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deanbrainrotwritings · 3 months

Text

— CELEBRATION DAY

SUMMARY : cowboy Dean, that’s it! yeah, yeah, I’ve got a thing.

PAIRING : dean winchester x fem!reader

CHARACTERS : none

WARNINGS/TAGS : explicit(18+), blowjob (mentioned), handjob, unprotected p in v, angst, fluff

WORD COUNT : 5.9k

A/N : led zeppelin song title. omg, I wanna thank my big brothers for watching Supernatural when I was little. I never woulda met Dean’s gorgeous, galaxy freckled face, green-eyed sparkle sparkle, majestic body, honey hair, smirky, pillow lip prince—what was I saying? oh yeah, I love Dean, happy birthday to the man I’ve loved the longest 💗

Dean didn’t think the whole month of January could get any better.

Everyday Y/n left a gift for him somewhere around the bunker for him to find. It was like the Twelve Days of Christmas song, but so much better.

He was really pretty sure she was stealing most of them.

On the first day, a pin up style calendar, but instead of random women, it was her and all his favourite kinks and fetishes. If he could, he’d say he loved her in every language that exists. It’s the only way for him to show that he truly means it. At least he thinks so.

On the second day, he received seven different types of necklaces that she thought he’d look prettiest in, but one stood out. One that he’d offhandedly shown interest in when they were window shopping to walk off the effects of caffeine in her system. The love letter smelled of coffee and recounted the feelings she had watching him be so domestic.

On the third day, she gave him a Street Fighter arcade game perfect for his Dean Cave. He swore he’d beat her, but he didn’t have the heart to do so, and let her KO him (she already knew what he was doing).

On the fourth day, she got him a new, stainless steel watch. She attached a small love letter addressed to him, the last words were spoken by the Doctor: You waited long enough. Time and time again, with her by his side, he yearned for normalcy, a family, getting out. For some reason, an object that measured time symbolised their endless love, a promise that made him breathless.

On the fifth day, he was given seven different rings. The letter for this gift said something along the lines of: I need to practise proposing. And you didn’t say no, so this is going great. He chuckled at that. He’d never say no to her, especially not to marriage.

On the sixth, she gave him a porn magazine, starring : her. He found it in the library when she sent him to pick up a book for her. A magazine like one belonging to Playboy that drove him crazy every day that he remembered what was in it. And that tiny love letter she put inside… He hoped no one would put their hands on that one. It was for his eyes only.

On the seventh, a black 1962 corvette that she put together with the help of her older brother. To say Dean was impressed was an understatement, despite all those times he taught her how to put the Impala back together, he was both turned on and fascinated with her work. And obviously they, uh, christened it. Or whatever.

On the eighth, she surprised him with twelve books he’d intended to read for such a long time, but never got around to searching for them. Shane; Whiskey When We’re Dry; Lonesome Dove; Blood Meridian. Were some of the titles he recognised and he was more than thrilled to dive into them and relax completely as reality faded around him.

On the ninth, she gifted him a new cowboy outfit. She put that in the room where he kept all the costumes he wore. The material was more original, with amazing quality—aka, not cheap. A whole bunch of Hecho en Mexico tags that he’d ask her to read to him—in Spanish of course. For reasons. (And that love letter he found in the inner pocket also needed to be read in Spanish, too.)

On the tenth, he got to open a giant box of Scooby snacks. Here and there, there were a few of his other favourite snacks, but there were mostly Scooby snacks that he’d been munching on ever since.

The eleventh, the gift he received were seven different bracelets. According to the love letter, they were gifts to keep him bound to her only.

The twelfth, a brand new espresso machine. That was simply found by him in the kitchen, new, with an olive-green bow and a small lover letter. All that yummy coffee he gets to consume in the morning with her, trying it out together. Two coffee addicts in love. Nothing better.

The thirteenth, the gift was going to an amuent park together. They ate too many foods, went on all—if not most—of the rides, took a hundred photos, tried on the silly clothes, played the games—mini-golf, go-carts… He was exhausted as soon as they got inside the Impala. So, it was a last minute decision to stay at a nearby hotel for the night. It was the best sleep he had in ages.

The fourteenth, a large journal in multitudes of journaling styles detailing things she loved about him that particular day or something he did that made her smile. It was cheesy, but very beautiful. The care and attention to detail made Dean’s heart lurch in his chest. From the cute bullet journal style, to the more than accurate drawings of him, and sophisticated details about things he didn’t know about himself, his habits, or other things he did. It was a collection of her love for him, which somehow made any fears evaporate like steam in a shower.

The fifteenth, forty-five new sets of socks with cute and/or funny prints. And she was prepared with a new drawer for all of them to fit, rolled up perfectly like… well, whatever delicious meal she had planned just as he liked. Enchiladas. Yummy. And a new love letter shoved inside a sock to make him blush and smile boyishly.

For the sixteenth day, it was four cassette mixtapes of all the songs they listened to when they went on some of their most meaningful dates and that played in the most memorable, intimate moments of their lives. Now it made sense why she was thrilled to learn and watch him prepare the mixtape he made for Cas. (It was better afterwards when his skills and patience were more than noticed by her and she—anyway, it was hot sex.) As for the love letter, it was profoundly clear that she wanted to praise and show she recognised his expertise, intelligence, and skill (not that she hasn’t praised him for it before).

For the seventeenth day, he got a Katana. He didn’t need it, he didn’t even know he wanted it until he held it in his hands and unsheathed it. God, that was awesome. Of course he’d probably almost accidentally hurt himself playing around with it, using it unnecessarily in the kitchen—just as an example.

For the eighteenth day, a sex position book with over 300 sex positions to try. It almost offended him, but after looking through a few pages, he was convinced that she was right and they needed to try some of the kinkier positions.

For the nineteenth day, she handed him a lengthy collection of mint condition Batman comic books. He was so not cool about that, gushing and grinning, holding her tightly until she pushed him away to breathe properly.

For the twentieth day, he received some new vinyl records of his favourite songs from his favourite bands to nearly complete his collection of music. And as always, he found a love letter relating to the gift she gave to him where she’d ‘hid’ the vinyls above his desk.

For the twenty-first: an old photo album filled with photos he’d never seen from his childhood and up to last year. Some he never even remembered living, but they did skip a few memories that made him smile sadly. She confessed she got Cas to take her back into the past to sneakily take pictures of him and everything he lived through. It was oddly… endearing. Then, she gave him an empty photo album, only their New Year’s kiss was placed inside a protective, plastic pocket. Ready to be filled by him, this time around.

For the twenty-second, a custom made Batman costume. The story for this one was that she made a deal with one of Charlie’s old LARPing friends: if she got rid of a ghost in his house, he’d make her the costume. And after that, she got one of the Dean’s from another universe to act as the model for the measurements Charlie’s old friend took to make the costume fit him perfectly. There were a few ideas Dean had regarding that costume, and he’s more than a hundred percent sure Y/n’s been thinking the same thing ever since he tried it on.

For the twenty-third, a twelve month pie subscription, obviously on National Pie Day. And he got to try the first one that day, rhubarb pie that made his mouth water as soon as the sticky insides made contact with his taste buds. How many times does he have to say he’s lucky in his mind?

And today, he had yet to find out.

He was spoiled.

Lavishing in her love for the past twenty-four days—more so than usual, soaking in it like the waffles he drowned in syrup for breakfast in the morning.

Right after his birthday blowjob as soon as he woke up.

He ate those soft, perfectly crunchy, warm waffles in bed while basking in the golden afterglow of his orgasm. Breathless and dazed, he didn’t worry about a single thing as he moved from one waffle to the next, eating his favourite fruits, jams, chocolate chips, maple syrup, honey… all the things she knew he loved indecisively.

And while she licked her lips clean of his cum, he licked his lips clean of whipped cream.

God, he was lucky.

She was awesome. More than awesome.

There were no words he could find to describe her.

The only problem with today was that he wasn’t gonna be the centre of just her attention. He could deal with that. He loved it, in fact. What he did not love was having to be the centre of attention with all his friends and family around.

He just felt… maybe… shy. Embarrassed? Old?

He wasn’t used to it. Not to that kind of attention from his friends, anyway. As much as they loved him and as much as he loved them. It was different. New.

He was anxious about it.

It was usually a phone call, a text, or nothing. He was fine with that. He didn’t really care. He was always hunting before. They were always busy with their hunts or their lives and birthday were always… whatever.

He was used to Y/n. To the way she loved him. Worshipped him, even. Daily. It was almost the same as any other day, except for the gifts—which were grand, more… thoughtful and loving. As if she lived in his brain and heart, digging through his wishes and dreams to find the perfect gift to make him feel special. Something that lasted, something to be used, something to be loved by him.

He was used to Sam. To the occasional, remorseless thieving of his little brother to get him what he thought he’d like. The singular, impactful gifts or the silly-joke gift he gave first to trick him into thinking it was something meaningless, thoughtless. The pat in the back, the hug, the pie, the childish decoration, the alcohol… a typical sibling birthday party meant to be laughed at.

He was getting used to Cas. To the overuse of emoticons in the birthday text. The awkwardness in the hug before it settled and became comfortable to do. The thoughtful gift he recieved, something Dean mentioned whenever they hung out—even if it was ridiculous. Cas could get it. He’s an angel. And the best friend Dean could ever ask for.

Jack… was, well, he’s Jack. He tried to copy Cas, Sam, Y/n. A mixture of all of the things they did, taking notes of what they were up to, finding something that was… him and not all of them. Dean’s heart softened and he cut Jack some slack, appreciating the effort, the thought he put into it, even if sometimes it was… bad.

But now, some of his closest friends would be making their way to him and he was just not prepared for all of that.

What he was prepared for, was his girlfriend’s skillful ability to make a larger-than-necessary Rice Krispies Treat cake just for him. She liked it as much as he did now, replacing the traditional birthday cake—she wasn’t much of a cake fan. But his stomach’s heart did love those tres-leches cakes.

Dean got dressed up as a cowboy as soon as Sam left to help Eileen prepare for the mini birthday party. He knew it did things to Y/n, even if she refused to admit it to him every time he brought it up or teased her about it.

He tried to cling to her the whole day.

He failed.

She was up to secret stuff.

He only got to be in her presence when she cooked or as she decorated the library where they’d later be embarrassing him with their loving attention. He helped her with all of that, of course—despite her protests. He’d hold her for a few minutes, kiss her a little bit, and then he’d follow behind her as if he couldn’t find anything better to do himself.

He watched her pull out game after game, after game, and set it down on different tables. Cards Against Humanity. Loteria. UNO. Bingo. A few other classics, some from his childhood. And she was texting Sam the whole time for the location of each game, where to set it, agreeing on some and putting others away.

Dean didn’t mind. As long as there was something that took most of the attention away from him and towards something else.

He played with the die from one of the games as he followed her around. His eyes traced over colourful candles, little horns to blow funny sounds out of, balloons, string, paper, confetti, banners, funny hats and glasses, and a dozen other items and decorations that made him feel like a kid again.

Dean liked to watch her, and she liked watching his reaction to whatever she pulled out of the plastic bags he remembered watching Sam and Jack coming in with a few days ago.

Dean was happy once she was done and finally resting from all the planning and tasks she was completing. She’d play with the buttons on his suit jacket by buttoning and unbuttoning them boredly as she took a break before heading off to the next activity.

After she made the cake, she made extra for both of them to snack on—even though she’d also given him a piece before she prepared the Rice Krispies treat. The two of them waited for their friends to get to the Bunker and ate the small slice while watching a random movie on the television.

Dean started to wonder what his brother would be getting him. Or Cas. Jack. Claire. Jody. Donna. Oh. He wanted to be sucked up into the couch, no, into Y/n’s soul. Just the thought of receiving a gift from everyone other than the people who currently lived in the Bunker made him flustered and embarrassed.

He had no doubts the gifts would be good. Still, there was something about gifts and birthday parties that made him… uncomfortable. As much as he loved each and every single one of them, as much as he secretly adored being loved.. it felt like asking too much, even if this was all their idea.

Even though he would do this and so much more for them.

Dean didn’t know they were up to this until last week when Sam randomly brought it up. Y/n jumped on board immediately, then Jack did, and Cas. Jack and Cas were in charge of buying the snacks, which Dean appreciated because Sam tended to get distracted and would forget to buy some of the most important items—according to Dean, of course. The pie, being the main item.

Dean realised that neither he nor she were really paying attention to the movie. Their plates laid abandoned on the table next to the green leather couch they sat on. The cowboy hat was abandoned on Dean’s bed. She was tucked into the corner with one leg propped up in it with the other dangling over the edge. Dean settled on his back in between her legs with his head on her shoulder.

That was just the first step in seducing her.

He wondered if he’d get more lottery tickets from everyone. If they’d bring some of the funniest, endearing birthday cards where they had to change the main title to for his age because he had the taste of a kid. He hoped they wouldn’t do something illegal like he knew Y/n and Sam were doing to make this the best birthday party for him. (Though, Dean was generally feeling pretty smug about their naughtiness.)

He wouldn’t mind repeated gifts at all, as in… if Claire wanted to go mini-golfing with him and gave him another ticket… or if Jack simply wanted to try fishing with him again. He’d love that. To spend time with them. The people he cared most about.

He played with her slim fingers, traced her knuckles, and teased the soft skin of her arms with his fingertips when she slipped them around his waist. He lifted her hands up to his lips, worshipping one thoroughly with his lips, warming them up for her.

Her other hand rested over his chest where his heart was beating rapidly at the thought of what he wanted. Her hand laid still for a few seconds before she began to play with the buttons of his white dress shirt, then tapped her mossy-green nails against the ovaloid metal buckle of his belt.

He dropped her hand gingerly to let her play with his clothes using both of her hands and he took to tracing her legs with his fingers over thick, warm pyjamas. He could feel her body release the tension of her stress, and for a moment, he smiled softly and felt his body do the same thing.

When he turned to look at her, she glanced away from his chest where she was gently scratching his shirt to make the funny sound of cloth being scraped. He kissed her when she smiled at him, one small peck, not entirely innocent.

The movie was long forgotten soon after that. Not that they were paying attention to it before anyway.

Dean scooted up slightly to kiss her properly with one hand on her jaw, his fingers entwined through her soft hair, bringing her plush lips closer to his. It was unhurried, lazy, the slow build from firm, deep kisses, to demanding, heated ones that caused a blush to flare up their faces.

Breathlessly, she began unbuttoning his shirt while he unbuckled his belt, but they continued kissing. His tongue slipped between her sweet lips, tasting more sweetness from the marshmallow and rice treat they ate not long ago.

She brought the white t-shirt up his chest—excruciatingly slow—when she fully unbuttoned his dress shirt. Her fingertips slipped up the soft flesh of his tummy, his toned and freckled chest, then she flattened her palm over his rapidly thudding heart. Leisurely, she smoothed her hand down his soft, slightly scarred skin, brushing past the fine, blonde hair trailing down beneath his belly button.

Dean moaned into her mouth and impatiently lifted his hips from the couch. She snuck her fingers beneath the waistband of his boxers and curled her fingers around the base of his hardening length. Dean gasped against her kiss-swollen lips and closed his eyes tightly, promptly rolling his hips to push his cock through her fingers.

“You look so hot like this,” she whispered against the corner of his lips. Dean squirmed and spread his legs when he planted his feet flat on the floor to aid each of his thrusts. Gently, she placed her other hand around his neck to tip his head back and to the side to place a feverish kiss to his cracked, pillowy lips.

She continued moving her hand along his length, from root to tip, playing with the precum that began to accumulate and stain the cotton of his underwear.

Dean’s chest rose and fell quickly with each breath, attempting to hold off his orgasm. His thighs tensed, muscles constricting beneath thin dress pants as she twisted her hand up and down his cock inside his slacks and boxers. His lips moved desperately against hers and he swiped his tongue across hers, his brows furrowed in mind-numbing pleasure.

Dean’s fingers dug into her thighs on either side of his body, trying to keep himself stable as his hips bucked up into her hand, driving his cock faster through her fingers. Her hand squeezed at the sides of his neck and released to make his brain fuzzier, neurons hazed with lust and need.

“Please… I wanna be inside you, baby,” Dean panted against her lips as she kissed him. Instead, she rapidly continued to tug at his cock, her fist wrapped tightly around him until he felt like exploding. “I can’t- please- I need you,” he begged, but never dared to stop her as her lips trailed away to his jawline, to suck a dark mark on the sensitive skin of his neck.

She suddenly loosened her grip on his cock and slowly slid her slick palm up the front of his body. His orgasm began to fade away and his body slumped against hers, his chests heaving with each breath, his heart racing. Her lips brushed against his earlobe, “you’re right…” she murmured.

“A-about what?” He mumbled, lifting himself up to turn and face her. She was smiling at him when he gazed at her, her eyes soft and full of love, mirroring the much more dishevelled expression on his own, pink face.

Her eyes flickered away from his dewy green eyes when he leaned into her. He watched them travel up his body, from his thigh pressing into the leather next to her leg, to his boxers shoved low on his hips, exposing curly, light brown hair, his unzipped slacks and therather belt hanging losing around his hips, up to the opened dress shirt and t-shirt beneath draped haphazardly over his chest, and then her eyes stopped at his mouth.

She tilted her head and met him the rest of the way to press her lips against his, placing a soft, adoring peck. “I do think cowboys are fucking hot, especially you,” she smirked, scratching gently at the nape of his neck, playing with the tiny hairs behind his head.

Dean bit his lip, mirroring her expression, and hummed, “is that right?” She nodded, her other hand slipping down to tease the waistband of his boxers. Dean’s calloused hands travelled up her sides, sneaking beneath her long-sleeved shirt, up warm, soft skin. “I already knew, just wanted to hear you say it.”

She laughed shortly, allowing Dean to lift her thick shirt up and off her body. Dean’s lips came down to her neck, hot and open-mouthed kisses flushing her skin. His hands traced her sides and eventually hooked at the top of her leggings to pull down the material covering her legs. He carefully let her lay down as she shifted to fully remove her leggings and underwear.

But she sat upright once more before Dean could settle between her warm legs. Dean remained fully clothed and he laughed against her breasts when she impatiently shoved his slacks and boxers lower. His hands remained firmly on her body, exploring inches of familiar skin—squeezing, pulling, and holding.

His soft lips moved over the expanse of her chest, teeth nibbling on sensitive flesh, his wet tongue tasting her velvety skin. Her hands made their way down past his cock to cup his balls, which made Dean’s brow rise in pleasant surprise, his mouth freezing around her nipple.

He moaned around her skin and brought his own hand down between her legs as his cock bobbed excitedly. Warm slick coated his fingertips when he slid his fingers through her folds. With a pleased hum, she reached back to grip the wooden handle of the couch, and gently pressed her palm against his balls.

He played with her clit, coating it in her arousal, then buried his middle finger inside her. She bit her lip and arched her back, a jolt from his thumb pressing into her clit causing her to moan. She removed her hand from between his legs—much to his disappointment—to dig her nails into his taut thigh.

Dean dragged his tongue across her chest to attend to her other breast and dipped a second finger into her. Her pussy fluttered around his scissoring fingers, she whispered his name, moving her legs over his hips in a more comfortable position. Her hand slid up to bunch up in his shirt as her thighs twitched, screwing her eyes shut as the pleasure dazed her.

Her shift in position brought her centre closer to him and he pushed a third finger into her, working her open thoroughly, expertly. Her wetness drenched his thick fingers, making every push and pull swift and easy. They curled inside her, rubbing delectably at her g-spot, pressing delightfully into the most sensitive parts of her walls. Her toes curled and she lifted herself up higher in his lap, implicitly urging him to skip to the fucking.

Dean instantly did as she wordlessly requested and pulled his glistening fingers out of her warmth. He stroked his cock a few times, first, watching her watch him coat himself in her excitement. He looked back down between their flushed bodies when he began moving his cock through her dewy folds, moaning contentedly at the sensation of her against him.

She unclenched her hand from his shirt to bring up behind his neck, her delicate fingers slipping between short hairs. Finally, Dean pushed himself into her deliberately, then out gradually. Over and over they created a rhythm.

With one foot on the floor and his knee pressing into the backrest, his hands gripping her hips tightly. His lips connected to any part of her he could reach, moaning and gasping softly against her skin with every clench of her pussy, every measured thrust to feel every inch of her slide across his cock.

Her arm flexed behind her as she moved with Dean, her fingers gripping the wooden arm of the couch tightly, timing each roll of her hips with his. Occasionally, she met every one of his thrust and brought his face closer to her with her fingers curled around the back of his neck.

His breath dampened her already steamy skin and his hands started to wander lovingly over her shiny body, feeling the exertion of her muscles beneath his calloused palms.

Gradually, they began to move faster against each other.

Dean’s body built up more heat with the clothes still covering every inch of him. His mouth went dry with every open-mouthed breath and he searched for her lips as a tingle ran up his spine, his stomach clenching to foreshadow his impending orgasm.

He felt her breath against his lips and her fingers moved deeper into his hair, tugging so his mouth fell open. Her lips moved over his, her wet tongue bringing moisture back into his mouth, and over his chapped lips. Dean kissed her back with so much more force, easing his tongue into her mouth when she pulled hers out to smirk into the kiss.

He squeezed her ass, painfully pressing his fingers into her back, desperately trying to feel her against his body. He fucked into her briskly, with strong thrusts that pressed his cock deeper into her channel until she squirmed from how good it was. He swallowed her pleased groan and brought her closer with his arm around her waist and his palm flat against her back.

Dean’s thrust became erratic, every slam of his hips and every roll of hers made contact with her clit, bringing her close to the edge with him. Every touch of each other’s bodies, every hot and lewd kiss, every heavy and fast breath, every breathless and pleasured sound, every wet and hot sensation built up like volatile chemicals.

With a few final thrusts, Dean came with a groan of her name by her ear. She squeezed his cock tightly and cursed at the sensation of his hot cum coating her insides. Her thighs pressed into his hips as she orgasmed with a sharp gasp, clinging to him as they rode out their climax.

Dean ground his hips up into her, keeping himself deep inside her as she shook and held him in a tight embrace. Their lips met once more for a softer, more elated kiss as they became blanketed in the afterglow of their release. She released the wooden arm of the couch to cup Dean’s scruffy jaw and Dean’s arms circled around her waist.

He moved backwards carefully and laid her down onto her back, allowing her to fully wrap her legs around his waist. Dean shoved his suit jacket and dress shirt off as they kissed. She smiled against his mouth and let him pull away fully from her lips to watch him throw both items onto his bed.

“It was cold before, but it’s hot now,” he muttered, pulling his t-shirt up over his head by the back of the neck. She giggled and brought her hands to his ass, moving his pants and underwear lower, past his thighs.

“Well…” she trailed off, gazing at him as he slowly pulled his cock out of her. “Hey,” she pouted, moving his attention away from the mess between her legs and the mixture of their spendings leaked out of her.

“Uh, yeah?” He grinned, moving off the couch to kick off the cowboy boots, and everything else so he was fully naked before her.

“Your last gift,” she started, looking over to the bed. Before returning to his spot between her legs, Dean followed her eyes and lifted a brow. “It’s under your pillow,” she smiled shyly, looking up at him as his lips parted and then made an ‘o’.

“Awesome,” he murmured, making his way to his side of the bed. He searched underneath with a swipe of his hands beneath the cool pillow and grabbed the small, somewhat heavy box decorated with pink wrapping paper and a silver bow. “What is it?” He asked, shaking it curiously.

She laughed at him, taking the unused napkin from the table to clean herself up, which distracted Dean from his gift. He was about to protest, offering to clean her up, but she laughed. He pouted at her, but settled back in her arms in the same position as before once she finished.

“I really… really hope you like this one,” she whispered against his shoulder. Dean looked back at her and smiled softly—his eyes reassuring her that he’d like anything that came from her. He carefully pulled at one end of the bow to watch it fall apart into a straight line.

He ripped the paper to reveal a wooden box. Dean imagined a necklace, if the thud against the soft cushion inside the box revealed anything about what it actually was.

A ring? He planned on proposing, but he’d say yes if she turned the tables. He smiled at the thought, but he doubted that they were stepped enough into a normal life for that. If it were up to him, he’d have asked her to marry him ages ago.

He opened the box slowly and blinked at the steel key.

“A… key?” He asked out loud, turning his body to look at her as she waited for his reaction anxiously.

“I… bought a house?” She squeaked, her cheeks turning dark. Dean’s lips parted. He wanted to question her, to make a comment about what the place looked like or where it was or how much it cost, to say anything, but his throat tightened and clogged any words from escaping. With his tongue heavy in his mouth, there was no hope to ease her anxiety. He shut it instead. “For you- us. You and me…” she rambled, wrapping her hand around his to shut the box as if it were Pandora’s box—unleashing her deepest fears, but worst of all, her hope.

“I…” Dean trailed off, staring at the wooden exterior of the square container. A little box that would give him the future he’s secretly always yearned for with her. He was too much of a coward to ever do anything and go for it. Her hand moved away from his and she shifted behind him awkwardly, pushing him off her so he’d face her instead.

“You don’t…” she whispered, then cleared her throat. “It’s okay, if you don’t want… this…” She snatched the gift away from him as if she’d show him her deepest secret and had been judged for revealing what it was.

“No! I-I do want this,” Dean reassured her and quickly took it back to open it, and remove the key from inside. He placed it on his palm, cold, small, and light against his sweaty skin. “I just…” His eyes flickered up to hers, the guarded and nearly stony expression on her face twisting his stomach in regret. “I love you,” he breathed, pressing his lips against the corner of her lips.

“Are you sure?” She bit her lip, her eyes dancing over his face to gauge any emotion or shift that would hint to reveal he was truly feeling. “I don’t want you to be unhappy… if you don’t want this, it’s okay. You can tell me. I have a backup gift anyway,” she shrugged casually, moving to sit on her legs next to him.

She gazed at the side of his face as he continued to make her heart plummet with the long stare at the key in his hand.

“Why?” He asked with knitted brows, looking at her. He could tell she felt much more bare and vulnerable as she crossed her arms over his chest and kept herself covered with her own body.

“I didn’t know if I wanted to give it to you just yet,” she admitted. Dean frowned. “But after today… the way you followed me around and helped me.. I changed my mind,” she shrugged again, “but it’s okay if we both want something different, if you’re not ready… you know I’d wait…” She smiled nervously, so it didn’t last, and her mouth returned to a straight line.

“No more waiting, baby.” Dean shook his head and put the key back into the box, leaving it beside him to take her hands. He lifted them both up to his lips, staring into her eyes to demonstrate his earnestness, “you waited long enough.”

“I promise you that I’m ready,” he reassured her, brushing his thumbs against her knuckles. “This gift… it means so much to me. I do, truly, love you.” Dean tugged her hands and she finally laughed, allowing herself to be happy with him. In this moment. And forever. No more waiting.

As he held her, Dean pictured the future they could have together and let his body rest without fear of everything else going on. For once, he’d let himself be happy. It was the one way he could let go of Sam, allowing both himself and his baby brother a shot at a normal life, something Dean wanted for himself and Sam for so long. This was the first step to freedom.

“Happy birthday, Dean,” she whispered against his forehead, kissing the tiny scar that resided there.

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dean’s 45th birthday celebration masterlist

do not steal, plagiarise, translate, or republish my work on another platform

#dean’s 45th birthday celebration #dean x female!reader #dean x y/n #dean x you #dean x reader #dean winchester x you #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester smut #dean winchester fanfiction #dean winchester x female!reader #happy birthday dean <3 #happybirthdaydeanwinchester #happy birthday dean

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casualcomicfan · 10 months

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Things non-comic fans get wrong about Peter Parker.

Several people who don't read the comics seem to get ideas about characters and how they act. It's fine when you're doing to characters you know about, but for characters you don't know about, not so much.

Please note: This post is not meant to gate keep anyone from comics, MCU or any other Marvel related products.

#1: He is ugly. This one is false for the most part. Look at the women he has dated, Liz Allan, Gwen, MJ, Black Cat, Carol Danvers and others.

#2: He is naive. This one is also false. Peter is optimistic. There is a difference. Peter himself recognizes that the world is a terrible place. However he thinks it can get better. That is the whole point of him not killing his enemies.

#3: He has to suffer to be relatable. No, just no. This one is false. He doesn't have to suffer to be relatable. He is relatable because he deals with relatable problems. He is nerdy, has to make ends meet, etc. That is how he was relatable. Not suffering. And certainly not whatever the f#ck is going on in the current run.

#4: He is hated by other heroes. This one mainly stems from the Superior Spider-Man comic arc, but is still blatantly wrong. He has several friends in the comics, such as: Daredevil, Deadpool (to an extent) Wolverine, Luke Cage, Johnny Storm, Cloak and Dagger, and several others.

#5: He is not respected by the other heroes. This was also caused by Superior Spider-Man. However several people respect him. Mr. Fantastic and Iron Man respect him for his intelligence. Captain America calls him on of the greatest men he's ever known. Thor says (in a complimentary way) that he was the most mortal man he knew. T'Challa let him eat a Heart-Shaped Herb. Hulk was one of the few people who knew Peter's identity after OMD.

#6: He was a teenager for most of his publication history. The first ever Spider-Man comic was published in August 1962 in Amazing Fantasy #15. He he graduated and became an adult on June 8, 1965 in The Amazing Spider-Man Volume 1 #28.

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lqfiles · 3 months

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SCORE THAT GOAL! — 36. basketball incidents.

(wc: 1962)

“jeno, please explain to me one more time why we are here?” haechan asked from beside jeno. his gaze was fixed on jeno’s side profile as he awaited the boy to answer the same question he had asked before. jeno sighed. “look, i just wanna cheer them on. can’t i be supportive?” jeno explained in hopes of getting haechan off his back. he looked at jisung who walked on his right, the boy totally in his own world.

“yeah right, just admit that you’re upset that the basketball club gets to have friendly matches against other colleges while you guys don’t.” haechan chuckled and picked up his pace, leaving jisung and jeno a few steps behind. jeno scoffed. “i’m not upset.” he assured jisung, wanting some sort of validation from him. jisung hummed, still occupied in his own thoughts. “if you say so.” he muttered. “i do say so!” jeno rebutted.

“you guys came!” chenle’s excitement grew when his eyes landed on his group of friends who entered the indoors place. ningning nodded. “of course! you were so excited it was cute. wouldn’t want to miss something that makes you so happy.” she explained and chenle shied away, a sudden embarrassment overcoming him. “i’m gonna ignore that cute part, thank you for making it. i’ll make sure to win.” chenle placed a hand on ningning’s shoulder with a happy grin.

“where is sungchan?” you asked, looking around the basketball court in hopes of finding the said the boy. “he went to go and buy some water for later. can you believe that he was planning on ditching this match? he must’ve lost his mind..” chenle revealed with great shock, a frown growing on his face which resulted in all of you smiling at him. “i don’t know why you’re surprised, he doesn’t even like basketball. you just wouldn’t stop harassing him about joining.” you laughed out.

“i wouldn’t call it harassment.. more like a.. friendly suggestion” chenle reasoned. by now the other team had entered the place too and you took that as a cue. “we should go and find a seat before they’re all taken, make us proud chenle.” mark announced, motioning for the few empty seats. chenle nodded, sending him a thumbs up before continuing to stretch.

“do you think they will win?” ningning asked mark and you as the three of you sat down. you smiled, looking over at chenle who had ran over to sungchan when he returned. “you think chenle will ever let them lose? over his dead body.”

“jisung, don’t look but the hawk is in the nest, i repeat, the hawk is in the nest.” haechan yanked jisung backwards, harshly whispering into his ear, making jisung stumble a few steps back. “what the hell?” he grumbled back. “haechan, what are you talking about.” jisung wiped the hot breath that lingered around his ear away with the back of his palm before he gave haechan a confused looked. “i said, the hawk, is in the nest.” haechan repeated slower this time, head nodding towards the direction of the benches further ahead.

following haechan’s gaze, his eyes found the first row that was taken by a few people. his eyes widened for a second. “mark is here?” jisung asked, surprised. haechan threw his head back with a harsh sigh leaving his mouth. “yes, and look who is next to him.” haechan grabbed ahold of jisung’s jaw, turning his head a few centimetres to the side.

jisung felt his breath hitch for a moment as you turned your head to look at mark, probably laughing at whatever he said. “the hawk is here.” haechan repeated once more. jisung shook his grip off his jaw, throwing haechan a small glare. “why are you calling her the hawk, don’t be weird.” jisung said and his eyes made its way back to you and your friends.

“gosh, have you ever heard of an analogy? sorry for offending you.” haechan responded back, turning agitated by jisung’s reaction. a mischievous grin grew on haechan’s face a few seconds after as he continued to stare ahead and jisung knew better than to let haechan speak any further after that. “no, don’t even do anything.” jisung warned but haechan shrugged nonchalantly, putting his hands in his pockets.

“whatever, i’m gonna go and take a seat with my good friend (—). jeno, stop sulking and come.” haechan snapped his finger in front of jeno’s bitter face. “stop glaring at the basketball players.” haechan rolled his eyes, grabbing jeno’s arm ready to drag him along. “what’s even fun about basketball?” jeno bitterly spoke and haechan dismissed it. “yeah yeah, tell me all about it.” haechan mumbled and the two walked away.

“no- guys..” jisung tried to protest but had been unsuccessful. his friends had already made their way towards the first-row seats, making sure to make their presence known to both you and your friends. jisung watched as they greeted the others before haechan pointed a finger towards jisung’s direction.

panic surged through him and his feet had started to move on its own. before he knew, he stood right next to haechan, dragging the boy back by his cardigan. “aaand zero, see! i told you it would take 7 seconds exact for him to get here.” haechan wiggled out jisung’s grip, taking a seat in the second row, right behind ningning. jeno followed, taking a seat behind mark. “the fact that you can predict that is insane. how many times have you annoyed him?” jeno questioned.

jisung stood dumbfounded at the opening of the rows, eyes wavering between all of them until they landed on you. you were already looking at him and smiled when your eyes aligned. “hi.” you greeted and jisung couldn’t stop his own lips from shyly tugging upwards. “hey.” looking down at the spot next to jeno, he realised it was right behind you. slowly lifting his head back up to see both haechan and jeno grin at him, jisung scoffed. maybe jeno and haechan did know how to play cupid after all.

you had turned your body sideways to face him, focusing all your attention on him. “so what brings you here?” jisung awkwardly started. you chuckled, tilting your head a bit. “well, two of my friends play in the basketball team. why wouldn’t i be here?” you teased and jisung felt himself tense. what kind of stupid question was that, he mentally scolded himself.

“and what brings you here, football player?” you asked him and jisung smiled before nodding towards the person on his left. “jeno wanted to watch and dragged us along.” he explained. it felt like the whole room had turned silent, even though that was the total opposite. you hummed, your gaze still lingering on jisung. he let out an awkward cough, averting his eyes.

“how’s your throat?” jisung asked softly, but loud enough for you to hear. “oh, yeah my throat is alright now. your scarf is really warm, i might never give it back.” you laughed and jisung copied, looking back up at you. his top teeth were shown as he flashed a quick smile. “that’s okay, you can keep it. you’ll probably need it more than me.” jisung told you. and it probably looks better on you, jisung thought.

“seems like chenle really is hard-carrying his team.” mark commented as the match progressed. it had been around 20 minutes and the score was 2-3. as expected, chenle was the star player, priding the school by not missing a single shot handed to him.

“he runs the basketball club like the navy, he thinks he’s the coach.” you explained, watching chenle run around the field, throwing his hands around so his teammates would send him the basketball back. for a friendly match, he behaved like he could take down anyone in his way any moment.

“i wonder how much longer this is going to last.” haechan yawned from behind you. you couldn’t help but crack a smile, craning your head to look at the boy who was slumped in his seat. “theatre boy can’t even pay attention for twenty minutes?” you joked and haechan groaned, rolling his eyes dramatically. “there are other things i can pay twenty minutes of my attention to. watching men sweat as they run around with a ball in their hand isn’t one of them.”

“right! just a stupid game.” jeno butted in, folding his arms. all of you had turned to look at him. “jeno.. please, give it up.” haechan rubbed a hand over his face. he was already extremely bored, he couldn’t deal with jeno’s bitterness at the moment. the rest of you laughed, turning back to watch the game while you kept your eyes on haechan for a bit longer.

“better be watching, chenle will definitely ask you to point out your favourite part of the match.” you grinned at haechan who frowned in return. “why would he do that? we’re acquaintances at most, i’m not here for him!” haechan asked perplexed. you shrugged and leaned back, about to turn around again. “he loves praise, don’t be surprised.” was the last thing you said before you turned around.

you barely had time to register what happened. all you heard was ningning screech, and all you felt was your body being pushed aside by your shoulders. you instinctively closed your eyes, expecting to feel your body land on the seat next to you. you never did, instead the grip on your shoulders stayed until you opened your eyes. you looked to your side, taking notice of ningning’s body leaning into mark with wide eyes.

“are you okay?” you knew it was jisung, yet you weren’t expecting to hear him right next to your ear. you turned your head further to the left, face only a meter away from jisung who had gotten out of his seat, almost crouching behind your seat. the two of you were leaned in an awkward position and jisung soon lost balance, falling on his shins while simultaneously letting go of your shoulders.

you sat back up, looking behind you to see the basketball that had flown past you to the empty space between the first and second row. you looked over to the court to see chenle with his jaw dropped. he quickly mouthed something but you dismissed it and stood up to look at the row behind you. “i’m fine, are you okay?” you asked jisung who had just gotten back up, dusting off his jeans.

“yeah.. that was embarrassing..” he whispered as some of the audience was still looking over at you two. you nodded, scratching your neck. “it really was yeah, thank you for that. i didn’t even see it.” you thanked jisung as the both of you sat back down. he didn’t respond back and you watched as he looked at your arms for a few seconds before nodding. you were convinced you saw a tint of worry in his eyes, but didn’t want to look too deep into it.

“it’s okay, next time, be careful- n-not that it’s your fault of course! but still, don’t get hurt, you know?” jisung stammered, a sudden fluster washing over him. he barely looked you in the eye as he spoke, instead watching of his knee bounce up and down. “thank you, i will be careful.” you bit back your smile, reluctantly turning around to continue watching the match.

“holy shit.” haechan muttered with wide eyes. “wow.. never mind, maybe i do have a favourite part from this match.” a smirk had grown on his face, a smirk both him and jeno sent jisung as they nudged him. “fuck off.” jisung retorted back, trying to control the way his body was heating up.

previous — master list — next

notes ; LONG CHAPTER, IM SORRY! tldr ; they all go to watch chenle and sungchan’s basketball match and a ball almost hits y/n but jisung saves you, yippie 🤗

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averagewriter-inthedark · 1 year

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It’s A Long Way To The Top 🎸 | Pete Maverick Mitchell / Top Gun Maverick Imagine

Takes place after the events of TGM

Top Gun Maverick Masterlist

Characters & Pairings: Captain Pete ‘Maverick’ Mitchell x 80s Rockstar!reader (romantic), Bradley Bradshaw x reader (mother/son-type relationship), Dagger Squad (platonic) Hondo (platonic)

Content warnings: Fluff, slight profanity, flirtatious banter, light suggestive content, mentions of past drug use. | Female!reader (she/her) | wc: 13.5k

Social Media matching HC

Premise: The Dagger Squad didn’t know much about their former instructor turned friend, Captain Pete ‘Maverick’ Mitchell. Only Rooster had insight on all there was when it came to the famous pilot, and his love life certainly fell into that. When the squad shows up unannounced to Maverick’s San Diego home for his birthday weekend, they are greeted with the shock of the lifetime when it’s revealed Maverick’s lady once ruled the radio of the decade they were born in. And what better way for them to properly meet one of the greatest rockstars to ever exist than by attending the bands reunion concert that night.

Note: So TC was born in 1962 and that what it also says for Maverick (although with his rank I doubt it lines up but Imma just go with it), so for this imagine you were born in 1964 and were the front woman of a famous 80s rock band who Mav meets after the events of Top Gun. I love rock music and have been listening to it nonstop the past week and this inspired me. At first I was gonna do this with Rooster or Phoenix with a modern day rockstar, but then I thought Mav was better suited for what I had planned.

Also in my research I found that the Staples Center (which is going to mentioned a lot) opened in 1999 and is now called Crypto.com Arena, but for this just imagine it opened in the 80s and is still called the Staples Center. Personally I will always refer to it as that even though it got a new name. Last thing, my favorite band is AC/DC and i use two of their songs as ‘your’ songs verbally said. The album/era names are ones I thought of off the bat, and feel free to imagine your friends as your bandmates, I just gave them names to make it easier when writing. And the photo on the collage is to show the outfit reference—I don’t write with any indication of race/ethnicity/etc unless it’s for an OC. Hope you enjoy and let me know what you think!

————————————

“Are you guys sure about not warning Rooster we’re coming?” Bob voiced from the passenger side of Nat’s car. In the backseat were Mickey and Payback while Hondo drove the car behind them containing Hangman and Coyote.

“Bradshaw will spoil the surprise,” Fanboy reminds him, “And the whole point of this is to surprise Mav. We haven’t seen him in months and this is the first time we’re all together again.”

“I know,” Bob sighs, leaning back into his seat before glancing at Nat, “How did you even get his address, Nat?”

She doesn’t stray her eyes from the road as she responds, “I may have convinced Admiral Simpson to give it to me, saying we all wanted to send Mav a birthday gift but didn’t have his permanent residence. I know he’s often in the Mojave desert during his vacation, but Cyclone gave me his San Diego home address.”

“Hondo didn’t even have Mav’s address?” Mickey says more to himself, surprised the man did not. He was Mav’s closest friend and had been with him since the Darkstar project.

“Hondo only had his Mojave camp—which isn’t really an address when you think about it. It’s quite literally on an old airstrip that’s not even used by the Navy anymore,” Nat tells him, “Mav lived there during their assignment so it makes sense why he only had that one.”

“So what I’m hearing is you deceived Admiral Simpson so we can show up on Mav’s doorstep like ‘surprise! We’re here!’ And Cyclone just gave it to you with no questions asked?” Payback raises a brow, catching her eyes in the rear view mirror.

“Not entirely,” she defends, “I mean we are sending him a birthday gift…..it’s just we are the birthday gift.” At the laughs from the men Nat rolls her eyes, “Y’all are in this too, so I don’t know why you’re laughing. We’re almost there. GPS says ten minutes.”

The Pacific Ocean was to their right, the sun high in the sky as the time reached one o’clock. They noticed as they traveled down the road that the houses were becoming more distant and eye-catching. “Damn,” Fanboy whistled under his breath at one point.

When they got to the turn to enter the neighborhood, they were greeted with a closed gate and security. Nat mentally cursed, not anticipating Mav lived in a gated community.

Now the jig was up and they were gonna have to call Rooster.

While Nat spoke with one of the security guards Bob was already dialing Bradley, who answered with a confused, “Hey, Bob. What’s up?”

“Rooster, hey, I’m sorry to bother you but the squad and I were planning to surprise Maverick for his birthday tonight and well….we’re kinda at the entrance to his neighborhood. We didn’t think it would be gated and needed confirmation from the resident to get in.”

“Ah damn,” Bradley said with a laugh and Bob could hear him fiddling with his keys. “I wish y’all would’ve told me, but then again I know I probably would’ve ruined it.” It was the truth, Rooster could not keep a secret if his life depended on it. Last year he unintentionally spoiled Nat’s surprise party when she got promoted. Soon it became a running joke amongst the group. “Just hang tight, I’ll be right there.”

“Wait, are you at Mav’s house?” All eyes in the car turned to Bob, the WSO catching the sound of Rooster’s Bronco starting up.

“Yeah, I’m on the list and can get y’all in. Hang on, imma tell him I’m running out to get beers.” There was a pause on the receiver before a car door shuts and Rooster says, “I’ll be there in two minutes.” Bob stayed on the line before hanging up when they caught sight of the bright blue vehicle approaching from the other side of the gate. Rooster pulled off to the side, exited the car and approached the security hut where another officer met him in the middle. The team watched as they exchanged words before the guard Nat spoke with was called over.

When he returned seconds later he said, “we’re gonna open the gate and if you could please pull off to where my buddy directs you and step out. We have to check the cars.”

“Sure thing,” Nat says with a wave as he goes to relay the same to Hondo. Passing the gate, she parks the car where the guard instructs and all four step out from the vehicle. Hondo pulls up seconds later with Hangman and Coyote coming over to stand with the group as Rooster approaches.

“Well this sure is some special treatment,” Hangman jokes when an officer comes up with a metal detector to begin scanning the squad while the two search their cars. He notices one of the officers writing down the car information, including the license plate number. “Never seen this before when I’ve been to a gated neighborhood.”

“It’s just precaution since it’s your first time” Rooster says, dabbing up the guys when they are finished being scanned. “It’s good to see you guys.”

“It’s good to see you too, Bradshaw,” Nat gives him a hug and appears apologetic. “Sorry we didn’t let you know in advance.”

“Ah it’s all good. Like I told Bob I probably would’ve ruined it.” They all laugh, some muttering sounds of agreement. It was all in good heart though, Bradley wasn’t offended. He was just happy to see his friends again and celebrate Mav’s 60th with them.

The only thing….they were in for their own surprise when they got to the house.

“Does the governor of California live here or something?” Javy jokes, but judging by the way Rooster reacts he’s certain there is some truth to it.

“All clear!” The main guard shouts, nodding to Rooster. “Y’all are free to go, just make sure to call in if you leave the area and return later on.”

“Will do,” Rooster salutes, shaking his hand afterwards. “Thanks again, Frank.” Telling his friends to follow behind him, they all got into their respective vehicles and headed down the road leading to the neighborhood.

“Sheeeesh,” Mickey says in awe at some of the houses they passed. They looked to be a million bucks. Literally. They were distanced quite a bit like something you see in Calabasas and had long entrances. “Mav should be on MTV’s cribs. How the hell does a naval Captain get something like this?”

“Probably by saving for that perfect retirement home,” Nat comments, eyes lingering on one house that caught her eyes.

“Nah,” Payback shakes his head, “I’ve seen Admirals with places not even to this extent. No offense to Mav, but I don’t see how an O-6 could afford a place like this.” About a minute passed before they were turning into a long driveway, all four jaws dropping at the sight of the home.

Yeah they needed to know Pete’s secret.

It was a gorgeous two-story mediterranean style home with an iron gate surrounding the perimeter. The exterior was beautiful, with flowers and various plants on the grounds. A front enclosed patio was the first thing they could see connecting to a foyer where the front door was located. Only one word could describe the home: marvelous.

The driveway was crescent shaped and could fit at least four cars with a side entrance leading to the garage. Rooster pulled up to the furthest spot allowing Nat and Hondo to pull up behind him. “Holy shit,” Fanboy says in awe, hopping out of the car and shutting the door behind him.

Shutting his own door, Hangman whistles, “If this is what retirement looks like, I can’t wait.”

“C’mon,” Rooster chuckles, nodding his head to the entrance. “Mav’s in the garage working on his bike.” The squad all rushes to get the gifts, beer, and food they had brought for the pilot, following behind Rooster while trying to not make it look like they were gawking at the home. They hadn’t even seen the inside yet but could already tell it was going to be as incredible as the outside.

Putting a finger to his lips, the group remains quiet at Rooster’s command as they ease their way into the garage. It was very similar to the one at his camp hangar in the desert. Pictures hung on a wall with several plaques. Motorcycles lined up and sitting in the corner was a gorgeous 1966 Dodge Charger. Coyote had to put a hand to his mouth to keep from making a sound when he saw it.

“That you, Bradley?” Mav said with his back to the group, unaware his practically surrogate son was not alone. He was dressed in a greased up white tee with some old light washed jeans and boots. Playing on the radio was the 80s on 8 channel from SiriusXM.

“Yeah it’s me,” Rooster places a case of beers the squad brought on the counter near the fridge. “I brought some strays too while I was at it.”

“Strays? What—?” Mav laughs, moving to turn around which resulted in his mouth dropping and wrench clinking to the floor.

“Surprise!” Everyone shouted, grinning widely at their former instructor who was completely speechless. “Happy Birthday, Mav!”

“Wha-oh my gosh!” The pilot's feet moved before he could stop them, embracing Phoenix first since she was closest before doing the same to the others. As he pulls away from Hondo, patting his back Mav goes, “What’re you doing here?”

“Surprising you for your birthday, old man,” Hangman lightly punches his shoulder. “You’re turning the big six-zero, there was no way we were missing it.”

“Aww thanks guys,” the man blushes, grinning when they bombard him with gifts. “It’s so good to see you all—I-I wish I would’ve known you were coming.”

“Then it wouldn’t have been a surprise, Cap,” Fanboy points to him with a knowing look.

“True,” Mav laughs, directing the crew to put the bags and all on the counter in the garage where the sink was located. “Thank you all so much, you really didn’t have to do all this.”

“It’s been a long time since we’ve seen ya, Mav,” Phoenix tells him, accepting the beer Rooster offers her that was already in the fridge. He passes them out to the crew, except Bob and Mav who kindly decline. Phoenix waves a hand, “Quite the place you got. Rooster had to come save us at the gate.”

Mav raises a brow at Rooster, “You didn’t know about this?”

“Nope,” he pops the ‘p’, “I’m sure you can guess why.” It takes Mav a moment, but then he chuckles, thinking back to the many times Bradley did ruin a surprise. Nat’s promotion party, Hondo’s birthday dinner, and the tickets the group got Mickey to attend SDCC’s Star Wars reunion panel.

“We hope we didn’t catch you at a bad time,” Bob says. “Dropping in unannounced. We weren’t sure if you had anything planned this weekend, but we all took a few days off—got rooms in TLF back at Fightertown, so we would love to take you out for dinner or something this weekend.”

Mav glances at Rooster, who gives a knowing look to the pilot while sipping his beer. The two share a silent exchange of words before he scratches the back of his neck….a few catch the reflective metal of a gold on his left ring finger. Phoenix and Bob’s eyes widen, looking around to see if anyone else spotted what they did.

“Um, well we did have plans tonight—but I can make a call and figure something out. Tomorrow for sure I’m free all day so whatever you guys want to do I’m game.”

“What kind of plans?” Coyote asks before Payback and Hondo nudges him for being nosy. “Owwww.”

Hesitant to reply, Mav gives Rooster another look before nodding his head to the door, “why don’t you guys come inside. Make yourself comfortable while I make a quick call.”

“Are you not going to—,” Mav is quick to cut Bradley off with a wink. Confused, the entire squad look at each other with the same expression before following behind Mav while Rooster is the last to enter and shut the garage door.

Pete doesn’t have to turn around to know they were all gawking at the interior of the home. The first rooms closest to the garage were the laundry room, open kitchen and dining room. Sounds of approaching steps alerted the group and several audibly reacted to the adult Dalmatian, white husky, and golden retriever puppy racing after them.

“Oh my gosh,” Javy kneeled down to pet the Goldie pawing at his legs. “Your dogs are adorable.” The husky was licking at Jake’s face while Phoenix and Bob were occupied with the Dalmatian before each dog inspected each of the guests. “What are their names?”

“That’s Ice,” he pointed to the husky first then the Dalmatian, “Bella.” Lastly he pointed at the puppy, who was kissing up on Mickey, “and Goose.” They spend a good three minutes right there in the kitchen allowing the dogs to receive attention from the squad before Mav directs them to the living room.

And that’s when they pass the cabinet.

A cabinet that was just one of many.

“Uh, Mav,” Payback stops, causing those behind him to do the same, gaze locked on the floor to ceiling glass cabinet—if you could call it that, it was more like a shrine.

Dedicated to one of the world's most renowned rock bands.

“Yeah?” Mav already knew what they were looking at. And that was only scratching the surface compared to the others in the house.

“Say, uh—,” Payback tilts his head, pointing to the cabinet, “Are you like, obsessed with ‘Y/n & the Romantics’,” several eyes trailed along the various shelves lined with actual Grammy awards for ‘Best Rock Performance by a Duo/Group’, ‘Best Rock Album’, ‘Best Rock Song’, ‘Record of the Year,’ & ‘Album of the Year,’ going back as 1980 to 2021 as the most recent. Other awards included almost a dozen in MTV Moonmen, Billboard Music Awards, American Music Awards, and an Oscar for ‘Best Original Song’. Framed photographs of the band hung on the walls and perched on the shelves. Some included them with famed music legends like Cher, Prince, Micheal Jackson, Cyndi Lauper, Lionel Richie, Def Leppard, and Duran Duran….those of which the squad could make out the signature on the photograph itself. An eye catcher was the USA for Africa signed photograph of every artist, including the Romantics, featured in Michael Jackson’s “We Are The World.”

One shelf pretty much was reserved for all the times they were the musical guests on SNL. Four times to be exact. Another shelf, that had their eyes boggling, was dedicated to their 1999 Super Bowl Halftime performance with a football signed by the band and head coaches of the teams that played that year.

Fanboy nearly shit his pants when he saw the guitars mounted on the wall. Not only were they signed by absolute icons, including Elvis fucking Preseley, but one of which was the iconic checkered neon pink Fender Stratocaster frontwoman Y/n L/n played in the 80s.

Y/n L/n. Dubbed the ‘daughter of Rock ‘n’ Roll’ with a voice that had people say she was what an angel would sound like if they rebelled from God to become a rockstar. Together with some of her best friends from high school, formed the group ‘Y/n & the Romantics,’ signing with a small label in Atlanta, Georgia in 1978 at aged 14 after being discovered on the corner of a street playing covers of Elvis, The Beatles, and Billie Holiday. What had the producer write up a contract right there was when he heard Y/n’s rendition of ‘Crybaby,’ by Janis Joplin. It was as though Janis had been reincarnated. Her voice was unlike anything he’d ever heard.

They released their first single on New Year’s Day of 1979. That first single that had RCA Records knocking on their door and shot them into becoming one of the best selling rock bands of all time. When MTV launched on August 1, 1981, their music video for their Grammy Award winning single was the third to be played after ‘Video Killed The Radio Star,’ by the Buggles, and ‘You Better Run’ by Pat Benatar. Y/n & the Romantics became teen sensations, dominating the 1980s and 90s before going on hiatus in the early 2000s. Y/n was not only known for her recognizable, unique voice but also her split dye hair, leather outfits, stage presence, and signature pink guitar she named, ‘Dirty Shirley.’

And it was in Maverick’s house.

“Holy shit,” Phoenix breathed out, patting Payback to look to the left. That’s when he noticed the wedding picture hung on the wall not too far from where they were standing. The bride, kissing Maverick in the photo, was the same woman holding a Grammy with her bandmates.

Eyes bulging out, Payback whistled and asked what they were all thinking, “Or…. you got something to tell us?”

August 15, 1989. Los Angeles, California. Club Electic Idol

“Tell me, Pete—or do you prefer Maverick?” The blue light shining above her in the bar had the glitter on her face reflect. She was dazzling. Unlike any woman he’d ever met. And Pete met a lot in his career, though they never captivated him like she was now. He wanted to dance with her forever

Arms around his neck, their bodies pressed together as they swayed to the beat of ‘When Doves Cry,’ by Prince. The leather adorning her body was smooth against his fingertips. Completely ignorant of the flashing of cameras from the side and envious gazes of both men and women around them. Never did the pilot think when he, Ice, and Slider agreed on coming to that bar after the concert that he would end up with the frontwoman in his arms. They were just looking for a place to grab a quick drink, maybe dance with a girl or two, and chill before heading back to their hotel.

Guess Y/n & the Romantics were looking to do the same. Fate seemed to bring them together.

“Either is fine, sweetheart.” She smirked at the nickname, finding it amusing. God, even her smirk was sexy. Everything about her was.

“You do that little show of yours each time you see a pretty lady? Or am I just special?”

Damn she caught him.

Truth be told it scared the shit out of him to even think about doing it. Had it not been for the light buzz from drinking a couple beers and encouragement from Ice saying, “You’re the only bloke in this bar who could probably get her into bed if you tried, Mitchell. I saw her eyeing you when you went to pick a song on the jukebox.”

At first he refused. It was Y/n fucking L/n of all people. And there were plenty of people, men and women, who were taking a shot at swooning the rockstar. Left and right they were offering her drinks and asking her to dance. Mav would only go up to her if Ice and Slider sang with him. There was no way in hell he would embarrass just himself. Especially if it didn’t turn out the way he wanted.

The fact it actually did work had the pilot thank his guardian angel, who no doubt had to have been Goose.

“I’ve only done it a few times. The first crashed and burned. Second time actually got me a date,” his lips curled up, “Now I’m hoping the third time’s a charm.”

“I see,” she hummed, never taking her eyes off him. The silence that indicated she was deep in thought. “What are you hoping to get out of it?”

“Honestly, maybe a kiss when the night comes to an end if you’d allow me the honor. But if not I would want you to never forget me. Just like I won’t ever forget you.”

“After a performance like that, Lieutenant, I’ll remember you till the end of time. And about that kiss….” She brings her mouth closer to his, but still enough distance to keep them apart. Pete felt his heart skip at the proximity, the perfume she wore filling his nostrils. “Keep impressing me and it just might come true.”

Present Day

“Wait-wait-wait,” Phoenix laughed with the guys as Maverick finished telling the story of when he went with Slider and Iceman to see Y/n & the Romantics perform at the Staples center in 1989. They were all seated in the living room—which had more framed photos of not just Y/n and her band but also of her and Maverick over the years and Rooster as a child.

Jake took photos of that on his phone to hold for blackmail. Now it made sense why Rooster was always singing their songs on the piano when they would go out.

After giving a quick tour of the first floor of the home, they all settled in the living room with his dogs as Mav sent a text to his lady to call him after soundcheck. Beers were brought out and some snacks, the crew still processing the news as they took it all in. Eventually after a quick explanation, Pete answered the many questions they had, including just how the hell he managed to pull one of the greatest rockstars to ever exist.

Whose band literally had a star on the Hollywood Walk of Fame and were being inducted into the Rock ‘n’ Roll Hall of Fame in just a few months.

“So from what I’m gathering,” Nat points to her forehead, as though she were deep in thought, “If my brain is right on track here….you were, to put it lightly…a groupie?”

“Now hold on—.” Mav tried to say but was cut off by the obnoxious laughter that was Javy, Mickey, and Jake while Bob and Hondo just shook their heads, although they were grinning wide at the insinuation. Rooster was smirking like, ‘told you so.’ Mav sighed, but he was smiling as the laughter died down. “I was not a groupie. Okay—yeah I had the hope I would meet her after the show, but I didn’t go out of my way to make that happen. They just happened to come to the same bar that night—I swear!”

“That literally sounds like what a groupie is, Mav,” Hondo pats his back. “You just got lucky it went in your favor.”

Blushing, Mav coughed lightly as he laughed with the group before adding, “I’d like to point out that nothing … you know, happened, alright? We simply had some drinks, danced…I may have tried serenading her with my rendition of ‘You’ve Lost That Loving Feeling,’” the laughter got louder, making his blush deepen, “and then we exchanged addresses to send each other letters—because that’s what you did back in the day or call on the landline. It was history from there.”

“Don’t forget, Mav,” Rooster points at him. “You guys made out and then you exchanged addresses before leaving.” Mav has to cover his face to hide his blush when the group hollar and cheer.

“So how long y’all been together?” Rueben asks, finishing off his beer.

“Since 1990. But we didn’t get married until 2002 after the band went on hiatus.”

“How come?” Phoenix tilted her head curiously.

Though Phoenix and most of the guys were not die hard fans of Y/n & the Romantics, they were familiar with their music of course. As one of the most influential rock bands of all time everyone had heard of them in some way, shape, or form. Their parents often played their records, or they’d hear them on the radio and in movies. The squad were all born in the 1980s & early 90s so by the time they got into their teenage years the band had already stopped releasing music. It wasn’t until late 2020 they announced a reunion with the release of their latest album and were currently on tour across North America. During the hiatus however, Y/n still wrote songs for other artists and even released a few solo records. Some of the Grammy’s in the case belonged to only her and not just with the band.

Personal lives of the band members were not something they knew too well. The only people in the group who had knowledge of some details were Mickey, who was a big fan growing up, and Hondo. Bob was also a fan, having played the drums as a teenager and cited them to be a big influence. On google information showed that the group consisted of Y/n, the lead vocalist who also played guitar, Maya the bass player, Evan the lead guitarist, Danny the drummer, and Ronnie on keys. All of them provided backup vocals on tracks.

Maya and Evan ended up falling in love, confirming long time rumors they were together in 1987 and had three kids over the course of the 90s. Danny married a famous actress in 2000 with whom he had a son. Lastly Ronnie was once married to the lead singer of another rock group before divorcing and finding love with a movie producer from when she landed a role in a tv drama, the two adopted a son and daughter in the early 2000s.

Y/n’s information did actually include the fact she and Maverick met in 1989 when they played at the Staples center, that he was a Captain in the Navy being the only man to shoot down five enemy planes in the last 40 years, and were together for over a decade before finally getting married. They did not have kids and the text read how they liked to keep their personal lives private.

Rooster of course knew everything. The first time he met Y/n was in 1991 when he was 7 years old and looked at her like a second mother growing up. She taught him piano and guitar, let him attend shows when the group were on tour in Virginia, and was always a phone call away even after he and Maverick were at odds. Since she didn’t have kids, Bradley was the closest to what it was like having a son. There was no way she was going to let them drift apart after vowing to Carole she would take care of him. They spoke almost weekly with Rooster updating Y/n on his career and asking when she was getting the band back together, knowing she missed going on the road and performing.

“Soon,” she would tell him with a laugh, “I’m working on some songs in the meantime. We all agreed once the kids are older that we’ll come back.” That was in 2012. Now it was 2022 and finally Y/n & the Romantics were on stage performing for a sold out crowd full of people from all ages. They were all in their late 50s but still knew how to rock n’ roll like the good ole days. Y/n never lost her stage presence, the audience thrived on it. Over the years she took care of her voice so she would sound exactly like she did in the 80s. It was her staple after all.

Answering Nat’s question, Mav gave a light shrug, “It just sorta happened that way honestly. We were happy with how things were—marriage was not for us until then. I should say legally married actually, because here in California the relationship was viewed as common law marriage since we had been together for so many years,” Mav explained before taking a sip of water, “Around the time they disbanded the others had young or were starting to have children so they decided to take a break until the kids were grown up.”

“I think that was the first time I saw my mother cry,” Bob chuckled, fixing his glasses as all eyes turned to him. “My mom was—is a huge fan. Anytime we went on road trips she’d play one of their albums. I think she even saw them live when she was in college—said it was one of the best nights of her life. She had a crush on Danny if I’m not mistaken.” Mav smiles, not surprised it was Danny. In the 80s the man was quite the heartthrob.

“How come you never told us?” Mickey cut in. It was a question all were curious to know. Hondo knew Mav was married, but not to whom. He and Penny had history and were friendly at the Hard Deck so they assumed they were together or possibly going to. Finding out he’s been in a long time relationship with Y/n L/n was the shock of their life.

“We like our privacy. It’s why we waited to get married also, because of how big they were in the 80s and 90s. I got followed by paparazzi in the beginning—which was causing problems with my job. We actually pretended to break up in the late 90s to get them off my back,” Mav shrugs again, “I also don’t like the idea of bragging that my wife is Y/n L/n. I love and respect her so much. Yeah I was a fan of her music, but what made me fall in love with her was getting to know her for who she was. Not Y/n the rockstar, but Y/n the girl who replays her favorite songs if someone talks during it. Who can quote every single line from ‘Dirty Dancing’. Who will scold me for leaving seven half filled water bottles on my nightstand.” Laughs rang out at that. “We personally enjoy letting people discover it on their own, rather than telling them upfront.”

“I still can’t wrap it around my head,” Jake waves a hand to emphasize his point. “That you pulled pretty much the woman all our dads, maybe even moms, had a crush on. Your game is on another level. Like please tell me your secrets, pops.” Phoenix playfully slaps Hangman on the shoulder.

Before he could answer the pilot, Maverick’s phone rings causing him to jolt from the couch. “Give me a moment guys,” excusing himself he goes around the corner into the hallway before answering, “Hey, honey.”

“Hey, is everything good? Your message sounded urgent.”

Mav heard sounds in the background, possibly the crew setting up the stage for the night’s show. “Everything is great….uhh-say is tonight’s show sold out?”

“Yessss,” he could hear the confusion laced in her tone. “At least that was what I was told by Hank. Why? Did Bradley want to bring a friend? I’m sure I can get a pass.” Mav let out a sigh, scratching his chin.

“If it’s too much to ask then don’t worry about it, I know you gotta get back to soundcheck and have a few hours until the concert starts. But my former students from a few years ago surprised me today to celebrate my birthday. They’re here at the house—Bradley didn’t even know they were coming, honey.”

Y/n laughed, “I wouldn’t have bet money on him to know,” they laughed together, Y/n following with, “But that’s so sweet of them! I know how much you’ve missed them since you retired last year. How long are they in town?”

“Just for the weekend. They all got rooms on base and were hoping to take me out either tonight or possibly tomorrow. I told them I had plans tonight….”

“But you didn’t tell them what plans, huh?” Mav could picture the smirk on her face. “Do they know?”

“About us? I just finished telling them why I never mentioned anything. They seem to understand and were apologetic for dropping in unannounced. But…..I have not told them that the last stop in your tour is tonight at the Staples Center and Bradley and I were going to be leaving in a few hours.”

“Who all is it?”

“My buddy Hondo from when I did the Darkstar project—I think I’ve told you about him, the two foxtrot teams I did the uranium mission with and two of my reserves. So seven total.”

“I see,” Y/n humed, finding her husband’s situation amusing. He let out a groan, apologizing but she just laughed and said, “Well since it is your birthday and I’ve been wanting to meet your little dagger ducklings forever now,” he smiled at the nickname Y/n had given the pilots. They really were his ducklings. “Let me talk with Hank and the venue manager. Show doesn’t start till seven so there’s plenty of time. Just hang tight and I’ll call you back, okay? I know you're probably losing your mind because you don’t want to miss tonight’s show knowing it’s the last of the tour, but you also want to spend time with them while they're in town. Imma make sure you get both, pretty boy…..and maybe a little something more when the night comes to a close.”

Fuck that got Mav blushing, knowing exactly what she was implying. “Y/n…”

“Love you, Pete. Wait for my call.” Telling her the same, Mav hangs up the phone and reenters the living room. Rooster immediately meets his eye, lifting a thumbs up to which Mav returns with a gesture to signify he was working on it. For the next thirty minutes the squad makes small talk until his phone rings again. “Hey.”

“Would it be okay if you put me on speaker?”

A smile forms on his lips, “Sure thing,” he looks at the group to catch their attention, “Someone wants to say hi,” they all, minus Rooster who’s smirking, watch with confused expressions as Mav hits the speaker button and places the phone on the table. “What have you got for us, honey?” The second the pet name leaves his lips, Mav sees Fanboy drop his now empty cup of water, Phoenix slap a hand over her mouth, Javy pushing Jake and vice versa muttering ‘holy shit.’ Everyone else pretty much does something similar when Y/n’s voice echoes through the receiver, “Hello hello, aviators.”

“Oh my God.”

“Yo this ain’t happening right now.”

“Guys, guys, shut up—holy shit.”

Y/n laughed at the reactions. “It’s so nice to finally—even if it’s over the phone at the moment—meet you guys! Pete talks about you all everyday.”

“I-I wish we could say the same about you, ma’am,” Payback nervously laughs. “We didn’t even know the man was hitched until an hour ago. Also we apologize for the fanboying-fangirling, it’s an honor to speak to such a legend. You’re an icon.”

“Oh you’re too kind,” she awes, “thank you so much. I hope you guys can forgive him for not saying anything—he meant well.”

“We understand,” Phoenix says on their behalf. “We’d also like to say sorry for showing up to your house uninvited—your home is beautiful by the way. We-we just wanted to surprise Captain Mitchell since it’s been so long since we were all together and he’s done so much for us.”

“I think that’s so amazing you guys did that! I wish I could’ve been home to greet you guys and see the look on his face. Did he cry by any chance?”

“Honey please…” Mav pleaded, causing everyone to laugh.

“I’m sorry, babe. Anyways, Pete tells me you guys are in town for the weekend and well……tonight the Romantics and I are playing our last show in L.A at seven. Bradley and Pete were set to leave San Diego around four to make it on time and if y’all are up for the short drive…..I have seven passes reserved with your names on them.”

The reaction of the dagger squad could only be described with a singular word: chaos.

First it was more of denial, but then they saw Maverick and Rooster’s face and realized Y/n was in fact serious. She was inviting them to her concert. The final show in her band’s reunion tour. The soon to be Rock n Roll Hall of Famers.

Yeah, they about lost their minds.

“I gotta call my mom—she’s gonna flip!”

“How the hell am I supposed to continue living life after this?”

“This is your birthday Mav!” Phoenix pointed at him while Bob had his hands in his face, expression unreadable. “You’re not supposed to be giving us anything, it's the other way around!”

“Nat, I would love nothing more than to spend my birthday with you guys at the concert tonight.” That just about made her tear up.

“Yo so this is legit?” Coyote held up a hand, trying to calm his excitement. “We’re actually going?”

“Hell yeah!” Jake said, Rooster and Payback agreeing with a high-five. “What the birthday boy wants, the birthday boy gets.”

“Y/n, thank you so much,” Hondo said on their behalf. “I’m sorry if you can’t hear over these clowns in the background, but I’ll speak for everyone when I say that we are so grateful for you to invite us to experience your show together and celebrate Mav’s birthday. I don’t think we’ll stop thanking you so be warned.”

After a few more minutes of mainly the squad bombarding the rockstar with words of gratitude and thanks, Y/n informs Pete of where to go when they get to the venue and she’ll meet them backstage to give them the passes. When they say their goodbyes and hang up, Coyote goes, “Okay so I don’t know about y’all…but I cannot walk into a rock concert dressed like this,” he gestures to his gray Navy t-shirt and torn jeans, “How much time we got, Cap?” The question has Pete check his watch.

“If we wanna get there before the doors open, I’d say we should leave in about two hours. It’s gonna take at least two hours to get to L.A, and we gotta consider traffic.” Mav thinks for a moment before saying, “I may have something that can help. Follow me.”

In one of the many closets used as a storage place, Pete removed a box from the self and opened it to reveal a bunch of vintage t-shirts of Y/n & the Romantics.

“Oh my gosh this is so cool,” Fanboy awed. Some of the shirts were literally from the 80s and 90s but looked to be in new condition, meaning they must have been extras Y/n kept for safekeeping. Nowadays it was hard for someone to get their hands on anything with the classic logo of Y/n & the Romantics unless it was from Etsy or a private seller. Stores like Hot Topic, Spencers, and those dedicated to the 80s or retro-like were the only places to buy the new style of merchandise. But these in the box, they were classic.

“Look through and see if you can find anything. There’s several sizes and styles—most of these were from their ‘Heartbreaker’ era but you may find some from ‘Love is the Eighth Deadly Sin,’ or ‘Rock ‘n’ Rolling to Heaven.’ We have some leather jackets I’d be happy to lend you guys—and Nat, Y/n wanted me to tell you that you’re more than welcome to borrow anything you’d like.” Her eyes go wide.

“Oh I couldn’t possibly—.”

Rooster claps his hands excitedly, cutting Nat off much to her annoyance, “Time to turn you guys into rockstars. Fuck yeah! This is gonna be the best night ever!”

So that’s how the famed naval aviators ended up in their vehicles on a two hour journey to Los Angeles. It was far from what they expected when they set out to surprise Pete Mitchell, but in Maverick fashion things take a different turn when one least expects it. The couple’s dog sitter was called to tend to their animals since it was likely they would not be coming home till the next day. Just after 3:30pm the squad, now dressed like they were straight from the 80s by cutting holes in their jeans and wearing leather jackets and chains Maverick provided, gathered in the cars and hit the road. Maverick and Rooster ended up driving, with Hondo, Coyote, Hangman and Payback in Mav’s SUV and Fanboy, Bob, and Phoenix with Rooster in the Bronco.

Upon instance from Y/n after chatting briefly with her on the phone to make sure it was okay, Nat relented on wearing the red leather Prada two piece set the rockstar wore at the 1994 MTV video awards. It fit like a glove on the pilot, jaw dropping when she looked at herself in the mirror, “Damn.” While in the car she applied some black eye pencil and smudged it out to give her that 80s grunge appearance, to which she made Fanboy and Bob do the same, “Bradshaw, I expect you to rock this too.” At a red light he applied it like a pro, like he’d done it many times before not even needing to fix it.

The entire way both vehicles played Y/n & the Romantics decades worth of music. It surprised a lot of the crew when they recognized some songs from movies and tv shows they had no idea were by them. “This was in Stranger Things!” Coyote shouted over the sound, head banging his head along to the beat. Another song had Bob go, “Wasn’t this in the Guardians of The Galaxy?”

By the time they got to L.A the city life was at its prime. Traffic was insane as usual but thankfully they made it to the Staples Center just before six o’clock. The sign outside the venue glowed bright with ‘Y/n & The Romantics—Rockin’ Down Memory Lane Reunion Tour. TONIGHT ONLY—SOLD OUT.’ Pete pulled in front of Rooster to speak to the guard when they got to the back gate. After speaking through a radio for confirmation they allowed the two cars to enter and directed them on where to go.

When they get in the building it’s buzzing all around them. Crew members of both the band and the venue run past and speak into radios. They could barely make out the words combined with the faint rumble of the crowd inside. Before a security guard could ask why they were there, Y/n’s managers, Hank and Tasha Robinson noticed them and rushed over. “Pete! Great to see ya!” The pilot exchanged hugs with the couple. They then greet Bradley, who they’ve known since he was a child, and the squad, “You guys must be the pilots! It’s nice to meet you all—are you excited for the show?”

“Absolutely.” “Can’t wait!” “We’re so excited.” “Thank you for allowing us to come on such short notice.”

“You all look great!” Tasha grinned, gasping when she saw Nat’s outfit, “Oh my goodness. Hank, look! You recognize this?” Blushing immensely, Nat didn’t know how to react besides laughing nervously as they complimented her. “You look fabulous, darling.”

“Thank you. It’s an honor to wear it—I-I hope I did it justice.”

At that moment Y/n came around the corner, a slight skip in her step until she was lifted into Pete’s arms causing her to break into giggles. They hadn’t seen each other in almost two weeks while she was touring the west coast cities. It filled the squad with warmth seeing their mentor/friend so happy. Nerves filled them, they were about to meet one the greatest voices of rock music.

Mav spun Y/n around before setting her back down, the two sharing a sweet kiss. “Missed you, baby.”

“I missed you too,” he says against her lips, kissing them once more before guiding her to the group. Bradley is the first to hug Y/n, who squeals in delight since it had been months since they last saw each other.

“Hey sugar, look at you! It seems like every time I see you, you got a new look going on,” she fluffs his hair which was now lighter in tone after he got some highlights. “You look good, Roo. Is this a new shirt?” she gestures to the Hawaiian shirt beneath the leather jacket Bradley was wearing.

“Had to pull it out for the special occasion,” he gives her a sweet kiss to the cheek while handing her the bouquet of flowers he and Mav got. Thanking him, Y/n grins at the sight of the group standing behind him.

“And you fellas must be the famous dagger squad I’ve heard all about!” They were literally speechless as they stared back at the singer. She literally was what one would envision when they thought of a rockstar. Smudged eyeliner with sparkly eyeshadow framed her eyes, dark red lipstick and her outfit was black leather that showed a bit of skin due to some cutouts, but was still modest. Where the skin showed they could make out intricate tattoos and both her arms had half sleeves of ink. She had on a harness with silver chains, thigh high boots with studs along the sides.

She was THE rockstar.

Though in her late 50s, Y/n was still breathtakingly beautiful. Yeah there was some grayness to her otherwise shiny, healthy hair, and some age lines around her eyes and mouth that poked through the makeup, but Y/n could literally pass for mid to late 40s. Same with Pete who just turned 60 and looked amazing for his age. Standing next to each other, they were one hot ass couple.

“It’s so wonderful to finally meet you guys—in person now! Ah I’ve been buzzing with excitement since we got off the phone earlier,” she clapped her hands, moving to Fanboy who was internally losing it like his namesake.

“I-I hi, w-wow. I’m Mickey Garcia—or talk about irony, you may call me Fanboy. It’s an honor to meet you, Mrs. L/n—Mitchell uh-I’m sorry. I’m a big fan.”

Y/n giggled, shaking his outstretched hand before bringing him into a friendly hug. “Oh honey, I don’t even know what to call myself sometimes. But, please call me Y/n. You guys are family now.” She goes down the line to meet each pilot, shaking their hand and hugging while saying their name back to instill it in her memory. Of course she knew their names and faces from photos, but meeting them in person was completely different and Y/n wanted to make sure she would remember who was who. When she gets to Natasha’s she can’t help but shriek, “Yay you wore it! You look amazing-oh my gosh!”

“Thank you so much,” Nat blushes again, this time because the owner of said outfit she wore was gushing over her. “Thank you for letting me wear it—I will do my best to not let anything happen to it.” Y/n assures her to not worry about it and the two have the band photographer take a couple photos of them. The guys video the whole thing causing Phoenix to flip them off at times which has the married couple laugh. Soon the band comes out, causing Fanboy, Bob, and Coyote to almost lose it and before they know it everyone is conversing like it was an ordinary Friday night. Hondo, Mav, Y/n, Phoenix and Payback are off to the side with Maya, Evan, and their kids while the others are chatting with other members and their families who came to the show.

“It’s unreal to think this year marks forty-four years,” Evan said, sitting on one of the chairs with his hand on Maya’s lower back who stood beside him.

“Yeah,” she agreed with a smile, “just a group of kids we were then. With a dream only the effects of good ole weed could give us the confidence to have our asses out at that park and hope someone would hear us.”

Y/n drops her head laughing, aware of the somewhat surprised looks of the aviators and Hondo. “Wait-really?” Y/n was known for her exhilarating stage presence. She was like Elvis, Janis Joplin, and Micheal Jackson, always captivating the crowd and keeping them hype. When watching the performances it was like Y/n was in her own little world and thrived on the energy.

“It was the 70s,” she shrugged, still smiling which made her eyes crinkle. “Believe it or not we all used to have stage fright—especially in the beginning when we first started performing. We were….gosh fourteen when we signed, fifteen when we performed on Johnny Carson. Good Lord I was shaking in my boots in the dressing room,” she gave a mock shake of the shoulders, reliving the memory, “The only way I could get up there and sing was if I had smoked. Took the edge off.” Maya and Evan nodded in agreement, Y/n leaning into Maverick’s arms as he stood behind her chair. “I think it was after we toured in ‘85 for ‘Love Is The Eighth Deadly Sin,’ that I could perform without anything. Though I still did it at times,” her smile fell into more of a sad expression, adding, “and unfortunately being in the industry at that time, and being so young, we were exposed to other things.”

She didn't have to explain to the aviators, for it was public knowledge when they read up on the band during their drive that Y/n, Ronnie and Danny had admitted to experimenting in the 80s with cocaine. It was common in that era, with many artists and actors in Hollywood able to get their hands on it easily. For Y/n, it was the frontman of another rock group she’d been romantically linked to who introduced her to the drug. Thankfully nothing ever happened that caused a big scandal or had the members needing professional help. They had their family, the support of their crew and each other so they never let anyone fall too deep to where they couldn’t get back up.

“But we survived,” Maya emphasizes, beaming at her husband, “and it sure has been one hell of a ride since. I can’t wait for November—I think I’m more excited for the induction ceremony than I was for the Super Bowl.” Evan goes on to playfully reject the claim, insisting his wife was way more excited about getting that call over 20 years ago than the news just last month about the Hall of Fame.

Y/n just shakes her head with fondness, leaning more into Maverick, who kisses the top of her head.

“Brings back memories, huh? Here at the Staples Center again after so many years.”

“Yeah,” he says softly, his friends chatting with the guitarist and bassist. “I just wish Ice and Slider were here. Then it would really be a blast from the past.”

“I saw Slider when we played in Florida. He brought the whole family—it was amazing.”

“Yeah he called me afterwards. Said you guys put on the best show of the year,” his lips curled up, leaning more towards her ear, “he also told me you threw in a song in the set I was going to get a kick out of.”

Y/n mirrored his smile, eyes full of mischief, “Oh you will, but I ain’t saying nothing, hot stuff. You’ll have to wait for when it comes up.”

“Can’t wait,” he chuckles, kissing her cheek lovingly.

Roughly ten minutes later the stage manager was rushing over, “We’re down to t-minus twenty till showtime people—we gotta start clearing!” Immediately the band are hurrying to say their goodbyes. Y/n practically runs to find the person needed to take the group to their seats. When she does, they hand out the passes to each person, “Julius is going to take you all up to the room. It’s gonna be one of the VIP boxes, the closest to the stage I believe, and it should have sodas, water, alcohol, and food. But if you need anything then just run it by him.”

They all spit out words of gratitude, blown away by the special treatment they were receiving. Y/n takes her time to hug each one of the pilots, who wish her good luck and thank her again for everything. Rooster lets his hug linger a bit longer, as does Maverick who brings the woman into a passionate kiss. “Thank you for doing this, baby. I owe you.”

“It’s your birthday, Pete. You know I would do anything to make you happy,” she lowers her voice into his ear, kissing the area just below, “Sorry it couldn’t be like the good ole days when I would sneak you into my dressing for some fun.” His hands squeeze her hips, sighing at the memories as she giggled.

“There’s still the after party,” he warns her, tone thick with something she knew all too well.

“I’m well aware, hot stuff.”

They share another kiss. And another. And another before Y/n pushes him away at the teasing shouts of everyone around them, Pete bidding good luck to her and the band before he sets off with the group. Rooster nudges him, smirking at the retired pilot, “well that kiss sure would motivate anyone about to go on stage.”

“Don’t start, Bradley.”

By the time they reached the room, they could literally feel the rumble of the crowd when the lights in the arena shut off. “Holy shit,” Mickey said, the first to open the balcony door of the room where they would view the show. Inside were couches, chairs, tvs, and refreshments. Coyote had his phone out, videoing the scene for his instagram story as they all grabbed beers and water before taking spots on the balcony.

The sight was surreal. The stage was to their left and extended out, splitting the floor in half. Approximately 20,000 people could fit in the Staples Center, and from the looks of it 20,000 people were in attendance. It was a sold out show after all. People from all age groups were there. Hell Bob swore he saw some young kids on the shoulders of their parents. The most were obviously the older crowd who likely grew up in the 80s, but there were definitely college kids and Millennials.

It got louder and louder when the two minute countdown appeared on the Jumbotron, along with a video montage of the band. Some clips showed them when they were first starting out up to them preparing for the reunion tour. As it drew closer to zero, the video showed a pre-taped montage of each member taking their place on stage. Maya wrapping the strap of her bass around her shoulder, Evan with his guitar. Ronnie taking place in front of the keyboard and Danny sitting at his drums. Lastly Y/n strutted up to the microphone, the clock hitting zero the moment her hand raises in the air and the arena goes black.

Not even a second passes before Evan’s opening guitar riff sends the crowd roaring. It was the opening to, ‘Thunderstruck,’ a song that literally was in almost every modern day action movie known to man. It was hilarious to see the guys and Phoenix lose their shit, recognizing the iconic song. There was a black curtain keeping the actual stage hidden from everyone's view, but chills came onto everyone’s arms when Y/n’s voice filled their ears

“I was caught in the middle of a railroad track.” The crowd echoed the ‘Thunder,’ with the band. “I looked ‘round and I knew there was no turning back.”

“THUNDER!” The squad shouted, fist pumping and beginning to dance. Already they knew it was going to be the best night of their lives.

When the curtain gave way as Y/n hit the chorus of the song, the audience literally exploded, increasing in volume when she shouted into the mic, “Los Angeles let me hear you!!!!” The camera’s were glued to her as she strutted down the middle of the stage where it split the floor. Her voice carried with each lyric, living up to the hype and sounding as though it was still 1985.

Nat—scratch that all of the guys, especially Maverick, were in awe. Jaws dropped, except Rooster who was living his best life having experienced a Y/n & the Romantics show as a teenager. Now as an adult man the aviator was overjoyed seeing his second mom performing on stage again with her best friends.

“Cap, your wife is the coolest person on earth!” Hangman shouted against the loud music. Maverick simply beamed, eyes never leaving his wife, “I know.”

When the song came to an end, Y/n sighed lovingly, “Ahhh it’s good to be back. We’ve missed you all dearly. Did you miss us?” She paused, screams igniting before adding, “That’s what I’m talking about, baby. It’s been twenty years since we last performed here at the Staples Center in Los Angeles, and we’d like to thank you all immensely for welcoming us back. We’ve worked hard the past two years putting this show together for you, the fans. For all of you regardless if you’re just discovering us, or have been rockin since 1979.”

The energy was off the charts the entire concert. Y/n was feeding off of it on stage, and in turn her presence was feeding the crowd. In between sets she interacted with her friends/bandmates, often coming close to those on the floor to ask how they were.

“You having fun tonight?” Everyone nodded frantically, a woman close to the stage shouting, “So much fun! We love you!”

“We love you too, doll. Don’t worry the night is just getting started.” After the first couple songs Y/n informs the crowd, “I hope you all don’t mind, but as you know this is the ‘Rockin’ Down Memory Lane’ tour,” cheers erupted from every angle, “so as a treat for you fine folks this evening, we won’t just be rockin down our own memory lane. We wanna give some shoutouts to some of the greats rock music has ever seen, and some of the friends we made being a part of this world thanks to all of you. And what better way to start than by kicking it off with the song that got us discovered in the first place.”

The audience was going crazy, die hard fans knowing damn well what song the rockstar was referring to. “Whoooo!!!” Coyote felt the chills when Y/n belted out the opening of ‘Cry Baby’ by Janis Joplin. “Damn girl, sing it!” One of the hardest songs to sing, Y/n had so much emotion it nearly brought a tear to some of their eyes. Rooster brought his finger to his mouth to whistle when the song finished.

The band would do three more of their songs or a medley before covering another artist/group. “Y’all may have heard the rumor…..of the special club we’re being invited to join this fall,” Y/n smirked, hand on her hip next to Maya. Cheering indicated the crowd were aware of the news. “We’re not the only ones. Some friends of ours were also invited. You may have heard of them….Duran Duran?” She pauses to let them scream, the woman chuckling before bringing the mic back to her lips. “They just played recently at the Garden and gave a special rendition of our ‘Highway To Hell,’….so we thought to return the favor,” pausing again, Y/n nods to her band where they begin their cover of ‘Hungry Like The Wolf,’ sending the audience into a frenzy.

“I fucking love this song!!” Nat screams excitedly, passing her beer to Rooster so she could freely dance without worrying about spilling it. The outfit she wore likely cost more than her college tuition. She’d be damned if she let anything happen to it.

“Darken the city, night is a wire,” The smile never left Y/n’s face, “Steam in the subway, earth is afire.” Chills happened along her arms when the entire stadium echoed, “do-do-do-do-do-do-do-do-do.”

She couldn’t wait to see how the guys of Duran Duran, who she and the Romantics were lucky to call friends, react to them singing their song. On Twitter she hinted at wanting to do another collaboration after seeing the video of the band perform their ‘Highway To Hell’. In 1988 the two groups released a single together, topping the Billboard charts for nearly 30 weeks. Plus both were being inducted in November to the Rock ‘N’ Roll Hall of Fame. Surely it would the collab of the century if they did.

Halfway through the show they took an intermission. During that time everyone had a bathroom break, ate some of the food provided and grabbed more drinks. Thankfully Mav did inform them Y/n’s managers got them hotel rooms not too far from the venue so they didn’t have to worry about driving back to San Diego late. When the band returned on stage for the second half of the show it appeared they had changed outfits. Y/n now sported black leather shorts that ended midthigh with fishnets tucked into her leather knee-high boots and a cropped Def Leppard shirt. The sides were cut out showing off her lace bodysuit beneath it. They went straight into songs from their ‘Love & Thunder’ era that took place in the early 90s.

Not too long after she was flagged down by the stage manager, Rick, who was in front of the floor barricade. “What do we have here?” She hummed curiously, taking the two evelopes from him. Rick shouted that it was from the couple directly behind him, who were waving frantically at the singer. The envelop on top said ‘read first.’ Confirming she could read it aloud, Y/n brought the audience to a low tone so everyone could hear.

“Dear Y/n, Maya, Evan, Ronnie, and Danny,” she read off into the mic, glancing to her friends who appeared just as curious as her. “Our names are Damien and Alana Michaels, we’re both 31 years old and met six years ago because of our shared love for your music,” Y/n awed, beaming at the couple then laughed when the letter followed, “We met at a record store and practically fought over the last copy of your limited edition vinyl of ‘Rock n Rollin to Heaven’. We were over the moon when you announced the reunion tour and feel we’ve come full circle tonight seeing as that we fell in love because your music has been an influencial part of our lives. Alana is five months pregnant with our first child,” cheering erupted, causing Y/n to speak louder into the microphone with a giant grin, “Would you do us the honor in revealing the gender of our baby?”

Y/n let the crowd scream for a moment before calming them down again, settling her gaze on the couple, “This envelope right here,” she holds up the unopened document, “has the gender of your baby?”

“Yes!” Alana shouts in glee while Damien nods, mirroring his wife’s expression.

“Give me one moment, honey—don’t go anywhere.” The stadium watches the rockstar rush to her friends, calling them over away from the mics to have a quick chat. Opening the envelope, the camera catches their reaction for the screen and they all talk for a moment before taking back their respective places.Y/n runs over to the couple again, a little out of breath, “Alright! Alana, Damien, congratulations are in store. You are bringing a new life into the world, and the Romantics and I think the best way for you to welcome them is by singing this song when they arrive,” she then looks to the crows, “To anyone who knows the words, feel free to sing along. On three guys,” she points to her friends and counts off, “One…two…three!”

“Isn’t she lovely?” Alana visibly broke into tears while Damien jumps up and down in joy. The band where harmonizing with the frontwoman, the stadium so loud it was hard to hear at times, but thankfully the speakers were at full amp to hear them sing. The couple embraced each other, consumed with happiness at the news. “Isn’t she wonderful?”

“Isn’t she precious?” Staples Center practically echoed with 20,000 people singing Stevie Wonder’s song. Y/n grinned, loving ever second of the coordinated tune. “Less than one minute old.”

“I never thought,” Y/n belted out, “through love we’d be.”

“Making one as lovely as she.”

“But isn’t she lovely, made from love,” Drawing out the ‘love’ Y/n finished the verse by shouting against the screams, “IT’S A GIRL!” Handing back the envelope with the gender to Rick, Y/n asked if she could keep the letter to which the couple agreed. Pocketing it in her shorts, Y/n says, “Congratulations Alana and Damien! Thank you for allowing us to be a part of this exiting moment. On behalf of the Romantics and everyone in attendance, we wish you the absolute best on bringing your daughter into the world and may she be blessed with joy all her life….and maybe unleash her inner rockstar from time to time,” laughter erupted, “give it up for Alana, Damien, and Baby girl Michaels!!”

Fifteen more minutes pass of the band performing their songs before taking a five minute break to set up for their next cover.

“Alright,” Y/n takes a breath, walking down the end of the extended stage. “This next trip down memory lane, has me want to ask you all a question. Ready to hear it?” When they respond with an echo, ‘yes!!’ Y/n allows the smirk to appear, “Do you guys have that one song…that you would call, your stripper song?” A laugh escapes her by the increase in volume from the sold out arena. She could just picture what looks her husband received from his former students. “You know that one song that has you thinking, ‘Gosh give me a pole and I will work it better than anyone has before,’ that kind of song?” Y/n stops halfway through the long stretch of platform, glancing around to the various sections of people.

“I would like to sing for you my stripper song—o-oh okaaaay that’s a nice reaction,” she chuckled, winking at a few spectators on the floor who were like, ‘Hell yeah!’ Pointing a finger out to a random direction, she says with a knowing look, “Now if this happens to be your stripper song too, don’t you get naked—this ain’t that kind of show,” laughter fills her ears, “Plus there's children here tonight, so technically this is a family show. So I would like to apologize now to the parents, but then again, this is a fucking rock show,” the cheers escalated, agreeing with the woman on what she was about to say, “So if you didn’t want them to see us in our element, you should’ve left them at home. But please, for the love of God, keep your clothes on if this song happens to get you in the same mood it gets me. Ready guys!”

“We're ready, babe!” Maya shouts with Evan, Danny and Ronnie giving a thumbs up.

“Step inside!” Y/n yells into the mic.

“Walk this way!” They shout into their own.

“You and me babe!”

“Hey! Hey!”

unworldly, was the way best to describe the Staples Center when the opening chords of Def Leppard’s ‘Pour Some Sugar On Me,’ sounded through the speakers. No wonder she wore the band’s shirt, hinting they were going to cover one of their songs at some point. Fans went crazy when Y/n did some of her iconic moves like crawling on the floor, flipping her hair back and forth and even usuing the mic stand as though it was a pole. She was in her element, the stage was truly where she shined.

Some of the guys were hollaring, patting Maverick on the back with knowing looks. The older man was blushing mad when they realized something was on his mind with the way he was staring at his wife. It didn’t help Y/n was biting her lip, running her hands along her body during the ‘Sugar me sweet,’ line. The camera was glued to her the entire performance.

“I know that look!” Hangman pointed out the Captain’s expression.

“Yeah, Mav, if you plan to sneak off to the dressing room after the show, don’t worry we won’t say anything.”

The band went straight into ‘Hollywood Nights,’ by Bob Seger as way to pay homage to the fact they were performing in Los Angeles, Hollywood not too far away. Jake was a big fan of the song and Rooster videoed the pilot dancing his heart out, spinning Nat around at times as they belted the lyrics.

Coming down to the final 30 minutes of the show, Y/n called the crowds attention, “This next song….is dedicated to someone very special in the audience. He’s turning 60 tomorrow and I’m celebrating twenty years of marriage with him in October.” Her smile became wider at the cheers, walking to the side of the stage closest to where Pete and the gang were.

“That’s you, my man!” Rooster playfully shakes Mav, the squad cheering when the camera pans to him. Giving a little wave, Pete blows a kiss to Y/n, who pretends to catch it.

“Captain Pete ‘Maverick’ Mitchell everyone,” she pauses lightly, “With him tonight is someone who is practically our son—Lord knows I treat him like one,” Rooster does a little dance, the camera zooming out from Mav to capture the aviator next to him. “And some of his former students, the Navy’s finest fighter pilots, who I like to call his, ‘Dagger ducklings.’” The squad awed at the nickname, Fanboy and Coyote hugging up on the man.

“Does this mean you’re our papa duck, Mav?”

“Imma let y’all in on a little secret,” Y/n leans into the mic with a whisper, “That whole thing about us breaking up in the 90s? Yeah, it didn’t happen.” Laughing, Y/n stands back straight, “Right now I’m feeling a little sentimental. Pete and I actually met at a bar about two blocks away after we played here in 1989. It was there he….to put it lightly, swooned me like nobody had ever done before.” Dropping his head onto the railing, Pete’s shoulders shook as he laughed, the memory of that night replaying in his mind. “Maya knows what I’m talking about.”

“Sure do,” the bassist replied. “I think he put on better show than we did.”

“Oh God,” Maverick put a hand to his mouth to cover his grin. So many emotions were flooding him. Mostly warmth, but a tad of embarrassment.

If only Ice and Goose were here to see this.

“He sure did. And tonight I wanna take him and I down memory lane. So ladies and gentlemen, this is for anyone who’s lost that lovin’ feeling.”

Words couldn’t describe what Pete felt listening to Y/n sing, ‘You’ve Lost That Lovin’ Feeling.’ Maya and Ronnie provided the back up vocals, harmonizing with Y/n during the chorus. The entire time she sang Y/n was swaying and keeping her body faced to the section Pete was at. The two connected eyes at times, lost in each other’s gaze causing the two to feel the love radiate one another.

She sounded so beautiful. Of course it was well known Y/n was very versatile with her music and voice. She could take it high and low, mellowing out for a slow tune. There was a lot of soul in her and the band, which is not surprising since they starting in Atlanta. They grew up on blues, jazz, and classic rock. Inspired by the greats like Billie Holiday, B.B King, Janis Joplin, Elvis, Little Richard, and the Mama’s & Papas.

Pete cheered the loudest in their group when the song came to end, whistling along with Rooster. Y/n blew him a kiss, “Never lose that lovin’ feeling with me, honey.”

Not too long after it came time for the final number. “Imma need ‘Dirty Diana’ for this one,” Y/n announced, moving to the middle of the stage where the mic stand was. A crew member appeared from the side, handing over a neon green Fender Stratocaster. She pulled the strap over her shoulder, “Los Angeles, as we come to tonight’s closing I want you to know you all have, without a doubt, been the best crowd ever. L.A, you know how to bring the energy and we can’t thank you enough for what a blast it’s been playing for you all. What a way to end our tour—can’t believe it’s already over, but fear not…we’re not going anywhere anytime soon.”

Evan, Maya, Ronnie, and Danny all say a few words, then they all thank their managers, crew, friends, and family for allowing them to put on a great show. Lastly they thank the fans in an tearfelt speach, finishing it off telling everyone to have a safe journey back home and to keep rockin n rolling. Y/n closes it out with, “Los Angeles sing this last one with us. It’s been a long way to the top,” the screams got louder, “but worth every damn second.”

Staples Center erupted, Y/n letting her hands work magic on the guitar as she played the opening riff of ‘It’s A Long Way To The To (If You Wanna Rock ‘N’ Roll) .’ Then Evan came in his riffs followed by Danny’s drums. Maya and Y/n banged their head together, leaning toward one as they feed off each other’s energy.

“Oh shit!” Payback whistled, shaking his shoulder along to the beat. This was a song he used to dance to in college with his buddies. It brought back memories for the pilot, nostalgia filling him just like it was to many in the crowd.

“Ridin’ down the highway. Goin’ to a show. Stop in all the byways. Playin’ rock ‘n’ roll.”

“Gettin’ robber, gettin’ stoned, gettin’ beat up. Broken-boned. Gettin’ had, gettin’ took. I’ll tell you, folks, it’s harder than it looks.”

Pretty much everyone shouted the lyrics in the chorus, one of the most recognizable ones in music history.

“It’s a long way to the top if you wanna rock ‘n’ roll!”

It went crazy during Y/n’s solo that had all the pilot’s, minus Mav & Rooster, jaws drop. The entire show she hadn’t played the guitar much save for maybe two songs, but it was not to the absolute greatness she was displaying now. Evan guitar solos were off the chain, as were Danny’s drums. Then they had Ronnie tearing it up on the keys with Maya crowning herself the queen of the bass. The voice of the band, Y/n showed she was as talented with the instrument as she was putting lyrics to paper and belting them out for her heart’s desire.

They truly were one of the greatest rock bands to exist.

Even after the song ended they were going hard on the instruments, finishing the show with a literally bang. Lights were flashing, every single person on their feet, Danny and Evan hitting one last solo and instilling the moment as one for the history books.

“Thank you, Los Angeles!! We’ll see you next time! Good night and keep on rockin’!!”

11:58 pm, two blocks away at Melvin’s Planet Enterprise Bar

“Feels like deja vu,” Y/n laughed, dancing with Pete to the tune of ‘When Doves Cry’ in the familiar bar. Though it had a new name and owner, it still gave the same effect as it did in 1989. This time, however, there were posters of Y/n & the Romantics, one of which was signed and framed just above the jukebox playing classic hits and even some of theirs.

Y/n had changed out of her clothes again, wearing black jeans and tank top with a blue leather jacket that had studs and chains attached to the sides. Her makeup had been touched up, hair pulled in a ponytail. It was almost comical how the scene was just like that night in ‘89 with blue strobe lights shining down on them, making her look illuminated.

The dagger squad were in their own little world, dancing and drinking with each other and the band’s crew members. Jake was getting along quite well with someone from Y/n’s glam team, Nat chatting with a member of the security. Then there was Coyote dancing with the oldest daughter of Maya and Evan. They had rented out the place after the show, everyone hauling ass to celebrate the end of the tour. All grown up, the children of the Romantics could enjoy the night as well, not having to worry about being underage now that the youngest of the bunch had turned 21 the previous month.

When they arrived the party was in full blast, Rooster pulling Y/n to the dance floor to share a dance. Then they duetted ‘Great Balls of Fire,’ with him on the piano. Everyone sang at the top of their lungs. Pete held Y/n, head banging with her at the ‘Mine! Mine! Mine!’ bit and sneaking kisses during, ‘kiss me, baby!’

When her feet started to hurt from standing, Y/n sat in Pete’s lap and nursed a cocktail while they chatted with Hondo and Ronnie’s wife. Over in a corner Bob was on the phone with his family after his sister saw Phoenix’s instagram story, “You saw Y/n & the Romantics tonight!?! How the hell did you manage to get tickets—they were sold out!”

“Uhh….you remember my instructor from that mission awhile back? Turns out he’s marrried to Y/n L/n.”

“WHAT!?! Pete Mitchell was your instructor!?” Bob swore his mother about went into cardiac arrest, screaming when Y/n appeared on screeen after he politely asked if she would mind saying hello to his mother. The rockstar of course said yes, she loved interacting and meeting supporters. They were the reason she got to live her dream. Bob nearly cried seeing his mother in tears, overcome with emotion at the fact she was meeting her favorite singer of all time. After the call ended Y/n gave the WSO a tour program she had all the members sign, “give this to your momma for me. Tell her I hope to see her on the next tour.”

The dagger squad were literally becoming Y/n’s adoptive children by the second. Mickey couldn’t believe he got her to do a tiktok with him, then she had a shot of tequila with Reuben. As Nat danced the woman hyped her up with Maya and she had a semi dance off with Javy. Throughout the night stories were told about meeting Princess Diana in 1995, playing in New York on New Year’s Eve of 1999, the Super Bowl, and their iconic performance at the first MTV video music awards in 1984. They were like children gathered by the Christmas tree listening to her read a book. All they could think was how cool she was and the fact the band had truly changed the world of music over their spand of 40 years.

Prince’s iconic ‘When Doves Cry’ started to play just before midnight and it was like slow motion for the rockstar, moving to her husband who was already staring at her with the same expression. Now they really were back in 1989.

“It does,” Mav beamed at his wife, the song hitting it’s second verse. “Only thing missing are the cameras flashing, Ice and Slider sending me a thumbs up, and jealous looks from patrons.” His words make her giggle, throwing her head back slightly.

“Ice is definitely giving you a thumbs up with Goose,” her voice turns soft, stroking the side of his neck, “Bradley’s got his phone out. No doubt videoing us as I speak. He knows how significant this song is.”

“Remind me to have him send me it,” he tells her, dipping her suddenly causing her to squeal. Lips press to her cheek when he pulls her back up.

“Wanna know something though, hot stuff?”

“What?”

The light hitting her eyes shows off the mischief matching her smirk, “This time ‘round, you won’t just be getting a kiss goodnight. You actually get to take me home.” Thank god the lighting hid the color of his face, otherwise she would get a good look at how red it was.

It didn’t stop her from seeing the smile however, Mav shaking his head playfully. He didn’t have to reply for her to know what he was thinking. Just his laugh was enough.

As the clock stuck midnight, Y/n brought him into a sweet kiss, “Happy Birthday, Pete. I love you so much.”

“I love you too, baby. Thank you.”

The rest of the night was filled with celebration, not just for the epic end of the tour and impending induction as Rock ‘N’ Roll hall of famers, but also the life of the Navy’s most famous pilot. Until it came time to leave, not a single minute was wasted in having the best night of their lives.

All of which happened because two souls decided to go to the same bar after a concert. One a spectator, the other the performer. Both who made names of themselves in their own right, embedding their legacy forever for generations to come. It took a hell of a time to do it, but as one knows….it’s a long way to the top you wanna rock ‘n’ roll.

……………………

TGM tag list: @avaleineandafryingpan, @caitsymichelle13, @poppyalice2001, @cutelittlepotatofry

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thethirdromana · 6 months

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Happy Train Fiend Day to all who celebrate!

Let's have some sexy Victorian trains, all photos and descriptions courtesy of the National Railway Museum in York.

Steam locomotive and tender, London & North Western Railway, 2-4-0 No 790 "Hardwicke", designed by F.W.Webb, built at Crewe in 1873, withdrawn 1932. (source)

Steam locomotive, London & South Western Railway, 2-4-0WT No 298, 'Beattie Well Tank', designed by W.G. Beattie, built in 1874, withdrawn in 1962. Renumbered 30587 by British Railways. (source)

Steam locomotive, London & South Western Railway, M7 class 0-4-4T No 245, designed by Dugald Drummond, built at Nine Elms in 1897, withdrawn in 1962. (source)

If we take a 1897 setting for Dracula, then this would be the kind of brand new train that Mina would get very excited about.

Steam locomotive and tender, No 3, 'Coppernob', 0-4-0, for Furness Railway, designed by E Bury, built by Bury, Curtis and Kennedy in 1846, withdrawn in 1900. (source)

Steam locomotive and tender, London & North Western Railway, 2-2-2 No 3020 "Cornwall", designed by Trevithick, built at Crewe in 1847, withdrawn in 1927 and components. (source)

Steam locomotive and tender, London Brighton & South Coast Railway, 0-4-2 No 214, "Gladstone", designed by William Stroudley, built at Brighton in 1882, withdrawn 1927. (source)

Steam locomotive and tender, Great Northern Railway, 4-2-2 No 1, designed by Patrick Stirling, built at Doncaster in 1870, withdrawn in 1907. (source)

#dracula daily #train fiend

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brawltogethernow · 9 months

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I actually misremembered who made the suggestion; this is @heyyoufriendthere (orange⬇️)'s fault. Plaintext with annotations below the cut.

This is the very picture of an intellectual rights fracas Comics will warp to be like films as fast as you can say "huzzah" But when a megamonopoly swallows up the competition It yanks our blorbos back and forth in an ugly retcon perdition When only Fox can make a movie about the Fantastic Four, The Disney-owned comic office will shove the Four right out the door Until the Disney studio absorbs those rights and then you'll find The comics are suddenly awful sorry they left them behind(1) Then in the instant comic fans begin to cheer an awful lot The news comes in from Bleeding Cool(2) the writer is that fucker Slott(3)

Oh yes when comics warp to be like films and leave you quite agaw This is the very picture of an intellectual rights fracas

When Disney didn't have the rights to film the X-Men and their friends The Inhumans were their idea to have that same magic again But absolutely nobody could give a damn about their deal There was a gas or something uh, the Moon? Nobody cares get real EXCEPT for Ms. Marvel, the only Inhuman breakout success They want her all over the screen at excited public behest Oh yes when comics warp to be like films and leave you quite agaw This is the very picture of an intellectual rights fracas For years the MCU was not allowed to say the word "mutant" They twisted themselves into pretzels out to recoup every cent The silver screen had two Quicksilvers purely for dumb spite reasons With roots in even dumber masturbatorial rights reasons(4) Wanda and Pietro had their sixth or seventh origin retcon(5) To fit the "No More Mutants!"(6) edict corporate decided upon Then Disney bought the M word back for 73 billion bucks (A number that should make you want to strangle all these greedy fucks)

Oh yes when comics warp to be like films and leave you quite agaw This is the very picture of an intellectual rights fracas

Now suddenly it's mutant city all over the comic line They let the X-Men start a sex cult; also they can never die With no need for Inhumans they admitted that they're pretty cringe And nobody will ever give their lore a proper reading binge The MCU made Kamala a mutant like immediately Faster than you can say "bad adaptation" or "brand synergy" In short order the comics gave her the murderization hook In such a hurry it wasn't even in her own fucking book(7) Now big surprise she's coming back on the fucking sex cult island They gave it less than one whole month before they played their fucking hand So Kamala's a mutant now(8) and got a shitty mourning book(9) Which when she's coming back NEXT MONTH you might call a pretty bad look

IT'S TRUE WHEN COMICS WARP TO BE LIKE FILMS AND LEAVE YOU JUST AGAW THAT IS THE VERY PICTURE OF AN INTELLECTUAL RIGHTS FRACAS

~ (1) "At the time, we were told that the Fox-licensed X-Men books weren't to be cancelled as they made too much money for the publisher, but the FF as a middling sales solo title could be missed without hurting the bottom line."

From 2014, when Fox was preparing its 2015 release of Fant4stic, until Disney's film branch recovered the rights by absorbing Fox, the FF were conspicuously absent from comics. The Fantastic Four book was discontinued for the first time since 1962 (for most of those decades they'd supported multiple titles at once) along with all associated merch tchotchkes. By 2017 there was a Twitter hashtag, #WhereAreTheFantasticFour. If you want to hear some people be driven slowly insane by this, Stormcast had a segment called Stormwatch where they analyzed any Johnny Storm appearances in a given month. We're talking deep analyses of single panels.

(2) I know I just linked them, but part of the joke is Bleeding Cool's weird place in the geek news ecosystem. They report everything first, so for the first week you know something you can't strictly confirm it's actually true.

(3) I don't have time to enumerate Slott's crimes but we hate him. Source: Dude trust me👍

(4) How A B-List Hero Became Hot Hollywood Property Fox could adapt him because they had the rights to all mutants, and Disney could because they had the rights to all Avengers. Some characters are both because the comics didn't use to care about this. This is the entire reason the MCU introduced a Pietro Maximoff and then killed him off. Like seriously who kills off one twin. No that was not based on any comic story.

(5) They're not currently Magneto's kids in the main comic line. Everyone hates this.

(6) This is a cheap reference to the comic storyline "House of M".

(7) They killed her off in Amazing Spider-Man (2022) #26 and none of her supporting cast was there.

(8) Kamala Khan to Return in “Ms. Marvel: The New Mutant”

(9) Look at this thing:

WHO are those anonymously multiracial teens and what are they so goddamn happy about?

Bonus

#marvel #is this #filk #ms. marvel #kamala khan #franchising in a world that hates and fears them #xmen #essays #fantastic four #f4

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mafiasliege · 15 days

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I dare you to let me go

(this is part 4 of my fic! Enjoy reading!)

Part 3 ↓

JAMESON

October is the best time Jamie had been to Scotland. Over the years, he'd visited vantage many times. It was built on a coastal cliff not too far from a lovely cove. The pleasant sunny days right before winter starts were the best. The beaches were perfectly warm and cliff-jumping into the water was a wonderful activity. At least, those are the inputs the Viscount Branford offered, except the cliff-jumping part, that was all Jameson. Branford had actually advised against it, which Jameson did not heed to, of course.

His relationship with his father may be tragically non-existent now, but his uncle made up for some of it. He'd never admit it, but he would have loved having him in his life growing up.

He'd landed in Scotland two days ago. And on the third, he'd started feeling lonely on his own and decided to dial up a redheaded Viscount who happened to be in Scotland too.

"You outdid yourself today" Jameson said, draining the last of the scotch and gesturing two fingers at the bartender.

"I did. And it looks like you can outdrink me. Tell me, was that your way of indirectly congratulating me for absolutely trouncing you at motocross?"

"In my defence, I may have underestimated you."

"And why is that?" Jameson's uncle raised a brow that reminded him too much of Grayson.

They must be worried, he thought, and then,

Stop it.

"Because you're an old man" he shrugged, to which they both ended up laughing. The drinks might be to blame, too.

7 seconds of silence died when Simon asked, "Why are you here, nephew? Surely it's not only to spend time with "an old man," as you put it."

To that, Jameson said nothing. Until a word stole his attention.

"You show up completely unannounced, and without your beloved heiress in tow, which makes me think there was a squabble, perhaps?"

"It's none of your business" he retorted with controlled fury.

"And yet I am here."

Maybe it was, in fact, the drinks, but Jameson told him everything. His uncle listened patiently. He didn't offer Jameson any advice, and at the moment, that was exactly what he needed.

After Jameson was done talking now than he probably ever did in his life, simon spoke, "are you staying at Vantage tonight as well?"

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

Jameson made it back to Vantage sometime around sunset. He always noticed, it looked so beautiful from the castle towers, or the cove. He'd considered proposing to Avery there, but then things had turned out the way they were now. He had left in such a hurry, he wasn't even sure he'd taken the ring with him, or at least hidden it away.

He couldn't hide anything from Avery, if he tried. That wasn't the problem now, though.

Now she just didn't care enough to look.

He parked the convertible in the garage built in the massive yard in front of the castle, alongside several other vintage cars that were too beautiful to be real. He discovered his affinity for vintage cars at an auction, where one of the items open for bidding was the 1962 Corvette Stingray he drove just minutes ago. The garage was huge, and a newer addition. It became a necessity because of the random thunderstorms he'd witnessed there. It was by the seaside, after all. The weather changed by the hour.

"Jameson?"

He could recognise that voice anywhere.

No. That can't be right.

He turned around to see a blur of brown hair and a worried face, and before he knew it, he was enveloped in a hug.

"You're okay" she said, much like she was trying to reassure herself. It felt nice to be hugged by her, but it was overtaken by the feeling that it took him flying off to another country for her to hug him spontaneously. So he pulled away.

He could get a good look at her now. She looked like hell. Disheveled hair, like she'd been running her fingers through it. Movements of her body that screamed exhausted. Puffy eyes from lack of sleep.

Or crying.

Jameson had seen and lived every kind of hell there is, but Avery crying made his heart break a little more every time, even when he thought it was already broken. By her, no less.

Don't fall for it. Resist it.

"Why are you here?"

"You suddenly disappear out of nowhere, you inform no one, fly off to god-knows-where on your plane you told no one you had. I was worried as hell" she fell a little short on breath, which made that last part sound even more distressed than it was. Her voice was rough too, like she had a cold. Or as if she'd been shouting.

His breath stuck at a mental image of a panicked Avery wandering around looking for him. It was so contrary to the distant, disinterested woman he'd sadly gotten used to.

If only she cared so much before.

"When did you come home?" He retorted, pushing away his thoughts, and a crumbling desire to comfort her.

"Jameson-"

"When?" He repeated.

Avery swallowed, "Eleven." He scoffed. Of course she showed up 4 hours after she was supposed to. Again. "I'm sorry, okay? I really am. I got held up by the-"

"See, that's the thing. There's always somewhere that need visiting or something that needs fixing or someone that needs saving. And you've put it above me, above us, every single time."

She seemed taken aback, and a little pale.

"Everything at both the foundations depends on me, Jameson, everything."

"So did I. But not anymore."

Avery looked even more pale now. And scared, more scared than she looked the many times people had tried to kill her. He felt a slight pang of guilt, looking at her scared expression.

You have nothing to feel guilty about.

"What is that supposed to mean?" She whispered, a tear rolling down her cheek. He pushed back the urge to wipe it away. He hated being the reason of her tears, even though she'd been the reason for so many of his. He sucked in a long breath.

"It means we can't be together anymore."

#idytlmg #the inheritance games #the grandest game #jameson hawthorne #avery grambs #tig #averyjameson #jameson x avery #javery #the brothers hawthorne #the hawthorne brothers #grayson hawthorne #xander hawthorne #nash hawthorne #should i leave this fic here? ehehehehe #no i won't #lol

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shuinami · 8 months

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Part 2: Why is the accent? Where and when does Hobie come from? Part 1: Who, What (London Accents) | Part 3: How (Writing Tips)

In this section, we'll touch on racism since the 70s, black Londoner youth culture and how punk has historically interacted with those things.

To begin, let’s answer the question of what the hell all us black people are doing here in the U.K. 😂

Long story short, after World War II, the U.K. invited subjects of the empire over, in need of help rebuilding the place and doing essential work after getting bombed and stuff. There was further incentive on the subjects’ side to come as many of their men had been sent off for the war but were out of work and not properly compensated upon their return, leading to a poor economy and many people hoping for better in the ‘mother country’. Caribbean people, mostly Jamaicans, came over from then right through the 60s but were not welcomed and treated as British as many of them thought they might be… cause, you know, racism.

In 1962, 1968, 1971 and 1981, legislation was passed that made it incredibly difficult for black Caribbeans to come over, even to this day, which led to the migration of black people shifting to predominantly Africans, mostly West Africans, in the 80s, who would come for education and work purposes mostly. (For context, in the 2020s, there are more African people than Caribbean people in the U.K.). In the 70s and 90s, East Africans fleeing conflict have also immigrated en masse, although the numbers were quite a bit smaller than the West African and black Caribbean diaspora.

[not an expansive breakdown of all ethnicities, I just wanted to talk about the most populous black nationalities for the general gist of where black British life really got on a roll]

So, onto life as a black person in the U.K.

It’s important to remember that the U.K. was racist as fuck AND did not have Jim Crow laws or a history of relegating certain cities or neighbourhoods to ethnic minorities because, by the time we had been invited, there were not so many of us living in England for such laws to be deemed necessary (by racists).

Living literally side by side, often in the same building, with people who wanted to see them brutalized had a big impact on how black British people navigated life back then and has residual cultural effects on how we behave to this day.

One thing that stood out to me was the line where Hobie says he has “a laugh at the pub with the mandem”. As many of you will know, the pub is a large part of general British culture as the main drinking scene. Until more recently, you couldn’t just go and buy alcohol from the supermarket or whatever like you can now, so people had to go to the pub for a drink. Additionally, during times when getting clean water was unreliable due to cholera outbreaks, a drink from the pub was safer than drinking water.

It’s also important to know that, unlike clubs, many pubs sell food and are family-friendly, so while it’s not likely for a little kid to be bouncing to go the pub because it’s just basically like a restaurant to them, it’s a place that a child can be used to going to.

Not only do pubs sell food, but pubs also are places that are mostly used to watch football, as well as play pool, participate in pub quizzes (competitive general knowledge pop quizzes done in teams) and generally be out late to sit and talk.

That being said, as I mentioned before, how black people navigate where we live is different to how white people do.

Whilst many black people will go to the pub with their work colleagues or with their mixed friend groups, pubs generally have never been a haunt for black adolescents.

Instead, black drinking culture is more associated with dance and music, i.e. house parties, clubs (particularly clubs or club nights where music popular amongst the black community is played and, in older times, basement boozers) and lounges. Unlike white counterparts, most black kids will not have grown up going to the pub or around people who went and would not be used to going until they got invited out, likely by workmates.

To this day, although racism has chilled out so much since the mid-20th century, a lot of younger people actually still have a latent fear of facing racism from white football hooligan types and drunk, older white people in pubs. If you went to a pub, you typically wouldn’t see many young black people in there, if any.

The epitome of this mindset was on display during the last World Cup, during which Gen Z black U.K. TikTok was filled with half-jokes about the brutality they would face sitting in the pub to watch an England game if a black team member were to miss a kick or otherwise make a mistake. It was something we joked about in real life too and there was a rumour that went around - which many of us believed to be true - that two black guys had been thrown in the Thames because the black players had missed the penalty kicks they took.

It was just a rumour, however, people did take to racially abusing the players online and, whilst it wasn’t true, you can see what the general attitude towards pubs tends to be and why it’s not a hotspot for black youth.

There are U.K. pubs that historically have had more black patronage in black communities but there’s only a few and they’re not really a thing in London.

Knowing that, it’s not to say that no young black people frequent pubs, but it means that it says something about Hobie that he does (or his world, which we’ll talk about later). What it says exactly is up to your headcanon, but it’s worth noting that it’s not typical for a black teenager in London to hang out at the pub, even if they are rebellious and not concerned by the drinking age.

So you may be thinking, damn, why do pubs have such a reputation? What happened that meant that - to this day - there’s such a divide?

While the U.K. was always racist and was unwelcoming to those who arrived during the Windrush period, it continued to get worse going into the 70s. The increasing popularity of the fascistic political party called the ‘National Front’ saw the rise of ‘the immigrants are taking our jobs’ rhetoric used to appeal to the white working class that persists, to a less extreme, today, such as with the political party UKIP, as well as the English Defense League (EDL), both of which have taken on a more Islamophobic angle than the focused and explicit anti-black & anti-browness of the National Front. The National Front’s supporters would chant and sing stuff like “We’re gonna send the blacks back”.

In daily life, black kids had to deal with shameless racism, bullying and violence from their white peers. There was a ‘sus’ law implemented, which essentially made it so that police could (and very much did) stop and arrest any black person they saw on the street that they felt was ““““suspected person””””, which included unprovable and outrageously ridiculous bullshit like being suspected of ‘loitering with the intent to steal’ (so basically, if you’re black and outside, you were - and still are, especially if you’re young - likely to be suspected of this). As mentioned earlier, there were people who would watch games and get drunk in the pub, then go out into the streets on a destructive rampage would also take those opportunities of chaos to physically assault black and brown people.

All of this was on top of institutional racism and micro-aggressions like we have today but turned up to 10. Minorities didn’t feel safe going around their own city alone for fear of getting mobbed or having rocks thrown at them. Even in their own homes, racists were putting literal shit and bombs in their letterboxes. The popularity of the National Front saw a rise in Nazism - an especially wild expression of racism, considering the Nazis had bombed the fuck out of London in WW2, which was the reason the U.K. went crying to the subjects for help in the first place.

So, naturally, ethnic Londoners tended to craft and operate in their own spaces when it came to leisure, more attuned to the cultures from their family’s countries of origin as well as the kinds where they were just generally more accepted for who they are. Though no longer out of necessity for safety, this aspect of Black British culture persists today, to a lesser extent though, and latent anxieties about acts of extreme racism still remain in the collective subconscious, even though most young people today will have never experienced such extremes.

Just for clarity, this is not to say black people are afraid of white people in general, I’m not sure that could even have been said in the 70s, since there were also plenty of non-racist (aka normal) people too. Back then, the culture was probably a lot more gatekept than it has been for the past few decades, but I’m trying to explain why black British culture and black British life is a different experience to being white British, it’s not only experiencing racism, but it’s also that we just do different stuff cause we historically didn’t feel welcome at their figurative tables and thus did our own thing mostly. It’s why you still get friend groups that are predominantly black despite everyone’s families likely coming from different countries with different cultures, because we relate in terms of black British culture and not feeling especially understood amongst white counterparts. But if white people make us feel like they are down with us, we’re down with them, as one would hope lol.

Speaking of down white people, another huge part of Hobie’s character is that he’s a punk, of course.

So, not gonna lie to you guys, due to the things I just stated about how black people had to navigate the world and craft their own spaces in order to feel comfortable and safe, the punk scene (as we would think of it) has never been a thing that was popular amongst black British people. It’s a predominantly white scene and during the 70s was not unaffected by rising Nazism. To this day, there are still Nazi punks and what we call dirtbag leftists, so you can imagine, at the time, though there were and still are more non-racist white punks, there were enough Nazis that a. it’s not something that seemed welcoming to black people and b. non-racist White punks in the 70s felt that the Nazi problem was bad enough that they needed to do something big about it, which we’ll get onto.

Because we’re not a monolith, of course, there were black punks such as Poly Styrene, the lead singer of X-Ray Spex, and Basement 5, a punk-reggae band (remember this), but other than that, I haven’t been able to find documentation of black punk life in particular, nor have I been able to get any personal accounts from family. Punk is a small-ish scene to begin with, so you can imagine that the black people who participated are very few. Here, I’m not trying to say that few black people enjoyed listening to the music as part of their taste, I’m pretty sure a lot of young people would have liked the music but not necessarily been active in the scene/culture in the way that white counterparts were.

Again, the fact that Hobie is a full-out punk as a black teen says something about him or his world; what in particular, is totally up to interpretation and headcanon, but understand that it’s another unique behaviour.

A similar thing that did include black people was ‘skinhead’ culture, something that emerged from and celebrated the working class, especially Jamaican people, in the 1960s, but it was co-opted by ‘punk’ and white people, then drifted away from its associations with and relevance amongst black people and became most popular amongst Nazis in the 80s, associated with the ‘British Movement’. Most people will think of racist white football hooligan types when they think of skinheads nowadays, even though in reality, for both punks and skinheads, not all people in these subcultures are racist/fascist.

As I mentioned earlier, because minorities were living side by side with working-class white people, a lot of stuff that wasn’t kind of gatekeepy (i.e. super black) has always been at risk of being yanked from us and has historically been done by literal Nazis and I’m sure this plays a part in alternative scenes that stray very far from the cultures we’re raised in not being the most popular amongst us.

Nonetheless, non-racist punks and black people agreed on a lot of core points about classism/capitalism and the need to stomp out racism, which led to white punks starting the Rock Against Racism (RAR) organisation, which held concerts across the country with the intention of bringing people together to take a stand against racism. If you’re able to, I recommend watching the documentary about it called White Riot (2019), which whilst it does include some black interviewees, focuses on the white punks’ side of things and the racism of the time, as opposed to black life. Still worth the watch :)

Other than punk rock, you know what other acts were invited to play at these RAR concerts?

Black musicians who played funk and reggae were also invited. Even though their music taste was different, the message was the same. Additionally, it might surprise non-British people to hear but even white British people have long loved themselves some reggae, hence Bob Marley’s popularity here.

Reggae is a genre that is often used to speak on politics and social issues, it’s why Rastafarians love it and make such music. So, whilst the punk-reggae fusion of Basement 5 might sound strange today when reggae is not as popular as it once was, it makes total sense why. You can also see references to the London punk scene in the 70s (the time he was living in London) in Bob Marley’s song “Punky Reggae Party”.

I mention this to emphasise how the blackness of black British people, even in white space, has not typically proven to give way, that to be punk or believe in such values is not to relinquish all traces of black culture. I also say this to say, as I’ve said in a previous post bouncing off of Daniel Kaluuya’s thoughts on ‘punk’, that people who are adamant Hobie would not listen to genres of music that are popular with or created by predominantly black people alongside the more typical punk rock give off strange vibes. There’s no precedent for a black person to totally give up that part of them that they would’ve grown up with just because they’ve solidified a political view. Of course, some people are less into it than others, as I said earlier, black people are not a monolith, but given all this context, I’m begging people to not post things like ‘Hobie would never listen to [insert black genre here] because he’s a punk! Other people’s headcanons/playlists are stupid and they’re punk posers!’.

You can believe he only listens to genres of rock, and that’s fine, but stop telling black people that their headcanons where they project their more black tastes onto Hobie are inaccurate because they aren’t and it’s very strange to gatekeep interpretations of a black character from blackness in that way.

If you do want to know some genres popular amongst or pioneered by black British people, most of which popped off in the 90s, look to grime (hip hop, electronic), garage (electronic), drum n bass (electronic), jungle (electronic), U.K. drill (hip hop), afroswing (hip hop, r&b), reggae, dancehall (hip hop, reggae), hip hop, funk and r&b. I’d say pop since it’s popular amongst all ethnicities lol but, since Hobie is a punk, you’re gonna wanna exchange that for rock and indie, though I think it’s also fair to think there’s a few pop songs that Hobie would like, since being an anarcho-communist doesn’t mean you can’t have a little fun, idk. Headcanons and stuff are not really what I’m here to share or enforce. Plus, of course, a lot of these genres are anachronistic but, at the same time, I’m pretty sure most people’s playlists feature more modern songs anyway, hell, even the song selected as Hobie’s intro is from 2011.

And none of this is not to downplay Hobie’s love of rock genres either.

I did make a playlist for myself, if anyone wants it or recommendations you can drop an ask 🤓

In the past few years, there’s been a noticeable growth of alternative life in London black youth culture, notably the roller-skating scene, as well as more people participating in more classic takes on alternative culture like goths, punks, etc. and, of course, black nerd culture has been popping since the late 90s. The black people participating in these alternative cultures aren’t relinquishing their blackness, putting hip-hop in the bin and whatnot - people can be multi-faceted.

What I hope you take away from this is that Hobie is a unique and nuanced character, he’s not a typical representation of any of the things he is, which is personally why I love him so much. I also hope you understand that being a black punk in the U.K., before more recent times, would have been a different thing to being a white punk because, not only are you participating in a counter-culture, you’re going outside the safety net and norms of black British culture which has been positioned as inherently counter-cultural anyways and is one you can never hide your associations with or come out of. It says a lot about him, it comes down to headcanon what, but it’s important to recognise that these aspects of him are not a given but things that would have been purposeful developments or huge moments of self-discovery in his life.

Headcanons are something that throws somewhat of a spanner into the works. Everything I’ve said is historically accurate but we also don’t know that Earth-138’s New London would reflect all these aspects of our Earth’s London. Perhaps 138 is written in a race-blind kind of way or, not coming from black British culture, the writers may not envision the world authentically from our point of view and might be unaware of how it’s different; maybe the execs would not allow them to tap into the racist aspect of Nazism and have the writers keep it vague for marketability's sake; hell, maybe the date on the mugshot was just an Easter egg and not a canon-accurate date, who knows?

On top of that, if you headcanon Hobie as a transracial adoptee (meaning adopted by people of another race) or that he was orphaned at a very young age or otherwise not enculturated and socialised as a black boy, maybe none of this applies.

From the current slang to the casting of Daniel Kaluuya, it seems clear to me that, in tandem with the retro vibe, Hobie has been designed to also evoke more contemporary ideas of blackness so the full picture of what the writers have in mind is anyone’s guess at this point.

That being said, I feel like those conclusions would all take some stretching and reaching to come to. I’m not here to tell you what you can and cannot interpret or write, but I’m just trying to give some information so you can write more accurately and understand Hobie and Black Londoner life better.

So, now you understand where we’re coming from, I think you’re ready for the writing advice 😎

#atsv fanfiction #hobie brown #spider punk #black british #across the spiderverse #shui fic #shuinami

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writeshite · 2 years

Note

Male reader x homelander please, with smut and seduces him to become the good superhero, please?

Look Into His Angel Eyes

Summary:

“How about a deal? You play nice, and…and I’ll…” you’re not sure what to offer, but judging by his attachment to you, he craves the attention and touch, “...I’ll let you hold me like this from now on, at every session, starting now.” That seems to do the trick, and his eyebrows shoot up in surprise, his grip loosens, “Good boy.” There’s an air of delight from him when you say that.

Pairings:

Homelander x Male!Reader

Tags:

Seduction To The Good Side 😭 | Empath!Reader | Therapist!Reader

Words: 1962

Author's Note:

I may have channeled some inspiration from ✨Hannibal✨ (not the cannibalism part 😭) god knows why, I don’t know where this started or where it went, but it exists now. Side note: Homelander has a praise kink. I said what I said.

“Please.”

A simple word, yes, but not often uttered on a day-to-day basis, especially by someone like Homelander. Despite the volatility of the supe, Vought kept a high employment rate among other companies; how? Simple, EAPs - Empath Assistance Programme counseling or workplace counseling - how Vought managed to garner enough empaths to deal with hundreds upon hundreds of employees plus supes is anyone’s guess. EAPs counseled ten employees, and one supe, max - Homelander, on the other hand, was a particular case. It didn’t take an empath to know how intense he could be. He didn’t have a regular EAP like the others. Instead, he was tossed between the department in a roster.

Now, it’s at this point, one might wonder, how do you get Homelander to attend a counseling session? You don’t. He comes as he pleases. You’d be lucky to get him to stay the whole hour; even then, you’d be lucky not to be stuck with him for more than an hour. The roster ran through names randomly, once it went through all the names, it would start afresh, shuffling the order, and one day, it chose you. The designated office was further away from the others, more spacious, and with a color scheme meant to invoke calm. You had arrived first and took your time to reread the notes handed to you.

Vought preferred not to diagnose their champion, so most of it was circumstantial at best, but it was helpful. Homelander arrived halfway through the designated one-hour session, rushing in with a sour look on his face; he grumbled to himself, pacing the length of the room as you watched, you paid him half attention until he turned to you, “Can you believe that?!”

You turn to him, “Believe what?” you shift on the couch when he glances down at you.

“Were you not listening to anything I was saying?”

“Well, I wasn’t sure if you were speaking to me specifically,” you respond, shrugging, “you seemed lost in your own world, and I wasn’t sure whether to intervene.” He seems taken aback by your words, offended, even that you didn’t center yourself around him the moment he entered the room. You hold your hands up, “Sorry, why don’t you start over.”

“As I was saying….” he goes off on a tirade about the Seven, Vought, and just about everything else that seemed to strike his ire this past week. “....they’re ungrateful little bastards, all of them, just because I punched a hole through some criminal, I’ve got anger issues.” He emphasizes the last part with quotation marks,

You look to the side and raise your eyebrows, “Well, I’m inclined to agree.”

“Who asked you?!”

“I’m your EAP,” you tell him. “Ok, how about we start simple? You said you the Deep surpassed you as this month’s number one hero; how did that make you feel?”

“Weren’t you paying attention? I’m pissed!”

“Why?”

“Because I’m number one, me!” He says, pointing to himself.

“According to who?” you ask, scribbling down your notes.

“Everyone! That’s why Vought made me, to be number one, not some fish man,” he throws his hands around as he speaks. His eyes take on a tint of red, and you have to clench your fist to ground yourself in the sea of rage. It takes a few tries before you dissipate it, and he becomes visibly calm. He slumps back into his seat and relaxes, “You’re a lot better at this than the others,” he remarks, slightly dazed at the euphoria of overwhelming calm.

“Thanks, I guess,” you respond, slumping back, most of your energy spent. It takes you a few tries before you can stand, and Homelander’s practically dozing off on his seat; when he doesn’t wake after the first few shakes, you leave him there and clock out for the rest of the day.

You don’t expect it to amount to anything else, but then your name gets drawn out again. And again. And again. And again. “It’s just until we get more empaths,” Ashley tells you, “Besides, you’re just so good with him. Out of everyone else in your department, you’re the only one he hasn’t threatened with bodily harm.”

The conversation happened weeks ago, but you reflect on it every now and then. You’re not sure what to think on the ‘you’re so good with him’ part until Homelander slides onto the couch beside you, head on your lap as if it were nothing. “What are you doing?”

He doesn’t answer, just lies there; your arms hover above his head, uncertain; none of the notes mention this in any capacity. Homelander moves his head back to glance up at you; he takes one of your hands and places it in his hair; he moves your hand until you catch on, and once you do, he hums happily - contact makes the distribution of emotion a lot more powerful, and the calm you often throw at him increases tenfold this way. He curls like a cat; when you graze near his ears, “You are all kinds of strange,” you comment.

But he’s already lost in the bliss, his head swimming as everything else gets drowned out, and like a cat, he’s remiss to let you stand when you must. That’s how Ashley finds you; she runs in, frantic, then her mood shifts when she spots Homelander asleep on your lap. She doesn’t mention it, not to you, but she must have said something to someone; your schedule clears up completely, and it’s all just Homelander. “Think of it as a promotion.” You’re told, and in a way, it is.

You bring it up the week before your paid time off; Homelander goes rigid in your lap, sitting up quickly, “What do you mean time off?”

“You know, contrary to your belief, my existence doesn’t revolve around you,” you say, “I get time off from work too, just like everyone else; it’s only two weeks.”

He doesn’t like that, not in the slightest. His face does the little scrunch up, you lean forward and run your hand through his hair, but he doesn’t melt as usual. He grabs your hand, “You can’t leave,” he states.

“I’m not leaving; I’m going on leave,” you repeat. “I’ll be back in no time, I promise.”

His eyes squint, and you sigh, pursing your lips; judging by the look on his face, you might not be able to leave so easily. Whatever plans you may have, are interrupted when he leans all his weight on you, you fall back against the couch, his arms wind around you, and you find yourself trapped between him and the sofa. A childish move, considering his strength and weight, you won’t be able to leave, “I’d laugh if this weren’t bloody annoying.”

He mumbles something incoherent, “Homelander.” He ignores you, determined to keep you there, “Homelander.” No indication aside from more mumbling, you huff, “John.” He looks up then, visibly smug with himself. “Finding this fun?”

“I’m not letting you go.”

“You’ll have other EAPs around until I get back.”

With some effort, you wriggle your hands from beneath him, taking his face into your hands, “How about a deal? You play nice, and…and I’ll…” you’re not sure what to offer, but judging by his attachment to you, he craves the attention and touch, “...I’ll let you hold me like this from now on, at every session, starting now.” That seems to do the trick, and his eyebrows shoot up in surprise, his grip loosens, “Good boy.” There’s an air of delight from him when you say that; you file that away for later and just celebrate that you’ve managed to convince him.

Playing nice doesn't last very long. The supe throws a tantrum on day three of your leave and sneaks his way into your apartment, at least you assume so, since you wake up with John literally snuggled in your bed. It takes a moment for you to realize the shape beside you is him; he’s got his face smooshed into your chest. His cape lies slung over your desk chair, and his gloves and boots are over by the window he snuck in through. Like the session, he doesn’t let go, and you’re left waiting until he wakes up, “John, what are you doing here?”

He shrugs, “That’s not an answer,” you state, but he does it again. You guess he no doubt threatened the information of your whereabouts from someone. “You could’ve waited until I got back; you’d have been fine. The other EAPs —”

“I don’t want them,” he whines, “I want you.”

“John —”

“Please.” It’s a desperate plead, not just in his voice or his expression, but in his emotion; it surrounds you, clinging to you. When you begrudgingly agree, it’s almost immediately replaced by glee.

Playing host to a supe with zero social skills and what you suspect might be quickly becoming an unhealthy attachment to you is surreal, to say the least. John practically latches close to you; whatever little boundaries you had before practically vanish as he takes to holding you and situating you on his lap when he can. “By the way,” you comment, “I’m proud that you didn’t kill anyone yesterday.”

You’re standing by the kitchen island, stirring your coffee, as John holds you; his gloveless hands under your shirt - it had taken some convincing, but you’d managed to get him out of the tacky garb that is his costume, granted sweatpants, and a shirt wasn’t much to celebrate. Still, it was better than his everyday wear. “You are?”

“Yes, John, I am,” you affirm, and the surprise from him is washed over as satisfaction rolls off him in waves. His habit of killing people that got his nerves has died down significantly; giving him praise seems to do the trick, and he chases after it at every chance. “Such a good hero, aren’t you?” You feel him nod against your skin; you reach behind you and pet his hair; you spend most mornings like this; he basks in the praise you give him.

“Your hero?”

You chuckle, “Yes, my hero.” Adoration is what he exudes a lot now, directed at you, muddled in with desire; it’s grown exponentially, it bleeds through each time he holds you, hands almost wandering further, and once or twice, he slips and pecks your skin. But it’s quick, faint, testing the waters. He’s doing it now; his thumbs rub circles on your lower stomach, and his hand travels further down, then back up when he realizes you’ve noticed. You turn your head, and he glances at you from the corner of his eye. You peck the side of his face, a reward for good behavior, you tell him, and he preens.

There are better places for a sexual encounter; unfortunately, for today, your kitchen will have to do. You push the cup away as John leans into your space; when you kiss him on the mouth, there’s a flood of emotion; absolute joy rains down on you as everything else fuzzes out. His hands hold you as close as he can, as yours card through his hair, you push your own want out, and he shudders when it hits him. “You’ve been such a good boy, haven’t you?” you whisper in his ear, “you deserve a reward, don’t you?”

The uncomfortableness of the kitchen floor doesn't register in your mind; the fuzziness increases as John thrusts into you; you’re senses are blanketed by his near feverish lust. More praise falls from your mouth, and he soaks it up, rutting into you faster; when he comes, he clings even tighter to you, lying against your chest. “Keep up the act, and you might get a lot more rewards.”

End Note:

Am I making it that Vought has mandated therapy? Yes, I mean if you had to work there, you'd probably need one 💀 I may have taken a little of Hannibal's manipulative tendencies and applied them to reader, just a bit. Stay Hydrated

#homelander x male reader #homelander x reader #the boys imagine #homelander has a praise kink I said what I said #therapist reader

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whositmcwhatsit · 6 months

Text

Chapter 1?

Okay, so technically this is an introduction... taster... of the fic to come? I have been desperately trying to finish this for today, but didn't quite make it, so I'm posting this hoping it'll hold me accountable.

A fall/Halloweeny story Inspired by a brief stop Elvis and co made on their way to the World's Fair in 1962. @thatbanditqueen I apologise for messing with your era Elvis and the naughty, terrible things I plan to do with him later in the fic...

All the love to my coven of wicked sisters of the night @be-my-ally, @vintageshanny, @ellie-24, @from-memphis-with-love, @peskybedtime, @missmaywemeetagain, @lookingforrainbows

“You have got to be kidding me! What is your problem?!” Cheryl slammed on the brakes as the station wagon in front of her was forced to drop below ten miles an hour because of the Dodge motorhome in front of it. It was the third time it had happened in the past ten minutes and, just like before, both vehicles abruptly started speeding up again soon afterwards. “I’m going to pass ‘em and there’ll be a monkey at the wheel. It's the only explanation!”

The height and size of the motorhome meant that Cheryl couldn’t get a clear look of the road ahead and this had stopped her from trying to go around before, but with time ticking on and so many miles ahead of her, she decided to take a chance. She pulled out into the oncoming lane and stamped her foot on the gas.

It was all going so well, she passed the station wagon and was coming up alongside the motorhome. She had been expecting to see some silver haired, doddery grandpa at the wheel; that would have been the most reasonable explanation for the erratic driving. Instead, with a dark captain’s hat over his dyed black hair, she found Elvis Presley eyeing her curiously as she floored it to try and get ahead of him. And that was when the truck pulled out of a hidden junction from within the tall trees ahead.

Cheryl had ten seconds to choose her fate: splattered face first into the broadside of a pick up or swerve into the ditch at the side of the road and take her chances. Ditch it was. There was a deafening chorus of blaring horns followed by a finale of grinding, crunching metal. The ditch was wider than it looked and the front end of her car dipped before smashing face first into the earth bank and turning sideways.

Ears ringing, Cheryl was glad later that she didn’t have to explain or justify her vanity as she checked her face for injury first. She worked her way down after that and was just discovering that she had managed to survive with only a cut across her knuckle where her flailing hand had caught a knob on the dashboard, when the door was opened above her and, appearing unexpectedly for the second time that day, Elvis Presley peered in.

“I think so?” she called back, wriggling her toes and, she could only blame it on shock, hissing in annoyance at the ladder in her stockings.

“Miss? Miss, are you okay?”

“Good, good,” he murmured, seemingly in relief. “Honey, can you reach my hand? Let’s get you outta there.” More faces appeared around the doorway and Cheryl did not have the time or inclination to worry about the hands gripping her body and pulling her up through the gap and into the damp autumn air.

“Christ, you should be dead!” one of the other men marveled, standing on the near bank of the ditch. Cheryl stared blankly at the dented and torn hood and the shattered windshield of her car, before reality penetrated the high-pitched whistling that filled her brain.

“No, no, no, this can’t be happening!” She wrapped her hands over the top of her head. “I can’t… I need… What am I going to do?! I’ve got a show tomorrow a couple hundred miles from here!”

“You some kind of singer or something?” asked another of the men, his voice more twang than words.

“Or something. I’m- I’m a clairvoyant.”

“Clairvoyant? And you didn’t see this coming?” scoffed a short, round balding man, eagerly looking for approval from his boss.

“I’m a spiritualist, not a fortune teller,” she snapped. “I see spirits of loved ones watching over us, I don’t get tips on horse races and car crashes.”

The captain’s hat slipped slightly askew with the speed at which Elvis turned from the crumpled hood to her. His gaze was deep and it felt like he too was seeing more of her than just her earthly form. Her face heated despite the cold, damp air and the chilling effects of shock.

“We’ll make sure you make your show,” he said, letting his hands drop from just below his hips to help with his balance as he climbed up the side of the ditch. His gait was a little awkward and Cheryl wondered if it had something to do with the tightness of his tailored pants or the height of the heels on his eye-catching shiny shoes, before she focused back on her mess of a car and wanted to cry again.

A crow fluttered down and settled on the roof of her car, cawing judgmentally at her. She scowled at it, but it just impassively ruffled its tail feathers and shouted at her a little louder. She rolled her eyes and turned from it, surveying the little huddle that had formed around Elvis on the bank of the ditch. She noticed now that all the guys around him were wearing black coveralls like they were his own personal squad of mechanics. They each had a fancy ‘EP’ printed on the breast pocket.

“... I mean we’re on a tight schedule, shooting starts in two days and the Colonel-”

“And if we happen to break down on the road and end up a day or two late, ain’t no helpin’ that, you know.” He winked at Cheryl, smiling so much like a mischievous little boy that she found herself mirroring him, her smile only fading when she glanced back at her car.

“Ain’t gonna know what I don’t want him to know,” Elvis interjected, not bothering to hush his voice the way his lackeys were, which Cheryl appreciated from an eavesdropping perspective. “Man, we’ll make it for shooting, don’t worry about it.” He slapped the shorter man on the shoulder, adding over his shoulder:

As she stood watching a couple of Elvis’ guys scramble down into the ditch to retrieve her belongings, the man himself came to her side with his arms folded, looking down his nose like he was supervising.

“What’s your name, honey?”

“Why are you all the way up here?” she asked. “Taking a vacation from all that sunshine and dry air?”

“Cheryl,” she sighed, turning and giving him a rueful smile. “And you’re Elvis.” He stared at her a beat too long and she realized he was trying to get a handle on her, figure out if she was a fraud. “It’s not like I live in a coffin. I know who you are.” He ducked his head as he laughed a little and shrugged. He was very sparkly, she noted, sparkly white teeth, sparkly, twinkly eyes. Yes, she may have hit her head a little in the crash.

“We’re heading up to film on location,” he explained, sticking his hands into his pockets. “At the World’s Fair.”

“Oh. Still, I bet you’d rather be warm in California right now, huh?”

“I wouldn’t say that, honey. Wouldn’t have got to meet a pretty little thing like you now, would I?” His left eyebrow twitched up playfully and there was a hint of a smirk on his lips as he turned away towards the motorhome.

Ignoring the way her stomach churned with excitement, Cheryl reflected that at least her car would have still been intact. She would have to call home as soon as she got to a phone, and get them to wire some cash for repairs. Her mother would be furious, as if it was her fault that Elvis Presley couldn’t drive and some idiot in a truck decided to commit a hit and run.

The air inside the motorhome was warm and kind of musky with so many men crammed in together. The guy who had been fretting about getting to location on time climbed in behind her, settling on her other side, Elvis was obviously behind the wheel to her left.

“We’ll just follow the highway until we hit a town,” Elvis said like he was thinking out loud. “Even a one-horse backwater place’ll have a fella with a tow truck. I know a little about cars and I’m betting your ride looks worse than it is.”

One of the guys in the back murmured something in a low voice that Cheryl didn’t catch, but she didn’t miss the sharp look that Elvis gave the rear view mirror.

“It’ll need to have a Western Union, I don’t have enough money on me to even cover a tow. Not until after my show anyway.”

“Well, honey, don’t worry about that,” he murmured, glancing over his shoulder as he pulled out from the side of the road. “I said I’d get you to your show, didn’t I.”

After a couple of minutes, she asked if a window could be opened as it was a bit stuffy and a skinny man behind her with a wispy mustache informed her that Elvis didn’t like the window open ‘on account of his hair’.

At the same time, Elvis instructed the man to shut up in Pig Latin. Cheryl recognised it because it was how she and her brothers had communicated in front of townies when they were growing up. She was impressed with Elvis’ fluency and the way the curse words flowed so nicely off his tongue.

Elvis rolled down his window as she sat pretending with wide-eyes not to have understood what he had said. There was no real need for the deception, but it was just in her nature and part of her upbringing to build up ammunition and jealously guard secrets and information like a secret agent. You never knew when it would come in handy.

“So, what does your show entail really?” he asked, glancing at her before turning back to the road. “You’re up there on the stage and you… do what exactly…?” He met her eyes briefly. “I ain’t making fun, I’m just curious, honey.”

“Well, it’s probably a lot less interesting than your shows,” she murmured, wiping at the beads of moisture sitting on the surface of her wool coat. “People come to me to make a connection or get reassurance or to find peace, and I try to help them. It’s a fluid thing, there’s no set script so to speak.”

“Oh, but you made plenty of connections at your shows, right, Boss?” chuckled one of the guys behind him.

“The road!” she reminded him nervously, reflexively hitting his thigh. He jerked slightly, tightening his grip on the wheel as he turned back to look through the windshield. Luckily, they were only going about twenty miles an hour at the time.

“Shut up, Charlie,” he murmured perfunctorily, still staring at her, eyes slightly narrowed.

Suddenly, a lot of things made sense to Cheryl.

Cheryl tried to not ask too many questions and distract him, but Elvis still told her about the movie he was making, talked about how security was going to be a pain in the ass because of all the visitors to the fair, but that he thought that it would make the movie look better than if everything was filmed on the lot with a backdrop. He said he always found that distracting when he was watching a movie, especially if the film in the background was repeated over and over. Cheryl did not doubt him since he seemed to get distracted extremely easily.

They had been traveling on the highway for about thirty minutes when a big logging rig headed their way on the other side of the road. Elvis enthusiastically gestured for the driver to sound the horn and Cheryl side-eyed him, but couldn’t help breaking into an indulgent laugh at the glee on his face when a booming honk filled the air.

“Hey, what you laughing at?” His entire face was radiant when he smiled. Cheryl almost felt like she needed sunglasses. “You know, I always dreamed of driving one of ‘em big muth- trucks when I was a little fella.”

“Oh well, at least you had this little sideline to fall back on when that dream didn’t work out.”

He laughed too late and with a touch of incredulity, like he couldn’t believe that she could be funny. “Yeah, it’s my, uh, consolation prize.” He couldn’t let that stand even as a joke and quickly included an addendum. “Naw, I’ve been very lucky, I got more than I ever dreamed.”

“You don’t want to tempt fate, huh,” Cheryl remarked.

“Just don’t wanna seem ungrateful, honey, ‘cause I’m not.”

She frowned at his earnest insistence, but smiled and nodded when he glanced from the windshield to look at her.

Finally, Elvis pulled the motorhome into the parking lot of the Cozy Pines motel, sounding slightly baffled as he mused that he’d never seen a cozy pine tree.

It certainly looked like a motel designed by someone who thought a pine tree was cozy. It was the usual two storey L-shape concrete structure with a leaf strewn concrete rectangle sunk into the middle of the parking lot with a little fence around it that looked like it might have been intended to be a pool.

“Welcome to the Bates Motel,” one of the guys in the back muttered, face pressed up against the window.

“It ain’t so bad,” Elvis remarked gently, seeing the dubious expression on Cheryl’s face. “Honey, you just gotta find yourself a car mechanic and have ‘em send me the bill. Won’t take long and you’ll be on your way.”

“Or else you’ll end up dumped in a swamp.”

Cheryl swallowed as she peered at the squat office building, its window dominated by a flashing neon sign that promised/threatened ‘vacancies’.

“Goddamn it, Marty, shut your damn trap!” Elvis snapped, ripping off one of his leather driving gloves and pitching it behind him at the guy who had spoken.

“I can’t ask you to do that,” Cheryl murmured, but only softly, because if he didn’t do that, she would slash his tyres to stop him leaving her.

“Okay, change of plan. Listen up, so here’s what we’re gonna do,” said Elvis, talking fast as he grabbed her hand and intertwined his fingers with hers. “Joe here’s gonna get his lazy ass into that office and get us some rooms. And then we’re gonna rustle you up a car and straighten everything out so that you’re on your way in a blink of an eye. Okay, honey?” He snapped his fingers at the dark haired man with wavy black hair on her right, who nodded, but rolled his eyes once he was out of Elvis’ eye line, climbing out of the truck.

It started to rain while Joe was in the manager’s office, and not just flecks but a massive biblical downpour. They all peered through the windshield at it, bemused by how suddenly the clouds had converged.

“Might be better off leaving the car and buying a boat,” Elvis remarked, leaning forward so that his shoulder pressed against hers. Cheryl looked at his lashes, marveling at how long and dark they were. Then she noticed the dark smudge underneath his lower lashes, recognising it as someone who frequently applied make-up and then absently rubbed her eyes. She was growing more and more intrigued by this man.

Joe scuttled across the parking lot with his hand held over his head like he thought this would shelter him from the rain.

“Okay, good news and bad news- Uh, it’s Sunday, so there is no chance of finding a mechanic willing to go out and look at the car until tomorrow. Good news, they have ten rooms available upstairs, and there’s a restaurant just behind the parking lot there that’ll deliver food to the rooms.”

“Well then, let’s get unloaded before we start to attract a crowd,” said the one Elvis had called Charlie.

Cheryl looked around the deserted parking lot dubiously, but scrambled out when Joe proffered his hand. She thought she glimpsed the silhouette of a couple of girls back behind the office building, but they were gone before she fully turned her head.

“You got room 220,” Joe informed Cheryl, barely looking at her as he deposited the key with the wooden room number keyring into her palm. His annoyance was evident, she could feel him almost vibrating with it, along with his anxiety that this stopover would derail their entire schedule.

Room 220 was at the very end of the concrete walkway, next to a room that Elvis and all his sidekicks disappeared into. All in all, Elvis seemed more normal than she would have expected, except for his need to be followed around by a line of identically dressed ducklings of various sizes and shapes.

The room was surprisingly clean-looking, but otherwise much like other places Cheryl had stayed while plying her trade up and down the coast. When she was younger her father used to insist that she stay in boarding houses, places with doilies and nosy old women that set a curfew and forbade all gentlemen callers. No doubt he would have still insisted on this, but he wasn’t in a position to insist on anything anymore. At least not in person.

Cheryl sidestepped quickly from the window as there was a clonk and a barrage of tapping against the glass. After a second, she cautiously hooked back the curtain with finger and frowned at the crow perched on the railing outside. It tilted its head almost condescendingly as she peered out. She huffed a sigh of annoyance and let the curtain fall back into the place.

“Hey, how come your room’s bigger ‘n’ mine?”

Cheryl whirled round and had to bite back from retorting: ‘How come you think you can just walk into my room?’ She forced herself to be more gracious to the man paying for her room and her car repairs. (Even if he was partially responsible for her needing them).

Elvis was standing in the threshold of what she had assumed was a closet opposite the bed. Apparently it was a connecting door between their rooms.

“I’m happy to switch rooms with you if you’d prefer. I don’t mind being cozy.” She stepped closer so she could peer over his shoulder at his room, but she saw no size difference. The only discrepancy seemed to be that she didn’t have half a dozen men turning down her bed, setting out her toiletries and bringing in creature comforts like a record player.

“As cozy as a pine tree. No, I’ll be a gentleman,” he said softly by her ear, his fingers sliding down from her ribs to the hips. His other hand snagged her fingers and lifted them up for inspection, frowning intently at the little nick on her knuckle.

As she opened her mouth to make a joke about how it was clearly the end of her promising career as a piano player, he pressed his soft, pillowy lips to her knuckles and what came out of her mouth was instead a slurred mumble of vowels. She held her breath, gazing up at his dark blue eyes and watching those long, black lashes flutter, before his pout spread into a sunny grin and whatever spell they had been under dissipated like mist.

“You hungry? I am starving!” he announced. He turned back to his room, “Hey, it’s chow time. Where’s Billy?”

After half an hour, there was a knock on Cheryl’s door and one of the guys stood on the covered walkway, his hands behind his back like he was about to ask Mr Bumble for more gruel.

“Y’all can come eat with us, Boss said,” he informed her. There was no question involved. She reminded herself that her room was being paid for and stretched her mouth into a smile.

“I guess the locals have heard about their special visitor,” she said, slipping her feet into her pumps. “All that screaming, I thought someone was being mur-” She stopped as she looked over the railing at the dreary, gray and empty parking lot. “I could have sworn I heard girls outside.”

“Oh, they’ll be here soon enough,” he sighed with inevitability. “They always are.”

To be continued...

If anyone is any good at yelling at people until they ignore their boring real life commitments and do the fun writing stuff, please feel free to shout at me in comments!

#elvis presley #elvis fanfic #hollywood elvis #elvis x oc #elvis fanfiction #whositmcwhatsit #I'm really just missing one crucial part in the middle that totally makes sense of the smut and horror to follow #How does one make sense of smutty horror?

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