken over Candy's bed, and taken up with his dog, while watching the Smurfs, during a beach bum party takeover of Candy's vacation house. It happens when Candy is next door checking out the neighbor's brand new boob job.

*Rip Torn and John Candy have a drunken debate. Who's tougher? Jimmy Cagney or Sylvester Stallone

*Ron Reagan voter is signing business papers on the coffin of Candy's condo's former owner. Uh, oh, 'cause Candy has shown up in beach shorts and a white sports coat at the funeral home. Candy's being evicted. Lesson: don't rub the rich the wrong way.

*Crooked rich guy's boat is called "The Incisor."

*As per requirement for all Summer fun movies, there's a challenge thrown down between the good guys of Candy's / Rip Torn's haggard pirate beach bums and the yuppie rich sailor who happens to be Candy's evil landlord. It's a sail off. Winner takes all.

*Candy's clan wins the battle of waves.

*Whatever happened to the Laroquette and Candy's wife subplot? Who cares....

*This movie just isn't as satisfying as Chevy's Summer vacation, though it had some decent moments. Sick of Chevy's Summer vacation, however, and never need to see it again. Ever. Cable has played it so much it feels like the other 9 months of the year and not a vacation at all.

2 1/2 stars for the movie 1 1/2 stars for the ads

-----------------------------------------

Northern Exposure: Sex, Lies, and Ed's Tape *A high concept man with his head on the bar.* close to 3 stars

Gerhard Reinke's America: Gerhard Reinke in Alaska *Where one's pee turns instantly into a popsicle.* close to 3 stars

Cartoon Network Summerfest: (2002)

*Maktar: A group of kids are playing flashlight tag, on the lawn, one Summer night. The light somehow shoots through the cosmos and is received as an act of war by a planet of oddball as well as kaiju controlling aliens.* close to 2 1/2 stars

*Test Drive: Some white trash teens find a Transformer type robot in a junkyard and rebuild it. A zero suit Samus chick, from the future, arrives to reclaim it, and they aid her in a smackdown to stop aliens from destroying earth.* between 2 1/2 and 3 stars

----------------------------

USA UP All Night with Rhonda Shear: Beach Fever & Nightmare Sisters (1992)

Host segments for Beach Fever:

*Ritzy, early 90s UP All Night has just as good an opening video as Saturday Night Live, of the same time period, had.

*Rhonda thinks Beach Fever has feminist vibes because it has bikini babes relaxing and enjoying themselves on the beach while also karate kicking dudes in the neck

*Viewer mail: A guy named Ralph wants to exchange footcream in order to see Rhonda wiggle her toes in cheesecake. Rhonda shows off her comedic chops (which would sound surprisingly good to some, and they are) when she impersonates a New Yawk advice columnist, looking like the receptionist of Ghostbusters, complete in red wig. Reading a letter from a lady whose son is wearing her panties. Ha.

*More viewer mail: Rhonda reads a letter, while stretched out in a red miniskirt on a white bed, from the president of the "foot fetish society of America."

*Rhonda writes her wishlist to Santa while the rockabilly classic "Rocking Around the Christmas Tree" plays in the background

*A viewer writes in to tell Rhonda how he and his wife, inspired by Rhonda's succulent cheesecake covered toes, took a chocolate pie to bed. Kinky weirdos, but fun anyway

*More letters rolling in prove the value of old school late night movie hosts. People are not watching for the subpar flicks, they're watching for an entertaining host. If more networks still did this, they'd get more value out of their late night tv library & ads.

*Other viewers write in to USA network wanting them to put that "space mutant" Gilbert Gotfried off of the other late night hosting spot and send him to where he belongs, "SciFi" network, instead. Ha.

Beach Fever:

*Kato Kaelin and not Jackie Chan have beach high jinks against pimps/pushers, muscleheads, and sexual zombies.*

USA UP All Night Late Night Advertisements:

*A yuppie douchebag is tired of being alone at night and having horny air bubble thoughts pop up above his empty head. So, he spends a dollar a minute to call up "Singles Connection Hotline." next thing you know, he's dry humping bimbos on the dancefloor, just like his pal.

*Lonely gals and guys call "Phone Partners" for 99 cents a minute and find friends in the same town or across the country. Social networking difficult back then. More saxophone soothing, but expensive.

*Call the "Mind Maze" for 5 bucks a minute (wow, expensive!) and get X-Files esque phone sex, I guess, with a creepy guy back lit by what I'm guessing is an alien searchlight peeping through your closed blinds. Creepy.

*TeleFriend. For 4.99 a minute, you too can have a female "friend" to talk to.

Host Segments for Nightmare Sisters:

*A viewer is mad that "Macho Man" Randy Savage touched Rhonda, on a previous night's UP All Night, and the viewer crushed his beer can, spilling suds, in a rage. Ha.

"Nightmare Sisters" starring Linnea Quigley (1988):

*Sorority Babes in Slimeball Bowl-O-Rama meets Revenge of the Nerds. This time with succubus and a decapitated genie's head, named Dukey Flyswatter, in a crystal ball.*

3 stars for Rhonda close to 2 1/2 stars the advertisements close to 2 stars for Beach Fever and close to 3 stars for Nightmare Sisters

--------------------------------------

Erwin C. Dietrich's "High Test Girls" (1980) *In a picturesque European village nestled in the mountains, six scandalous Swedish sweeties service a softcore-sex-soaked gas station / grotto. Sex antics with plenty of tongue in cheek humor.* more than 2 1/2 stars

"High Kicks" (1993) *Jean Claude Van Damme meets Tommy Wiseau, without enough awkwardness to warrant a cult following or even viewing. A toothless & bloodless attempt at rape-revenge exploitation. Shot on video at Venice Beach. A mullet hairdo sporting Patrick Swayze type zen martial artist / drifter (private pleasure sailor) helps an aerobics chick learn basic self defense to fend off a haggard gang of goofy stereotypes. One villain sounds/looks like Artie from Howard Stern's Show, another acts all Carlos Mencia, there's even a Fat Albert body double, and the required Asian kung fu gangbanger.* between 1 1/2 and 2 stars

---- Red Letter Media.com presents Best of the Worst:

*Lady Terminator: Skanky Lara Croft has her vagina possessed by a snake goddess and becomes a Lady Terminator. Makes about as much sense as Terminator Genisys.* close to 2 stars

*Lost In Dinosaur World: A kid friendly, and painfully boring, 90s Jurassic Park cash in and half assed attempt at advertising for a theme park full of barely mobile animatronic dinosaurs.* 1/2 a star

*Low Blow: A kung fu Charles Bronson wannabe, who's inept and elderly, versus a could-not-care-any-less cult leader.* 2 stars barely

Red Letter gives a tie for best between Lady T. and Low. B. Lost in Dinosaur World gets melted by a hot iron.

--------------------------------

1201Beyond.com presents Riff You A New One: Raiders of Atlantis *"I downloaded a copy of a mustache." I don't know what that means, but I think it pretty much sums up watching this flick. It's an Italian exploitation mixture of Raiders of the Lost Ark, Miami Vice, A-Team, Road Warrior, Gilligan's Island, and Fulci's Zombie.* 2 1/2 stars with riffing and between 2 and 2 1/2 stars without riffing

"Asylum For Shut Ins: Video Psychotherapy" (2004) *A twisted, beatnik(?) ventriloquist dummy screws with the viewer's head for watching clips of screaming scream queens, acts of depravity, and horror gore. Often repetitive and headache inducing.* running from close to 2 stars down to 1 star down to zero

Gerhard Reinke's America: Gerhard Goes Noodling In Oklahoma *Savoring "gettin' some!"* 2 1/2 stars

Ripley's Believe It Or Not!: Episode 1 (1985) *Jack Palance pisses up a rope.* between 2 1/2 and 3 stars

Obscurus Lupa presents: Gymkata *The Cold War had everyone olympics caliber athletics crazed. Beating Ivan Drago, having a Miracle on Ice, or scoring high in Tetris meant something. So much that Ronald Reagan's Star Wars nuclear program depended on the C.I.A. getting a gymnast into a Soviet neighbor backwoods inbred country's Ninja Warrior obstacles of death challenge in a Eastern European forest. The winner getting one wish. Ronald Reagan used that wish to launch a laser sky cannon and crumbled the Berlin Wall.* 2 stars for the flick and 2 stars for the fun review

Forever Knight: Dying To Know You *A psychic gets a little too close to the fire trying to fly with a vampire. I miss how 70s, 80s, and 90s action dramas would always end with lite humor, despite having a heavy story to the show. In this episode, a police psychic gets killed in the line of duty, after getting personal with our hero. He broods about it during a thunderstorm, and then the episode ends with the four lead cops having a laugh about protein shakes and tofu burgers on their lunch break. Game of Thrones and others should try this. *wink* 3 stars

Hill Street Blues: I Never Promised You A Rose Marvin *This town might be more corrupt than Gotham. There's a bully SWAT team with a tank for a toy. Corrupt politicians try to cover up their crimes using corrupt high ranking police. And kooky doctors think that dangerous mental patients are just misunderstood and shouldn't be behind bars. Lucky for everyone, there are more than a few James Gordon quality cops down at the Hill Street precinct.* 3 stars

Viper: The Face *Suffers from the flaw of many movies and tv shows of the time period. Too much emphasis is placed on the comic relief and it gets in the way of the plot. That being a noble ex-con stuck between a rock and a hard place.* either 1 star or between 2 and 2 1/2 stars

"Samurai Cop" (1989) *Set in a bizarre alternate universe where Tommy Wiseau makes Tony Scott style action movies. Three things that no one would have thought would go together so sweetly: buddy action comedy, softcore porn scenes, and Japanese warrior code.* 3 stars

--- Found Footage Fest:

*Even More Proof - Swords and Blowguns: Tips on how to have unsafe fun with deadly weapons for sale from the same guy giving the tips.* 1 star

*Hair Again: A picture of someone, with hair, is worth a thousand words, but the same picture, with someone wearing a wig, is pretty much worthless.* 3 stars

*How To Be A Real Man: Banditos get loco for HeyZeus.* 3 stars

*Star Search Audition - Nick Gomez: Carlos Mencia would have gotten zero stars on Star Search.*

*Video Guide to Successful Seduction: "Plan something different." "In public." Do it in public...* 3 stars

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Max Headroom: Lessons *They're censoring Sesame Street.* 2 1/2 stars

1201Beyond.com presents Channel 32 Bloopers (1989) *Hijinks from a local t.v. station in the Midwest. It's always the businessman, who's too inept to be his own commercial spokesman, that steals the show. See also: Punch Drunk Love's "Mattress Man" plus the internet legend "Winnebago Man."* between 2 & 2 1/2 stars

"Broadcast Babes" ---XXX--- (1985) *So, big haired (also boobed) lady, you wanna be be a glamorous news reporter mindlessly reading teleprompter info about family housefire deaths and funning it up with the weather guy? Well, first, you gotta lay it all out, on the casting couch, with Ron Jeremy's wiener cousin.* between 1 1/2 and 2 stars

Future Schlock Vol. 1 *"It literally takes you to Funky Town." "My dad lives in a downtown hotel." "Girls like guys who get high." A mixtape with just the right amount of attention deficit disorder.* 3 stars

Wizards & Warriors: The Caverns of Chaos *Trust sprouts from bitter roots.* 3 stars

Look Around You: Health *"Between you and me, I wish I had never gotten out of bed this morning." That was before meeting MediBot. A 1950s sci fi style robot & mobile surgeon.* 2 1/2 stars

---- Monstervision with Joe Bob Briggs: Soylent Green w/commentary from director Fleischer

*Talk about how this was an early environmental film in a dirty decade, the 1970s.

*New York has a population, here in 2020, of 40 million people. There's mass overcrowding and a huge divide between the the have(s) and those who have not.

*Romero would take this timeless, universal notion and apply it during the Bush Jr. years in Land of the Dead.

*Total dystopia happening here.

*When society is hanging on by a thread, women become property. It always happens.

*Joe Bob loves Chuck Heston in this flick. He thinks he's nasty and tough in a harsh setting. Joe Bob hates cutesy sci fi flicks. The ugliness of this one appeals to Joe Bob as he stands in front of kitschy, skull trailer decorations.

*You know it's a heavy film when Edward G. Robinson is crying over vegetables, because he hasn't seen any since his youth due to crop shortages and world starvation.

*A lot of social barriers have had to come down, due to circumstance, in this movie's world, but still armed men have to loom over like Hendrix's song "Watchtower."

*Joe Bob tells his audience to slow down and accept the slow pace of the film.

*Poetic dinner scene where Robinson gets to introduce Heston's character to a meal that he's never had before.

*Planet of the Apes, Omega Man, this flick... Heston was the king of thought provoking mainstream 70s sci fi

*150 bucks a jar strawberry jam on a spoon, from a suspect's kitchen, retrieved by the cop character of Heston. It's part of the plot and another scary, little aspect of the flick that really needs to be noted. In our real life, the prices of certain foods are always fluctuating depending on some issue. Right now eggs have gone up because of a bird epidemic, last year it was pork for similar reasons. This film is all too real.

*Heston's character is our hero, but, as noted by the director, he's lacking some of the more noble qualities of Robinson's older character who saw more earlier brighter days. This is saying that we're preparing a world for future generations, through our ignorance and arrogance and destructive deeds, where they'll have less and less humanity.

*Joe Bob, in character maybe, is getting bored with the film and thinks it needs a lesbo orgy. Maybe he thinks this will be above the heads of most of the drunk, late night TNT crowd.

*Chuck interrupts a lounge full of sexy ladies, and bums a drink and a smoke from one of them noting, "If I had money, I would smoke 2 or 3 of these everyday." In the seventies that would be a joke for different reasons than it is now. Back then, smokes were cheap, but now, he's right, you would be lucky to afford a pack a day, and soon it will probably be the way it is in this movie.

*Noting that the female character is nothing more than sexy dressing to the scenes and the lives of the men. Like sleak 70s furniture. Kind of like the whores in Game of Thrones.

*Joe Bob points out that Chuck is a feminist because he wanted the female lead to show angst about her situation in life, before taking her to bed. Ha. Touche.

*In this next scene, the governor of New York is taking his family to see the one tree in the state in a hothouse. In current, real news, the mayor of Portland, Oregon, took his family on the parade route of the Rose Parade through downtown Portland after a vicious homeless sweep to get the homeless off the streets so they wouldn't be an ugly reminder during the pretty parade.

*The director is commenting that there is no middle class in this movie. Only the very rich and the very poor. Again, it's where we're heading as a society.

*Joe Bob points out how the police, govt, and the rich would love to use bulldozer garbage trucks to scoop protesters off the street. Wouldn't they!

*One of the first movies to tell the truth of corporations being the new evil of society.

*Another scary dilemma of society in this movie, and possibly where we're heading with governments wanting to take internet freedoms and rights to share dissent away, the small group of humanitarian people are gathered in the one remaining library to read what information that they have left and maybe get down to finding out what the Soylent corporation is truly up to. Modern corporations would love to take our ability away and make us not be able to know what they're up to.

*The euthanization sequence with the sterile setting and the pretty music and pictures. I think it says something about 21st century people and our veal calf lives of pleasure.

*A classic gloom & doom tale about global warming and corporate greed.

*And remember, Chef Boyardee is Soylent Green.

*We end with Joe Bob talking about the next flick, on Monstervision, the Legend of Boggy Creek. And how the director was meticulous about detailing the true accounts of Bigfoot in a Texas/Arkansas swamp. This film was made around the same time as Soylent Green. Again, fast forward to modern day, we have real global issues happening in the world, and corporate channels like AnimalPlanet waste time and viewers' attention on shows like "Finding Bigfoot." History will repeat itself until the apocalypse.

3 stars for Soylent (the movie, not the product) close to 3 stars for the director and actress commentary and more than 2 1/2 stars for Joe Bob

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TV CARNAGE:

*Keep on rocking forever baby boomers!: Roll on with that broken hip. You have medicare.* 2 1/2 stars

*Gullible as shit: Believe anything a trio of Asian gangbanging greasers have to tell you.* close to 2 stars

*Need my medicine: Benji, the dog, and Chuck Norris on a drug bust.* between 2 and 2 1/2

*Mighty Fine Man: You Pay TOO MUCH!* close to 2 1/2 stars

*Pay day: Don't be nervous, 'cause you're gettin' laid.* 1 1/2 stars

---------------------------

Six Feet Under: The Foot *And a heavy hand. I'm once again starting not to like any of these characters (except for the cop; as a person).* close to 2 1/2 stars (biased rating not reflecting quality)

Spicy City: Sex Drive *A Sin City Marv type butts heads with his cop partner. A real crooked dame.* 3 stars

--- Everything Is Terrible:

*Milk is sweet, bro: The cream always rises to the top. So, chew your cud, bud.* 3 stars

*Vitamix - Catch the Vision!: It takes 3 seconds to grind meat and dust mite feces.* 3 stars

*Woman versus computer!: You've pushed the wrong button, bitch!* 3 stars

*BUBBLES!: "They're your friends." If you get high a lot and talk to puppets. It helps.* 2 1/2 stars

*It all ends soon!: Feral agony.* 2 1/2 stars

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"Blue Ice" ---xxx--- (1985) *Nazi exploitation mixed into a noir San Francisco setting. Spliced together with so much grit that one would believe they're back in the 70s at some 42nd St. New York grindhouse theater watching it.* close to 3 stars

---- Memory Hole:

*The power of the Dark Lord: to create zany mishaps at church.* close to 3 stars

*God bless America: that old soft shoe soul of a nation.* 2 1/2 stars

*Real men meow: it's okay to admit it and to be timid about it.* 2 1/2 stars

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Rescue 911 w/ William Shatner: EZ-Mart Hostages vs. Woman with Rifle *Shoppers, redneck cops, & even the gun wielding psycho lady are all saved by a vigilante, female impersonator.* between 2 1/2 and 3 stars

Bad Movie Beatdown: Just Go With It *An angry British guy takes a very anal (no Adam Sandler potty humor pun intended) look at another awful Adam Sandler effort. Just go with it. Lazy, uninspired filmmaking. Just go with it. Awful, horrible people celebrated. Just go with it. Rampant product placement inside the film. Just go with it. The very opposite of funny in a comedy. Just go with it. Movie studios and ticket purchasers paying for millions of dollars exotic vacation for Adam Sandler and his friends in place of an actual movie. Just go with it. And they go.* zero stars for the movie & 2 1/2 stars for the review

Mystery Science Theater 3000: Horror of Party Beach *"The day the mudskippers fought back."* 3 stars with riffing & running from close to 2 stars to close to 2 1/2 stars without riffing

A Haunting: A Haunting In Florida *Home ownership is hair-raising anxiety. Especially on sacred swampland once belonging to Native Americans.* between 2 and 2 1/2 stars

--- Beach MTV w/ Antonio Sabato, Jr. & Daisy Fuentes (1995):

*I used to have a teenage crush on Daisy.

*Antonio is wearing overalls and a wife beater. Douchebag attire.

*Before social media, everyone loved giving shout outs, especially from the beach.

*Stupid human tricks... First is a back-hand-spring, which is stupid, according to MTV, even though gymnastics takes a lot of talent, dedication, & training.

*Promo for the 1995 MTV Movie Awards hosted by Courtney Cox & Jon Lovitz (Odd couple there) with guests - A Baldwin (not Alec), Cindy Crawford, still a druggie & not an Iron Man Robert Downey Jr., Ice T & Chris Isaak, still an A-list actor Val Kilmer, and america's sweetheart of the time Alicia Silverstone. Performances by Boyz 2 Men, Blues Traveller, TLC & More...

*MTV is sponsored by Sunkist soda, a soda to drink outside, so they claim. Plus there's Eagle Snacks "What You Feed Your Face." (That sounds like a corporate slogan from the world of Mike Judge's Idiocracy).

*A Gen-X couple are on a jungle safari with Jolly Ranchers juicy candy and end up in a jolly rancher candy controlled temple

*"Drink in the waves! Ay! Drink everyone! huh!" A Sunkist commercial with beach party animals pounding 3 liter soda in the surf and dancing around with cases of Sunkist soda. If it was that popular, why is it so obscure now, and rarely seen on store shelves or on tv ads?

*An awesomely surreal Eagle chips ad where a guy scares off his hot date, because he has a creepy, chip munching face in his kitchen cabinets.

*Nothing says "fun in the sun" like a MTV artsy station logo reminder featuring a skeletal, black bird poking blood out of a still beating x-ray of a heart with white background.

*Next week MTV becomes MJTV as Michael Jackson takes over leading up to the premier of he and Janet's Scream video. Scream sucked, but they're also gonna show Thriller. Young ones don't get how big a deal Thriller was. They only played it on special days. There was no Youtube to go watch it on like any video ever. You could maybe own a VHS copy of it, but if you were just casually interested in seeing it, you had to wait.

*"You think you've heard it all? Listen to this!" Blockbuster is holding a sale for all their cd's for $11.99 or less. Even hot & new band Hootie and the Blowfish

*"What do you want?" "BROWNIES!" Duncan Hines "Hot Stuff" Pot sold separately.

*Visa, it's everywhere you want to be. Including the beautiful Pacific Coast Highway

*Arthouse ad for Nike & supposedly the Boys & Girls Club featuring Penny Hardaway's hoop dreams and struggles.

*A year after Kurt Cobain's suicide. Gen X can't mourn forever. So, here we are in South Beach, Miami. Woooooooooo! No more rainy Seattle

*Couples challenge... where a buff Guido (the type who'd get their own MTV show a decade later) guesses that a timid beach-babe looks up to Madonna (no duh! amirite, my sistaz?!) and they are pronounced "hot" by hooting admirers and get to "hook up."

*99 cent Batman Forever collectible glasses with carved images of Jim Carey's Riddler and other characters from the Summer blockbuster are available at McDonalds

*Bass Bomb 1-3 mix cd's from THUMP Records

*MTV News break... someday MSNBC news lady, Alison Stewart, talks about Eddie Vedder having to cancel a concert. Now she's pimping Hillary instead of Eddie

*Antonio & Daisy name drop how cool Dennis Hopper is for some reason. I agree. Can't imagine modern MTV personalities namedropping a badass actor over 40 much less 50

*It's also strange to look back at the era of MTV video disc jockeys. They've gone the way of the dinosaur. Maybe some other music channels still have them, but they're gone from basic cable music channels (which I still have). If you can call them music channels.

*Now, MTV is reality tv and MTV2 (which was supposed to take over as an all music channel when MTV began running mostly shows)... MTV2 is the Wayans Bros. & Martin Lawrence sitcom marathon station. Why this channel programs like this, and is able to survive, is beyond me

*Odd juxtaposition by MTV creative as we go to break with Ice Cube & Dr. Dre's hit song Natural Born Killers booming over images of beach hotties swimming underwater

*Launch Media interactive CD-Rom ad featuring a rip off of the rambling Aussie roadie from Wayne's World

*McDonald's superhero burger. It's what vigilantes obssessed with their parents' deaths eat while crying in their car after breaking a mugger's arm in three places

*Punk show 95, in Long Beach, featuring Sublime, among others, and a lazer light show. I didn't know punks liked that sort of shit. Thought it was only hippies.

*Six Flags Hurricane Harbor water park. I wonder if guys with fake Jamaican accents ever get tired of promoting the fun of whitebread families in vacation commercials

*Someone must have flipped the channel on this tape, because there's an ad for Dr. Katz. Man, I miss Penn as the voice of Comedy Central.

*TIMM, the interactive multi-media monitor for a computer. It even comes with a remote for dummies. Seems silly, but now there's netflix, hulu, xbox live, Twitch, all these apps we pretty much use on our tv in a similar fashion. TIMM might not have caught on, but the idea eventually would.

*One of the Friends (the one with the monkey) signs up for AT&T long distance savings and flirts, nervously, with the tele-services lady. Lame.

*John Madden is a wizard ogre who can make jocks' feet catch on fire if they don't use his foot fungus healing potion.

*A male hotbody contest followed by a Bryan Adams music video. MTV, barf inducing.

*MTV News Break talking about the upcoming Michael Jackson & Lisa Marie interview with Diane Sawyer. Strange days, indeed.

2 1/2 stars for Daisy, 1 1/2 stars for Antonio, 1 star for MTV, zero stars for those beach goers, and close to 3 stars for the goofy commercials

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Deadpit.com presents Retro Wrestling Night: WCW Beach Blast 1993 (a review) *Just two Kentucky guys talking about wrestling, while in a bedroom, just in their socks.* 2 stars or zero stars for the zero production values and shaky camcorder recording

Predator in Mortal Kombat X (2015) *Whoda thunk that a monster/alien from an 80s action movie would endure interest for two decades? While lesser creatures from the likes of Independence Day & Battlefield Earth reside in purgatory, this ugly son of a bitch creeps through the collective horror / sci fi fan subconscious. Collecting trophy skulls from popular video game characters, like Johnny Cage, and having horror fan dream-match battles versus Jason Vorhees.* 3 stars

"The Slayer" (1982) -uncut- *Edvard Munch paints a portrait of Freddy Krueger.* 3 stars

TV Carnage: Ouch Television My Brain Hurts *"3 weeks ago I was running for president. Now I'm on t.v. with a guy in a bug suit."* close to 3 stars

Red Letter Media presents Scientist Man Explains Terminator Genisys *Marky Mark escapes the ape planet and his tardis crashlands on the steps of the Lincoln Memorial during President Biff Tanner's 2017 inaugural speech. Meanwhile, in the crowd, Travis Bickle bumps into Morpheus who hands him the remote from Adam Sandler's movie Click. He uses it to pause the actors, on the set of Pineapple Express, in 2007(?), while they're having an existential high moment. Therefore, Rise of the Planet of the Apes never happens. Or does it? Yet? Or it already has...? maybe in another timeline.* 3 stars

--- Phone Losers:

*Church calls - Fart Demon: It was a fight for survival that broke out in revival.* close to 2 stars

*Disabled Postman: Inconvenienced by the impaired.* 2 1/2 stars

*Church prank calls - sex offenders: I'm required, by law, to tell you that I'll be there, on Sunday, in your house of worship, with my parole officer.* close to 3 stars

*Food Stamp Tacos: "Thank you for not making me any."* 2 1/2 stars

*Google streetview - There goes the neighborhood: concerns of the rich.* 2 stars

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WWF Summerslam pre-show (1989) *"A one way trip to the sun" featuring Hulkster, Tiny Lister, Macho Man, Scary Sherri, Brutus the Barber, Ravishing Rick, Andre the Giant, Ultimate Warrior, Bobby the Brain, and Mean Gene. Okay, Gene looks like he'd be a better barber than Brutus would.* 3 stars

--- Everything Is Terrible:

*God's muscle: Have you payed your protection money to the Lord or are you gonna sleep with the fishes?* close to 3 stars

*Join the military!: "I knew it was awesome, but not this awesome!"* 1 star

*Don't trust adults!: Especially the Zucchini Bros. Band.* 2 1/2 stars

*Let's get flairing!: Entertain drunks by juggling.* zero stars

*Bio-magnetic touch healing sensual rubdown: "When in doubt, just touch" the sensitive areas of naked men. "Aloha."* 3 stars

--------------------

"Super Mecha Kucha Happy Fun Monkey Bash DX Part 4" *If thy right eye offend thee, pluck it out, dip it in wasabi and put it back in skull.* close to 3 stars

"Summer of Tears in American Gladiators" *A sketch comedy group splice themselves into a "classic" & cheesy, reality competition.* 3 stars

"Snog Marry Avoid" season 6 episode 3 *The fashion-nightmare spawn of Boy George meet a fascist, ice-queen robot in a wardrobe.* 2 stars

--- USA Up All Night w/ Rhonda Shear (1992): Summer School Teachers (1974)

*Rhonda is dressed up like a sexy cowgirl at L.A. niteclub Denim & Diamonds

*This is a country/western line dancing bar around the time that "Achy Breaky Heart" (barf) was popular.

*It's nice to see Rhonda twist her hips, though

*Rhonda flirts with some big hunky urban cowboy yuppies

*Rhonda jokingly says that Ross Perot is in Summer School Teachers

*Rhonda recommends football strategy to prevent pregnancy

*Another strong women of the 1970s sex comedy from Corman's New World Pictures.

1 star for the honky tonk 2 1/2 stars for the flick and 3 stars for Rhonda

----------------------

"Summer Beach House" (1980) ---xxx--- *The thing that stands out most in this flick is the dingy yellow color scheme. It's on everything from the walls, furniture, floral bed sheet pattern, lamp shades. Nightmarishly probably still in the never redecorated homes of cat ladies, everywhere, on Dead End St. USA. In the malaise of their nicotine stained reclusive lives, they'd pull back their gown to reveal, to a stranger, a frighteningly wiry figurative pussycat. Also, I wanna comment on old school lady massagers. So white and antiseptic. Like a suppository. Now, dildos are mostly medieval looking & hot pink.* between 1 1/2 & 2 stars

--- Joe Bob's Drive-In (1991): Fred Olen Ray's Beverly Hills Vamp (1989)

*Joe Bob pontificates on what it would have been like if Wilfred Brimley & Regis Philbin, among others, had discovered America

*Drive In Totals... 9 dead bodies.. 11 breasts..

*Jerry Lewis wannabe Eddie Deezen is on the menu for fanged vixens. Highlights: dripping with love for kitschy Hollywood. Priest, producer, secretary, and butler steal the show. Deezen sucks. Bauer seduces as usual. Britt Ecklund underused. Some scenes like with the convenience store lady & motel cleaning lady felt more like the joke was our time watching was being wasted instead of the scene being funny, like it was an injoke on the set (don't do that, Fred). Tim Conway Jr., talented somewhat.

2 1/2 stars for Joe Bob (TMC didn't give him enough time to talk) & running from 1 1/2 to between 2 & 2 1/2 stars for the flick

-------------------

--- Phone Losers:

Dead Lawn Hippies: "My free speech is no to your free speech. I'm a loose cannon and into being organic." close to 3 stars

Convenience Store Confessions: Fine line between anarchy and being an asshole for no reason.* close to zero stars

FedEx Box of Ticks: "I know no one in New Mexico and I didn't order a box full of ticks." 2 stars

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Gerhard Reinke's America: Gerhard Reinke in Sante Fe, New Mexico and Colorado *Riding the sky snake while with dry sinuses.* 3 stars

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