#Courier Corey | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

slutforstabbings-archive · 2 years ago

Text

Clean Again

Chapter 2: REAL ADULTS read on AO3 make sure you check AO3 for this fic's playlist, all the references I make throughout, the drawings I did of Reader and Corey's apartments, the vehicles the characters drive and more!

Corey adjusts to life on the lam... kind of. We get introduced to Reader.

general warnings for this fic - angst, fluff, eventual smut (MDNI), canon-typical violence, canon-typical gore contents/warnings for this chapter- mega angst, violent assault (non-sexual), homelessness/squatting, unhealthy relationship and infidelity, wishing for death

7,901 words

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His first day in Georgia, Corey slept. He slept until the motel manager banged on the door to demand he pay for another night or get out. Then he hitched a ride further into town in a 1970’s Ford Courier with an old man whose accent he could barely decipher. He didn’t catch the man’s name but he wrote his number on a crumpled receipt he found in his pocket and told Corey to call if he ever needed some odd jobs to do.

When he got out of the truck Corey wandered. Trying his best not to look sketchy as he stumbled down residential sidewalks. When the neighborhood looked rundown, he went towards the shabbiest houses, if things started looking too well-maintained, he turned around, until finally he found the most condemned house on a street of condemned houses. It had been left to rot so long the boards over the windows flaked and sagged. Even with his limited strength he could pull the nails right through them, so he freed a window facing away from the street and let himself in.

The weakness and the brain fog lingered so long Corey thought he might not ever feel better. He sometimes followed the physical therapy exercises recommended in the papers Nancy had given him, stretching and flexing in the moonlight streaming through the collapsed part of the roof. He wasn’t convinced it did much, and just accepted that he would always have a stiff neck and a loose left fist, that he would never raise his left arm over his head again, that he would forever sound like he had a frog in his throat.

He shoplifted travel size bottles of lotion to rub into his scars. He couldn’t give two shits about how they settled, except that they were one more identifying feature, bright pink and broadcasting his past to anyone who looked in his direction. His hair grew long and hung limp and greasy on either side of his face. Momma had always refused to let him grow his hair, and he enjoyed rebelling against her like that, even now that she was worm food. He tried to grow a beard to hide the scar on his throat more, but he found it too uncomfortable. Sometimes when he’d pocket lotion, he’d grab razors too, and shave his face by touch. He didn’t see his reflection often, but when he did the person there was unfamiliar. Not a hapless dork, not the town pariah, not a dangerous man on the edge. Just a homeless guy, gaunt and haggard.

He did what he could to find or earn money. Sometimes he called the number on the greasy receipt he’d kept, asking a stranger who walked by texting if he could borrow their phone. The old man, whose name he learned is Phil, would give Corey grubby wads of cash for holding his chickens still while he clipped their wings, or helping his wife Joanna in her garden. Sometimes when the work was finished, they’d let him use their shower. Then they would send him off with a container full of some unfamiliar food. Collard greens with little cubes of ham floating in broth, peanuts that had been boiled instead of roasted, all kinds of animal organs he didn’t know people actually ate. They asked him questions about himself but he didn’t speak to them much. He knew they were the only people in Georgia guaranteed to recognize his face. Giving them any information at all seemed like too big of a risk.

Sometimes he panhandled, but he tried to avoid it because it made interacting with cops far too likely. Other times he found money in places he knew people lost their wallets often, bus stops, bathrooms, alleys behind bars. He always dropped the wallets into mailboxes after stripping them of cash and gift cards. He read somewhere once that doing so meant it would be mailed to the address on the ID inside. He kept his savings in rinsed out containers from the old couple, tucked under a loose floorboard in his squat.

Corey often felt his life had scarcely changed at all. He was a nobody, friendless and marginalized. Strangers glared at him, or else averted their eyes, crossed the street to avoid him, and whispered behind his back. Just as they had done in Haddonfield. Constantly on trial for a new crime: being homeless. Climbing through the busted window of the rotted house where he sleeps just an endless iteration of breaking into the abandoned Allen house.

It suffocated him, making him so angry he couldn’t see. Rage rising in him and spilling out no matter how hard he tried to remember how he used to bottle it up. He had lost everything! Fucking again! He had sunk to the lowest depths of humanity to try to get free. And now he was fucking subterranean. Reduced to a rabid animal. And responsible for the destruction of the only good he’d ever had proximity to. Too stupid to hold onto his one shot at happiness. All that effort to get out, but he could never get out. His isolation only worsened despite any efforts he made.

He cried. He seethed. He released his full wrath on the building he inhabited, using any blunt object he could find to knock the walls full of holes, tearing at floorboards and door frames with his bare hands, hurting his bad shoulder and expending so much energy he'd sleep all through the next day. Other nights he’d scream until his mouth filled with blood, until nothing but a wet rattle could be heard. Each time moving his scratchy, damaged voice just a little further from how he used to sound.

If anyone challenged him they came to regret it deeply. Occasionally on his wallet hunts, a drunk asshole pissing against the wall would decide he was tough. Corey had broken men’s ribs, felt the crunch and sick squish underfoot as he stomped some prick’s hand into ground beef. He generated enough broken teeth to put a dentist’s least impressive son through all four years in an Ivy League program. Magnanimous "donation" included.

When the rage threatened to overtake him he would call out to Allyson in his mind. Corey had never been a religious man. He knew that wherever Allyson had gone was black, and cold, and empty. But he would cast her as a guardian angel when he needed her. Picturing her love for him as a shield, keeping the feelings that had driven him to kill people outside of him so they couldn’t reinfect him, the spell she showed him on a divine level. Or else keeping his evil inside, smothering it and compressing it so it couldn’t leak out and hurt others. Allyson, in death, did for him what she couldn’t do in life. She hooked her finger in his collar and held him back from the brink. Though he left people battered and bruised, Corey didn’t kill anyone else.

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You wake from an uneasy sleep with an unsettled feeling in your stomach. Keeping your eyes closed, you pat around on the bed next to you. Your search turns up nothing. You open your eyes.

You know that if the bed is empty, the whole house will be. But you lay still and listen anyway, hoping to hear a footfall, the sound of water running, any bump or clatter or rustle that would indicate that you’re not by yourself. No sounds come. For the third time in as many weeks, the only living thing in the building is you. God fucking damnit.

You lay on your back and tears of rage roll down the sides of your face to pool in your ears. When you’d first moved in with Orin there had been a couple of times he hadn’t come home all night. It was weird, but he’d told you he was just getting used to having a reason to come home now. That before you moved in, he stayed with his buddies all night a lot because there was no reason to come home. He wanted to come home to you, but it was hard to tell the boys he had to leave when he was so used to staying out. You could understand that, you were adjusting to living with a partner too. But that had been before.

Before he stopped pretending to be charming and kind. Before he started complaining about how boring and annoying you are every time you open your mouth. Before he quit bothering to roll over and kiss you goodnight before he fell asleep. Two weeks ago when you’d woken alone for the first time in years, you had been suspicious but tried to let it go. The second time was a wake up call. The third time is a death sentence.

You feel like you could explode out of your skin. What the fuck!? What the fuck what the fuck what the fuck whatthefuck??? You’re not sure if you’re more angry at him, or at yourself. You’ve been considering leaving for months, but haven’t worked up the nerve, and now this feels like his way of telling you you took too long. This is him saying why aren’t you gone yet? You desperately need to talk to someone, but it’s 7 am. Everyone you can think of talking to is asleep or already at work. You roll over onto your stomach so your face is in his pillow, ice cold from spending the night unused, and you scream until you run out of air.

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It has been four months of living like a rat. Corey slips into the unboarded window of his condemned hovel. He’s had a good morning, making $50 for helping Phil candle chicken eggs, and being sent away with an old Cool Whip tub stuffed with cornbread. He goes to the loose floorboard and pries it up, removing similar tubs, brimming with the cash he’s been hoarding. Stuffing a piece of cornbread into his mouth, he counts.

His plan took time to form. The grief, and the rage, and the effort his body spent healing all formed a heavy cloud over the future. And he still hoped he might die. That it would get cold enough overnight to freeze him in his sleep, or hot enough to boil his blood in a heat stroke, his body lying in the condemned house for weeks or months, decomposing in secret. That an alleyway opponent would produce a knife and, eyes darkening like storm clouds, deliver the karma Corey so desperately deserved. But things were improving, against all odds. So he decided he might as well live a little bit more of a life. He started by getting a phone.

A phone meant not having to borrow one to call the old couple for jobs. And a phone meant access to the internet. With the internet he could really get things done. Like trawling Craigslist for apartments owned by slumlords who wouldn’t bother running a credit or background check as long as he paid them, in cash, on time. Like finding a motorcycle with less than 1000 miles on it, being sold for far less than half its value by a man desperate not to let his wife know he bought it in the first place. Like buying an expertly crafted fake Georgia Driver’s License with a new last name.

The license arrived last week and he was finally able to get his hands on it today when he went to help the old couple. He’d asked them if he could get mail at their address and they’d happily obliged. He’d taken the photo himself, posing for a selfie in the craft aisle of the grocery store, a piece of blue poster board propped up behind him. He decided to keep Corey as his first name. It was common enough not to raise suspicion, ranked 110th his birth year, something he had checked. And going by the same first name seemed safer in social situations. He could never slip up and accidentally introduce himself as his old name if he didn’t have an old name. He picked Wallace as his middle name, after his father. A last name was harder. He considered Myers as a sick joke, and Allyson’s last name, Nelson, an even sicker one. In the end, he settled for another C name, because he’d always liked his double initial. If anyone asks, his name is Corey Carpenter.

The newly christened Mr. Carpenter stacks bills by their denomination and makes sure they all face the same direction. He desperately hopes he can get the apartment and the bike today, but that’s a pretty penny. It just doesn’t seem possible he could have enough, but he’s not sure, he’s never actually counted all of it. He’s just been grabbing the amounts he needed, a couple hundred for the phone, a couple hundred for the ID. Corey knows he needs to prioritize a living space that isn’t so full of mold it practically writhes, and that if he gets a bike first, it will be a bitch to store it so it doesn’t give his squatting away. But this one he’s found is once in a lifetime. The owner wants it gone today, and it’s a Kawasaki, the same make as the motorcycle he left behind in Haddonfield.

Cornbread crumbs rain down as Corey stacks and folds a wad of bills. With everything counted but the ones, he’s just a few hundred shy. He holds his breath as he passes the bills from hand to hand. Please be enough, please be enough, he chants to the strips of paper. He's $50 short. Corey feels cold rage spread through him, hand clenching around the wad of money so hard his knuckles look bright white. Then he gets it under control. It’s only $50. He can find that somewhere on the way, or intimidate the seller into coming down a little if he has to.

He doesn’t have to. The idiot didn’t even count the wad of cash being handed to him by this scruffy stranger who won’t make eye contact. Corey wishes he’d ripped him off more, since he hates having to spend everything he’s collected in one day. But the seller’s hurry grants Corey another gift. In his haste he doesn’t remove the license plate, giving Corey a reprieve from having to steal one or get a good fake made.

The way it feels to finally swing his leg over the seat of a motorcycle again, to lean down over the handlebars as he speeds away, to see the lines on the road as nothing more than smears, it’s the best he’s felt in months, better than he ever thought he'd feel again. He hadn’t had his bike in Haddonfield all that long, but it had become a part of him. Riding now feels like regrowing an amputated limb. He spends so long darting around town just soaking up the roar of the engine that he’s almost late meeting the landlord.

He screeches to a stop outside the apartment. It’s a studio above a garage. 300 square feet upstairs, 300 downstairs. The cheapest thing Corey’s seen, but still a rip off to be sure. The whole structure sags and looks sad, slumped on the back corner of the yard of another house the landlord owns. The beige siding is mossy in places the water drips off the roof and bounces back up to splash the wall when it rains. The window facing the street is webbed with cracks around what can only be a bullet hole. It’s not a very big step up from the place Corey’s been squatting, but as the landlord takes him upstairs he explains he keeps the utilities in his name, and Corey will owe the light and water bill in cash to him on top of the rent every month. Fantastic news because he’s been dreading the utility companies asking too many personal questions. The landlord asks him none. Instead, he spews bullshit about what a good deal the apartment is compared to everything else in the city.

“Can I uh - Can I move in today?” Corey asks, interrupting the landlord’s attempts to spin the apartment.

“If you’ve got the cash on you,” the landlord replies, skeptical.

“I do,” Corey says, pulling a fistful of bills from his pocket. The landlord eyeballs him with suspicion. He was not expecting such an easy target this afternoon. He pulls first a counterfeit detection pen, then the keys from his shirt pocket. He sets both on the counter of the kitchenette where Corey can see them. Then he takes the money from Corey’s hand.

“First and last month?”

“Yes, sir,” Corey replies. The landlord counts the money three times and marks every bill with his pen twice. The guy who sold Corey the motorcycle could learn a thing or two from him. When he’s confident the whole amount is there, he holds out his hand to Corey. Corey grips it firmly and does exactly one shake, up then down. The landlord pats the keys on the counter, satisfied.

“It’s the 12th, so next month’ll be prorated. Don’t put no holes in the walls,” he says as he goes. Then he closes the door behind him, leaving Corey in the empty studio.

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You compose and recompose your DM to Veronica Hand, a girl from your high school graduating class. You’d known her since sixth grade, and your friendship had waxed and waned. When you had class together you’d get close, when your schedules separated you, you’d more or less forget about each other. Since graduation you’ve had the type of zombie friendship only possible via occasional Instagram story replies. You haven’t seen her in person since your last Thanksgiving with your parents before they moved to Florida to be retired. It feels weird to reach out to her like this, but you don’t know what else to do.

That went way better than you expected. You didn’t think her response would be quite so welcoming. Your friendliest moments feel like ancient history, but she seems genuinely excited to have you back in town.

You’ve started packing but you haven’t said anything to Orin yet. Not that he’s been around much to say anything to.

You stayed home on the third morning you woke up alone. When Orin finally came in, you’d been sitting on the couch in silence. Waiting. He walked through the door with a big grin on his face. When was the last time you’d seen him smile like that? Had you ever?

“Jesus fucking Christ!” He exclaimed in surprise when he noticed you. “Weren’t you supposed to go to work today?”

“Called in sick,” you said flatly. He didn’t reply or ask how you were feeling. He just turned down the hallway toward the bathroom, the smile thoroughly wiped from his face. “Hey, wait! Where were you last night?”

You didn’t know what you wanted to gain from asking. He could tell the truth, but if the truth was innocent, you didn’t know if you’d believe it. He could lie, but you would know it was a lie. A question with no right answer. Really, you just wanted him to do something. To react. For months and months he’d ignored you more often than not, barely responding to you no matter how hard you worked to gain back his affection. At least an elaborate lie would be a reaction. You could pretend to believe him, as long as he put in a performance that gave even the tiniest indication that he wanted to be with you.

“Out,” he said in an annoyed tone as he disappeared down the hallway to the bathroom.

You knew without a shred of doubt then. And he knew you knew.

Three years down the toilet. Three years when your friends were having fun, hooking up, going out. Three years where they were finding themselves and making connections. While you’d been at home, whittling yourself down into a shape you thought would keep Orin’s interest, pretending to be far cooler than you were so he wouldn’t get bored of you. Three years in service of a man who couldn’t even be bothered to look in your direction as everything crumbled around you.

That had been more than a month ago. You’d barely seen him since then. With the cat out of the bag, there was no reason for him to act like he wanted to be at home with you. One day you came into the kitchen to find his portion of the rent on the counter, a balled up pile of cash for you to deposit in your account before you paid online. At least he wasn’t kicking you out. Yet. You had no desire to sit around and wait for him to. You looked at places online but everything was out of your budget. And you didn’t really want to stay anyway. First your failed stint at Georgia State, now this. The city of Atlanta is your own personal Hell. Huge and yet somehow cramped, teaming with reminders of all your failures.

The idea of moving back to your hometown came to you one evening last week. You were standing at the kitchen counter trying to force yourself to eat something despite the mess your stomach had been in from the stress. It wasn’t exactly conducive to eating to be dwelling on the thing that was upsetting you so much, but as you pushed your food around with your fork you found it impossible to think of anything else. Going over everything with a fine tooth comb. How you’d met, how you’d wound up moving in together, what he’d seen in you and what you’d ever seen in him. Trying to understand how you’d wound up so small and insecure that you’d been dragging the corpse of this relationship for the better part of a year, desperate for a miracle to bring it back to life. How now, even though the body was in the ground, you slept on top of the grave. Why hadn’t you fucking left yet?

You wished you could go back to high school graduation and start again, have a second shot at the beginning of your adulthood, do everything differently. Tell your parents to fuck off about college. Take a gap year or three. Travel, or move somewhere it’s crazy to move, New York or Chicago or LA. Be a slut and refuse to let anyone make you feel bad about it.

You couldn’t do any of that, but you could go back to your hometown, and do a soft reset of sorts. You knew it had changed since you left, places you’d haunted all your life now demolished. Shiny new buildings sticking out like sore thumbs with their incongruous architecture, built by people who didn’t give a shit about the history of the surrounding area. The population swollen huge, full of strangers, while everyone who’d been close to you had gone away, except Veronica. But it was the fire you had been forged in. As long as one ember of your memory continued to smolder, it would be home. And you desperately needed to feel at home in some way, to try to find home in yourself again.

Veronica is exceedingly helpful. You can’t believe the kindness she extends in those first few weeks. She goes to see apartments in person on your behalf, reporting back about any unlivable details of the places in the links you send her. She finds the apartment you wind up renting, not online, but by noticing a FOR RENT sign stuck in the grass at the end of the street.

She shows it to you in a video call. It’s an old building with an impressive number of original details intact. The floors are hardwood, stain oxidized so dark brown they’re almost black. The living and dining rooms have built-ins and all the doors are surrounded with heavy matching trim, little floral medallions carved into the corners. The kitchen and bathroom are time capsules too, renovated in the 70’s and the 90’s respectively, then never touched again. The anachronism charms you, and while not everything is in the best shape, it seems like it’s been subjected to remarkably few landlord specials.

You finish packing. There’s not much you’re bringing with you, all the furniture and all the shit in the kitchen is Orin’s. You text him that you want to talk to him. He doesn’t reply. You hang out around the house, hoping to catch him in a rare moment home, but out the window you see his car roll slowly by, not stopping because your car is in the driveway. You weigh the idea of leaving without saying anything to him at all. It seems cruel. But then again, you’ve seen proof he’s been in the apartment when you’ve been gone. Things moved around, his hamper filling up and overflowing since you’ve stopped doing his laundry. The rent on the counter that day. Surely he’s noticed your things disappearing from parts of the house, the boxes and suitcases in the corners. He’s an inattentive asshole, but he isn’t stupid.

After mulling it over for a day or two, you put everything in your car. There’s so little it all fits neatly in the trunk and backseat. The only thing you leave behind is the login information for the rental company’s payment portal, scribbled on a scrap piece of paper, stuck to the fridge with a beer cap magnet.

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Corey is astounded at the difference having power and water makes to his health, mental and physical. The apartment is a dump to be sure. He wonders how it isn’t condemned like the squat he occupied. But it’s warm inside when it’s cold outside, and cool inside when it’s hot outside, more or less. He can shower, he can shave in a mirror with a light instead of dragging his hands along his cheeks and hoping he didn’t miss a spot.

He finds a mattress and box spring on the curb down the road a week or so after he moves in, abandoned by a graduating frat boy. The mattress is covered in mystery stains, reeks of marijuana for days, and is extremely difficult to get up the stairs by himself. It gives Corey fleas that he has to set off a bomb for. Even so, it’s a vast improvement over the hard linoleum floor. He’s always struggled with insomnia, and he still doesn’t sleep much, but the amount of sleep he does get doubles right away.

He buys two plates, two cups, two forks, two spoons, two knives. He can eat two meals a day and do dishes once. Momma didn’t teach him much about cooking, but it’s no big loss since her food was disgusting anyway. He’s competent enough to follow the directions on the back of a boxed meal, stirring in canned chicken for protein. Sometimes he scrambles an egg from his warm, stale fridge, the only thing he retained from Home Ec in middle school.

He notices his mobility increasing. It’s crumpled, stained, soft and fraying like fabric, but he still has the paper Nancy gave him with the exercises on it. He commits to following them. Corey’s shoulder is still stiff and uncomfortable, he always knows when it’s going to rain — something he’d thought was made up — but he can finally lift his arm over his head. Most days. Something he thought he would never do again. The clothes from the hospital lost and found actually fit now, after so long being huge on him. He doesn’t have to worry about his ring sliding off his pinky anymore. The man he sees when he looks at himself is almost someone he recognizes. The cheeks are almost his cheeks, no longer so gaunt and hollow. The forehead is almost his forehead, just with some unfamiliar creases. He lets Joanna give him a haircut, massaging his scalp with her tree root fingers, and that makes him feel more like himself too.

With an address, an ID, and a reliable place to shower, he can look for a job. He wants something sketchy, something where they won’t do a background check, they won’t verify his resume, and they won’t make him fill out any tax paperwork. The first thing he finds is maintenance at a decrepit and festering apartment complex, so run down that the job seems moot. Being on call sucks, and he has to interact with residents more than he thought he would. He gets a call to examine a tenant’s leaky ceiling. When he comes to the apartment, the woman who lives there is listening to a true crime podcast. The hosts giggle and shriek as they describe a serial killer’s collection of trophies from his victims. It’s the last straw. He leaves her apartment, gets on his motorcycle, and rides away. When he doesn’t show up for work the next week, the complex manager only tries to call him once.

For a while Corey wanted to avoid jobs at auto shops, fearing the memories of the last time he drove a tow truck, the last time he used a cutting torch. But he misses the intellectual challenge of figuring out what’s wrong with such a complex machine, and the prevalence of small businesses in the industry appeals to his need for privacy. He washes dishes at a restaurant, he works at a plant nursery. When those don’t work out, he caves and starts looking for HELP WANTED signs in the windows of the mechanic shops he rides past. It doesn’t take long for him to find somewhere that will hire him without any paperwork bullshit. They have a girl who works the front desk, the owner’s daughter, so he almost never has to interact with customers. He keeps his eyes on the ground when he hands her the printouts of what was done to each vehicle. She says nothing to him except thank you.

He lives simply enough that his salary from the auto shop mostly piles up, stuffed into Country Crock containers in his freezer. Corey continues to do jobs for the elderly couple here and there, now refusing to let them pay him, but still accepting food. He starts buying busted small appliances and repairing them, but he doesn’t have the space to keep most of his projects, and selling them fills the dent in his hoard right back in. He vaguely wishes he could open a bank account, but it’s way too risky to even entertain. He tries not to ever use his fake ID if he can avoid it. He picks smoking back up, a habit he’d had in his old life, but he makes sure only to buy cigarettes from places he knows won’t card him.

He makes one notable exception. It’s a government entity, but only in the most local way possible, so although it makes him nervous, he convinces himself it’ll be okay. He gets a library card.

One day on his way to work, he sees a cop flashing her lights at him in his mirrors. He considers fleeing. If he did, maybe she would bump his motorcycle with her car, maybe bump it a little too hard and send him flying off and scraping down the road. Or maybe she would pull her gun out and shoot at him through her open window. Death hasn’t lost its appeal for him, and what a way to go that would be. A nice little ending for the Netflix documentary. But if he runs and she catches him without killing him, that would be the worst thing that could happen. So, gritting his teeth, he pulls to the side of the road and turns the bike off.

“Good morning, sir.” The cop says as she walks up to him, thumbs hooked in her belt loops. “Did we leave our helmet at home?”

Corey’s not sure how to respond, so he doesn’t.

“Georgia law requires all motorcycle drivers and passengers to wear a helmet, and have some kind of eye protection. Since your bike here doesn’t have a windshield, that would mean goggles or a helmet with a visor. But I’m sure you knew that. Maybe you just forgot?”

“Oh, uh, yeah. I was just in a hurry this morning. My mistake,” he says, trying to sound casual despite his heart pounding in his chest. A bead of sweat rolls down his scalp through his curls to make the collar of his shirt wet. He wonders if he could kill her, if he lunged forward and wrapped his hands around her throat. He's never strangled anyone before, but he remembers Michael's hand crushing his windpipe so vividly. The cop's neck is long and slender. Corey sees her pulse thumping beneath the skin, and imagines feeling it slow to a stop under his fingers. Would someone drive by and see him before he could finish the job? Or would a nosy housewife peak out the window and make a phone call? His eyes land on the cop's body camera nestled just below her breasts, then on all the doorbell cameras along the street. Watching him. Someone always fucking watching him. He stays seated.

“I’ll let you off with a warning this time. But don’t let me see you out without a helmet again,” she says.

“Right. Yes ma’am,” Corey replies.

“I mean it, now. I never forget a bike I like, so I'll know if I see you again, Kawasaki." She looks down at him over her mirrored sunglasses. "Have a good day.”

The cop gets back in her car and pulls away in front of him, leaving him stunned on the side of the road. Guess I’m getting a fucking helmet, Corey thinks.

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You hear a massive vehicle approaching and go outside. Veronica and her little brother Harker pull up outside your new apartment in his lifted Ram. It’s so ridiculous you have to laugh at him. It has the biggest deer bumper you’ve ever seen, and lights twinkle on the running boards. A holographic sticker in the rear window proudly displays his Instagram username. Veronica opens the passenger door and slides to the center of the front seat. The sound of Walker Hayes meets your ears. You practically need a ladder to get inside, it’s so tall. You try unsuccessfully to stifle your giggles.

“I know, I’m embarrassed to be seen with him too,” Veronica says.

“No, no, I think it’s cool,” you say, voice straining around the laughter you’re still trying to suppress.

“It is cool,” Harker says. “I have 500 followers on Instagram.”

“Well thanks for taking the time to help me pick up furniture, Your Majesty.” You bow your head to him. Harker and Veronica both laugh. It’s so weird to see him driving, with his short little beard and biceps like melons. Last time you saw him he was a twerpy ninth grader with less fuzz than a peach, who had failed to even make the bench at football tryouts.

Harker pilots his behemoth with surprising ease. You cruise around town in a big loop, meeting people from the Craigslist free section and Facebook Marketplace, hitting thrift stores and Target. The three of you organize boxes and furniture in the truck bed like a game of Tetris, then cross bungee cords over the top. When the truck backs up to your door hours later, you’ve managed to fit everything you needed to furnish your apartment in both the truck bed and your budget.

You can’t believe you had such a successful day. Veronica and Harker make easy conversation with you, as if you’ve kept in close contact with them all this time. After unloading your giant haul, you order pizza. They stay and help you assemble and arrange everything big. By the time they leave, the space has been transformed from the cold, echoing box you’d slept in last night, to something resembling a home.

You haven’t thought about Orin in hours, comfortable and busy with your friends. But now that you’re alone and it’s dark outside, you remember why you moved here. You picture him. What’s he doing right now? What did he do when he came home and your car wasn’t in the driveway and your clothes weren’t in the closet, no goodbye except the login info you left him so he could make your replacement pay the rent. You hope he’s fine. You hope he doesn’t even miss you a little bit. You hope he’s miserable and kicking himself for losing you. You hope the new girl is cheating on him right this moment, screaming some other man's name. You hope they’re happy and that he never treats her the way he treated you, never says the things he said to you. You’re boring. You’re fat. You’re unambitious and slothful. No matter how hard you try to learn how football works.

The way you bounce back and forth between incompatible feelings could give you whiplash. It’s his fault. It’s your fault. You feel bad for leaving how you did. You wish you did something much, much worse. You lean against the wall behind you and slide down it, sobbing. Embarrassing yourself in front of all your new furniture.

Getting close to Veronica again is easy, like all those semesters you’d be pleased to find you had a class or two together, automatically sitting next to each other on the first day. She annoys the shit out of you sometimes — she always has to know everything , and she’s not shy about asking. But she’s a good friend, fun and funny and actually there for you. Orin got custody of all your old “friends.” Not one of them sent a single text after you left Atlanta. You can imagine him blaming the whole thing on you, making you sound so awful they wanted nothing to do with you. Or maybe they just never cared about you of their own accord. Veronica’s twice the friend any of them were. You’re relieved to find all your coworkers get along well, and you like when everyone hangs out together.

You’re also extremely pleased to find out you love records. You’ve always liked music, but you’ve never owned a record player until the store upgrades its listening station and everyone votes that you should get the old one. The speakers it comes with are amazing. You can actually hear what audiophiles are talking about for the first time. It brings you great joy that the warm crackle of a record isn’t a myth. You slowly acquire a neat little collection of all your favorite albums.

One day a customer comes to the register with a fistful of stuff from the patch bins. They’re wearing a plain denim vest.

“Are these going on that?” You ask as you ring them up.

“Yeah, I’m stoked on it, “ they say, “But I’m not actually sure how to attach them.”

“These three are iron-on,” you tell them, flipping all the patches face down to examine the backs. “You can tell because the back is like, plastic-y. The rest you have to sew on, but you don’t have to sew all the way around it, you can just tack it down in a couple spots.”

“I don’t know how to sew and I don’t own an iron. How much would it cost to have someone else do it?” They say, laughing.

“I’d take 20 bucks.”

“Are you for real?”

You hadn’t been serious but the customer asks with such earnestness, you feel bad. “Oh, I guess,” you say with a shrug.

The customer takes off their vest and folds it into a nice square, then sets it on the counter. They pull their wallet out of their pocket and swipe their card to pay for the patches, then they put two $10’s on top of the vest.

“Thank you so much!” They say.

“No problem,” you say incredulously. “I’ll do it tonight and you can pick it up tomorrow.”

You attach all the patches to the vest that night. The customer didn’t give you any guidance on placement, but they’re all relatively small, so you put them all on the front and hope for the best. They come in the next afternoon and love what you’ve done. They ask for your phone number for when they buy more patches, and they hand you an extra $10.

“20 just seemed kinda low,” they say.

After that you find out their name is Taryn and they text you for permission to give your number to friends from time to time. The record store pays pretty decently but you could use a little more wiggle room, so you say yes and wind up with a neat little stack of projects from local punks. The money is a nice addition and the work is fun. Things come to you that you’re not sure how to do, so you watch YouTube videos until you figure it out. You realize you could try to market yourself to more people, so you make an Instagram and have business cards printed. When the work gets overwhelming to do completely by hand, you find an almost unused sewing machine at an estate sale. It becomes an actual thing, so much of a thing that you have to figure out what it means to the government come tax time. It makes you feel like a Real Adult for the first time. It feels nice.

#corey cunningham #corey cunningham x reader #halloween ends #fan fiction #mine

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space-whalesharks · 2 years ago

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♫ + Raza, ♫ + Nic, ♫ + Corey, ♫ + Scott

Raza: The Call - Regina Spektor - I wanna give her something else but it's just... her.

Nic: One Girl Revolution - Superchick

Corey: Tied between I'm Still Standing - Elton John vs Staying Alive - The Bee Gees. Love not taking my girls seriously. At all.

Scoot: Don't Stop Me Now - Queen

#Raza Kenobi #Deputy Nic #Courier Corey #Scott Raylan Ryder

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clevername733 · 4 years ago

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Fast And Furious Tokyo Drift Game Ps2 Cheats

Tokyo Drift Ps2

Fast And Furious Ps2 Iso

Fast And Furious Tokyo Drift Game Ps2 Cheats Ps2

Inspired by the events of Universal Pictures'film, The Fast & The Furious: Tokyo Drift, this game immerses players in the underground world of drift racing. Set in a world related to, yet separate from, the movie, the game features a drift mechanic that makes drifting accessible to both beginning and veteran racing game. Inspired by the events of Universal Pictures' upcoming film, 'The Fast & The Furious: Tokyo Drift,' this game immerses players in the underground world of drift racing. Set in a world related to, yet separate from, the movie, the game features a drift mechanic that makes drifting accessible to both beginning and veteran racing game drivers. Welcome to our collection of The Fast and the Furious, cheats, cheat codes, wallpapers and more for PS2. Visit our dedicated Fast and the Furious, The message board to discuss this game with other members. Check back for more Fast and the Furious, The cheats to be posted.

Corey Feldman InterviewSteam achievements

Successfully complete the indicated task to unlock the corresponding achievement. To view your achievements and stats in Steam, select 'Community', 'My profile', 'View all my games', then the game and view stats.

Tokyo Drift Ps2

Blast Radius: Take out 5 enemies with exploding barrels in the Siberia Assault mission.

Booby Trap: Use the mines at the end of the tunnel to wreck the pursuing gang cars.

Car Crusher: Wreck 500 vehicles by any means.

Challenge Gold: Win Gold in all Challenges.

Chapter 1 Complete: Complete Chapter 1.

Chapter 10 Complete: Complete Chapter 10.

Chapter 2 Complete: Complete Chapter 2.

Chapter 3 Complete: Complete Chapter 3.

Chapter 4 Complete: Complete Chapter 4.

Chapter 5 Complete: Complete Chapter 5.

Chapter 6 Complete: Complete Chapter 6.

Chapter 7 Complete: Complete Chapter 7.

Chapter 8 Complete: Complete Chapter 8.

Chapter 9 Complete: Complete Chapter 9.

Disposal Expert: Don't allow a single bomb to go off in the LA Tanker Heist Mission.

Double Flip: Flip a single car twice without letting it touch the ground in the Moscow Flip Car Battle Mission.

Drift King: Drift 500m in a single manoeuvre.

Driver Level 50: Reach Driver Level 50.

Experimental: Try out every mod at least once.

Express Delivery: Deliver all cargo in under 110 seconds in the Hong Kong Courier mission.

Fast and Furious: Complete Every Mission.

Go the Distance: Drive 500 Miles.

Hollywood Stuntman: Complete a stuntman-enabled mission without falling to the ground.

Is It Safe?: Complete the Rio Heist Mission in under 190 seconds.

Level 1 Gold: Win Gold on all Playlist 1 Challenges.

Level 2 Gold: Win Gold on all Playlist 2 Challenges.

Level 3 Gold: Win Gold on all Playlist 3 Challenges.

Level 4 Gold: Win Gold on all Playlist 4 Challenges.

Level 5 Gold: Win Gold on all Playlist 5 Challenges.

Level 6 Gold: Win Gold on all Playlist 6 Challenges.

Level 7 Gold: Win Gold on all Playlist 7 Challenges.

Not a Scratch!: Don't let the towed car take a single bit of damage in the Buenos Aires Transport mission.

Out of Sight: Don't let the helicopter call for reinforcements in the LA Cop Pursuit Misson.

Paint Job: Customise the look of a vehicle and take it for a spin.

Perfect Driving: Complete a driver-enabled mission or challenge without hitting an obstacle or vehicle or switching characters.

Racing Line: Complete the Rio Pursuit mission in under 165 seconds.

Saboteur: Take out the convoy in under 210 seconds in the Mexico Convoy Sabotage Mission.

Sharpshooter: Complete a gunman-enabled mission or challenge with 100% accuracy.

Test Driver: Use every available vehicle at least once to complete any mission/challenge.

Turbocharged: Expend 100 N20 Tanks.

Weapon Master: Kill an enemy using every type of weapon.

Fast And Furious Ps2 Iso

Corey Feldman InterviewAchievements

Fast And Furious Tokyo Drift Game Ps2 Cheats Ps2

Accomplish the indicated achievement to get the corresponding number of Gamerscore points:

Chapter 1 Complete (10 points): Completed Chapter 1 (Solo or Co-op).

Chapter 2 Complete (10 points): Completed Chapter 2 (Solo or Co-op).

Chapter 3 Complete (10 points): Completed Chapter 3 (Solo or Co-op).

Chapter 4 Complete (10 points): Completed Chapter 4 (Solo or Co-op).

Chapter 5 Complete (10 points): Completed Chapter 5 (Solo or Co-op).

Chapter 6 Complete (10 points): Completed Chapter 6 (Solo or Co-op).

Chapter 7 Complete (10 points): Completed Chapter 7 (Solo or Co-op).

Chapter 8 Complete (10 points): Completed Chapter 8 (Solo or Co-op).

Chapter 9 Complete (10 points): Completed Chapter 9 (Solo or Co-op).

Chapter 10 Complete (10 points): Completed Chapter 10 (Solo or Co-op).

Fast & Furious (50 points): Completed every mission in Solo Mode.

Twice as Fast, Twice as Furious (50 points): Completed every mission in Co-op Mode.

Is it Safe? (10 points): Completed the Rio Heist mission in under 200 seconds.

Saboteur (25 points): Took out the convoy in under 210 seconds in the Mexico Convoy Sabotage mission.

Out of Sight (25 points): Didn't let the chopper call for re-inforcements in the LA Cop Pursuit mission.

Disposal Expert (10 points): Didn't allow a single bomb to go off in the LA Tanker Heist mission.

Not a Scratch! (25 points): Didn't let the towed car take a single bit of damage in the Buenos Aires Transport mission.

Racing Line (25 points): Completed the Rio Pursuit mission in under 165 seconds.

Booby Trap (10 points): Used the mines at the end of the tunnel to wreck the gang cars in the Germany Escape mission.

Express Delivery (25 points): Delivered all cargo in under 110 seconds in the Hong Kong Courier mission.

Blast Radius (10 points): Took out 5 enemies with exploding barrels in the Siberia Assault mission.

Double Flip (25 points): Flipped a car twice without letting it touch the ground in the Moscow Flip Car Battle mission.

Level 1 Gold (1P) (25 points): Won Gold on all Playlist 1 Challenges in Solo Mode.

Level 2 Gold (1P) (25 points): Won Gold on all Playlist 2 Challenges in Solo Mode.

Level 3 Gold (1P) (25 points): Won Gold on all Playlist 3 Challenges in Solo Mode.

Level 4 Gold (1P) (25 points): Won Gold on all Playlist 4 Challenges in Solo Mode.

Level 5 Gold (1P) (25 points): Won Gold on all Playlist 5 Challenges in Solo Mode.

Level 6 Gold (1P) (25 points): Won Gold on all Playlist 6 Challenges in Solo Mode.

Level 7 Gold (1P) (25 points): Won Gold on all Playlist 7 Challenges in Solo Mode.

Solo Challenge Gold (50 points): Won Gold in ALL challenges in Solo Mode.

Level 1 Gold (2P) (25 points): Won Gold on all Playlist 1 challenges in Co-op Mode.

Level 2 Gold (2P) (25 points): Won Gold on all Playlist 2 challenges in Co-op Mode.

Level 3 Gold (2P) (25 points): Won Gold on all Playlist 3 challenges in Co-op Mode.

Level 4 Gold (2P) (25 points): Won Gold on all Playlist 4 challenges in Co-op Mode.

Level 5 Gold (2P) (25 points): Won Gold on all Playlist 5 challenges in Co-op Mode.

Level 6 Gold (2P) (25 points): Won Gold on all Playlist 6 challenges in Co-op Mode.

Level 7 Gold (2P) (25 points): Won Gold on all Playlist 7 challenges in Co-op Mode.

Co-op Challenge Gold (50 points): Won Gold in ALL challenges in Co-op Mode.

Perfect Driving (10 points): Completed a driver-enabled mission/challenge without hitting an obstacle or vehicle.

Test Driver (10 points): Used every available vehicle at least once to complete any mission/challenge.

Drift King (10 points): Drifted 500m in a single maneuver.

Go the Distance (10 points): Drove 500 Miles.

Experimental (10 points): Tried out every mod at least once.

Paint Job (10 points): Customized the look of a vehicle and took it for a spin.

Turbocharged (10 points): Expended 100 N20 Tanks.

Sharpshooter (10 points): Completed a gunman mission/challenge with 100% accuracy playing as the gunman only.

Weapon Master (10 points): Killed an enemy using every type of weapon.

Car Crusher (10 points): Wrecked 500 vehicles by any means.

Hollywood Stuntman (10 points): Completed any mission with out-of-car sections without falling onto the ground.

Driver Level 50 (50 points): Reached Driver Level 50.

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empireofwrestlemania · 7 years ago

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Her Mysterious Benefactor - Chapter 11

“I swear, I don’t remember anything,” said Damien with a shake of his head. It was the next day, and he’d finally woken up that morning. She’d had the healer come to take a look at him in the evening, once she knew that Baron was going to be okay, and the healer changed his bandages and told her the same thing that the letter had said: Damien was going to be okay.

Samantha had prepared breakfast for the two of them, and now they were talking. She’d asked him whether he remembered seeing the mysterious benefactor. He insisted, though, that he couldn’t remember anything. He remembered Samantha finding him, and he remembered telling her to save Baron instead of him.

“I don’t regret it,” he said. “I still say you should have saved him first, and I’d say it again in a heartbeat.”

He didn’t remember much after that, though. He remembered lying there, bleeding and in pain, until he blacked out. Then, he remembered waking up in Samantha’s house this morning. Everything between waking up and blacking out, though, was nonexistent.

Samantha had checked the stables once Damien showed up to see whether or not the stranger had come back for his cart. He had not, though, and the cart remained in town. Samantha couldn’t figure out what that meant. Had the kind stranger been the benefactor himself? Had he been hurt or killed along the way? Had the benefactor paid him off for the privilege of being the one to return Damien to her?

“I’m glad you’re alive,” she told him softly.

“Me too,” he agreed. “And Samantha, look, there’s something I want to tell you.”

“What is it?” Samantha asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Look, Samantha...being out there in the snow, being certain I was going to die, I realized that I can’t live with myself if I don’t tell you before I die... I have feelings for you, Samantha. I’ve had them for a while now. I don’t expect you to feel the same way in return, but I wanted you to know.”

Samantha’s mouth fell open slightly at hearing his words. She’d been able to see the signs since Baron had pointed it out, but hearing him actually say it felt unreal. She wasn’t sure what to say, and after a moment of silence, Damien stood up with a slight groan - not at her, but at the effort it took to get to his feet.

“I should probably go...check on Baron, you know,” he said. “It looks like you need some time to...process...so I’ll see you later?”

“Um, yeah, sure,” Samantha sputtered with a quick nod, and before she could say much else, he was heading out the door.

Her head was spinning now. Damien was one of her best friends and, try as she might, she couldn’t imagine engaging in a romantic relationship with him. She heard the door shut, and then she sat down on the couch, trying to process what he’d told her.

It took a while of thinking. Damien was...a friend. Nothing more. She didn’t have feelings for him. She was starting to regret coming back to Loneville. While she’d been able to rekindle her close friendship with Baron, seeing Damien again was turning things into a mess.

Her mind flitted to the gifts being left for her by her benefactor. The small chest full of gold, which she’d since shoved under her bed... it would be enough to pay for her first year of tuition if she wanted to attend the university in Johnsonville. It had always been her dream to study the healing arts under the best scholars in the Empire. After all that had just happened - after seeing Damien so badly injured and having to help Baron back to the city - she couldn’t stand the idea of ever feeling so helpless again. She wanted to be able to help them both the next time something like that happened.

She grabbed some paper, sitting down at her table to write a letter to the university inquiring about application. All the while, she had a smile on her face. Going to the university was something she’d always dreamt of doing, and going to Johnsonville was a good way to put distance between herself and Damien. If he kept spending time around her, he’d stay hung up on her, and what she needed was for him to meet a nice girl - not her - and fall in love.

Once finished, Samantha closed up the letter and headed outside. She dropped the letter into the courier box in town just as she heard Baron’s voice calling her name. She turned around, giving him a smile.

“I’m glad to see you up and about,” she said to him. He still had a pronounced limp, but she knew Baron and a little injury wasn’t going to keep him from doing what needed to be done.

“I hear that Damien told you how he felt about you and you froze,” he said, a slight smirk tugging at the edges of his lips.

“I didn’t freeze,” Samantha said quickly. “I just...took a minute to process. That’s all.”

“Sure,” Baron replied teasingly, his gaze briefly darting past her and towards the courier box. “Letter to Corey?”

“No, actually,” Samantha said, shaking her head. “I’ve decided to apply to the university in Johnsonville.”

“Using the money...”

“Yes,” Samantha said quickly, nodding. “It’s something I’ve always wanted to do, and whoever the benefactor is, they’ve given me the means to accomplish it. I’d be silly not to go through with it.”

“I only hope they don’t expect that you’ll owe them something when all is said and done,” Baron said. “I hope that you’ll stick around long enough to help us with our vampire problem, though. They attacked us when we were on our way to have a peaceful talk with them about the vampire that attacked our watchtower...that simply won’t do.”

“I agree,” said Samantha. “But what can we do? They’re obviously doing a good job keeping us from going to them. They got the upper hand at the watchtower, they ambushed us on the route to where they’re staying... I don’t know what else we can do.”

“I’m still trying to figure that part out,” Baron replied. “Even if I send a courier, I have a feeling our courier will be intercepted. That’s why I wanted to talk to you about this, actually. I was hoping that you’d send a letter to your brother and ask him to come here with his friends. They may be vampires, but I’d trust your brother with my life and if he trusts them, then I believe we can, too.”

“Really?” Samantha asked, her eyes widening. “You want Corey and his friends here?”

“Yes,” Baron said, his voice firm. “I’ve brought along a brief letter of my own that I was hoping you could enclose in your next letter to him.” He pulled out a small envelope and handed it to her, and with a nod, Samantha took it.

“I’ll do it,” she replied softly.

“Thank you,” Baron said. “Let me walk with you,” he added, and Samantha nodded. The pair began to walk in the direction of Samantha’s home.

“So what did you have in mind for Corey and his friends to do?” Samantha asked him.

“They obviously have had experiences with this other group before, based on what he told you,” Baron replied. “I was hoping they’d have some sort of ideas of their own. The townspeople likely won’t trust them, but at least they know Corey and they know that he wouldn’t let any harm come to you. If you leave now, we’ll lose the town’s trust when they arrive.”

“I understand,” Samantha said. “Don’t worry. We’ll figure this out.”

They reached Samantha’s request and both stopped dead in their tracks. A large, rectangular object was propped up against her door, wrapped delicately in brown paper.

“Is that-” Baron started.

“Yes,” Samantha said. “I was away from home for literally two minutes! How is this possible?”

She could see Baron’s eyes darting around, but it was no use. They wouldn’t catch the person responsible. She grabbed the package, which was neither heavy nor light, and nodded for Baron to come inside with her. He shut the door behind them and she set the package down on the table, eyeing it for a moment before beginning to unwrap it.

It was a beautiful painting in a wooden frame. It depicted a beautiful wolf near a frozen creek on a snowy forest background. Samantha gasped audibly when she saw it, and then she saw a familiar signature painted on the corner of the painting.

Characters included: @thedeboniardevistation

Tagging: @hardcorewwetrash @macfizzle @she-reigns-in-this-yard @xxshamelesspunk247xx @sonjashuterbugjohnson @sisteradelaide @queenreignsempire @panic-angel4413 @oreillyskyle @helplessly-nonstop @imagineall-the-fandoms

#wwe #wwe fanfic #wwe fanfiction #fanfic #fanfiction #wrestling #wrestling fanfic #wrestling fanfiction #story #writing #Wolf Kingdom #Baron Corbin #Samantha Graves #Damien Shelley

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high-voltage-rat · 6 years ago

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It’s a closely guarded secret that Corey became a courier not because she was tired of the NCR’s bureaucracy, but actually because she was on the run after murdering Cranshaw in his sleep.

I’m never gonna get around to finishing these so take ‘em as is

#she loves cranshaw really but anyone who touches her rifle WILL face consequences #fallout #fo:nv #corey'er'#eric cranshaw #ncr #art with ali #ali plays fallout

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tscnews · 4 years ago

Link

Vadim Nemkov vs. Corey Anderson is official!

#vadim nemkov #corey anderson #tsc news #sports courier #the sports courier #fred richani #tsc #bellator mma #bellator #bellator 268 #fredrichani.com #ryan bader #mma #scott coker

0 notes

goosterbold · 7 years ago

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some skeches from a new vegas rp plus some doodles from games i’ve been playing this week- i beat god of war! and beat thunderblight ganon on master mode. my char is Corey, an amnesiac who saw he had a bag with ‘COURIER’ on it, and went ‘Uhh, my name, is, Corey?’. corey may not have been a great guy before he ended up in goodsprings, but hell, he doesn’t know!

by the way, i did the S.P.E.C.I.A.L. test at E3 and got a vault 76 resident card. I did, just, awful at my test- failed every single one. It was such a delight to do. i got a bottle of nuka cola and some party hats/a pip boy mask/a lil party horn from it, and the nuka cola was really nice! kind of a smarties-tasting lemonade, thing. also my pops saw todd howard pass by and texted to let me know he was ‘a very small man’. thanks pops

#fallout #fallout: new vegas #nv #boone #i also sat next to the detroit connor guy at one point when i was chilling out at the playstation booth when press hours were almost up #well he sat next to me. i just wanted to watch the extended death stranding thing. anyway #uhh. oh i played let's go eevee and snuck into the pokemon amie-type gameplay. great fun. the hd rumble is really fun w petting pokemon #anyway god of war is amazing and atreus is my son #edit: fixed the first pic

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justanothercinemaniac · 8 years ago

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Epic Movie (Re)Watch #115 - Fantasia

Spoilers Below

Have I Seen It Before: Sort of.

Did I Like It Then: I was...11, I think. I fell asleep.

Do I Remember It: The parts I was awake for.

Did I See It In Theaters: No.

Format: DVD

The format for my Fantasia post will be a bit different from previous Epic Movie (Re)Watch posts since the format of Fantasia is unique as well. Walt’s original vision for the film was that it would be re-released every few years, with older segments swapped out for newer ones. But Fantasia was a flop upon initial release and so this plan was scrapped. However the film ended up making its money back and then some following the 1969 re-release when its psychedelic imagery was promoted.

Disney released a new sound system to theaters for the film - Fantasound - so the idea of the, “film concert,” would be even greater. This was a precursor to surround sound!

Introduction

Each segment of Fantasia is introduced by Deems Taylor, the host of the film. It helps create the film’s unique format, although in future releases Taylor’s dialogue is dubbed by talented voiceover artist Corey Burton (since the original audio of Taylor was so scratchy).

This leads to an interesting point about Fantasia: after its original roadshow version, it was almost impossible to find a complete version of the film. Taylor’s segments would be cut and/or some scenes were totally omitted from the film (including the famous Night on Bald Mountain scene since it was deemed too frightening for children). It wasn’t until the 60th anniversary DVD in 2000 (the version I own) that the film was fully restored for home video. This is now the version which Disney releases today.

Toccata in Fugue in D Minor

“Toccata in Fugue in D Minor” is probably the least narrative piece in the film. It’s really just a showcase for the beautiful music and amazing animation working hand in hand. It’s mostly landscapes and lights which are pretty to look at but can get a bit dull after a while (which can be said of a lot of Fantasia).

The Nutcracker Suite

“The Nutcracker Suite” is almost like a mini-Fantasia in its own right, with each unique segment containing a different set of characters. It is when the film starts to feel Disney-ish, with dancing mushrooms with a lot of character and fun fantasy elements throughout. It has more characters and more conflict than “Toccata” and starts to feel like a narrative film. One of the best pieces in the film. Although...I don’t remember the bit with the fish halfway through. That was sort of dull.

The Sorcerer’s Apprentice

Honestly, this is the best part of the whole freaking film and the reason it even exists. According to IMDb:

Walt Disney himself related the story of a chance meeting with [conductor] Leopold Stokowski at Chasen's restaurant. They agreed to have dinner together. As they talked, Disney told of his plans to do "The Sorcerer's Apprentice" and other possible projects using classical music with animation. Disney said that he was stunned when Stokowski, then one of the two most famous conductors in the country (the other being Arturo Toscanini), responded by saying, "I would like to conduct that for you." It was an offer he couldn't pass up.

This segment introduced Mickey’s new/now-classic design including more human eyes and a flesh tone face. Originally the piece was meant to star Dopey from Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs, not Mickey, and if you pay attention to how Mickey’s sleeves behave you can definitely see that.

There’s a lot to say about this piece. It feels like a classic “Silly Symphony” (shorts Disney used to make) and is the most narrative part of the film. Mickey is a joy to watch as always, things like the broomsticks have so much classic Disney character, and it’s just a total joy to watch!

And then you have the wizard, Yen Sid. Which is Disney spelled backwards. Originally the name “Yen Sid” was going to be associated with the demon now known as Chernabog at the end of the film, but the animation team decided to secretly model this wizard after their boss. Everyone thought the little smirk he gave and the one eyebrow being raised when he catches Mickey was a dead give away though. Still, Yen Sid is the canon name for the wizard (even being used in the Kingdom Hearts series).

The Rite of Spring

From one of the best segments in the film to one of the most dull. “The Rite of Spring” starts out interestingly, watching the earth boiling in a molten form before it cools. But then it just...drags. The arrangement is a little dull (and the composer of the piece hated how it was arranged in the film), and we get to watch single celled organisms develop. Yay? The best part is when the t-rex shows up and fights a stegosaurus but that moment is just not long enough compared to the rest of the piece.

On one note, however, according to IMDb:

While perceptions of dinosaurs by both scientists and the public at large have changed considerably since this film was released, aspects of their depiction in the film are considered more progressive and accurate than most of their contemporaries. They were generally depicted in the film as "dynamic and agile" creatures, while most of the contemporary depictions had them as slow-moving reptiles. Certain scenes portray them as social animals and the image of the baby Triceratops staying close to his/her parents implies family life. This was nearly unheard of in contemporary depictions.

The DVD even has a 15 minute intermission, which I took to my advantage by pausing it (on the DVD it’s not actually 15 minutes but Deems Taylor says it is) so I could get food. When the film comes back Taylor introduces us to “The Soundtrack.”

It was probably more fascinating in 1940 when you had surround sound, as this little string (given so much character by the animators) demonstrates all the sounds of the orchestra and moves wonderfully to them. Although it does go on a bit long, but that can be said for most of this film.

Beethoven’s 6th Pastoral Symphony

Perhaps the most beautifully animated piece in the entire film, “Beethoven’s 6th” is one of the most memorable parts of the film. It’s Olympian setting was a precursor to Hercules years alter (the Zeus-s in those films even look a bit similar), it’s characters are funny and a treat to watch, and it is just filled with a lot of imagination.

It also has - or HAD - one of the most racist caricatures in Disney history with Sunflower the centaur. Don’t believe me. Well...

It’s not just the Disney of Sunflower, which in and of itself may not be too horrible. It’s that she’s the only black character in the entire segment and she is seen happily dotting on the white centaurs who are designed to be more traditionally pretty. According to IMDb:

In the "Pastoral Symphony" segment there was originally a scene showing stereotyped black assistant centaurs shining the hooves of white centaurs. The chief of these was Sunflower, who had a very stereotypical look: big, red lips and wild, messy hair. It was not until the 1969 re-release that this was thought to be objectionable, and all subsequent releases until 1980 had an abrupt cut at this point. Every subsequent release after 1990 includes the scene, but with the section blown up so that it only shows the faces of the white female centaurs.

When you’re looking for these crops, they’re painfully obvious. If you want to see a comparison of the two, I found this video:

youtube

Dance of the Hours

“Dance of the Hours” is another quite memorable piece from the film, if only because of the very Disney decision to have the dancers be ostriches, elephants, hippos, and alligators. It’s a lot of fun with nice slapstick that’s just a joy to watch.

A Night on Bald Mountain

One of the darkest and most frightening scenes in Disney’s animated canon, “Night on Bald Mountain” is also tied with “The Sorcerer’s Apprentice” for the most memorable segment in the film (but for different reasons). Even 60 years after the film’s initial release Disney gets complaints from parents about this scene being too scary, and who can blame them? The animation is harrowing, with ghosts and demons brought to life in glorious horror and monstrosity.

Bela Lugosi (Dracula) provided reference footage Disney used for the design of Chernabog, possibly the most frightening character the studio has ever created. His image has lived on in such media as “Fantasmic!” at the Disney parks, various fireworks shows, and even as a boss in at least two different Kingdom Hearts games. It leads into the final piece of the film to compliment this hellish imagery...

Ave Marie

The only piece in the film with any vocals, Ava Marie is a nice five minutes to end the film own (especially after the jarring “Night on Bald Mountain” segment). According to IMDb:

The filming of the final "Ave Maria" sequence was plagued by mishaps. To achieve the effect of moving through the scene, several panes of painted glass were used. The whole setup was over 200 feet long and had to be redone three times. The first time the wrong lens was placed on the camera, and the subsequent film showed not only the artwork but the workers scurrying around it. The second time around an earthquake struck the studio, and the shot was once again scrapped. The next morning the shot was redone, the film was shipped to the lab, processed and couriered to the premiere in New York where it was spliced into the final print with only four hours to spare.

Just a truly nice way to end the film.

Fantasia is film history and one of the most critically acclaimed films in the Disney catalogue. But it’s okay if it bores you at times, I was bored at times and I’m a Disney nut. Fantasia is not for everyone but if you’re a fan of animation, music, or are just curious, put it in. Or at least fast forward to your favorite segments.

#Fantasia #Disney #The Sorcerer's Apprentice #Night on Bald Mountain #Mickey Mouse #Epic Movie (Re)Watch #Fantasia GIF #Movie #Film #GIF

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