#ITS HALLOWEEN MONTH MOTHERFUCKERS

[zenobomber]

@light-imperfected​ // event starter !

“...and, basically that’s how EMF readers work. Which should be the last of the equipment I need to explain!” 

Ghost hunting...well, to say he was an expert on it was far from the truth. Aki did drag Tsugino along to a haunted house last year, because he was interested in trying to see if he could capture or at least run into a ghost so he could study the outcome of it all, but that hadn’t really happened. Tsugino had said it likely wouldn’t in the first place, but Aki didn’t want to give up hope.

Trying it all over again with a bunch of fancy equipment he didn’t even have to pay for himself, was a great chance at actually getting results! Even if he had to work with a stranger who didn’t seem like they knew anything about searching for paranormal activity.

Oh well!

“Should be everything anyways! You ready to go find some ghosts?”

[amarauder]

peter johnson and the flying wine bottles ♆ percy jackson x reader

PAIRING; Percy Jackson x Neighbor! Reader

REQUEST; N/A

GODLY PARENT: Demeter

DATE; May 1st, 2024

WORD COUNT; 2440

WARNING; Illegal activities, aka buying alcohol illegally

A/N: IM BACK MOTHERFUCKERS. tehehe I know its been years oops. Not my best work but its here and thats all that matters to me at this point.

TRAILER; In which Percy Jackson meets his neighbor by accidentally almost killing himself and her multiple times.

REQUESTED BY: N/A

--

Percy locks up his flat, double then triple checks everything is secure. He knows it’s a little over the top to be this careful with his security system, especially since his apartment complex is in the heart of New Rome. But after everything he has been through it gives him a little peace of mind knowing he is coming back to a hopefully monster-free apartment.

Things have been weird for Percy since Annabeth left. He hasn’t exactly hit the devastated stage that everyone, including him thought would be his reaction. Instead, it’s been like he has been going through the motions. Nothing has been that bad or great, just kind of there.

Piper has concluded that he is in shock. He suspects that she’s right. It’s almost like he’s waiting for the other shoe to drop. Like Annabeth’s on a quest and he hasn’t heard from her for a few weeks and he’s a bit concerned for her well-being. But it’s been a little over two months now and Percy hasn’t felt any different.

 The only difference that Percy has felt is annoyance towards Piper. She won’t stop badgering him about meeting this girl. It’s constant, nonstop talking about how they would be perfect for each other and how Percy just needs to get back out there.

The only thing Percy needs is a break. A break from all the sympathetic stares, the hopeful girls, and gods forbid Piper. He knows that she has his best interest at heart. He appreciates it, he really does. It makes him feel all warm and fuzzy inside whenever his friends want to do something nice for him, but this just isn’t what Percy needs or wants right now.

What Percy needs is some time with his friends and maybe some free food which is exactly why he is heading over to Leo’s for a BBQ with the gang.

Stuffing his keys into his pocket, he heads over to the elevator then promptly almost dies tripping over air. It’s then that Percy realizes that he actually hadn’t fallen over air, he tripped over what looked like either a really long root or a vine? What the Hades? How did that get there?

He goes to pick it up when he realizes there’s a girl standing there waiting for the elevator. She’s holding a wine bottle, and what looks like the biggest plant Percy has ever seen. It would explain where the weird vine-root thing came from.

“Hey,” he starts, only to be interrupted by a scream and a face full of soil.

“Oh my God!” Screeches the plant. It takes Percy a second to realize that it is in fact the girl screaming and not the plant. To be fair, Percy has seen too many outer-worldly oddities in his life, he wouldn’t be surprised if it was the plant talking. “I am so sorry!”

Percy laughs and rubs dirt off his face, “Don’t be. I shouldn’t have scared you.” When he finally gets all the dirt off, Percy realizes she put the plant down. She’s pretty. Like really pretty actually. It takes Percy’s brain a second to catch up to all this new information.

She waves his apology away, “I scare way too easily. You should see me during October.”

“Halloween can get pretty spooky around here.” She tilts her head to the side in a way that remind him of a cute puppy. “Cause all the ghosts, ya know?”

Her eyes widen, “There are ghosts here?”

“Yeah, you haven’t seen them?” She shakes her head, “There’s one named Vector. He’s my favorite.”

“Why am I even surprised? My Mom is a Greek god. Of course there would be ghosts! What’s next? Flying monkeys?”

Percy’s lips quirked, “Don’t give them that idea.”

She laughed and Percy’s chest tightened. “What’s your name?”

“Percy. Yours?”

“Y/N.”

“Nice to meet you, Y/N. I don’t think I’ve ever seen you before. Did you move in recently?” Percy knows he would have noticed or remembered her.

She puts her finger next to her lips. Percy is momentarily entranced. “I think around a month ago. I just started at New Rome University.” As she was chattering on about college Percy noticed the wine bottle slowly starting to slip out of her grip. Thanks to his demigod reflexes, Percy caught the bottle just in time.

“Oh!” She said in surprise. “Thanks! I didn’t even know it was falling.”

“No worries. I got it.” The elevator dings and they both head in. College? They were about a quarter into the fall semester. “What are you studying?”

“Agriculture.”

Percy’s eyebrows rise. That was not what he was expecting.  “Cool, my best friend from home is really into plants and stuff.”

Y/N’s lips quirked, “Plants and stuff?”

Percy smiled sheepishly and rubbed the back of his neck. Thankfully, he was saved from answering by the elevator. Even though he was glad he didn’t have to answer to his stupidity, Percy still felt a pang in his chest. He really didn’t want to part from her but didn’t know how to tell her that without sounding creepy. She gives him good vibes. Percy’s always loved people like that.

“Where are you headed off too?” He eventually asks after sneaking what he hopes is casual glances at her as they exit the building.

She bounces on her toes a bit, “This girl I just met invited me to their friend’s place. I’m a bit nervous to be honest. I don’t know anyone besides her.”

“I’m sure you’ll be fine. I’ve loved talking to you and we’ve only just met.” Percy’s face went beet red. That was not how it was supposed to come out. “I-I mean you’ve been fun to talk to.”

They both laugh for a second, falling quiet quickly enough to make Percy feel awkward. He wishes he had more to say, if only to keep Y/N around him a little longer.

Y/N beams, “Thanks, Percy. I’m glad that I finally met someone in this apartment complex. Everyone here seems like busy bodies and never wants to talk.”

Percy shrugs. He’s noticed that too but never felt too bothered by it. Though, he isn’t the one who moved away from friends. “You get used to it. Here’s your wine bottle.” He hands her the wine bottle and Percy swears he gets déjà vu from a few minutes ago. Just as the wine bottle leaves his fingertips its soaring to the floor and crashes all over both of them. Fortunately, Percy isn’t hurt but he’s more concerned about Y/N to care.

“Are you alright?”

“Yeah,” Y/N puffs out she looks more shocked than anything. Percy feels like a giant idiot. First, he scares her, and Y/N’s plant almost goes flying everywhere. Then, he distracts her enough to almost drop the bottle. Now, after all of that mess he literally just fucks it all up. What are the odds?

It seems Y/N read his mind because she starts to giggle, “I think the Gods just don’t want me to bring wine today.”

As soon as they clean up the mess they head out. Percy had almost cut himself on the glass once or twice but he couldn’t complain much. He had been through worse things than a cut. Both of them had mumbled to each other the entire time about Why the Gods had decided the third time was the charm but decided against mentioning anything else as Y/N still had her plant to carry the rest of the way.

Percy only wishes that Mr. D was here to witness this. He could practically hear the “Peter Johnson!” from New Rome.

“Where are you headed too?” Y/N questions as they both come to a complete stop outside the building.

“To buy you a new wine bottle.” Percy says gesturing with his head towards town. He knows he’ll be late to Leo’s thing, but he can’t really bring himself to care. Percy also knows that Leo, out of all people, will be understanding especially if he mentions a girl.

“What?” Y/N says and grabs his arm, effectively stopping him. “No way. I am not allowing you to buy me a new wine bottle. I was the one who dropped it.”

Percy will admit that it was mostly her fault. It had been in her hands when the accident occurred. But Percy was first and foremost Sally Jackson’s son and if Sally taught him anything it was how to be polite to a pretty girl. “I was the one handing it to you.”

Y/N crosses her arms and shakes her head stubbornly. “No way, Percy! I am not allowing you to buy me one. I’ll buy my own and be on my way.”

“Fine but at least let me walk you to the wine store.” Y/N seems to consider this as her eyebrows scrunch a little less but she still doesn’t uncross her arms. She seems to agree nonverbally since she starts to walk with him.

“So, Do you know Mr.D?”

“Who?”

“Mr.D,” Percy confirms, “Dionysus? Camp Half-Blood’s camp director?”

“Oh,” Y/N murmurs, “I’ve heard of him from my friend, but I’ve never been to Camp Half-Blood.”

“Did you go to Camp Jupiter then?”

She shakes her head. Percy is officially confused. Where did she grow up then? How did she stay away from monsters? “I’m lost. Were you at home then?”

“For some reason, I never really got into trouble with monsters. Sure, weird stuff would happen to me throughout the years but my teachers would just put it off as overactive imagination. It wasn’t until my high school graduation that a monster came after me and my Dad finally brought me here. Next thing I know I’m enrolled at New Rome with my own apartment. What about you?” She questions innocently.

Percy huffs out a laugh. Oh, where to start. He settles on a simple, “I grew up at Camp Half-Blood.”

Y/N nods mutely. It gets a little awkward for a second and Percy wishes he paid a little more attention to his Mom’s rom-com movies. He’s never met a girl like this before. The only other girl he had ever been interested in was Annabeth and they had been friends forever before they even started dating. He was treading new waters.

Fortunately, they turned the corner and the wine store was a few steps away. “There it is,” Percy said and pointed. He was starting to feel nervous and he didn’t know why. Y/N went to open the door, but Percy beat her to it.

She turns around with a teasing smile on her face, “Thanks, Percy. So, want to tell me if your legal or not?”

It takes Percy a second to realize what she is talking about. Oh, buying alcohol. “Yeah, I’m 21. How old are you?”

“19.”

Oh. Oh. Percy shrugs, he’s certainly not one to shy away from illegal adventures. (A/N: DO NOT DRINK ILLEGALLY KIDDOS. NOT COOL AT ALL.) That would just be hypocritical.

Y/N heads over to the wine section and Percy follows after her like a lame, lost puppy. He needs to start acting a little cooler.

“White or red?” Percy asks.

“Champagne.” She answers immediately, with no hesitation. Alright, champagne it is. That’s a little too fancy for Percy’s taste. He’s more of a red Josh man but to each their own. He likes his six-dollar wine, thank you very much. Judgement is not tolerated within this household.

“Perfect” she says and grabs the champagne before making a beeline to the counter. Percy races after her digging for his wallet. He was not about to let her pay. He finally fishes it out of his pocket and waits for the man to check her out.

While Percy is waiting, he can’t help but admire her. She chatters away to the man as he looks over what Percy is assuming her fake ID. Making small talk in a way Percy never could.

The man gives it back to her and rings her up, “19 dollars and 75 cents, ma’am.”

Percy is quick to give his card to the dude. The cash register guy sighs and Y/N looks appalled. “No way. I am paying for it, Percy!”

He gently nudges her out of the away and hands the card over to him. He rolls his eyes, “I don’t care which one of you is going to sugar-mama the other. But whoever pays I have to see some ID.”

Percy digs in his pocket for his identification and hands it over. The man’s eyes widen, he looks at the picture then back to Percy. “You’re Percy Jack-“

“Yup,” Percy interrupts. He isn’t self-centered enough to think that Y/N has heard of him before but just in case, Percy wants to keep that information to himself for now.

The man’s demeanor instantly changes now that he knows who he is cashing out. “Have a good rest of your day!” He yells cheerily after him. When they head out, Percy can hear him whisper-yelling to his coworker about who he just checked out.

Y/N looks a little alarmed at the situation, especially probably the way Percy rushed her out. “What was that about?”

“Nothing” Percy waves her away. “That guy was just” He hesitates, “Weird.”

She makes a face, “Yeah, he really was. I can’t believe we did it though! I have never used my fake before.”

Percy takes a step back, “What? How did you get the wine from earlier then?”

“Oh, my Dad bought that for me.” Percy scoffs, Sally would be disappointed to find out that he was anywhere near alcohol. The thought fills him with a little guilt. She smiles and Percy’s chest hurts a little. This is where they say goodbye he realizes. “Well, it was really nice to meet you, Percy. I’m glad the Gods made our paths cross.”

He grins, “Me too, Y/N. I’ll see you around.”

“Bye, Percy.”

As Percy heads over to Leo’s place, he realizes how fast his heart is pounding and he can’t stop smiling. Somehow, he knows it’s not from their illegal adventure.

[strawberrybobamilk]

GTA Protagonists x Reader Scenarios - Spending Halloween With Them

TW: Language, suggestive ending

Claude

Halloween isn't his favorite holiday, but will have lots of fun in decorating the house, eating sweets and bingewatching movies with you anyway.

Tommy

Likes watching classic 80s horror movies with you and dressing up as the villains from those movies.

"Trick or treat motherfuckers!"

Carl

He doesn't care how old you both are, he'll happily go trick or treating with you. He'll refuse to go dressed as a ghost, vampire etc though, as he thinks they are "too generic and unoriginal".

You: "What will you dress up as then?"

CJ: "A Ballas member. Nothing is nastier than them"

Toni

He'll go trick or treating with you, dressed up as a bloodstained killer butcher.

You: "Er, interesting choice, but why?..."

Toni: "Trust me, you don't wanna know"

Victor

Will surprise you with a pumpkin pie with cute spider decorations.

"Thought it would be a nice Halloween treat, darling"

Niko

He personally never really cared about Halloween, but definitely won't say no to candy corn! Also expect Roman, Mallorie and Brucie to come visit, all dressed up in various wacky costumes.

"Well, at least it's nice here with you guys"

Johnny

For him this day is more like an excuse to wear vampire fangs (he secretly has a thing for vampires).

"Damn you look hot, can you keep those on next month too? Or even better, forever?"

Luis

Will make his club serve pumpkin flavored cocktails to celebrate.

"Come over here and have a taste Y/N! It's free for you, like always"

Huang

Will buy more candy than usual during october. He says it's in order to ensure they have a good stock of them for october 31th, but you know it's just an excuse. Will wake up feeling sick on november 1st.

You: "I told you to not eat so much candy Huang!"

Huang: "Urgh, it's not the candy Y/N, it's... something that's not the candy, okay?!"

Franklin

He'll just chill with you and watch horror movies together.

"Alright let's do this, gotta use my Vinewood+ subscription somehow!"

Michael

Similarly to Franklin, he will (DEFINITELY) watch horror movies with you, but only the older ones.

"Ahhh, the old classics, the newer ones focus too much on jumpscares and gore"

Trevor

Loves Halloween, its spooky and gritty atmosphere, and will carve pumpkins with you already by september 1st. Just don't ask him why do those pumpkins have "questionable" holes.

"It's called a pumpkink sweetcheeks"

[grimbeak]

Ok.

Reaction to tonights episode under cut.

First off: Holy fuck. Holy dick n balls. What the hell do I do now? What am I supposed to be doing now? Going to sleep? What the fuck. Holy crap. What.

Moving on.

"Call me Mother Lauren."

The Boy. His reluctance to talk about his mother. Lauren.

"I remember as a child, when Frown Night ended, I’d take my bag of loot, and sit on the highest level of the lighthouse.

LAUREN: Oh, the one at the top of the mountain?"

The lighthouse on the mountain??? The mountain that is only in the desert otherworld???? Either this is finknor forgetting again (I doubt it since its an easy thing to at least look up on the wiki), his ass is lying, or...... that motherfucker grew up/lived in the desert otherworld as a kid.

"Mr. Schlecht, Mrs. Schlecht, Sister Schlecht, Brother Schlecht, and even their dog, who was a basset hound named Malo."

This one parodies the story he did the last time he did a holiday episode with Lauren, except its changed slightly. There is no second mother, there is no stick boy, it is a dog instead of a fucked up cat.

The names have changed. I believe in the last story, the citizens could not see their smiles despite the family smiling. This time, they know they are not smiling.

I still think this is Kevin's family, perhaps a different one of his however. Or maybe he's starting to remember it more accurately.

"And I want to add that The Smiling God loves all of Its children, no matter what…. Unless you’re shunned. If your community doesn’t want you, The Smiling God doesn’t either."

Kevin is shunned by the community. Later, Lauren says this:

"KEVIN: Not even a hint as to how the Smiling God sees me?

LAUREN: I’m only allowed tell people happy news. And if I told you what the Smiling God really thinks of you, you’d become sad, and the Smiling God does not like it when you’re sad. So…. no."

The smiling god does not love kevin.

"You know, when I think someone is feeling sad, I won’t talk to them again for months, maybe years. It’s important to give people space."

The last time Lauren saw kevin, supposedly, was at the mudstone abyss. She then did not speak to him for years.

"Isn’t that what you’d do, Kevin?"

Referencing herself, Carlos, or possibly Charles here. If we return to the theory that The Boy is Donovan, and he has been missing for several years in DOW time.... Charles and Kevin could've had a fight/temp broken up, hence why we don't hear about them.

"It’s important that we face our greatest fear, and that is sadness.

LAUREN: And it’s important that we face our pasts, too. The story of the Schlechts is not always a happy one, but we must make amends for the wrongs of history.

KEVIN: [dubious] Of course.

LAUREN: Because to ignore our past is to destroy our future. I hope you don’t have anything in your past that you’ve not atoned for, Kevin."

This.

"KEVIN: [knows she means him] No. I’m good."

Him? Who's him? Kevin? Charles? Carlos? Donovan? Cecil? Something happened since we saw Kevin last.

Also: The weather. The line about sitting and seeing the town you built together? Kevin and Carlos after having built Dow. The whole song, very Kevin and Carlos vibes.

Kevin's general uncomfortableness around Lauren. Compared to how we've heard him act before, Kevin in general seemed nervous, very much unlike his past self. He seems to be moving towards the third era of triptych.

Will analyze this all more probably wednesday/thursday, my phone is dying and i have halloween shit to do tomorrow.

THE BOY IS BACK!!!!!!!

[gothdaddyissues]

The Devil Came To A Small Town

Chapter Three available on Ao3 - or under the cut (~6500 words)

Summary: Cardinal Copia seeks out Primo for some advice. Izzy and Copia meet again, and continue to pine for each other (like the idiots they are).

Tags: OC female, Cardinal Copia, Papa I/Primo, Mutual Pining, Slow Burn, Ministry Hijinks, Idiots in Love (heart-eyes motherfucker), Eventual Smut (but not yet), swears and cursings, No Beta (we die like Terzo), Google Translate Italiano

Catch up here: | Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 |

September 30

Her nose was cold.

Isabelle had slept with her bedroom window open. The night air was crisp and cool this time of year and always made for the best sleeping environment. The contrast between the outdoor breeze and her body cuddled in the blankets guaranteed a blissful night’s rest. But now, the chill was creeping in, slithering across her face, tickling her ears, and sneaking down into the cozy nest she had built in her bed.

She sat up with difficulty, her cat asleep between her legs and burrowed in blankets to keep warm. She gave him a pat on his head, noticing his ears were cold too.

“Gonna go close the window, Poe,” she said to him, “Be right back.”

The uncarpeted floor was like ice. Hissing, she skipped across the room to the window and pushed the curtains back enough to close it. The first colors of dawn were coming to light on the horizon, while the moon and stars still hung visible in the clear sky overhead.

Izzy hurried back to the bed, wrapping herself up in the covers again. She grabbed her phone to check the clock - just past 6:15 am, hours before her usual wake-up time. But she was wide awake now, the cold on her skin jolting her straight into full consciousness. She lay huddled in her duvet, staring up at the ever-lightening sky through the gap in the curtains. Today was the last day of September, meaning tomorrow would start the busiest month of the year for her, business-wise and personally. Samhain / Halloween would be here before she knew it.

She fussed under the blankets, rolling over onto her side, annoying the cat enough to make him jump off the bed. It was unlikely she would go back to sleep at this point, between the chill and Poe hounding her for breakfast now that she was awake. She mentally ran down her checklist of things to do for the day. End-of-the-month bookkeeping would be her first priority. She had to make some orders for supplies. Was there anything left over from the previous day?

The previous day…. Cardinal Copia.

Fuck.

She had successfully managed to distract herself with TikToks long enough to fall asleep the night before. There were no captivating dreams about him (or the skull-painted man that may or may not be him). And she had awoken without thoughts of him, until this moment.

Now it was unlikely she’d think of much else.

“Okay, fine,” she sighed to herself, tossing aside the covers and getting out of bed, “Let’s get the day started.”

Izzy took her time with her morning routine: feeding the cat, a shower, a light dusting of makeup, and a cup of tea with some avocado toast for breakfast. She planned to go to the shop early for a head start on paperwork in an effort to keep her mind occupied. She sat and ate her meal, staring out the window at the sun finishing its rise. A foggy haze was descending, the cool air mixed with the still-warm earth to blanket the town in mist. This was her favorite type of weather.

So instead of working, she chose to distract herself by heading outside for a walk. She outfitted herself all in black - leggings, a sweater, a long coat that hung past her knees, and her most comfortable boots. With her phone in hand, her earbuds in, and her moody Darkwave playlist on shuffle, she ventured into the chill morning.

She first went down Main Street a few blocks, then crossed the road onto King Street. She passed the dry cleaner, the salon where she got her hair done, the Reiki practitioner, the insurance office, and finally the library, one of the oldest and most imposing buildings in town. It was still too early for anything to be open, but the streets were alive with residents on their morning jogs or walking their dogs. She exchanged smiles and nods with everyone she saw.

King Street came to an abrupt dead end just past the library. At the end of the block was the entrance to a vast forested area, known to most everyone simply as “The Woods.” It was blocked off by concrete barriers, with a small enough opening to allow only pedestrians and cyclists through. The town owned the Woods, and while it was not an official park, the residents used the roughed-in trails as though it were. Over the years, unscrupulous businessmen had tried - repeatedly - to buy it, tear it out, and develop it, but the town had always fought back and kept them at bay. It was too beloved a spot to destroy.

It was also the place where Izzy felt most at home.

Being a witch, she was drawn to nature, of course. But she had spent so many hours of her childhood and youth exploring and playing in these woods. And as she grew into her teen years, the Woods became a safe haven for her and her friend group. It was a place where they could hide away from their parents, drink, smoke, play music, and party. The secret makeshift clearings they had built deep in the brush still stood. She never felt afraid here, only comfortable and nostalgic.

The main path through the Woods was not paved, but so well-worn that it was easy to navigate. Izzy took her time and kept a steady pace, enjoying the music in her ears while she wandered the path. Birds and squirrels were busying themselves preparing for winter. Acorns and leaves crunched under her boots. This was the distraction she needed. There were no thoughts except existing in this moment and enjoying the foggy beauty around her. She was content. She inhaled deeply, the brisk air filling her lungs, and the heady smell of damp earth enveloping her.

About twenty minutes into her walk she reached a large clearing, known as the Halfway Log Turnaround, so named because of the huge trunk of a felled tree that lay across the ground there. It was the ideal place to have a seat and rest. This was also the spot where most people would, as the name implied, turn around and head back into town, which was what Izzy had initially intended on doing. But she stopped, surveying the way ahead of her.

The path continued on, past the clearing, further into a more dense part of The Woods. It was not nearly as well-worn as the first half of the path since it was now so rarely used. It was a bit harder to navigate, more serpentine, but still accessible if you were confident and careful. Or if you knew the way as well as Izzy did. Because she and her friends had traveled it often back in the day, using it as a shortcut to get to Windermere Abbey.

Windermere Abbey. The new home of the Church of Emeritus. Where the Cardinal most likely was, right this minute.

Now she was second-guessing herself. Had she really wanted to just ‘go for a walk’ or was she being compelled to end up here? Here on the path that would carry her to the mystery man she was so drawn to…

Izzy checked the time - it was almost 8:30. She had about two and a half hours before the store was due to open. The wooded path ended beside the old, overgrown graveyard at the back of the Abbey property. It would take about twenty more minutes to get there, then another forty or so minutes back to town.

Her head was telling her to turn around and go home.

But her feet had already started moving in the opposite direction.

********

Copia hurried through the halls of the Abbey, red cassock swishing around his legs and Grucifix jingling as he moved. He had successfully avoided any more interaction with Sister Imperator the previous evening by taking his dinner in his office and heading right to his quarters afterward. He had slept fitfully, unable to stop thinking about Isabella, and had to drag himself out of bed as early as he could so he could speak with Primo before the duties of his day began. And he wanted to do it before Sister Imperator was up and about, so he had to move quickly.

He made a brief stop in the dining hall, pouring two silver travel mugs full of hot, fresh coffee. With one in each hand, he made his way through the less-traveled corridors at the rear of the main building, taking the first exit he could find that would lead him out into the grounds behind the Abbey. He used his elbow to push down on the handle, bumping it outwards with his ass to open the door, then kicking it shut with his foot once he was outside.

It was a beautiful autumn morning, the air brisk but refreshing. The rising sun’s rays shone through the light mist hanging over the gardens and into the forest beyond. It was peaceful with no siblings or clergy in sight. The only sounds were the occasional chirping of birds and the crunch of gravel under his feet as he approached the large greenhouse on the other side of the Abbey grounds.

Primo’s ghoul Alpha kept watch at the greenhouse entrance, and he opened up the door for Copia when he saw him approaching with his hands full.

“Thank you, Alpha. Primo is here, si?” Copia asked.

Alpha nodded, pointing toward the far end of the greenhouse.

The air inside was heavy with the lush fragrance of flowers, herbs, and rich soil. There were small puddles of water here and there, rivulets trickling towards the floor drain as Primo watered the raised plant beds with an antique watering can. He was humming happily to himself, seeming so content that Copia felt almost guilty interrupting him.

“Buongiorno, Primo,” he greeted, “Come stai?”

“Ah, Cardinale! You brought me un caffè? Ti benedico, figlio!” Primo took the coffee mug from Copia and took a deep, appreciative, swig. “I am well, my boy. Much better now, with this.” Primo took another sip before continuing, “It is good to see you, Cardinale. We missed you at dinner last night. Were you unwell?”

Copia sat on a bench next to the garden bed Primo was tending. “No, not unwell,” he said, “Just busy. I had a half day’s worth of work to catch up on.”

“Because of your trip into town yesterday?” Primo gave him a sly wink. “We heard all about your visit to the magic shop.”

Copia furrowed his brow. How would they find that out? Did Aether tell them? “You did? From whom?”

“Imperator, of course,” Primo continued, placing his coffee mug down on the railing of the plant bed and turning back to his herb garden. “She told us how smitten you were with the witchy lady who runs the place.”

Copia cringed. He lowered his head, setting his mug on the ground between his feet, then covering his face with his hands. “That is… Sister did not… errgghh…” he groaned, “She didn’t say that, did she?”

“Well, perhaps not in those exact words, but that was what she implied. She went on at great length about her shop and how whimsical it was, about her kindness and her helpfulness, how lovely she is. She said those were your words.”

Copia couldn’t deny that. He had told Sister as much. “Si,” he said quietly, “She is all those things and more.”

The hushed tone of Copia’s voice made Primo glance over his shoulder at the Cardinal hunched on the bench, and he turned back to him with full attention. “Is this a bad thing, Copia?” he asked, his concern obvious.

Copia was silent for a moment. He shook his head. “No, not a bad thing. Not exactly. It’s just… it was all so strange.”

“Strange how?” Primo asked, picking up his coffee and taking a seat next to Copia. “Speak to me, figlio, tell me what happened.”

There was a reason he felt comfortable confiding in Primo. The old man was patient and understanding, but above all, he was like the father he’d never had. Copia knew he could trust him and that Primo would offer thoughtful and logical advice. He raised his head from his hands. “There is something about her that I cannot explain. When I met her, it felt as if… well, as if I knew her already. I was so drawn to her, I could not look away. I took her hand and I did not want to let go. I felt like an absolute fool. And then I couldn’t sleep last night for thinking of her. This is not like me, Primo. I’ve never had something like this happen before. It makes no sense. I’m confused.”

Copia was clearly distraught, but Primo could not help but raise his eyebrows and give a soft chuckle. “Ah yes,” he began, “I see. Things like this happen if you are lucky. Usually for a reason, you know. It can be a mystery as to why at first, but that reason will make itself clear in time. The Dark Lord has blessed you. Why does this upset you? Are you not happy? Intrigued?”

The Cardinal blinked a few times, not really expecting Primo to react that way. He was not upset, or unhappy. More puzzled and anxious than anything else. Mostly, he couldn’t understand why a woman as lovely as Isabelle would want anything to do with him. “I just think it’s a bit absurd,” was all he could manage.

“You are too rational, Cardinale,” Primo said, “This is why you are bothered. You want things to ‘make sense.’ You want everything to have a reasonable explanation. You hate the idea that such things might be out of your control or that fate has decided for you. I understand. I don’t fault you for that, it is just your nature.” He gave Copia a pat on the shoulder. “But matters of the heart very rarely ‘make sense.’”

Copia picked up his mug and took a long sip of his coffee. He still didn’t want to believe it. “It feels… I mean I feel… eh… People don’t just fall in love at first sight.”

“What do you think happened when I met my Lilliana, hmm?”

“You can’t be serious?”

Primo readjusted himself on the bench to be more comfortable, facing Copia. “Oh si, it is true. It was long ago, when I was a Cardinal like you, back at the Ministry in Italy. We met in the library. I turned around a bookshelf and ran right into her, the books she carried falling everywhere. I helped her gather them up, all apologies. When our eyes finally met, it was the same feeling you described. I could not look away. I felt as if I was on fire. My heart and my soul knew her, knew that she was the one I was searching for. My beautiful Lilliana. From that very moment, she was mine and I was hers. 50 years we spent together, Copia. And even though she is gone from this earth now, I see her in each flower I grow here. She is still with me.”

The old man’s words hit Copia hard. He had fond memories of Prime Mover Lilliana, of how she and Primo were infatuated with each other even into their golden years. Their relationship had been a pure example of true love and left Copia wondering if he would ever experience something like it. But that was years ago when he was a younger man. His last serious relationship had ended when he was promoted to Cardinal, and he had long since given up on such illusions…

He gave Primo’s arm a gentle squeeze. “You were a very lucky man to have known such love in your life. But I’m not searching for anything, or anyone.”

“Your head may not be, but your heart is. It always is. Things come to you when you stop looking for them,” Primo said sagely. “You need to get out of here,” he tapped Copia on the forehead, “And use this instead,” he nudged him in the middle of his chest. “Thank Satanas you do not think with your dick like Terzo does.”

The two men shared a knowing laugh. Primo’s youngest brother Terzo, the wild and lascivious Papa Emeritus the Third, would never have such hesitant thoughts when it came to an attractive woman. Copia was no stranger to carnal pleasure - he was, after all, high-ranking clergy in a church that encouraged such things. But he had no desire to compete with Terzo’s libertine antics.

“We joke, yes, but I am serious Copia,” Primo said softly. “These last few years have been challenging for us all, but for you especially - becoming Papa’s Cardinale, leaving Italy and Sister Antonella to come here… You do so much for us, for the Ministry, but I see you have changed. You work, you eat, you sleep. You isolate yourself. Where is your joy, figlio? I worry about you. True, you are not an Emeritus by blood, but to us you are family. We want you to be happy. You should have seen Sister Imperator last night, so excited talking about you and this lady.”

This was Copia’s chance to divert the topic of conversation from himself to the real reason he came to speak with Primo. “Speaking of Sister Imperator, have you found her… difficult to deal with of late?”

Primo shook his head. “No, not more so than usual. But I don’t interact with her as much as you do. Has she been causing you trouble?”

“She was the one who sent me into town yesterday. She insisted that I go, told me I had to meet Miss Bennett. It was on purpose. It felt like she was pushing us together. I suspect it was all because of one of her damn visions.”

“I would not be surprised. The Sister has become quite the avid prophet of late, eh?” Primo mused before downing the last of his coffee.

“Do you think we should be concerned?” Copia asked. “It’s starting to worry me.”

“Why?” Primo stood and shuffled off to the potting table in the corner. “Imperator has always had visions of some sort, as far back as I can remember. Births, deaths, times of joy or turmoil - she saw them beforehand.” He returned with a small pair of shears and began pruning overgrowth from his herbs. “I was always impressed with her accuracy. She would warn me when bad weather was coming so I could protect my plants. And there was that time she told Terzo who would win the Superbowl. He won quite a lot of money making bets.”

“Yes, but compare that to what she’s doing now. Buying this Abbey, all the renovations, moving our Clergy here, taking on students, summoning more Ghouls… These are major decisions that affect all of us, and The Ministry as a whole. Based on one woman’s visions.”

“But these are all good things, yes?” Primo countered, “We are thriving here! Our numbers increase week on week. We are spreading our message. As the Sister’s commitment to the Dark One grows, so does her connection with Him. Her devotion is rewarded with the strengthening of her foresight.”

“Primo, you and I both know that the Dark One does not just grant gifts. There is always a price,” Copia said, gesturing to his white eye, the symbol of his communion with the lord Lucifer. “What price will she have to pay for this great blessing, hm?”

The old man stopped fussing with his plants and turned his full attention back to Copia. “I do not know, figlio,” he said, an edge of worry in his voice, “If Sister has made a contract with our Dark Lord for her visions, she is wise enough to know the consequences. There is little we can do to change that. Hopefully, the continued success of The Ministry will be payment enough.”

“I hope so,” Copia said ruefully. “I worry that she’d burn this place down with all of us inside just because The Devil told her to.”

Primo sighed. “You are not the only one to have such concerns. Secondo has said similar things to me. He too worries that this is getting out of hand and that Sister Imperator is playing a dangerous game. Trust me when I say he is keeping an eye on her. I will tell him you are worried as well.”

“Thank you, Papa,” Copia nodded. “What about the others? What do they think?”

“They say and do nothing. Terzo is Terzo. He he reaping the rewards of our success without worrying about the consequences. But he would side with us if it came to that, this I know. And Nihil, quel vecchio sporcaccione, is as useless as tits on a bull. Whatever Imperator wants, he agrees. As it has always been.”

With a furrowed brow, Copia finished the last of his coffee. This conversation with Primo wasn’t easing his fears in the slightest. Secondo was the most experienced of the brothers in communicating with the Dark One. If he was nervous about Imperator’s heightened abilities, Copia was right to be uneasy.

Primo sat next to him again, placing a reassuring hand on Copia’s arm. “I think I understand… you and Sister have a complex relationship. She is like a mother to you. You worry about her, about what she is doing to herself and to all of us. And at the same time, you are upset. You feel she is meddling in your life, manipulating you into meeting with this witchy shop lady, si?”

The Cardinal laughed under his breath. The eldest Emeritus brother was well into his 80s, but his mind was still as sharp and perceptive as a young man’s. “Yes,” he said, “That’s exactly it.”

“Do you wish for me to just acknowledge your feelings, or would you like my advice?” Primo asked.

“I always value your advice, Papa,” Copia answered.

“Then my advice is this: do not dismiss your attraction to this woman because of the circumstances of your meeting. I have been where you are, I have felt these feelings for someone once, and I have never regretted it for a moment. I would wish the same happiness on you. You are a most loyal servant to the Dark One, and if he has brought the two of you together, there is a reason. He finds you deserving. What have you got to lose?”

“My immortal soul? It’s possible Sister Imperator has already sold it to him.”

It was Primo’s turn to laugh now. “Oh, Cardinale, she would never! You are too dear to her. But I would sell my soul five times over to have Lilliana back in my arms again. To me, it would be worth it.” His tone grew more serious, “Try not to let Sister trouble you, alright? We will keep watch over her. Live your life and try to find some happiness. Will you do that for me?”

“I’ll try, Primo. But no promises. I already have a full-time job keeping Terzo out of trouble,” Copia replied with a weary smile.

“We’ll see if we can’t get you some help with that too,” Primo offered, “You shouldn’t have to shoulder that burden alone.”

Primo’s Ghoul abruptly appeared, on alert. He stared pointedly out of the greenhouse window towards the back of the Abbey grounds. He was tense, his hands flexed with claws at the ready, and a low growl came from his throat.

“What is it Alpha?” Primo asked, alarmed. He stood and went to his Ghoul, following his line of sight with his own. Alpha stood in front of him protectively, but Primo placed his hand on the Ghoul’s shoulder to calm him. “It’s alright, it’s alright. It’s just a visitor.”

Copia popped up from the bench. “Oh! Is the deer back again?” he asked excitedly, making his way to the window, hoping to catch a glimpse of the stag that visited most mornings.

It was not the deer. It was a woman walking through the abandoned cemetery at the edge of the property. Even from several yards away, Copia recognized her immediately. His heart fluttered, his breath hitched. Isabella.

“Oh sweet Satanas, Primo. It’s her,” he whispered, “It’s Miss Bennett.”

“Well, well, well,” Primo grinned, “If that’s not a sign, I don’t know what is, Copia. You’d best go say hello to her, si?”

********

Izzy emerged from the Woods through a bower formed by the thick, unkempt hedges that edged the Abbey’s property. The abandoned nun’s cemetery stood just ahead of her, still shrouded in fog, most of its thin, plain tombstones jutting out of the ground at odd angles. Some stones were broken, while others lay flat on the ground in various states of decay, covered in moss and ivy. It was a bit more run-down than the last time she had been out here and vastly worse than she recalled from back in the day. It was dank and dreary, and perfectly melancholy.

Off to her left, several yards away was Windermere Abbey. This was the first time she had seen it since the Church of Emeritus had taken possession. Her last visit here with Ari was the previous autumn - it had been derelict for years at that point. Their amateurish attempts at urban exploration yielded nothing but crumbling old buildings filled with trash and graffiti, infestations of rats, gaping holes in the roofs, broken windows, and rotting wood.

But now? Now it was nothing like she had remembered.

The main chapel and all the other structures surrounding it looked as pristine as old buildings could possibly be. A new metal roof had been installed. All the masonry was repaired. Stained glass windows had been re-installed, and even the greenhouse was restored. The gardens were perfectly manicured, bordered by neat paths of clean gravel. Even the long wooden dormitory building along the side of the property had been completely rebuilt. It had likely been decades since it looked so immaculate. Izzy estimated that it must have cost hundreds of thousands of dollars, maybe even millions, to renovate it to this condition. And the interior was no doubt refurbished in a similar, grand manner. This beautiful piece of history was finally being appreciated again, but it was a stark contrast to the overgrown graveyard here.

She strolled through the cemetery, one of her clique’s favorite places to hang out and do dramatic, goth fashion photoshoots when she was a teenager. It was embarrassing to think about now, especially after learning the history of the building and the convent that occupied it. All these women who had lived their lives in pious devotion were long forgotten, their names barely visible on the worn stone tablets. Nature was taking it over, and Izzy found that morbidly appropriate. Earth to earth, ashes to ashes, dust to dust, and all that.

The sun was rising higher in the sky now, burning off the lingering fog. She would have to start her walk back to town soon to open the store on time. There hadn’t been a soul out on the Abbey grounds at this early hour, and she felt oddly disappointed. Some part of her had hoped she would see the Cardinal… which was silly, really. Did she expect him to be sitting there waiting for her? Of course not. He’d have no way of even knowing she was here. It was early, he was a busy man, he had duties and classes to teach, and a life of his own. This was technically his home - if he saw her, would he think she was stalking him? Was she trespassing on private property?

Suddenly, she was an anxious mess. Her mind raced with panicked thoughts. This is stupid. Why am I here? I shouldn’t have come… I need to get back. Go quick, before someone sees you, dumbass…

Izzy turned on her heel and started back towards the Woods. She took one last, admiring glance towards the Abbey.

That’s when she saw him. The Cardinal. Clad in a deep crimson cassock. Approaching her.

Holy shit.

Her head felt fuzzy and her heart was hammering in her chest as he came closer. The panic she was feeling just moments ago was still thrumming through her, like a hormonal teenager coming face to face with her crush.

The Cardinal must have sensed her anxiety. He moved forward slowly, as if she were a frightened animal that he didn’t want to scare off. And then he waved. A shy, awkward wave accompanied by an equally shy, awkward smile. He gazed at her, those hypnotic mismatched eyes twinkling, and it melted away the panic inside of her. She returned the wave, realizing only then that she still had her earbuds in and the music blasting through them. She quickly pulled them out and stashed them in her pocket, silencing her phone just as she heard him say “Hello.”

“Hello, Cardinal,” she smiled, stepping forward to close the distance between them. “I, uh… I hope I’m not intruding. You don’t mind me being here, do you?”

“Oh no no no, you are not intruding! Not at all! It is a pleasure to see you,” he stammered, full of nervous energy. “But, eh… how did you… what are you doing out here?”

“I was taking a walk,” she replied, “It’s a beautiful morning, with the fog. I couldn’t resist.”

“You walked? All the way from town?” he asked, incredulous.

“Yes, there’s a shortcut through the woods,” she said, motioning over to the dense trees nearby. “It starts right next to the library on King Street. Takes about half an hour or so.”

“I had no idea! Do… do you walk this way often?”

“Not as often as I used to. Haven’t been since the Abbey was sold.” She nodded towards the building. “It looks amazing, by the way! Last time I saw it, it was practically falling down. Now it’s almost good as new! You’ve even rebuilt the original greenhouse.”

“Yes, everything is completely refurbished inside and out,” Copia said proudly, “And Primo was quite insistent that the greenhouse be included in that.”

“Primo?”

“He was the head of our church, many years ago,” he explained. “He’s enjoying his retirement with us now. The greenhouse is his pride and joy.”

Izzy could see an older gentleman standing at the windows of the greenhouse, watching them with a smile on his face. “Is that him?” she asked.

The Cardinal glanced back, and the old man waved to acknowledge him. “Eh, yes, it is. I was just sharing a morning coffee with him. He is a good man… like a father to me.” Copia gave a small wave in return, and Izzy joined in with a wave of her own. She watched Primo wander away from the window, the smile still on his face, before she turned her attention back to the man in front of her.

“The only thing still needing to be dealt with is this place, I’m afraid,” Copia continued, referring to the old cemetery, “We have yet to come to a decision on what to do with it. We would not desecrate it, obviously, but do we clean it up, restore it, tend to it? Or do we just let it continue like this?”

“Funny you should say that because I was just thinking that letting nature reclaim it might be a reverent thing to do,” Izzy said, “There’s something strangely beautiful about seeing it all overgrown like this. But that’s just my opinion, unusual as it might be.”

“Yes, yes” he agreed, nodding in earnest, “I think so too! But the Sister, she… well, she thinks we should be asking the community first.”

Izzy laughed softly. “Well, as an almost-lifelong member of this community, I can tell you that most people in town won’t care…” She stopped, worried that she was making the townsfolk sound cruel or insensitive, so she softened her tone, “I mean, the convent shut down, like, 40 years ago. There won’t be many folks around that remember anything about them. And the Diocese didn’t even maintain the upkeep while they still owned it. I think you’re safe to do with it what you like.”

“Then I will tell Sister Imperator that I have spoken to a representative of the community,” he gestured towards Izzy with his hands, “And that the community says to leave it be, si?” Copia smiled at her then, and she could see a glint of playfulness in his mismatched eyes that made her heart flutter. “You seem to know much about the history of this place.”

“My mother was very involved with the town’s Historical Committee back in the day,” she explained, “I learned a lot through her.”

“You likely know even more than we do.”

“You think?” Izzy gave him a smirk. “Tell me what you know and we’ll find out!”

“Well,” Copia began, still smiling, still enraptured with her, “We know that the main chapel was built in the late 1800s, with the dormitory and outbuildings added sometime in the early 1900s. It housed a Benedictine convent. Over time, their numbers dwindled and it was closed down in the 1980s. But it was considered a historical property and no one wanted to tear it down, so it remained unused and fell into disrepair. Does that sound right?”

“Yes,” she said, “More or less… it was sold for a brief time in the 90s, but the town persuaded the Diocese to buy it back afterwards.” She leaned in a little closer to him. “And they were very unhappy about it, I might add,” she whispered slyly.

The Cardinal raised his eyebrow, intrigued. “Why?” he asked, his voice also a whisper.

“Some dude-bros from the city bought it and turned it into a very raunchy goth nightclub. Called The Sanctuary,” Izzy revealed. “Our town got quite a bad reputation because of that. It was a wild place.”

Copia gasped lightly, surprised and amused. “Really? Now that I did not know!”

“I spent many, many a night here in my younger years. Drinking, dancing, smoking up behind that greenhouse, taking naughty photos in this cemetery…” Izzy confessed with a giggle.

“Oh my, Isabella… How sacrilegious of you!” Copia was laughing now, and Izzy couldn’t help but join him.

The nervousness she’d felt earlier had dissipated. She was entirely comfortable in his presence - enough to admit to the rowdy antics of her misspent youth without fearing he would judge her. Instead, he was laughing along with her, endearing him to her even more. For his part, Copia’s initial awkwardness seemed to have faded. He stood a little taller, spoke more confidently, and joked with her easily. She still felt that mysterious pull toward him, but now it felt a little less like some pre-destined arrangement, and more like the natural attraction to a handsome, charming man.

“So,” she said, stifling her laughter, “That’s the secret history of Windermere Abbey. And that’s how I know exactly the path to take through the Woods to get here. It’s burned into my memory. I will say, the exterior looks much better than I remember. I’m sure the inside is very different.”

“Well, you must come in and see. Let me give you a guided tour,” he offered eagerly.

“Oh, I would absolutely love that! But…” She knew that she had to start her journey back, that at this point she was cutting it close to opening time. It killed her to have to say no. “I can’t today. I really need to head back to town. It’s a bit of a hike and I have to get the store open.”

Izzy could see the disappointment on his face, and she could feel her own in her heart. “Of course, mia cara, I understand,” he said. “Would you like a ride? I can see if someone is available to drive you back.”

“That’s very kind of you, Cardinal, but I’ll be fine. The walk is good for my soul, y’know?” She reached out and placed her hand over his reassuringly. “But I do want that tour. I absolutely do. And I want to have the time to enjoy it and appreciate it. So I’ll be back. Soon, okay?”

Copia’s face lit up with the sweetest grin, crinkling the corners of his dark-shadowed eyes, a slight blush coloring his freckled cheeks. “Yes, yes. Soon! I look forward to it.” He slid his gloved fingers over Isabelle’s and bowed slightly, bringing her hand up to his lips to place a delicate kiss on the back of it. “Until next time, then.”

He gently let go of her hand, the soft leather slipping from her grasp sooner than she wanted it to. A simple gesture that felt so sensual, it left her momentarily breathless. “Yes, until then.”

“Ciao, Bella.”

With a smile and a nod, she turned and began making her way back to the wooded path. Her hand was tingling where he had kissed it. She took a few more steps before she heard Copia’s voice call out behind her.

“Are you sure you’ll be alright in there, Bella? You won’t get lost, will you?” He sounded worried.

She spun around to face him, still walking backward towards the bower. “Yes, Cardinal, I’ll be fine. Don’t you worry about me. I know it like the back of my hand!”

Yeah. The back of my hand… that’s all tingly because you kissed it… and now I’m walking away flexing it like fucking Mr. Darcy… shit.

Izzy waved and turned back to The Woods, stepping through the opening in the hedge and starting her trek back to town. Slipping her earbuds back in, she restarted her playlist, setting it to shuffle. It was a good thing she knew the way so well because her mind certainly wasn’t focused on the path under her feet or the music in her ears. Her thoughts were wandering to Copia, his beautiful mismatched eyes, his smile, his classically handsome face, his musical Italian accent. Even his deep red Cardinal’s robes were unlocking something within her, another kink to put on the pile with all the others she had. And the gloves… she could not stop thinking of those gloved hands touching her. Everywhere.

Before she knew it she was at the Halfway Log. She had completely zoned out, wandering the Woods in a blissful daze for the last 20 minutes. She stopped for a moment, trying to clear her head, forcing her attention onto something to ground her. She chose the music. Nine Inch Nails was on the playlist, Trent Reznor growling in her ear about wanting to “fuck you like an animal.”

How appropriate… For fuck’s sake.

[coll2mitts]

#58 Phantom of the Paradise (1974)

Happy Halloween!  Let's show these industry music phonies what a REAL artist looks and sounds like by murdering everyone that goes against our vision!

I will admit, I had absolutely no idea what I was getting into watching Phantom of the Paradise, and how intense its Phans are.  Its production is probably one of the most well documented out of all the movies I’ve written about on this list so far... so much so I had to cut off my research phase before the materials ran out because I never would have released this on time otherwise.  Conventions, and interviews, and painstakingly written breakdowns of every scene in the movie, oh my!

I’m going to have to release a redux version of this next year, aren’t I?

I thought this would be a weird 70s rock version of The Phantom of the Opera, which it is, but it is also Faust, A Picture of Dorian Gray, and like 3 decades worth of musical genres.  Phantom of the Paradise is directed by Brian De Palma, who is probably more well-known for his work on Carrie and Scarface.  I've never seen a single one of his movies, but that's OK, everything I need to know about him is succinctly outlined in this review of The Black Dahlia, and while you could prolly watch the entire movie in the time it takes you to watch Willie's recap of it, why would you want to?  

Apparently Mr. De Palma wrote Phantom of the Paradise after hearing a muzak version of The Beatles in an elevator and was so salty about it he had to make an entire movie about the music industry bastardizing creative genius and like, sure.  This isn't the first movie on this list to bitch about how exploitative the music and film industries can be, but this is the only one where the dude wears a metal bird helmet and murders people.

Phantom begins like any other Twilight Zone episode, with narration from Rod Serling warning us a monster may live in the opera house, but it might not appear as one in the beginning.  Then we're introduced to The Juicy Fruits, Death Records' latest retro musical act, put together by their President and first bird-related character name, Swan.  They sing a song about how some dude killed himself to sell more records, which isn't at all foreshadowing the events that happen later in the film.  After they're done recording, some Ben Folds motherfucker who was acting as their pianist starts playing exerts from his original cantata Faust.  

Swan likes what he hears and asks his lackey Arnold Philbin to get a few songs from the ironically named Winslow Leach so The Juicy Fruits can record them.  When the doo-wop band is mentioned, Winslow loses his absolute shit and insists "Faust" can only be sung by him and him alone.  Arnold is like, "Cool, dude, that's chill, just give me a few of the songs from your weirdly long 300 page sonata and Swan will think about producing your new album."  Winslow gives up the goods and Swan *surprisingly* never contacts him again.

About a month later, Winslow tries to approach Swan at Death Records, and immediately I'm reminded of greasy pop-punk kids wearing Atticus t-shirts roaming the halls of my high school.  In Phantom, this logo was awkwardly plastered over building signs, podiums, television sets, tape recorders, cameras, and whole mess of other things in post-production, and it uhhh, stood out.  

I thought perhaps this was to cut costs on props, but turns out these signs originally read "Swan Song Records", which is morbidly poetic.  Unfortunately for everyone involved, Led Zeppelin formed Swan Song Records in the time between the film finished shooting and the film being released.  To avoid a lawsuit, 20th Century Fox forced the team to edit out any references to Swan Song, and it is super noticeable and several years later people are still screaming about releasing the Swan Song cut.

Winslow gets booted from the building, and tracks Swan down at his home compound, Swanage.  TURNS OUT, Swan is holding auditions for his latest rock opera, Faust!  Winslow meets Phoenix while she's rehearsing his song while waiting and instantly falls in love.  He reveals he wrote the song, and she fawns over him in an attempt to get cast in the background chorus.  He takes her kindness as a sign of affection, and spends the rest of the movie obsessed with her.  

After Philbin tries to casting-couch Phoenix and she runs off, Winslow disguises himself as a hot chick in order to gain access to Swan.  He politely inquires what the fuck is up with Swan yanking Faust out from under him, and the confrontation goes about as well as expected.  Winslow gets physically removed, framed for possession of heroin, and lugged off to do time in the aptly named Sing Sing.

Swan, played by Paul Williams, is also the composer of this film.  He wrote songs for the Muppet-based movies that appear on this list, including "The Rainbow Connection", "Movin' Right Along", and "When Love is Gone", but also found success writing for pop acts like Daft Punk, David Bowie and The Carpenters.  While Phantom of the Paradise pretty much bombed upon release, the soundtrack went gold in Canada because 20k copies of it were sold in my motherland of Winnipeg, Manitoba.  For context, that's 40% of its total record sales.  The movie had a 18-week run in the city, and had a brief resurgence later that summer when Paul Williams played a concert there.  There have been a few retrospectives conducted to understand why exactly Winnipeg, of all places, clung to this story, including an entire feature-length documentary that I couldn't watch because you can't stream it anywhere.  There's been several Phantompaloozas hosted there for fuck’s sake.  But best I can tell, it really caught on with the kids in Winnipeg because it was marketed toward children on television.  The author of this article regaled a time where him and his other school-aged buddies would reenact scenes from it at recess, which is equal measures delightful as it is disturbing.

Winslow is having a terrible time in prison, as the Swan Foundation pulled all his teeth as part of what they called “Dental Health Research”.  6 months later, while Winslow is assembling board games as part of the government's legalized slavery program, he overhears his worse nightmare - The Juicy Fruits are going to be opening Swan's new venue, The Paradise, with Faust!  Winslow is so incensed by this, he hulks out of prison and attempts to destroy the recordings at Death Records.  He instead gets his head caught in a record press, becoming horribly disfigured with a copy of his bastardized work.  

When Winslow reappears, he is sporting a lovely metal beak and an appetite for revenge!  During rehearsals for the new 60s surf-rock branded Juicy Fruits, the Phantom starts the kill counter by blowing up a car on stage.

The fact there are not one, but two uncut shots on the screen at one time is bananas.

Swan seems generally unaffected by this, and tries to appease Winslow by offering him a job.  Swan invites Winslow to attend auditions so his vision for Faust can be realized properly.  Phoenix is there, and after agreeing to sell her voice to Swan, Winslow also agrees to rewrite the cantata with Phoenix’s performance in mind.  Winslow then signs a contract in blood without a lawyer present after Swan fucked him over once before, because it seems Winslow is incapable of learning anything from the story of Faust, even when he's currently living the plot.  

Swan begins to conduct his own secret auditions to replace Phoenix as a lead, seated at a desk that Ron Swanson would be disgusted by.

Swan settles on a showy glam-rock star named Meatloaf Beef, which presumably is the opposite of what Winslow wants.  Beef is from Transylvania, so of course they introduce him by having him emerge from a coffin growling.  On the day of the show’s opening, Swan drugs Winslow, grabs his latest version of the Cantata, and Cask of Amontillado's him into his recording studio.

Winslow hulks himself out of that, as well, and decides to threaten Beef's life in the shower, psycho-style.

For a second, Beef forgot about Winslow's whole thinly-veiled death threat thing, and he wondered how clean the plunger was.  

Beef tries to leave the production, but is convinced to stay when Arnold offers him drugs.  This was the wrong call, because moments later, after the newly 70s-updated Juicy Fruits build a Franken-Beef on stage, Winslow makes good on his threat and electrocutes him.

Then, out of the flames of Beef's corpse, Phoenix arises to sing a Karen Carpenter-esque ballad to calm the crowd down.

Winslow is comforted by Phoenix's performance, but so is Swan.  He goes into her dressing room and propositions her for sex, and she's so excited by her future career as a recording artist, she goes back to Swanage and fucks him.  Winslow watches this uncomfortably long love scene through a skylight and decides to stab himself out of grief.  The wound doesn't kill him, however, as Swan informs Winslow that because he signed a contract, he can't die until Swan does.  And also, just for funsies, Swan is immortal because he is under a mysterious contract as well.

Winslow discovers a tape in Swan's recording studio that reveals the secret of his success.  Swan, during a suicide attempt, makes a deal with the devil to stay young forever.  As long as the recording of the deal stays intact, Swan will never age, much like The Picture of Dorian Gray.  It's also revealed that all Swan learned from the Beef debacle is that crowds love murder, so he arranges to marry Phoenix on television at the end of Faust, and have her assassinated on stage shortly afterward to boost the ratings for sweeps week.  Winslow decides he needs to stop this immediately and destroys the videotape, damning himself and Swan to die.

While the records room burns, the Paradise is hoppin' in anticipation for Swan and Phoenix's wedding.  Winslow shoots the priest, which causes a mild frenzy, but not enough to keep people from partying.  He then stabs and kills Swan, which reopens his own stab wound, and The Phantom dies splayed out on the carpet with his one milky eyeball hanging out.  Phoenix can only look on in horror with the knowledge she'll need years and years of therapy to process the last 2 minutes of her life.

I saw this movie compared with Rocky Horror Picture Show several times while diving into this, and there are some parallels.  Both are rock horror musicals, both have a flashy frankenstein’s monster, and they were released within a year of each other.  Other than those surface level items, I don’t think it’s a fair comparison.  Watching Phantom of the Paradise is a weirdly unique experience, as the film acknowledges its campy nature, but still works hard to drive home the overlying message that creative industries care nothing for artistic endeavors and only want to make money.

I’m reminded of a statement former Disney CEO Michael Eisner used in a memo once, which yeah.. I know, hear me out.  He was the head of the company during the Disney Renaissance, and for all the questionable decisions he did make, those movies saved the company.  In an internal memo sent out during his time at Paramount, he riffed on a Don Simpson quote, “We have no obligation to make art. We have no obligation to make history. We have no obligation to make a statement. But to make money, it is often important to make history, to make art, or to make some significant statement… In order to make money, we must always make entertaining movies, and if we make entertaining movies, at times we will reliably make history, art, a statement, or all three. We may even win awards… We cannot expect numerous hits, but if every film has an original and imaginative concept, then we can be confident that something will break through.”

Now, this quote was taken from Disney War, and I couldn’t get a copy of the book to verify it, but I see it floating around in Disney forums constantly to justify why Eisner was the worst CEO ever because he said money was the primary goal of movie making.  But this statement is an insightful peek behind the curtain.  Disney is a business.  20th Century Fox is a business, and if they made a ton of movies that had artistic merit, but didn’t make them money, they’d have to stop making movies.  The goal of businesses is to make money so you can stay in business.

All this to say, yes, being exploited by a huge machine who has more power and money than God is absolutely wrong.  Swan isn’t justified in stealing Winslow’s work and murdering people to make The Paradise more successful.  But hearing a Muzak rendition of "A Day in the Life” isn’t quite the horror Brian De Palma made it out to be.  The Beatles have always been making that bag, so tone it down a bit.

[opalpearl86]

Passionate Desires

Dave York x Aurora Black Story

Chapter 1: A Thrilling Game of Desire

In a suburban neighborhood of Chicago, Dave York is standing in the middle of his home office looking at the latest reports from work. He is holding an updated photograph of current target: Aurora Black. Dave right now is reading her biography: born on October 31, 1998 (a Halloween baby and a Scorpio) from here in Chicago to parents Frida Calderon-Boots, an American squib of the Calderon-Boots Family and Sirius Black, a British pure-blooded wizard of the ancient house of House Black; both have divorce due to her mother’s numerous affairs on her father when she was four years old, so Sirius moved back to the UK after the divorce was finalized a year later. From eleven to eighteen she attended Ilvermorny School of Witchcraft and Wizardry on Mount Greylock near Salem, Massachusetts. Choosing the house Thunderbird after all four wooden statues came to life after Aurora entered the circle during the sorting ceremony in her first year, her wand was made out of prickly ash with horn serpent as its core. Aurora attended the Chicago Institute of Art with a major in Photography and minors in Editing and Filming to blend in more with the no-maj in the no-maj community according to Dave’s informants back in the wizarding community.

Dave was impressed and smirked at this female witch that came from two respectable wizarding families on both sides of the Atlantic Ocean. He was able to sense Aurora right away from a distance every morning watching him getting to work at the Auror’s office in the city. This girl was doing a very poor ass job while watching him and his family for the past several months. Dave finished his already cold black coffee, left his office, went up to the kitchen and put the empty mug in the sink, went over to his wife Carol for a quick kiss and left the house for his precious target.

Aurora Black just finished with the latest debriefing with her idiot of a boss Resnik about Dave York. From her point of view, this motherfucker is extremely jealous of the damn man. She felt really sorry for the poor bastard for being a squib with no magical talent.

Aurora’s Flashback:

“Black, Are the photos of Dave York you have taken really good?” Resnik asks like a total dumb ass.

 “Yes, Resnik, The photos I have taken of York are fucking amazing especially of him dancing with his wife Carol at a recent open air jazz festival, spending with his two daughters Alice and Molly at the Shedd Aquarium during a school field trip back in May.” Aurora handed over the manila envelope with photos she had taken of Dave York to him.

“Not bad, Black, not bad at all.” Resnik was looking through the photos that she had taken during the last two months of doing fucking surveillance and following one of the damn best Aurors in MACUSA. For fucking hell’s sakes, Dave York is in the top ten best Aurors in fucking North America all together from Aurora’s point of view. She heard about the damn man alot growing up from her grandfather Javier Calderon-Boots and late uncle Enrique Calderon-Boots, both fucking Aurors themselves. Only saw the man with his then girlfriend and now wife once before from a distance at her uncle Enrique’s funeral, he spoke with both of her grandparents briefly. She was only fucking eight at the time, her mother has always been in and out of the fucking picture since the divorce with her father. Aurora stays in frequent contact with her father Sirius throughout the years with letters and the phone calls were only during the holidays when she is home from Ilvermorny. Sirius comes and visits Aurora around their birthdays and stays until after the Thanksgiving holidays, when she was still going to Ilvermorny.

“I had to admit that Dave York is extremely alluring and a very charming man when I was doing surveillance on him for the past several months, Resnik.” When Aurora has finally confessed about her target.

“I don’t simply give a flying fuck in what you do or your opinion about Dave motherfucking York,” Resik finally spoke up after finishing looking at her photos she have taken “I just want you continue in what you are fucking doing until I say otherwise.”

“Yes, sir” She said sarcastically and finally left Resnik’s office. Aurora has to admit that she is extremely jealous of Dave York herself, but for totally different reasons than Resnik’s. She always wanted what Dave York has: a highly well paying job, a loving spouse, two beautiful children and a large two-story house with a white picket fence in the suburbs

[faustiandevil]

I think I’m finally okay to talk about the last few months…

This is going to be a rollercoaster.

So, I switched departments at the start of October and my mental health plummeted right after. Getting a new portfolio has its own stresses, but hardly receiving any sort of guidance from the person I took over from adds to it. Like yes we did have handover meetings, but I was always the one who asked “Okay, when are you free?” and it hardly lasted longer than an hour. There was also no written guide that I could turn to, so I took it upon myself to make one (it’s currently over 100 pages, so you know it’s detailed), which also slowed me down, because I had to go through the handover screen recordings, take screenshots of the process, write it down into a word file, while also being constantly bombarded by emails. Fun.

To add to that Natey’s health hasn’t been improving, despite the constant vet visits and the meds. Finally we decided to not let her suffer any longer and put her down. She passed away before that on October 31st. I only had that day off as the first few days are crucial for the closing period, so right after I put her into the ground (literally) I had to go back to work. I still keep blaming myself for not being there enough and more insistent of taking her to the vet sooner and resenting my job from spending time with her in the last month. I also did more overtime that close then I ever did, like 13 hours for 2 days in a row.

Also to kick a man while he is down I lost my Goatlings account on the same day I had to bury my child. Apparently I had a link that was for a NSFW site, when I only had my socials. I suspect it might have been my AO3, but even then it went to my profile and not straight into one of my fics, and I’m not directly standing behind anyone forcing their hands to click on the link. I also tried opening a ticket inquiring about it, but the only way to do that is to have an account, so I made a dummy one and specified in the ticket that I would be deleting it right after, but I got banned… again. I also reached out to the site owner, but she hasn’t gotten back to me since. I feel like a warning should have been given first, because I honestly didn’t see any problem with having any of the links to my socials, and it didn’t bother anyone before either, so… (I honestly only played during the Halloween event, so it’s not a big loss, but I wish it wasn’t for a stupid reason that I didn’t even do.)

Time heals, but every time someone talks to me I feel like I’m barely holding it together and constantly on the verge of breaking down. Now that I have the Desk Guide and cleared out most of the emails, and getting into a routine in the new place, my mental health improved slightly (wow look at what not having constant stress can do to a motherfucker). I also decided to come out, because I stopped caring at this point and if the company wants to fire me for being a trans faggot, so be it. If they are actively killing me the least they can do is use the proper pronouns. At least they have to keep me around until I get my bonus, because there is no one else to do the books~

[gignikinszz]

anakin is on the train and this dipshit infront of him has been humming christmas songs everyday on his morning work commute for the past week and it’s the middle of fucking august so he’s ready to confront this motherfucker for his crimes against humanity and his eardrums then boom obi wan meet cute

anon. im obsessed 💍💍💍💍 ficlet under the cut xx

i took a few liberties with this, but i hope u still like it :)) modern au, annoyances to lovers but only from anakin's pov, 1.3k. mentions of christmas music and horrible hours of the morning beware

It was 5:15. Five-fifteen in the goddamn morning. It was six in the goddamn morning, and it was the middle of August. The seventeenth of August, to be exact.

The third week, to the day, of Anakin’s personal hell.

Some context: Anakin was on the train, just trying to get to his job at a local bakery, still trying to wake up. He’d been late that morning and hadn’t had time for coffee, and was therefore grumpy. Grumpier than usual. So fucking grumpy.

And that same motherfucker from the past three weeks was singing. Again.

Now, Anakin wasn’t a cold-hearted monster, okay? He wasn’t against singing, not at all. Not even at 5:15 in the goddamn morning on a Thursday. Not even on the train. No, what he was against, morally and spiritually and on all levels (including physical), was the fact that the stranger was singing Christmas music. In August.

Today, it was Jingle Bells, though really, the song should’ve been named Jingle Hell. Overly jaunty, reminiscent of fifth-grade showcases, jarring and horrid, even when sung with a voice as nice as Christmas Music Man’s. A disgusting display of Christmas cheer, absolutely murdering Anakin’s poor eardrums, making him wish for the fiftieth time in the past twenty-one days that his stupid dog and stupider cat hadn’t totally destroyed his earbuds fighting over them, and that he wasn’t too busy (lazy) to go get new ones.

God, he was going to lose it. If he heard one more annoying-ass sing, he was going to—

… you gave it away. This year, to save me from tears, I’ll give it to someone special…

Last Christmas. The stranger, who always, for some sick and twisted reason, sat directly behind Anakin, was singing Last Christmas.

“Yo, dipshit, can you, like shut the fu—ck.” Anakin choked as he finally got a glimpse of the stranger. “Not up. Um. You can keep singing. Bye.”

Oh, shit.

Oh, shit. He was hot. Oh, fuck. Oh, god. He was so fucking hot and Anakin had just called him a dipshit. And spazzed out. And, worse, told him he could keep singing his awful Christmas music. He’d told the most attractive asshole motherfucker he’d ever seen that he could keep singing Last Christmas. At 5:15 in the goddamn morning. In the middle of August.

Oh, fucking shit.

Anakin spent the rest of that (thankfully not-very-long, after his outburst) train ride in silence, rethinking his life, wondering how someone so hot could be committing such heinous crimes against humanity. It didn’t make sense, at first. The man had looked nice. Or just hot. Anakin didn’t know. He’d been wearing a sweater vest with nothing underneath, showing off his very muscular arms, and he’d had very soft-looking hair. How could someone who dressed like a slutty 80-year-old have such poor taste in music? Have such little respect for Anakin, and Anakin’s eardrums, and the world at large?

It didn’t make sense, but when Anakin talked to Ahsoka, who was opening with him that day, she told him it did.

“You know,” she said, “if he’s really that hot, there’s gotta be something wrong with him. So the universe is fair and shit.”

And Anakin had to agree. There truly was something wrong with the man. Deeply, deeply wrong. Disturbed, even. Not that it made it fair that Anakin still had to suffer every morning. Or that his eardrums felt like they might die.

The next morning, he resolved to put a stop to it, good looks aside. For the sake of both his sanity, and for the world. Well, the world of the train at 5:15 in the morning. It was important to him, okay?

So he steeled himself the next morning. Got up early so he could get coffee and fix his hair, because presentation was important in these sorts of confrontations. Not for any other reason. Anakin also wore his nice work shirt, the one without too many stains, for the impending argument, of course. He would’ve looked his best while telling any asshole to stop fucking singing Christmas songs on the train at ass-o’clock every morning, whether or not they were hot.

Okay, maybe it had something to do with the fact that the guy was hot. Whatever. Sue Anakin for wanting to make a better second impression.

When he got to the train, he felt all wound-up, just waiting for the inevitable. For Holly Jolly Christmas or All I Want for Christmas is You or Chestnuts Roasting on the Open Fire of Anakin’s Burning Hatred for Christmas Songs. Or whatever that last one was called. His knee was bouncing, fingers tapping, heart pounding in anticipation. For the inevitable confrontation, of course.

It began five minutes after Anakin sat down. 5:18 in the morning.

Fucking Spooky Scary Skeletons.

An insult to Anakin’s pride, to his honor, to his family, to the month of August, to Halloween, and to the world at large, that’s what the man behind him was singing. An insult of the highest order, and Anakin had only had one cup of coffee.

So he did something wild, something insane, something totally out of character for him.

He waited.

He waited until the train made its next stop, the one before his, and he moved quickly to sit across the aisle from the man.

“Hey,” he said before he could chicken out. “What the fuck is your problem?”

Hot Asshole turned to look at him slowly. “What do you mean?” He asked, all posh and British and refined, and wow, Anakin was beginning to understand the appeal of those love-hate, enemies-to-lovers, 100k slow burn type relationships. That was hot. Despite, or perhaps even more so because of, the man’s infuriating little eyebrow thing, it was really hot.

“Your stupid music,” Anakin heard himself saying, refusing to back down despite the sight in front of him. “Sir, are you aware that it’s August?”

The man smiled. Pretty, Anakin’s mind supplied. Shut up, he snapped back.

“What does that have to do with anything?” he asked, folding his hands over one knee, crossing it over the other.

Anakin blinked, slowly, trying to let his brain catch up. “Well, you’re. It’s. That’s a Halloween song,” he said, feeling dumber by the second.

“And?” The man was still smiling, all innocent, and Anakin was suddenly unsure if it was nerves or annoyance making his face flush.

“And, um—well—whoever you are, you’re singing Halloween music. It’s August.”

“I’m Obi-Wan,” the man said unhelpfully. “And I don’t see what the issue is. Spooky Scary Skeletons is about bones. The human body. Personally, I think bodies are relevant year-round, don’t you?”

No, it was definitely annoyance.

“That’s about spooky, scary skeletons. It’s a fucking Halloween song. And even if it was applicable, it doesn’t change the fact that you’ve been singing fucking Christmas music every day for the past three weeks.” Anakin gave the man his best glare, but it didn’t seem to phase him. On the contrary, he just smiled a little brighter.

“It’s just what’s been stuck in my head,” he said, sounding innocent. “I don’t know what you want me to do about it.”

“I—just—I—I want you to go out with me!” Okay, so Anakin didn’t mean to say that. In the slightest. And Obi-Wan was looking at him weirdly, and also, that wasn’t even a good solution to what Obi-Wan was asking, so Anakin opened his mouth to backtrack, but before he could—

“Okay.” Obi-Wan shrugged, smiling slightly. Anakin’s heart did a funny little somersault. “Is this your stop?”

And shit—it was, and Anakin hadn’t even gotten past the initial asking. No time to ask for horrible, hot, annoyingly heart-pounding Christmas Asshole’s number.

But that was fine. After all, Anakin was probably going to have to tell him to sing an appropriate song the next day, as well.

[euclydya]

System Ask!

2 ;; colour palette for your system?

6 ;; any collective interests?

12 ;; any in-sys jokes?

13 ;; any in-sys relationships?

19 ;; are there any specific times where certain alters come to front?

-Chrellys/Hunter G.

ok this is Long HFJSJD whoops

HmMMMB. smth like this perhaps:

Rose golds bc that's our favourite colour, the bright pink bc its hex is "ffaaee" and that's a Mood, golds/yellows bc Url™, & blue + yellow bc celestial vibes which we Lov

—

Collectively we're into gaming (TBOI & Pokemon specifically!), drawing, andddd watching certain YouTubers (Johnstone, Dougdoug, and Hutts specifically are All Time Faves™)!

Sysmate specifc hyperfixations tht have bled into the rest of the system include but r not limited to: Peggle (Izzet's fault), Vampire Survivors/20 Minutes Til Dawn/any similar games (Isaac-B's fault), Pokemon Nuzlockes as a whole (Duncan's fault), and any kind of lost media (my fault)!

*(for clarification we all love our collective hyperfixations and we all enjoy sysmate-specific hyperfixations too when they become a sys-wide one and we aren't annoyed by them or anything, we just find it funny to go "yeah our interest in X thing is because of THIS motherfucker SPECIFICALLY" FHSJSKDKF /lighthearted)

—

Tbh I can't think of anything Super Specific? Ig us saying smth like "Find a hyperfixation and maybe then you'll stop being a persecutor (/lighthearted)" to each other kinda counts bc it 100% works for us HFHJDKSJFCK. We don't force any persecutor-adjacent sysmates into hyperfixations but,, when they find smth to Be Really Happy Abt they tend to do a 180 rather quickly JFJDJDKDJ

oh but a REALLYYYY old inside joke from over 10 yrs ago was "Ok. This..... Is just a Box. :)" cannot find a good way to explain that one at all without writing an essay tbh it's got LAYERS behind it GNDJSKDKFKFJA. the usual response after was always smth like "oh dear fucking god."

WAIT A SECOND I JUST REMEMBERED A RECENT ONE: THE DIVORCE™*. LMAO

—

Yes!!!! plenty of em! uhhhhj most recent ones areee:

Ed becoming a parental figure for Isaac-B!! good for both of em tbh!!

Izzet & FrankIVe dating ???????? I literally thought FrankIVe went dormant but go off congrats! NFJSJF

*Izzet and I being Divorcees™. I Divorced™ hem and demoted hem to Blorbo Status™ bc of My Good Friend Jonathan Harker From My Emails. We were married for 5 seconds. (This is the most recent inside joke. BFJSKFJ)

—

YES omg.,,, We have,,, 2 sysmates. Who Only front during October. Or they TRY to idk they used to front EVERY October when the body was younger but not so much anymore fjjskskx. so shoutout 2 FF and Jeepers for being moods tbh bc if I could I'd also only front during Halloween Month

But as for like,, thru the day then yes as well!! We have sysmates tht (,,, sometimes /lighthearted) front to help get the body to sleep. We also have sysmates tht usually front during certain weather conditions too!

—

Thank you!! —Rosie

[overwhore-s]

A Freak in a Sheet (Ghost!Bakugou x Reader) part 1

part II

This is 1347 words and I wrote it all in under an hour. I am both proud of myself for writing so fast but also kinda mad ‘cause I know I made some typos ‘n shit but am too lazy to read after myself so aaah...if you find anything PLEASE let me now I will thank you very nicely <3 

Anyways have some ghost Bakugo. Where I am right now, it is the day before Halloween. I’ll try to post the second (smutty) part tomorrow. if you want to, please also support this on AO3. Love you lots, please enjoy <3 

warnings: some swearing. also brief mentions of depression. 

Get lost, motherfucker, reads the lovely message scrawled on your bathroom mirror. Now, you’re no expert on the psychology of writing, but you’re almost certain the author is angry with you. He’s such a big personality too, with those big, bold letters. And he wrote it in…blood? Experimentally, you dip your pinky in the red substance and then put it in your mouth. You grimace.

Chili sauce.

“Listen, friend,” you start, mentally preparing yourself for the oncoming onslaught of ghastly apparitions and cupboards flying open. Ghosts are annoying like that.

“I’m not here to cause you any sort of harm, believe it or not.”

The lightbulb above your head flickers aggressively, as if in disbelief at your words.

“Woah, you doubting me buddy? I’m telling the truth, I swear!” You lay your hand over your heart as you say that, hoping the ghost will see it as a guarantee.

No such luck. The cabinet door suddenly opens, hitting you painfully in the knee. You cry out and start hopping around on your unhurt leg, all the while swearing like a sailor.

“Ow! Fuck this! I’ve just about had it with you! I’m done being nice, you stupid fucking ghost! I’m going all Ghostbusters on your ass!” You threaten, before kicking the cabinet closed and shamefully limping away.

Bakugou materializes leaning against your bathtub, a self-satisfied smirk pulling at his lips. You’ll be out before the week is out, he’s certain of it.

                                            •─────⋅☾ ☽⋅─────•

Despite his best efforts, a week passes and you still remain, as stubborn as ever. It’s more than a week now, actually, closer to six months, but time tends to flow funny when you’re a ghost. He’s lost count of how many lightbulbs fell victim to his explosions, how many times you tried to capture him in a ring of salt. You seem to know an awful lot about ghosts – most likely you’ve met others before at some point in your life, considering you’re not even a little scared of him.

If anything, you’re…curious. When you’re not busy shielding yourself from flying objects or relighting the candles he continues to snuff out, you ask him stuff, and it’s annoying, and he hates how he sometimes gets the urge to give an honest answer.

You never ask about traumatic shit like his death or why he chooses to remain on Earth instead of passing to the next world. You want to know about whether he was a college student as well, if so, what was his major, what music he likes, if he’s a dog person or a cat person. When you’re watching TV and something makes you laugh, you point at the screen showing some stupid game show and yell: “Do you see this? What a dumbass!” He can’t help himself but agree, because the guy is indeed a dumbass for answering an easy question like that wrong, and it is pretty fucking funny if he does say so himself.

You talk about yourself too. When you come home from school for example, you tell him about your day. The first few times it happens, he keeps rattling pots and pans to disrupt your speaking, but you barely let it affect you, continuing in a cheerful tone despite the obnoxious noise.

He soon finds he likes the sound of your voice, no matter how hard he tries to deny it. Before you came in it, his life after death was quiet, depressive and mundane. Now it’s hardly peaceful, but you brought change, and light, and laughter…he never realized what he was missing.

Until you happened.

He listens to you even when you’re at your lowest, sharing your insecurities and fears with him like he’s a most trusted friend. He hates how the sight of you, shaking with sobs when the world gets the best of you, makes his chest feel all sorts of tight and his head spin with anger at whoever caused you to be like this.

It’s mostly at times like these that he wants to reveal himself to you, gather you up in his arms and hold you close to his chest. Would you feel it? Would you get grossed out, push him away? There’s too many variables, and he’s still just coming to terms with his affection for you.

So he chickens out.

You have average days as well. When nothing amazing has happened at school or work, or you’re too tired to want to talk about it. You take a long shower, enjoy your meal in silence and head straight to bed.

Bakugou feels weird watching you sleep, so he doesn’t. He hangs around the kitchen instead, cleaning the dishes you were too beat to take care of before sleep. Sometimes he watches TV, the same shows you like, but it’s not half as entertaining when you’re not there to keep him company.

It’s so fucking strange, he thinks, so unlike me.

When exactly did he stop seeing you as an annoyance and started considering you a friend?

                                                 •─────⋅☾ ☽⋅─────•

He doesn’t know how exactly it happened. It’s like his body – his weird, unearthly, ghost body – moved on its own. One moment you’re standing up on a chair in order to reach that bag of chips he purposefully moved out of your reach because he knows how much you like saving them for a show and it doesn’t start for another thirty minutes – the other you’re falling, and he thinks, shit, that’s all my fault, isn’t it?

And so he catches you. His solid arms encircle your waist and your back hits his chest and you’re warm and alive and it feels wonderful.

He hears you gasp, not in fear, just surprise, and he wonders if you knew he was in the kitchen with you the whole time.

“Thanks for that,” you say, knees wobbly as he lets go of you.

“You’re welcome,” he grumbles and the words are out before he can stop them. Yep. He did it. After months of playing the mute, he finally broke his silence.

“I knew you could speak,” you say, triumphantly. You’re still not turning around though, and Bakugou thinks it might be because you’re scared of what he looks like. It’s not that bad. Who’s he kidding, it’s great, actually. He never was one to deny the obvious – unless it hurt his pride too much – and so he can admit to himself that he’s an attractive guy…or at the very least, the people who knew him when he was alive considered him attractive.

“Can I look at you?” You ask suddenly, carefully. Like you’re considering his feelings or some shit. It throws him off balance. Here was he, thinking you were shallow like the rest of them, and all along you’ve just wanted his consent.

When you don’t get an answer out of him right away, you panic. “Like – you don’t have to. I know some deceased don’t like showing their faces. It was nice enough of you to show me your arms though – you have nice arms – but like…I’m going to the living room. You can dematerialize. Let’s watch some TV.”

No. He doesn’t want to do all that…dematerialized, he realizes. “You can look,” he blurts out quickly. If there was any doubt that he liked you before, now there’s none.

“Are you sure?” You ask once again, this time trying his goddamn patience.

“Fuck’s sake.” He grabs you by the arms – how heavenly it is to touch something living for a change – and forcibly turns you around.

You look at him, the first person to see him in…in too many years, and as your eyes fill with amazement and wonder, he knows it was worth it to wait for so long to show himself after all.

“What’s your name?” You ask, softly, and his throat feels tight as he responds.

“Bakugou.” He doesn’t ask for yours. He’s known it for a long time now.

You grab his hand and squeeze, warm, human, alive, perfect. “Very well then. Want to watch a reality show with me, Bakugou?”

[awed-frog]

Hi, genuinely asking here, since I kinda like your blog, but from the 2 english articles I found about the whole mila situation(it's a French issue, how is the rest of the world supposed to notice it if French people don't bother letting them know?) the uproar is about her being islamophobic af, not about her rightfully telling men to not hit on her or that she is a lesbian. Like, my French is rusty but none of the french articles even care about those parts. What are you going on about?

The uproar is that you have a right to be “Islamophobic” because freedom of speech protects blasphemy. Without this protection, we wouldn't have satirical newspapers, books like Harry Potter (which was officially branded a 'corruptive influence' by the former Pope) or anything Neil Gaiman wrote and mostly 90% of the movies we watch, not to mention random conversations, Halloween costumes, Carnival stuff and so on. I mean I'm guessing that during an ordinary day, you might enjoy an episode of Supernatural or Lucifer, or even watch a movie where two characters briefly discuss whether God is real, or what an asshole He is, and why He lets bad things happen. Next you might participate to an online or RL discussion about the same thing. Depending on your native language and whether swear words are usually about religion or not, you might even blaspheme out right - a stunned 'Porco Dio' when something doesn't go your way. You might scroll past, and 'like', posts that say Christianity fucked the world and deserves to be destroyed, or people insisting God is a woman, trans, a pink wombat. You may see or write angry posts about how all priests are pedophiles, or hiding pedophiles. You might make or enjoy memes about Biblical stuff like Cain and Abel, and reblog gifs from The Life of Brian or one of the thousand offensive jokes there are about Jesus and the 'Virgin' Mary (ahahhahah, poor cuck Joseph). And most likely, you do all of this without a second thought - you consider this a normal and unremarkable part of your life.

Well - it is a normal and unremarkable part of your life - in some Western countries, at least - because we fought the Church and its minions for literal centuries so they'd shut the fuck up and stop annoying and torturing and killing people. I mean in the US they have their own problems, but in Europe I'd say you could call about 70% of the population overt or covert Christianophobes - if such a term had any meaning - simply because they blaspheme every single day. Whether they consider themselves Christians or not, whether they've been baptized and married in a Church or not, on any given day they might dress up as a sexy nun or ironically hang a crucifix upside down or listen to 'empious' music (like all metal and most pop songs) or make a bad joke about a priest or watch a 'corrupted' movie or say they don't give a fuck about God (understood to be, the Christian God), because if He exists, than he's a fickle motherfucker.

What Mila said is not nice. She reacted in anger, she reacted badly, she's also a teen on social media so she's bound to do stupid things and make mistakes. Meanwhile, the thousands of mostly adult men who threatened her with violence are not doing something stupid or making a mistake. They're demanding what Muslims (in Europe, but also in their own countries) have been demanding more and more loudly: that we give them special treatment, suspend our freedom of speech and blasphemy laws, stop criticizing their religion - or fucking else. Because this is not a polite philosophical discussion over cupcakes. People get killed every day for 'disrespecting' Islam - most of them Muslims or ex-Muslims. Please remember Samuel Paty, the teacher who's literally been beheaded in the street for teaching a class that was on the curriculum, and that other teacher in Yorkshire who's been in hiding with his family for months - and will likely never teach again - because he's 'guilty' of the same crime.

(And tbh, 'disrespecting' Islam can be everything and anything. We always think about a certain kind of 'extreme' Charlie Hebdo humour, but there are lots of things that are forbidden depending on who's in charge. For instance, a famous (and devout) Algerian theologian, Saïd Djabelkhir, was recently sentenced to three years in jail for 'offenses' against Islam - for instance, he suggested the story of Noah's Ark could be a metaphor and not an event that truly happened. The horror.)

Legally speaking, 'respecting' someone's religion means the State can't forcibly close a church if people are peacefully practicing their faith. It doesn't mean every single one of us has to stop criticizing, making jokes, writing novels and fanfiction, and yeah - even yelling obscenities because we're all human and we do get angry from time to time - under literal pain of death.

Anyway if you want to learn more about this, I'd suggest you look for the tag 'ex muslim' here on tumblr or on reddit or Twitter. You'll get opinions much more informed than mine on all of this and why the right to blaspheme is so essential.

(Also for future reference, it's not people from country X who have to 'bother' letting the world know what's going on. Instead, you're supposed to have curious, inquisitive, unafraid media who also cover that 98.13% of the world that's not the United States.)

[hargrove-mayfields]

for @magellan-88!

When Hawkins’ class of ‘85 graduated high school, Billy was the first to take off, halfway back to San Francisco before the caps even touched the ground.

Everyone gave hats off to him for being one of the few who’d ever make it out of the dying ghost town that was Hawkins, but as much as he hated that place and all its confines, he felt like he had left behind a lot.

The job wasn’t what he really wanted to do anyways, his house, when he was still staying there, was cramped, and after only a couple of months, the town had no sentimental value to him. The only thing he couldn’t help but feel bad about ditching, and that amounted to a whole lot of regret on his part, were the people.

Not the girls who swooned over him or the half made friendships he’d been neglecting since they formed anyways either, but he had his little sister, to whom he promised he’d drop everything and come back the second she said the word, and he also had Steve.

His relationship with Steve was a little blurrier, the two of them had gotten to the point of calling each other friends just after Christmas, best friends by the time Neil kicked Billy out for nothing but turning the big one-eight in april, and he was left crashing on the Harrington’s designer couch until he was free to leave Hawkins.

That’s where Steve would’ve ended the story at least, but as for Billy, he’d fallen ass over tits in love for his best friend in a matter of a smoldering gaze at a Halloween party.

Of all the many things he regrets about his short time in that cramped little town, he’d have to say the biggest was not having worked up the courage to fess up about his little crush before he skipped town to live it up more than two thousand miles away, mostly because that had been the only of his mistake he never took any time to resolve.

So it was that when Steve, apparently completely forgetting about the existence of time zones, calls him up at five in the morning to ask if he could come out to visit his new place in the golden state in a few weeks, Billy senses a pretty big opportunity.

What Steve had always done when Billy was staying at his place was cover the couch in the upstairs foyer, as he was made to call it, in layers of spare pillows and blankets, making it up like a bed for him. If he could, he would’ve let him have the guest bedroom, but that was out of the question when every other night that Steve’s parents were home, they argued and John had to take the spare.

But Billy doesn’t have a spare room, and he isn’t too sure about doing the same for Steve in his new apartment.

The problem isn’t that he can't, he has a brand new couch, bought from an actual furniture store instead of an old busted up one at thrift (or that he brought in off the curb and said was bought at thrift) and it’s even got a pull out to make things easier. He’d spent too many dozens of nights on Steve’s couch, staring up at the way high ceiling and wishing he had the guts to make a move, that he doesn’t think his yearning heart can take being just down the hall from him again, especially not with the promise that in a few weeks time, there’d be that vast, looming space between them again.

So he’s settled on it, Steve is going to sleep in his bed. He’s just gotta find a way to get him there, and that’s simple enough, he just has to pretend there’s nowhere else for him to sleep.

Now, he’ll admit that his plan on selling that idea is shaky at best, but Steve is bone tired when he gets there a few days later, his first time flying and dealing with jet lag taking everything he has out of him, so really, he’s looking to crash as soon as they get up to Billy’s apartment.

Only, he notices immediately that the couch isn’t set up like a bed like he usually would have done it up, and he looks to Billy with a slight tilt of his head, confusion in those big puppy-dog eyes.

So Billy answers, trying not to be too smug about it, “Sorry man, couch is out of the question.”

“Why?” Steve asks, then thinks better of it, knowing Billy’s history, “Actually, hold that thought, I don’t think I want to know.”

That makes Billy laugh, makes him remember why he fell in love with Steve in the first place too, “Nothing gross this time, s’just brand new. Can’t have you drooling all over the furniture that cost me two months of rent.”

“Right. So.. where am I going to sleep then?”

“I’ve got a bed, Steve.”

“Well duh, but I’m not going to kick you out of your own bed.”

“I didn’t say that. You’re not the only one with a queen sized now. I got room for two.”

“But.. is that going to be weird?” Steve asks, shifting on his feet, like the suggestion makes him uncomfortable, and Billy almost backs out then, lies about how he was just messing around to test Steve, but he sticks to his guns, saying, “Only if you make it weird. Don’t have much of a choice anyhow, unless you want to sleep in the bathtub.”

Steve insists on arguing though, “What’s wrong with sleeping on the floor?”

“Dude, this is a shitty ass apartment. I live here and I don’t even know half of the nasty shit that’s been on this floor.”

“Fine, just as long as I have a place to sleep.” Steve half-mumbles, cut off by a yawn, obviously too tired to keep pressing the issue.

He saunters off to Billy’s room not too long after that, not even changing out of his clothes before he’s throwing himself face down in his bed, leaving Billy to do his entire nighttime routine while Steve makes himself right at home, assuming that after brushing his teeth and putting his hair up, changing out of his jeans and triple checking that the doors and windows were locked tight, that’d be enough time for Steve to fall asleep.

That however, does not happen to be the case.

Billy knew from sleeping just down the hall from Steve’s bedroom that he snored like a motherfucker, and from the times he had fallen asleep on the basketball bus after a game that Steve never stopped moving in his sleep, but he was truly not prepared for how difficult it was for Steve to get to sleep in the first place.

He understands it, he remembers how hard it had been trying to relax in the silence that surrounded the country, and since that was all Steve was used to, it wasn’t exactly a surprise that the sounds of the city were hard for him to tune out and just sleep.

What he doesn’t understand is how Steve doesn’t wear himself out tossing and turning, and after at least an hour of it, Billy’s got to wonder if this is a princess and the pea type situation, some messed up spring in his mattress making this arrangement not proper for the royalty at his side.

Billy can tell he wants to talk, from the way he keeps feeling Steve’s eyes on his back, the tapping of his fingers against the headboard, which, if they got to talking he might not even need part two of his plan, but Steve doesn’t ever say anything just sighs with every chime on the clock, another hour he can’t get to sleep.

It isn’t until three in the morning rolls around that Steve finally conks out, Billy himself still barely awake enough to shoot his shot, draping himself over Steve and pulling him close before he has a chance to roll over onto his front again, falling asleep with his crush in his arms.

~~~~

The sun’s not up yet, and the clock’s too blurry to say exactly what time it is when Steve wakes up again, realizing after a few minutes that he’s hot as hell, and didn’t immediately start tossing and turning again, which, once he’s actually woken up enough to think, he discovers that the only reason that is is because Billy is pressed against his back, his arm thrown over his side, spooning him and basically keeping him held there in place.

Steve at first tries not to think about it, the whole, sleeping in the same bed as the person he deliberately never did that with to avoid facing his feeling, and just get comfortable with Billy all cuddled up to him, but he’s a front sleeper, and Billy is fucking hot in more ways than one, so when it’s evident that’s not going to work, he clears his throat, announcing into the silence, “You’re smotherin’ me, Bill.”

There’s a sharp intake of breath behind him, like Billy had just woken up, and a soft little hum of a question, “Hm?”

“You’re like, on top of me, man.” Steve informs him, like he didn’t notice he was half laying on him, but Billy answers bluntly, voice all tired and scratchy, “Don’t care.”

That sort of confuses Steve. He’d been expecting an apology, for Billy to roll over and them to pretend this never happened in the morning, and it’s got his mind, and his heart, racing a mile a minute, because Billy isn’t the only one with a helpless crush, there’s a reason Steve flew 2,000 miles just to see him.

So he asks, before he can lead himself on, “Just to be clear, is this an accidental thing that only isn’t awkward because we’re friends or is this like, meaningful?”

Billy just hums, pulling him even closer, making Steve feel small, “Go to sleep, Steven.”

“Okay.” He tries to, shoving his arm under the pillows and shifting under Billy’s weight so he’d be comfortable enough, but it’s just nagging at his lovesick brain, “But seriously man, I don’t know what I should take away from this.”

Billy sighs softly, rubbing his eyes with his knuckles, maybe because he was tired, maybe because Steve was being Steve, “Look, you’re in my bed, aren’t you?”

“Yeah, because of the couch, I thought you were just a cuddler or something.”

“Nope. This was all by design.”

“So then the couch..”

“Was perfectly fine, yeah. Damn thing even has a fold out.”

“You did this on purpose?”

“Thought I made that pretty obvious.”

Steve pouts, sitting up so Billy has to let go of him, “Well if you’re so annoyed with me, I’ll just leave you to get back to sleep.”

“Oh no. It’s much too late for that. I’m thinking we’re going to have to find another way to spend the time now. And, well, since you’re already here...”

[lokisasylum]

ITS HALLOWEEN MONTH MOTHERFUCKERS!!!!!!

[popwasabi]

“Who are you?” The scene that defines Chadwick Boseman’s legacy

Yesterday, the world lost a bright and promising, burgeoning talent in Chadwick Boseman.

I had wondered privately for a while if something was wrong with him, as others had as well online, as he appeared increasingly sicker with each interview he gave over the last two years. I thought maybe I had been looking too much into it, not wanting to jump to conclusions about who he was but now gravely we all know why.

The much too young star of films such as “42,” “Marshall,” and of course, “Black Panther” had been fighting a largely private battle with colon cancer for four years.

It was devastating hearing this news yesterday, the man who undeniably left behind a legacy of playing prominent black heroes, both historical and fictional, passed away just as he was starting to truly hit it big. When you begin to realize the man was dealing with cancer as he performed physically demanding roles in the MCU you begin to see the character and determination of a man unwilling to quit in the face of true adversity.

But he clearly wasn’t just doing it for himself when he continued making and promoting NINE more movies despite his diagnosis, afterall no one would’ve blamed the guy for taking it easy these past four years. He’s had many scenes that define his legacy over his all too short career but I feel it can really be summed up in one particular moment from by far his most famous film; “Black Panther.”

Those who know me or have read my work know that I have a fairly cynical relationship with the Marvel Cinematic Universe. While I would not say most of them are “bad” per se, I would say a ton of them are largely interchangeable action comedies with pretty straightforward messages about good vs evil for general audiences. They are largely popcorn escapism and though there is nothing technically wrong with that, I was starved for an MCU film that was sincere about its story finally and had something real to say.

Enter “Black Panther” in early 2018.

“Black Panther” was everything I had long been waiting for in the MCU; a film with a real sense of vision and theme, a killer soundtrack, great supporting characters, a complicated and nuanced villain, and a story that didn’t feel the need to add a joke after every single scene like more typical MCU movies. The tip of that spear of course was Chadwick, who had already proved to be a great Black Panther in one of the few other sincere Marvel flicks “Civil War.” His natural charisma, physicality, and dramatic presence in this role made him a huge standout in frankly the best ensemble cast of any superhero movie ever.

The scene that truly sums up not just the mark “Black Panther” left on Hollywood but Chadwick’s own legacy comes at the very end though (the first of three, of course. It’s an MCU movie, afterall).

T’Challa has defeated his usurper cousin Erik Killmonger, his rule restored in Wakanda but clearly a changed man from the story’s beginning as he reckons with the complicated legacy of his father. He travels to Oakland, the birthplace of Killmonger, with his sister Shuri who he explains the crime committed by their father in this place and how it set off the events of the story. He turns to Shuri, tells her that he has decided to help this afflicted community by creating a Wakandan outreach center for the youth to give them a new hope in life. As he says this he decloaks their ship nearby, surprising the youth already in the area who are immediately in awe of it. One of the kids turns to T’Challa, smiling, a sense of inspiration and intrigue brewing inside, and asks “Who are you?” to which the young King simply smiles, then the credits roll.

It’s a simple scene but it truly speaks to the impact left behind by Chadwick and the importance of representation. 

“Black Panther” is hardly the first starring vehicle for a black man, it’s not even the first black super hero movie but what it made it different is it was the first blockbuster to truly lean unapologetically into its African identity to focus on the inspiration of a story centered around that culture. It showed Hollywood that an action blockbuster not just centered on a black star but centered on African culture had vast widespread appeal.

White kids will never have a shortage of white superheroes to grow up with on the big screen; a diverse palette of Supermans, Spider-mans, Captain Americas, and shit we’re even getting our sixth new Batman actor since 1989 soon. But Chadwick gave black kids their first real Superman of their own. 

In the years since this came out, I have seen the influence, at times, firsthand among the youth. I work part-time as a kids martial arts instructor and each Halloween party we’ve held I’ve seen a few more T’Challas among the costumes represented. When I ask kids, black, white, or Asian, what their favorite superhero is, it always warms my heart to see a kid light up when they say “BLACK PANTHER!”

(Seriously, cute AF)

This goes beyond just my anecdotal observations of course; the film grossed a billion dollars, and there are countless videos online of kids yelling “Wakanda forever!” at the top of their lungs while rocking a Black Panther suit or reciting one of the movie’s memorable lines. It’s beautiful because it speaks to that last scene’s key message; inspiration.

Growing up myself, as a half Asian American, there weren’t a ton of role models who looked like me to take inspiration from. I didn’t really understand how much this could affect me until I finally did start seeing people like myself occupy positions of influence. I didn’t start caring for baseball until I saw a slugger named Hideki Matsui smash a couple dingers in a Yankees’ uniform in the early 2000s. I didn’t care much for martial arts, outside my very early youth, until I witnessed a half Japanese Brazilian named Lyoto Machida KO Thiago Silva at UFC 94 in 2009. I didn’t care much for soccer until a striker named Keisuke Honda played out of his mind in the early rounds of the 2010 FIFA World Cup.

Sometimes you gotta see something happen in order to believe and be inspired by it and it’s easier to visualize it when you see someone who looks like you do it. That’s what representation means and why it’s important.

It’s easy for white America to dismiss the need for representation in media when theirs is so saturated in the culture everyday. Cries of “wHaT aBoUt wHiTe HiStORy mOnTH?!” delivered unironically while their history is proudly given front seat consideration in all forms of media, film, and influence every day. This is why it drives me so crazy when a white person tells me “representation isn’t important” because apparently, they “don’t need it.”

Well motherfucker, of course you don’t need it. You fucking got yours already!

(What every non-white person wants to say when confronted with this tired, out of touch argument...)

“Black Panther” delivered a superhero that not only black children could be proud of and love but someone they could draw inspiration from. Kids are going to want to become film directors cause of this movie, actors, stuntmen, martial artists, scientists, engineers, and so many other different things that the world of Wakanda proudly showcases and it’s all thanks to Chadwick’s leading man performance that made it possible.

Some jokes I’ve heard frequently on the internet is that Chadwick was on somewhat of a quest to play every major black role in story-telling history, what with performances as Jackie Robinson, Thurgood Marshall, James Brown, and of course Black Panther. But I think his 2018 speech at his Alma Mater of Howard really explains why he kept looking to play these major positive black roles.

(I encourage you to listen to the whole thing but the part that’s important here begins at 21:55)

Hollywood likes to pigeon hole certain demographics of people (aka non-white) to play stereotypical roles forever until they are proven to be lucrative in different ways (Qualified Immunity of film-making if you will…). Black people largely could mostly play thugs and drug dealers, Latinx can only be gang bosses and poor servants and gardeners, Asians are either kung fu masters or some other offensive perpetual foreigner. And in worst cases no role at all, instead whitewashed for general audiences (aka white folk). 

Chadwick took a stand that the color of his skin did not define who Hollywood narrowly believed he could perform as and set out to play characters and people who could inspire a new generation of African Americans and show the rest of the country that they were more than a stereotype.

When that young kid in that final scene asks, “Who are you?” and T’Challa smiles its because he knows he’s already changing hearts and minds for the future, just as Chadwick did playing this truly inspirational role.

“Black Panther” is not a perfect movie. I could discuss the ways it could’ve been better and even, less problematic in parts on a different day, but the legacy it leaves behind is one that’s undeniably positive and Chadwick was able to make that a reality. Perhaps he understood that if the world knew his diagnosis it would blunt the impact of “Black Panther’s” release, that if little kids and African Americans alike knew their superhero was already dying it would mar the film’s positivity and influence. I can’t speak for the dead obviously, and in no way am I saying one should just push through a cancer diagnosis and keep it secret, but I can see Chadwick understanding what it would mean for the audience if they just believed for as long as possible that they would have their king of Wakanda forever.

As Robert Downey Jr. said on social media last night “He leveled the playing field while fighting for his life.”

Though I will never know him personally, by most measures Chadwick seemed to be exactly the kind of hero he showed up to be on the big screen and his legacy will ultimately be that of one who looked to inspire others, particularly the next generation until his final breath. If that doesn’t make him a hero, I don’t know what does.

Rest in power, King. Wakanda Forever…

(Via BossLogic)

[rosencrantzsguildenstern]

halloween (the month) is over and i am chomping at the bit to change my background like a corporation at pride but i’ve lost the file that i was using before. i gotta change this asap,,, its diwali season motherfucker